Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brynja
Brynja found Hagen in the lists, working through sword forms with a focused intensity that spoke of anger rather than practice. His movements were sharp, aggressive, each strike against the practice post harder than necessary.
“You’ll break your wrist if you keep hitting that hard,” she called out.
Hagen paused mid-swing, chest heaving. Sweat dampened his hair despite the December chill. “Mayhap I wish to break something.”
She crossed the yard to him, noting the white-knuckled grip on his sword hilt. “What happened?”
“It’s about this whole possibility of the grandson of Niles Comming wanting to attack my clan. I see what it does to my father, then my mother’s reaction too. And it upsets Dyna. I’m glad Astra and Morgan are still at Clan Grant. They’d be upset too and Astra was already subjected to too much.
Brynja understood that rage. It lived in her chest too, burning hot and constant. “Then you go after him. Why wait?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple.” Her voice hardened. “He did evil. He should pay for it.”
Hagen looked at her, something shifting in his expression. “You sound verra certain about that.”
“I am certain.” She met his gaze squarely. “Justice doesn’t wait for convenience or politics. Either you believe in it or you don’t.”
“Is that what you call it? Justice?” His tone had shifted, grown cooler. “Or is it vengeance?”
Brynja stiffened. “There’s a difference?”
“Aye. There is.” Hagen pulled his sword from the ground, wiping the dirt from the blade with deliberate care. “Justice is about making things right. Vengeance is about making yourself feel better.”
Heat flared in her chest. “So when I hunt down the men who murdered my mother, I’m just trying to make myself feel better?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“You did.” She took a step closer, anger thrumming through her veins. “You just said vengeance is selfish. Well, I want those men dead, Hagen. I want the bastards’ blood on my hands. Is that selfish? Aye, mayhap it is. But it’s also right.”
“Right for who?” He faced her fully now, jaw tight. “For you? Or for your mother? Because she’s dead, Brynja. Killing her murderers won’t bring her back.”
The words hit like a physical blow. “How dare you?”
“How dare I what? Tell you the truth?” His voice rose to match hers.
“You think I don’t understand? You think I don’t lie awake at night imagining what I’d do to the men who hurt my family?
The Buchans, the Commings, so many have attacked my clan over the years.
But wanting something and it being right aren’t the same thing. ”
“So you’d let them go free? Let them live while good people died?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
“Then what are you saying?” Brynja demanded. “Because it sounds like you’re saying my quest for justice—”
“Vengeance.”
“—is somehow wrong. That I should just forgive and forget and move on like a good little lass.”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” Hagen’s shout echoed across the empty yard. “I’m saying I’m terrified you’re going to get yourself killed chasing ghosts. You don’t know who the guilty men are yet. How many will you have to kill to find out who killed your mother and aunt?”
Silence fell between them, sharp and sudden.
Brynja’s breath came hard. “My mother’s murderer is a ghost, but Sholto isn’t a ghost. He hurt Hildi.”
“True, but he might as well be. You’ve been watching the horizon for weeks.
Every boat that passes, every stranger who comes to port, you think it’s him.
You’re living your life waiting for another confrontation that might never come.
” He took a step toward her, his expression raw.
“And if it does come? What then? You fight him? You kill him? And then what, Brynja? Does the hole in your chest fill up? Do the nightmares stop?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice shaking. “But I have to try. I have to.” She broke off, fists clenched. “You don’t understand.”
“Don’t I?” His laugh was bitter. “I now know of a man who wishes to kill me and my father? How can I not go after Dugan? You think I don’t imagine it every single day?”
“Then why don’t you?” The question came out sharper than she’d intended.
Hagen went very still. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, dangerous. “Because I know the difference between justice and revenge. Because I know that killing him won’t bring anyone back. And because—” He stopped, jaw working.
“Because what?”
“Because I’m afraid of what I’ll become if I do it.” The admission seemed wrenched from somewhere deep. “I’m afraid I’ll like it. I’m afraid the rage will feel good. And then what? Where does it stop?”
Brynja stared at him. “So you do nothing.”
“I do something. I protect the people I love. I make sure it doesn’t happen again. I fight when fighting is necessary.” He met her eyes. “But I don’t chase vengeance dressed up as justice.”
The words stung more than they should have. “You think that’s what I’m doing.”
“Aren’t you?” He took another step closer. “Brynja, I understand the need for it. I do. But I’m watching you consume yourself with this need for revenge, and I’m terrified of what happens if you get it. More terrified of what happens if you don’t.”
“You stand here and tell me not to chase revenge while you’re beating a practice post to splinters because you can’t get to the man you want to kill. You say you’re afraid of what you’ll become, but you want it just as much as I do. You’re just too afraid to admit it.”
Color rose in Hagen’s cheeks. “That’s not true.”
“It is. You want your revenge. The rage inside of you is barely contained. You just dress it up in noble words about protection and justice. But at the core? You want him dead as much as I want Sholto dead. The only difference is you won’t let yourself have it.”
Hagen’s hands fisted at his sides. “Mayhap because I fear nothing could be enough. Will you be satisfied if he’s dead? If you find the man who murdered your mother and you put a spear in his chest, will it be enough?”
“I don’t know, but I surely don’t like the alternative.” Brynja’s voice cracked. “I should just let them live? Let Sholto and the others walk free? They murdered my mother, Hagen. They would have sold me like cattle. And you’re telling me I should just… what? Forgive them?”
“Nay.” He closed the distance between them, his expression fierce. “I’m not telling you to forgive them. I’m telling you that revenge won’t heal you. It won’t give you peace. And I’m terrified that when you finally get it, you’ll realize that too late.”
“You don’t get to decide what will heal me.”
“And you don’t get to throw your life away on a mayhap!
” His voice rose again. “Because that’s what you’re doing, Brynja.
You’re so focused on killing Sholto that you’re not living your own life.
You’re existing in this tiny space, waiting for him to come so you can—what?
Die trying to kill him? Because that’s what might happen.
He’s not going to come alone. He’ll bring men.
And even if you win, even if you kill every last one of them, what will it cost you? ”
“Whatever it costs, it’ll be worth it.”
“Even your life?”
“Even my life.”
“Well, it’s not worth it to me!” The words exploded from him. “Your life is worth more than revenge, Brynja. It’s worth more than Sholto’s death.” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’re worth more than that.”
Tears burned behind Brynja’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “That’s not your choice to make.”
“I know.” His voice gentled, which somehow made it worse. “I know it’s not. But I’m asking you to think about what you’re really after. Is it justice? Or is it just pain for pain? Because one of those things might give you satisfaction for a moment. But the other one will haunt you forever.”
“You don’t understand,” she said again, but this time her voice was barely a whisper.
“Then help me understand.” He reached for her, his hand hovering near her shoulder but not quite touching. “Tell me what you think will happen when Sholto dies. When your mother’s murderer dies. Tell me how it ends.”
Brynja closed her eyes. She’d imagined it a thousand times—her blade sliding between Sholto’s ribs, the shock in his eyes, the way he’d fall. Or the ghost that haunts her every night. She’d imagined standing over his body and feeling… what? Relief? Victory? Justice?
“I don’t know,” she admitted finally. “I don’t know what happens after. I just know that I can’t move forward until he’s dead. I can’t sleep, I can’t rest, I can’t—” Her voice broke. “I can’t be free until he’s gone.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Hagen’s hand finally settled on her shoulder, warm and steady. “What if killing him doesn’t set you free? What if it just trades one cage for another?”
“Then at least I’ll have tried.” She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. “At least I’ll know.”
He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, his hand dropping away. “And what about us?”
The question hung between them, heavy with meaning.
“What about us?” she echoed.
“If you go after him, when you go after him, I’m going with you. You know that, aye?”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I’m telling you.” His jaw set in that stubborn way she was coming to know. “If you walk into danger, I walk into it with you. That’s what this is. That’s what we are.”
“Even though you think I’m wrong.”
“Even though I think you’re wrong.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Love doesn’t mean agreeing with everything someone does. Sometimes it means standing beside them even when you think they’re making a mistake. Because you’d rather be there to catch them than let them fall alone.”
Her breath caught. “Love?”
Color crept up his neck. “Aye. Love.” He met her eyes squarely. “Did you think it was something else?”
“I…” She didn’t know what she’d thought. “We’re arguing.”
“Aye, we are. And we’ll probably argue again. But that doesn’t change how I feel.” He stepped closer, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. “I love you, Brynja. All of you. Even the parts that are bent on revenge. Even the parts that scare me. I just… I don’t want to lose you to it.”
Tears finally spilled over, hot against her cold cheeks. “I don’t want to lose myself either. But I don’t know how to let it go. I don’t know how to just... stop wanting what I want.”
“I’m not asking you to let it go.” His thumb brushed away her tears. “I’m just asking you to think about whether revenge is really what you want. Or if mayhap what you really want is to stop hurting.”
The words hit something deep inside her, some truth she’d been avoiding. Because he was right, wasn’t he? She didn’t want Sholto dead because it would bring her mother back. She wanted him dead because she was in pain, and she didn’t know how else to make it stop.
“What if you’re wrong?” she asked quietly. “What if you’re telling me not to seek revenge while you would do exactly the same thing in my place?”
Hagen was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “You’re right. I don’t know the answer. Because if someone hurt you, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d hunt them to the ends of the earth, and I wouldn’t stop until they were dead. So mayhap I don’t have any right to tell you not to do the same.”
“Then why are you?”
“Because I can see you more clearly than I can see myself. Because I can see what it’s costing you, even if you can’t. And because—” He drew in a shaky breath. “Because sometimes love means telling someone the hard truth, even when you know they don’t want to hear it.”
Brynja pressed her forehead to his chest, her hands fisting in his tunic. “I’m so tired, Hagen. I’m tired of being angry all the time. Tired of watching the horizon. Tired of waiting for him to come. But I don’t know how to stop.”
His arms came around her, solid and sure. “Mayhap you don’t have to stop. Mayhap you just have to decide that revenge isn’t all you are. That it’s not the only thing that defines you.”
“What else is there?” The question came out muffled against his chest.
“Everything.” His voice was fierce. “There’s you learning to ride.
There’s you laughing at midnight on the parapets.
There’s you being fierce and brave and stubborn.
There’s you standing here letting me see you cry.
There’s you and me and whatever future we might build together.
” He pulled back just enough to look at her.
“There’s so much more than revenge, Brynja. If you’ll let yourself see it.”
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe there could be a life beyond this consuming need for Sholto’s death. But the anger was so familiar, so much a part of her now. How did you let go of something that had kept you alive?
“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.
“Then don’t. Not yet.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Just… promise me you’ll think about it. Promise me that when the time comes, you’ll ask yourself whether revenge is really what you need. Or if mayhap you need something else entirely.”
Brynja pulled back to look at him. His eyes were troubled, his expression open and vulnerable in a way that made her chest ache. He loved her. This complicated, stubborn man loved her. And he was asking her to think. Not to give up her quest, not to forgive, not to forget. Just to think.
“I’ll think about it,” she said finally. “I can’t promise more than that.”
“It’s enough.” He pulled her close again, and they stood there in the cold wind, holding each other.
Brynja managed a small smile. “Mayhap we’re both broken in the same ways. And mayhap that’s all right.”
He whispered, “If we work on it together, we might do it right.”
Together.
A word Brynja didn’t know much about, but she was willing to learn.