6. Frawjō #2
“We still have several of those ledgers. Some are in poor condition, but they’re catalogued.”
“My historical division has been trying to trace gaps in those records for years. I won’t delay you now, but I would appreciate the chance to speak with you again before the weekend is over.”
“I’d be happy to help if our collection has what you need.”
Vasili thanks me and continues up the trail. Once he disappears around the bend, Sigurd and I resume the climb. The hold at my waist is slightly firmer than it was before Vasili approached.
“You didn’t say much back there,” I tell him as we follow the trail around a narrow outcrop.
“I was listening. Vasili rarely becomes interested in anything without a reason.” Sigurd guides me over a patch of uneven ground before continuing. “I also saw the way he looked at you, and I didn’t particularly enjoy it.”
Every inch of contact between us becomes noticeable again. I glance up at him as the meaning of the admission sinks in.
“Are you jealous?”
Sigurd looks down at me. There is no amusement in his expression now.
“Yes.”
Heat rises beneath my collar. I turn my attention to the path before he can read too much in my face, and neither of us says anything more about Vasili.
The slope eases as we approach the summit. The rough trail gives way to smoother stone, and the wind turns colder with every step. Voices carry back from the guests ahead, broken apart by the gusts sweeping across the ridge.
When we clear the final rise, the mountain opens into a broad plateau above the clouds. A carved pool dominates the center of the summit, its clear water lapping against emerald edges while white mist spills continuously over the stone.
“The pool is fed by glacial melt,” Sigurd says as we approach. “The blessing requires us to stand in the water for several minutes.”
The cold coming off the pool bites through the warmth left from the climb. I barely notice it once I see the two women waiting near the far edge.
Maren stands in a silver dress that catches every shift of sunlight, the fabric gleaming against the white mist. Her pale hair has been pinned away from her face, and her attention settles on us the moment we reach the plateau.
Solveig Haraldsdóttir stands beside her with one hand resting on a polished obsidian cane. She is smaller than I expected, but the impression lasts only until her glowing blue eyes meet mine. Nothing about Sigurd’s mother feels diminished.
My stomach tightens. After days of preparing for this meeting, there is nothing left to research or rehearse. Sigurd moves closer as we cross the last stretch of stone, his hand resting against my back.
Maren turns from the pool with a wide smile. “Sigurd, darling. We thought you’d gotten lost somewhere on the climb.” Her gaze settles on me without losing any of its brightness. “And this must be Valerie. How charmingly rustic.”
“Good morning, Maren.”
Her expression tightens. Before she can answer, Solveig strikes the stone once with the end of her obsidian cane. The sharp crack carries across the edge of the pool.
“I see you brought the human after all. I assumed the altitude would discourage her.” Solveig looks me over without bothering to hide the assessment. “Surface dwellers rarely enjoy the upper paths.”
“Valerie handled the climb remarkably well, Móeir.” Sigurd remains beside me as he turns slightly in my direction. “Valerie, this is my mother, Solveig Haraldsdóttir.”
This is the moment I prepared for. I meet her gaze and incline my head.
“It is an honor to meet you, Frawjō. Sigurd has told me a great deal about your leadership in the deep.”
I found Frawjō in the oldest Old Norse texts on the traditions of Solveig’s house. It was an ancient title of high rank and authority, far heavier than a modern Lady or Mistress, and I hoped it would satisfy her.
Solveig’s fingers shift on the head of her cane. She studies me more carefully now, while Maren goes still beside her.
“You know what that title means.” Solveig’s voice remains severe. “I have not heard a surface-born guest use it in a very long time. Where did you learn it?”
“I read what I could about your house before we came to Qaf. I didn’t want to meet Sigurd’s family without understanding how respect is properly shown.”
Solveig holds my gaze. “Most visitors are satisfied with modern courtesies. You went looking for the older forms on your own.”
“I’m a librarian. Arriving without doing the reading would have felt irresponsible.” A low vibration moves through Sigurd beside me, quiet enough that I feel it more than hear it.
Maren speaks before Solveig can continue. “How diligent of you, Valerie. I’m sure Sigurd finds all that effort very refreshing.”
I leave the remark unanswered. Before either woman can continue, a roc calls from somewhere beyond the ridge. The long musical note rolls across the summit as attendants begin guiding the waiting guests toward the pool.
Rakan and Iris approach through the thinning mist with several others. The heat radiating from Rakan clears a faint path around his boots, while Iris catches my eye and gives me a small, encouraging smile.
“I see everyone has met,” Rakan says when they reach us. “They’re ready to begin the blessing, so we should take our places.”
Solveig turns toward the pool, and Maren follows her with one last glance in my direction. Sigurd moves to my side and offers his hand.
“The water is glacial. Stay close to me.”
I place my hand in his, and his fingers close securely around mine as we follow the others into the mist. The first step steals my breath when freezing water floods my shoes and closes around my ankles.
By the time we reach our place among the other guests, I know there are eyes on us. But with his hand wrapped around mine, I find that their gazes don’t matter. Only his touch does.