Chapter 52 #3
“I could not bear to lose you,” Kalfr’s brittle voice continued.
“Either of you. And thus, I fell to my fear of this. I feared I could not trust you to hear the truth of each other. I feared you might spurn me, or forever turn against me. In my darkest nights, I even feared” — his voice dropped — “that once you met each other, and saw the beauty and the power you each bore, you might — choose each other, over me. And build your own home, together, without me.”
Gods damn it. Raye’s eyes closed, the ache and the misery pummelling against her ribs, because — of course.
Of course, that made so much sense, and even explained the twinges of jealousy Kalfr had betrayed over her and Gaelfr, even as he’d so clearly wanted them together. And then tonight, he had… they had…
“And in my fear and my mistrust,” Kalfr choked out, “I betrayed you both. I drove you both away from me. I showed myself unworthy of your trust and your fealty. I… failed.”
I failed. I failed. Words that swayed with dizzying power, with such painful familiarity that Raye wanted to weep. And she could feel it striking Gaelfr too, could feel how deeply he understood it, how he’d perhaps never expected to hear Kalfr speak it.
“I broke the vows I had made to you both, before the goddess,” Kalfr continued thickly. “I drew down her curse upon me, and her just punishment. I lost not only both of you, but my own precious son.”
Raye flinched, her head shaking against the fur, because no matter what Kalfr had done — what they’d all done — he hadn’t deserved to lose Svein. No one deserved that kind of ceaseless punishment, without any chance of forgiveness.
But the thought twisted strangely in her gut, while Kalfr took a ragged breath, his body quaking against her hand.
“And after this, when I swore that vow to guard our kin,” he rasped, “I sought to make amends before the goddess, to prove I could be trusted again, but” — he choked a sad, bitter laugh — “I only failed you both all the worse. I drew down this new curse upon you, and upon Svein. Upon the son I would give all to save.”
As he spoke, he lurched closer toward Raye in the bed, his head ducking low against hers.
And his chest was seizing against her hand — was he weeping?
— and Raye’s only refuge was Gaelfr’s strong arm sweeping up across them both, and yanking Kalfr’s body even closer against her.
But she could feel Gaelfr’s jagged breaths too, could almost taste his disbelief, echoing silently with her own.
Did Kalfr really think he’d failed, too?
He still thought he was failing? That she and Gaelfr couldn’t trust him?
That they might even still leave him, for each other?
And also… was that part of why Kalfr hadn’t fought harder for them, or for Svein, during all their years apart? Thinking he didn’t deserve it? That he couldn’t be trusted? That he deserved to suffer, to be sacrificed, for his failings toward them?
It was all shouting too loud now, whipping up too much grief and pain, too many new distant nagging questions Raye couldn’t quite grasp.
And how could they find their way through it, and she clutched for the memory of the three of them on the altar, the silvery moon high above them, the light of the goddess’ blessing.
The certainty she’d felt there. The hope. The forgiveness.
“Well, I failed, too,” Raye whispered, and her hand slipped up, curled against the back of Kalfr’s bowed neck. “And so did Gael. But we’re all together now, aren’t we? We’re all doing our best to meet each other. To trust each other.”
Kalfr didn’t speak, but his head curled closer against hers, and she kept stroking his skin, seeking the goddess’ way.
“And you were right, that Gael and I would get along,” she continued, with a short laugh.
“But that’s because of you, Kalfr. Because you chose us, and brought us together.
And you must know” — her swallow was audible in her throat — “how much we both still want you, and need you, and care about you. How neither of us ever got over you, even after all those years apart.”
She could feel Kalfr’s exhale, his nod against her hair. And yes, he had to know that now, didn’t he? Enough that he’d chosen to trust Raye and Gaelfr tonight, and urge them on to such unspeakable pleasure together. And in this moment, it felt not like a test, or a punishment, but a gift.
Raye was sure Gaelfr felt it too, his breath shuddering out as he sank closer against her, his lips brushing against her hair. Approving. Wanting her to keep going. And what else did she need to say, what was her own fear, her own failure…
“And if,” she continued, almost too quiet to hear, “if you really want to help rebuild our trust, Kalfr, you’ll…”
She had to swallow again, shove down the whispers of darkness, hurl another silent prayer toward the goddess. She could say this. She could do this. No matter the cost…
“If you want us to trust you, Kalfr,” she began again, “you need to — stay with us. You need to fight your enemies alongside us. And you won’t even think about running off alone and sacrificing yourself for us, or for Svein, or for anyone else. Never, ever again.”
She meant Sybil, she meant the attack in six days — and this was a test of her own. A challenge. Another claim of her own power.
“Because you’re ours, Kalfr,” she continued, steadier. “You’re Gaelfr’s, and you’re mine. You swore the vows to us, and we need you to keep them. We need you here with us. We need you to keep choosing to trust us.”
She could feel the stillness from both Kalfr and Gaelfr against her, and she spoke another silent prayer, held the vision of the moonlight behind her eyes.
“You’ll trust us to make our own choices about you,” she added.
“You’ll believe us when we say we both still want you, here, alive.
With us. With our family. With our band.
And with the beautiful safe home you’ve made here.
The magic you’ve made for yourself, and offered to all your kin. ”
The truth shimmered through every word, raw and vulnerable, far more honest and exposed than anything she’d offered them yet. And Kalfr had to see it, but he still wasn’t speaking, still curled up tight against her, his chest still heaving with his breath.
“Ach, ástin mín,” came Gaelfr’s voice, rough and low. “Just as she says. We cannot bear to lose you again. We need you.”
Raye could taste the truth in those words too, could feel it trembling through Gaelfr’s body, shuddering deep inside her own skin. “Also, tonight you may have granted us a son of my loins,” he added, even rougher. “A son like me. And how shall he ever bear this life, without you?”
It was more dizzying truth, striking behind Raye’s eyes, because — yes. Kalfr really had done that. They had done that. And had Gaelfr already been thinking about this, too? About how he would ever raise his son without Kalfr? How he himself had struggled and grieved, without him?
“Gael’s right,” Raye whispered, into the silence.
“And also, if we’re really going to do this, I want you to be there, Kalfr.
I want to raise our son with you, this time.
I want you to be there for his birth, his first laugh, his first steps.
All the things you missed with Svein. And” — she swallowed down the lump in her throat — “I want you to be there for everything else with Svein, too. I want you to see him grow up, and maybe even make a family of his own someday. And I know how much he wants that, too. How much he needs that from you.”
The sincerity felt almost painful in her voice, because — she really did want all those things. She wanted to raise another son with Kalfr, and — and with Gaelfr. And what was becoming of her, where could she go from here? Could she risk trusting them this much?
But then — Kalfr nodded. Short, shaky, but true. Saying — saying —
“Ach, then,” he breathed. “I will stay.”
He would stay. It felt like a strike, like a light from the goddess, blaring clear and dazzling through the darkness.
He would stay, he would, and when Gaelfr huffed a disbelieving laugh behind her, Raye laughed too, the jubilant joy shivering up between them.
Kalfr would stay, and that was worth everything else, right?
That was worth her bearing Gaelfr’s son…
And surely Gaelfr thought it too, and Raye could feel him roughly groping over her for Kalfr, yanking him bodily up toward him, into a tight embrace. And then he hauled Raye in closer too, wrapping her in hope and peace.
“Thank you, ástin mín,” Gaelfr murmured, once he’d released them again. “I know we can trust you, in this.”
Raye could feel Kalfr’s body slightly stiffening again, but perhaps he nodded, because Gaelfr let out a satisfied grunt. “Good,” he said decisively. “And you can trust us in this also, ástin mín. Ach, saeta?”
You can trust us in this, also. Words that shouldn’t have pierced through all the pleasure like that, tainting it with the old doubt and darkness. Because — Kalfr could trust them now. Now that they’d finally all been honest with each other. Right?
“Yes,” Raye said, and it almost sounded true. “Of course.”