Chapter 1 #2
She was weeping, oh gods. The water suddenly escaping her eyes, streaking hot and betraying down her cheeks.
While her breaths heaved, her shoulders quaking, her face hot and sticky against her cold clammy hands.
And her thoughts swarmed with a stark desperation, a bitter vision of another choice, another life.
A life where she could have had food in her belly, a fire in her grate, a father for her son, maybe even another child or two.
And maybe, most foolish of all, a warm body in her bed, strong arms to hold her safe against the dark. A family.
The sobs wouldn’t stop coming, wrenching hot and ugly from Raye’s throat, far too loud in the silence. And curse it, that was a telltale scraping sound from Svein’s bedroom, and he wasn’t supposed to see her like this, she’d worked so hard to keep him from seeing her like this…
“Mama?” came Svein’s soft voice, as his pointed grey face peered around his door — and then a pattering of footsteps as he rushed toward her, and hurled himself onto her lap.
He was almost too big for it now, but Raye clutched his lean body close anyway, and helplessly fought to choke back the awful convulsive sobs.
Her son was still here. He was still safe.
“It’s all right, Mama,” he told her, with a reassuring pat to her back, though tears glimmered in his eyes, too. “The men are gone. I can smell.”
He could smell. Just one of the many ways he was still Kalfr’s son, despite all Raye’s efforts, and she betrayed a loud sniff, even as she attempted a smile toward Svein’s worried face. “Thank you, love,” she told him, though her voice hitched. “You did such a good job hiding, too.”
Svein solemnly nodded, and carefully wiped his clawed hand at Raye’s wet cheek. “Next time, you come hide too,” he told her. “Cover your ears with me.”
Raye attempted another smile, a dismissive wave of her hand.
Because there was no way she could hide in there with him, the tunnel was barely large enough to fit him alone these days, and her attempts to dig it deeper had been entirely futile.
Besides, she always needed to be listening, to be on guard, to make sure it wasn’t fire this time, or soldiers, or worse.
“Or I’ll fight them!” Svein told her, as a flare of brightness shone in his expressive black eyes. “I’ll beat them with my sword, Mama. Knock them away from you forever.”
He spoke with such innocent, eager certainty, as if he would ever survive close combat against trained adult men carrying steel weapons, and Raye attempted another smile, even as the fear flashed cold up her spine.
“That’s very generous of you, love,” she croaked.
“But it’s best not to risk it. The men are just too dangerous. ”
Svein’s bottom lip jutted out, but after another look at Raye’s face, he sighed, and nodded. “Then Papa will come,” he said firmly. “Papa will save us.”
Papa will save us. It was another stabbing ache, striking deep in Raye’s heart, and her eyes welled up again, the sob quivering close in her throat.
Because no, Kalfr wouldn’t come to save them, not like that.
Raye had made sure of that herself, three years ago, when she’d made that damned empty threat about taking Svein across the sea.
And what was becoming of her, that she so desperately wished she’d never said it — that, or the threats to keep Kalfr from sending his letters, or showing his face.
Because if losing Svein was her fate anyway — a sharpened axe forever hanging over her neck like this — maybe she could have at least been able to enjoy everything before it.
Maybe she could have come to terms with Kalfr, traded for food or firewood or protection, for a few extra years with her sweet, beautiful son.
Maybe she could have asked Kalfr what to do about Svein’s endless appetite, about his impressive night vision, about his thick black curls — so much more stubborn than Raye’s own — that resisted every attempt at brushing or binding them.
And most important of all — Raye took a deep, shaky inhale against that familiar mass of black hair — Svein wanted a father.
He’d always wanted a father. And though he’d never argued Raye’s terse explanations about Kalfr — that he cared about Svein, but it was best that they didn’t see each other anymore — Svein had been asking more and more questions lately, questions Raye couldn’t begin to answer.
What kind of work did Papa do? Was Papa’s life in Orc Mountain just like in the book?
Why did Papa never stay to visit, when he brought them treats? Did he not want to see them?
The questions were more cords around Raye’s neck, more deadly axes hovering over her undefended head.
And more than once these past months — these past years — she’d been tempted to swallow her pride and her fear, and surrender.
To write a letter to Kalfr, somehow. To rush for the door when he dropped those gifts in the night.
To ask for his help, to beg for his advice, to confess that she’d taken on far too much, she couldn’t keep doing this alone…
And maybe, alone and cold in the darkest bitterest nights, she’d even thought about…
apologizing. About saying, I had no right to bar you from your son’s life, especially once the war ended.
I had no right to pre-emptively do to you what I knew you would do to me.
I didn’t know what it would mean. I didn’t understand the loss, the weight it would mean to carry it alone.
But then she would remember the risk. The danger. The terror of losing her beloved son to Orc Mountain, forever. The threat of forever losing the only family she had left.
And still, most vivid of all, were those visions of that night in the moonlight. Of Gaelfr, huge and cruel and uncompromising, touching Kalfr with such casual ease, biting into his scarred throat. Claiming such complete ownership over him — and over Raye and Svein, too.
You are mine, Kalfr of Clan Bautul. You, and your woman, and your sons.
And Kalfr had allowed it. He’d wanted it. He’d found pleasure in it, without Raye. He’d betrayed her in all the worst possible ways, with an enemy who wanted to destroy her.
No. No. Raye could never forgive Kalfr, or risk trusting him again. She had to stay strong, and protect her son, no matter what it took. No matter the cost.
And then — a bang. A fast, urgent thudding at the door.
“Grant me entry, woman,” came a voice, deep and new and terrible. “Now!”