34. Jerrid #2
Brynja’s hand remained poised over her dagger’s hilt, her expression stony. “I don’t care about any of that. I care about what happens to the girls. We’ve lost too many because of his stupid treaty. Some girls haven’t even made it to Gelaira, disappearing under suspicious circumstances.”
“Where did you hear that?” the prince asked, his brow wrinkling. “I have heard rumors of girls running away, but I haven’t heard anything about girls disappearing en route to Gelaira.”
Brynja’s scowl darkened. “That’s a likely story. Just because you claim you haven’t heard about it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.”
An awkward silence stole across the camp, the only sounds coming from the faint crackle of fires still burning in the timbers. Then Prince Haryk sighed.
“I am not ignorant of your plight,” he began in a low voice. “And I can only imagine the desperate circumstances that forced each of you to seek refuge in this place. But as long as the current treaty is in place, I’m afraid I cannot offer you an official pardon.”
Brynja’s blade snicked free of its sheath.
Prince Haryk cleared his throat. “Even if I pardoned you, you would still have to seek pardon from your own king. And I have no power over his decision.”
Brynja’s arm shook, her body as taut as a bowstring. Jerrid had no doubt that she wouldn’t hesitate to drive her blade into the blind prince’s heart rather than allow even one of these girls to return to captivity.
“That being said,” Prince Haryk continued, his voice growing louder so that it carried to every corner of the camp, “it will take me a long time to return to Eroth and gather reinforcements. A very long time.”
Jerrid’s chest loosened, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. Ava caught his eye, her own mouth quirking at the corners, relief painting every nuance of her expression. Even Brynja’s stiff posture seemed to relax a fraction.
“Do you understand what I am saying?” the prince asked. “It will be a long time before I can return. I might even forget altogether once I am reunited with my wife. It might slip my mind.”
Even Brynja’s lips had begun to twitch, her shoulders easing as she slipped her blade back into its sheath. “I understand what you’re saying. And I trust if we happen to…say…disappear into the Shadewood while you’re gone, there would be no hard feelings?”
“None whatsoever,” the prince promised gravely.
Ylsi climbed up the pile of rubble to stand beside Brynja, smiling for the first time Jerrid could remember, dimples in both of her round cheeks.
Footsteps kicked against gravel behind them.
Jerrid turned, and Finnr emerged from the darkness, limping, his arms laden with a small body. Jerrid’s smile vanished as his gaze settled on Roar. Jerrid was moving before he realized it.
“Oh no,” he rasped.
Not Roar. Anyone but Roar. Not the lad…
Blood streamed from a gash on Finnr’s temple, his expression glazed and confused.
“Siri,” he called as he tripped and crashed to his knees, rocking back on his heels as he hugged his son closer. “I can’t find Siri.”
Jerrid crouched in front of the man while he searched the boy for injuries, one hand resting on Finnr’s shaking shoulder. Blood spotted Roar’s tunic, but that might have splashed from Finnr’s own wound.
Ava leaned against his side, her body trembling.
“Finnr,” she said in a low voice, “let me take a look at Roar.”
But the father hugged his son closer to his chest.
“Finnr, please,” Ava pressed more firmly. “You need to let me help Roar. Please.”
Jerrid squeezed Finnr’s shoulder.
“Let him go, mate,” he whispered. “Let her help him.”
Finnr finally met his gaze, his tongue snaking across his lower lip as he allowed Ava to slip the boy out of his arms. “Siri. I can’t find my wife.”
Jerrid nodded and patted his arm. “Why don’t I help you look for her? Roar is in good hands now.”
Ava shot him an appreciative look, and then she bent to her work.
Brynja leaped down from the rubble pile. “Has anyone seen Siri?”
The girls scattered to look, calling out in urgent voices. Finnr stumbled alongside Jerrid. When he tripped again, Jerrid caught him and lowered him onto a rock, blood splattering against Jerrid’s bare chest.
“Hey, why don’t you rest for a moment?”
Finnr shook his head. “I can’t. I need to find her. I need to find my wife.”
“I’ll find her,” Jerrid promised him and pressed down firmly on his shoulder. “Just stay here and rest for a minute.”
He rose and strode forward, his gaze flicking around the devastation, searching for anything human shaped that might be half buried in the rubble. He searched desperately for a hand, a foot, even just a bootlace…
Odin help them if she was buried beneath the tower. They’d never dig her out in time.
He was so busy searching the ground that he walked straight into Brynja. She held out a hand to stop him, and he froze, his gaze searching her hardened face before shifting to what lay on the ground behind her.
The breath ripped out of his lungs.
Finnr’s wife lay lifeless, her pale-blue eyes wide and unblinking, a gaping hole in her chest.
Jerrid slumped to his knees as a guttural no ripped through his stunned brain.