Chapter 30 Svenn
The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal echoes through the prison forge. I've been at this for hours. My arms burn with exertion, muscles screaming for rest.
I don't stop.
The steel on the anvil is beginning to take shape. A breastplate, carefully measured to fit Rhianelle's smaller frame.
It can't be too heavy. She needs to be able to move, to fight if necessary. But strong enough to turn a blade, to stop an arrow, and keep her safe.
The metal glows orange-red under my hammer. Each strike shapes it, bends it to my will. If only everything else in my life could be so simple.
But I can't control fate and hammer destiny into submission.
The flood waters receded days ago, leaving everything coated in a film of dried mud.
Cracks spider-web across the stone floor where the water pressure was strongest. The anvil still stands solid, but the smaller tools had to be dredged up from the muck and scrubbed clean.
In the cell nearest the forge, Hrolf sleeps on his stone bench.
His snores echo off the walls in a steady rhythm.
My mind drags me back to three days ago.
The night after I brought Landon to the healing house. After I watched their mating bond snap into place and steal everything that mattered.
I'd been standing in Rhianelle's room, watching her sleep. And then she appeared.
Blight.
She was wearing young Rhianelle's face, the child she'd been when they threw her into Astefar. Six years old, silver hair in tangles, wearing a torn and dirty dress.
But the eyes were not hers.
"Hello, vampire," she said in a child's voice that carried ancient malice. "We need to talk."
I moved to put myself between her and Rhianelle. "Stay away from her."
"Scary, I like that. But pointless." A cruel half-smile graced her lips. "You've already lost her."
"She's my wife."
"Is she though?" The Un tilted her head. "Does she remember being your wife?"
Rhianelle didn't remember me. She looked at me like a stranger.
"You did that," I said. "You took her memories."
"I protected her." Blight moved closer to the bed, reaching out to stroke Rhianelle's hair with small fingers. "She's special, our little Rhianelle. I'm creating possibilities for her."
"You mean manipulating her life."
"It doesn't matter." The Un waved dismissively. "We've found her perfect match. The fae commander. Can't you see how beautifully they fit? How the threads sing between them?"
"I don't care about your fucking threads."
"You should." Blight's voice hardened. "Because if you interfere, if you try to tell her who you are, if you attempt to break what I've created, there will be consequences."
"She is not your toy." I took a step toward her.
Blight stepped away from the bed. "I suppose it's not fair that I get to decide."
She waved her small hand.
We were no longer in the healing house. We stood in a vast darkness, empty and cold. Emerging from the shadows surrounding us were figures.
Eleven of them.
The rest of the Un. All here.
Most remained shrouded in darkness, but their presence was overwhelming. I could feel the weight of it like mountains pressing down on my shoulders.
Elli stepped forward into the light.
"This is excessive, Blight," the ancient Un chided.
"No, it's not. I want everyone to vote." The little goddess climbed onto a skeletal figure.
Mal. Guardian of the Hollow.
"We are here to decide." Blight's voice filled the emptiness around us. "The vampire has married our devoted one and claims her as his own."
The shadows trembled in uneasy ripples as the Un reacted to her words.
"But I had arranged a better match," Blight murmured, pleased with herself. "One who could give her everything this creature never could."
"She married me of her own free will," I snapped.
One of the shrouded figures emerged. Deanna the Huntress. Flames wreathed her form like living armor. "As I recall, circumstances pushed her toward you. The need to save her kingdom."
"That's not true—“
"We're not here to debate the past," Blight interrupted. "We're here to decide the future. The fae commander is her true mate. Their bond is healing her."
She looked at the assembled Un.
"All in favor of Landon as Rhianelle's mate."
Hands rose from the darkness. One. Two. Five. Ten.
Eleven agreed.
Only Elli remained still, her hands folded in front of her.
"Eleven against one," Blight said with satisfaction. She turned to the largest shadow, the one that seemed to swallow light itself. "It is decided, yes, Fate? Landon should be Rhianelle's mate?"
The shadow pulsed.
Blight kicked her small feet on Mal's shoulder with childish glee. "Excellent! The matter is settled."
"This is wrong," I growled. "You're treating her like a pawn."
"We're protecting her," the flaming huntress said coldly. "The fae can give her what you cannot."
"I will give her everything—"
"He can give her children," she cut in. "A normal life. Stability. Peace."
Something twisted in my gut.
Her eyebrow arched. "Did you assume that your love was enough?"
The question cut deep because it's true. I hadn't asked. I had just loved Rhianelle and hoped that would be sufficient.
"Here are the terms," Blight announced, every ounce of playfulness gone. "You will not tell Rhianelle who you are. You will not reveal your past or your marriage to her. You will not interfere with the bond between her and Landon."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I act." Blight's smile was terrible on that child's face. "I am a god, vampire. I could take more than just her memories of you. I can take all of them."
"You wouldn't—"
"I'm being merciful. Rejoice, vampire." Blight leaned forward. "I only erased you."
The threat was clear. Cooperate or lose her forever.
"Step aside, let destiny unfold, or lose everything," Deanna said, her voice steady and unmoved. "Those are your options."
"This conversation is over," Blight announced.
The world snapped back.
I was in the healing house again, standing beside Rhianelle's bed. She slept peacefully, unaware of the dark forces arguing over her fate.
Blight was gone. The Un were gone. But the message remained crystal clear.
I shake my head, pulling myself from the memory. I've been standing here frozen, lost in that nightmare conversation.
The metal on the anvil has cooled, losing its malleable glow. I thrust it back into the forge and work the bellows to raise the heat. Sparks fly upward, disappearing into the darkness above.
Rhianelle is alive.
That's all that matters.
The metal glows orange-red again. I pull it from the forge and resume hammering. Each strike releases the frustration building in my chest. The rage I can't express.
"Well, this is depressing."
I look up to find Shade leaning against the forge entrance. The assassin is dressed in his usual dark clothing. His wolf sits beside him, tongue lolling.
Behind him, Garrett approaches with his easy stride.
"What do you want?" I ask them.
"Can't a friend visit another friend?" Garrett asks innocently.
We're not friends.
The assassin moves closer, examining my work. "What are you making?"
I don't stop hammering. The rhythm helps. It keeps me focused.
Shade looks at Garrett. "Why is he sulking?"
The wolf moves closer to me, then seems to think better of it. The creature's ears flatten against its head and it retreats back to Shade's side.
"Leave it alone," Garrett says to Shade. "He's got reason to be upset."
A groan comes from the cell. Hrolf stirs on his stone bench, blinking awake. He sits up slowly and rubs his face. The dwarf yawns and stretches. "He's been like this for three days. Won't even talk to me. What happened?"
Garrett glances at me, checking if I'm going to stop him. I don't. Let him tell it. Maybe saying it out loud will make it feel less like a nightmare.
"The fae…" the knight begins under his breath.
"Landon?" Hrolf frowns. "What about him? Did he heal Arescaine’s wife as promised?"
"He's her mate."
The hammer in my hand strikes metal with greater force as he says it.
Hrolf jolts. "His wife's mate?"
Garrett nods. "Their mating bond is healing her. They're connected now in ways that…" he falters, searching for words.
Hrolf looks at me as understanding settles.
"Yes, that would be upsetting," he says dryly.
"But she's alive and healing now," Shade points out.
The Grimsbane's blunt logic cuts through all of it.
Yes, I admit quietly. Everything else is complicated but I'm grateful for that.
Rhianelle is alive.
As long as that's true, I can endure anything else.
A hand falls on my shoulder. Hrolf's grip surprisingly gentle for someone with such rough hands. "How are you holding up, lad?"
I'm being shredded to fucking pieces.
"I haven't broken yet," I reply.
"That I believe." Hrolf moves around to look at the breastplate taking shape. "This for her?"
"Yes."
"Good work. The measurements look right."
"I just want to make good armor for my wife," I say after a beat. The resolve in my voice surprises me. That's all I can do now. Make sure Rhianelle has protection when I can't be there to provide it.
Hrolf's expression softens.
"Let me help," he says, rolling up his sleeves.
My eyebrow quirks upward. "I thought you don't make armor for elves."
It's one of his strictest principles. A vow he's kept for decades.
"No, I'm not making it." Hrolf's gaze lands on me with quiet insistence. "You are."
He moves to the other side of the forge, selecting his tools.
I narrow my eyes. "Why help me with this?"
"I can't have her losing blood again," Hrolf mutters gruffly. "I'll have to donate more blood if she gets hurt."
Despite everything, I almost smile. "That's your reason?"
"Yes. Now let's clean this mess up first." Hrolf looks around the filthy forge. "Can't work properly in this disaster."