Page 68 of The Source of Storms

“Maybe big enough for two normal sized people, not big enough for you,” I told him.

“Oh, come on, you and I could fit in there just fine. We can sleep head to toe. I’ll be very respectful,” he joked.

“You can have it all to yourself tomorrow, if you must. Since I have to leave.”

“You don’thaveto leave,” he replied.

“If we don’t want Crow to die of stress, I think I might have to leave tomorrow,” I said.

He sighed. “Fine. Do you want me to go with you?”

“You’re exhausted too. You should stay and rest,” I answered automatically, and then immediately regretted my response.

But Byrgir didn’t let my polite dismissal dissuade him. He stepped to me, his large frame blocking out the fading light from the balcony windows behind him. Raising a hand slowly to my cheek, his fingers gently cupping it, he tilted my face up to meet his gaze. His eyes lingered over every curve of my face all the way down my throat, then back up to meet mine, as if he were searching for something, looking beneath what he saw. His thumb slipped down, touching the edge of my lip so softly it began to tingle.

“Halja, do you want me with you?” he asked again. He leaned close and I watched his lips part, just slightly.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Then I will go where you go.”

His hand dropped and he stepped back. My heart hammered so loud he must have heard it. Every piece of me was sparked into roaring life by his touch, my body burned with heat, color, and an awakened seed of desire.

“We’ll leave tomorrow, but not until you’re well rested. Have a good sleep, Little Lamb.”

And with that, he was gone.

I let out a long breath, staring at the door after him. Longing pulsed through my body, a beginning with no discernible conclusion. I went to the bathroom and turned the hot water tap back on, stripped off the rest of my clothes, and climbed into the tub. The anxiety over my impending trip and difficult familialconversations had been entirely erased by Byrgir. Fantasies of sharing that room, that bed, that tub with him tortured me for the rest of the night.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Byrgir gave no indication of our conversation the next morning, just an easy, genuine smile when he found me sipping tea in the sitting room. I was nestled in a deep armchair by the fire, enjoying the glow and warmth before venturing into the impending cold and damp yet again.

“You sure you want to leave today? You look so cozy there that it feels like a crime to make you go outside,” he said.

“Iamso cozy here,” I agreed. “But Eilith is still trapped in some dungeon or something under that monstrosity of a Temple. And it seems like my family secrets might be important to her release, so we need to go.”

“Then I’ll ready the horses, Little Lamb,” he said. “Meet you there.” He headed out the door.

I packed food, my bedroll, clothes, and a waxed canvas tent, then met Byrgir at the stables, where he had already saddled our horses. We rode into the morning mist and followed the road across meadows out of the coastal valley, Vardir and Garmr trotting behind. The clouds lifted and swirled, dancing across mountain peaks and over ridges as we rode; the sun flashed through as they moved, blue becoming more and more dominant in the sky above. The sunlight illuminated the stark white and deep blue of ancient glaciers high above, the dramatic peaks and sheer cliffs. I glanced over my shoulder for one last look at Rhyanaes before we descended the ridge.

Our first day was uneventful, despite Byrgir’s constant surveillance of our surroundings, keeping an eye out for any pursuers. We camped off the road in the woods and awoke to a gentle spring rain, which only grew heavier as we rode north. By the time we reached Skeioholm, we were being welcomed with ocean gales and the familiar blustery, drenching sheets of sleet. Winter may have melted in Rhyanaes, but it clung to northern Seonaid with a death grip. The horses’ hooves squished through slushy streets to the inn, where Byrgir rented us two separate rooms. I slept well, comforted by the sounds of the storm.

The storm continued the following morning as we trotted down the road to my childhood steading. The sea roared against the cliffs below the bluffs. The wind whipped my wet hair. I took a deep breath of salt air. Exhaled.

And there it was. Hunched in the rain and low clouds amongst its network of stone and wood fences and little buildings. My family home.

“Hal?” Noirin called from the doorway of the house as we rode through the front gate.

“Hey, Noir,” I answered, smiling. I dismounted and hugged her hard. She smelled like lanolin, dust, and straw. She must have been picking and carding wool.

“Gods, Hal, where have you been?” she asked. Before I could answer, she looked at Byrgir and said, “And who is this?”

“Byrgir Ulfarsson.” Byrgir dismounted and held a tattooed hand out to her with one of his warm, charming smiles.

She shook it. “Welcome to our home, Byrgir. I’m Noirin, Hal’s sister.”

I was surprised by her confidence. She’d always been a shy child, and I figured a man like Byrgir would be intimidating to her, just like he was to me when we met. But she seemed like much less of a child than she once was.

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