Sorrow's Peak (Serpent of Time Book 2)

by Jennifer Melzer

  She felt him. Opened herself up to him just long enough to really feel him for the first time beyond the shared beating of their hearts, and for the briefest moment in time she’d heard him just the way a mate was meant to. She’d known his rage and fear, his disappointment and loathing. The sharing of those feelings intrigued her, and when he’d pulled her body into his, descended on her kiss with passion so raw it was all he could do to hold himself steady when she pulled away, he’d felt something inside her shift.

  Her feelings for him were undeniable.

  She said she just needed time.

  But how much time did he have left? Days? Weeks? They were two or three days from Port Felar. It would take only a handful of days from there to reach Great Sorrow’s Peak, where he was still relatively certain he was meant to die. The seer said one of them would not return, and even though Lorelei said Yovenna hadn’t told her who that person was meant to be, Finn knew in his heart his days with her were numbered.

  And it made him feel selfish because he wanted to curse her to a life of loneliness and longing, to push her into embracing the mate bond even though he knew he probably wasn’t going to live long enough to give her the life she deserved.

  Cutting through the water, her cloak still wrapped around his waist, the endless wind carved through his naked skin and curbed his desires. By the time he reached the shore and began walking toward their camp in the distance, it all but left him entirely, save for the lingering essence of it that always stirred when she was near him. The beast inside was quiet, placated by bloodshed and battles well-fought. Bare feet tread across the craggy sand, sharp stones cutting into the sensitive skin and making him step more carefully. He hated that his boots and clothes were miles away from where they’d set up camp, but even more he hated that he’d have to leave Lorelei alone with the incompetent mage while he went to retrieve them.

  He thought for a moment on insisting she come along with him so he could ensure she was safe and looked after, but he couldn’t imagine she’d consent to it. She did as she pleased, and for the moment it pleased her to placate the half-elf’s guilt over failing to protect her. He wanted no part of it, so he closed his eyes, called upon the beast within and shifted back into his skin. The beast could travel faster, its scent and presence alone warding off prey as he raced through the ice and snow.

  He blazed by their camp, a flurry of black shadow and fur and felt the momentary twinge of her dismay when he didn’t stop to have his wounds tended to.

  The wounds would heal. They weren’t as bad as she thought they were, and his body would do its job in time. He just needed to get away, to find his clothes and make the walk back to their camp in his own time. He needed to clear his head and come to terms with how inadequate he’d felt when she’d been in danger, how doubt infiltrated his thoughts for the first time in his life and called his ability as a warrior into question.

  He’d never left the Edgelands before he met her, but he’d trained as a warrior against men who’d fallen to his blade in the end. He’d learned to hunt with his sister, battled against all manner of creatures residing in their woodland home, but for the first time he was up against real enemies the likes of which he’d never encountered. Orcs, known for their savagery in battle. And sure, he’d stood against four and come out on top with little help from their magic-wielding companion, but what if he wasn’t so lucky against the next enemy?

  What if it was those inadequacies that got him killed in the end?

  They were traveling to the other side of Leithe, into the mountains to face an enemy with no name.

  What if he wasn’t strong enough to keep her safe and make sure she lived long enough to see done the things she was meant to do?

  Once again, it was his brother’s voice sputtering doubt through his mind, and though he missed Vilnjar more than he would ever confess, for the moment he just wanted the man to shut up. All Finn’s life, his brother reached out to catch him before he toddled off dangerous cliffs, the voice of doubt driving him to exceed expectations and conquer where his brother believed he would fail.

  He’d never known doubt before. Never gave in when it came calling, but without Vilnjar to temper his overzealous need to prove him wrong, Finn was uncertain about the outcome of so many things.

  It was unlike the beast within to think so deeply about such things, for the conscious awareness of the man to dominate its thoughts, and he began to wonder if that, too, was on account of how much time he’d been spent over the last few days embracing the animal and letting it run free.

  The only thing he knew with any certainty was he was changing. His doubt-filled thoughts were altering the way he acted and reacted, and he didn’t know how long it would be before the mad, reckless Finn of days past would be lost to the cautious, frightened man now lurking behind the beast.

  All because he’d found his mate, and the mere thought of any harm coming to her was enough to fill him with dread to the very marrow of his bones. He just wanted to protect and keep her safe, to ensure she got to live out every well-deserved moment of her life. She’d seen so little in her short lifetime; she deserved the best of everything there was, but how could she have the best if he couldn’t keep her safe?

  The wolf caught his own scent on the wind, padded to the pile of clothes buried by a dusting of freshly fallen snow rolling in off the coast. The clothes lay frozen, stuck fast along with his boots and it would take a bit of effort to tug them loose without tearing the fabric. He willed himself to let go of the beast, welcomed the return of the man, with his overwhelming, frayed thoughts about things well beyond his control.

  Glancing back over his shoulder, he couldn’t see the light from their camp at all, but he could still smell Lorelei on the flurrying wind. He longed for her closeness, for the warmth of her body against his beneath the furs, but more than anything, he wanted to feel her mouth on his again, for her to whisper his name across his lips as she gasped with longing for him.

  The sun was gone by the time he made it back to camp, the night air damp, heavy and cold enough to penetrate his already frozen bones. He followed the sound of their voices, moving soundlessly atop the icy snow until it was powder beneath his boots. It whirled and danced as the wind swept across the land, rising and pirouetting in graceful spirals.

  “Please, Bren,” she was pleading with the half-elf. “You have to forgive yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Finn’s breath scuffed through his throat in disagreement.

  “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Finn: you can’t be with me every minute of the day. I know you both want to protect me, that you swore to see me safely to Great Sorrow’s Peak, but anything could happen at any time to any one of us.”

  “But if I’d just gone with you…”

  Yeah, if you’d just gone with her, you could have at least gotten her away from the shore before the orcs had a chance to grab her. Idiot.

  She’d been so terrified when Finn came upon them, her screams raking through him like daggers, the fury of her terror making his own heart feel like it might explode inside his chest. Driven by the scent of her fear, he’d nearly lost control of the beast entirely, knew in retrospect he could have harmed her in the fray, but at least he’d been there. At least he’d come to her aid when she needed him most, which was more than can be said for the third member of their party.

  Gods, he really hoped he didn’t die before he got the chance to at least convince her that the mage who intrigued her, who interested her enough to draw her from bed in the middle of the night to talk about time serpents, or whatever it was they talked about when he wasn’t around, wasn’t worthy of her. He couldn’t protect her and keep her safe with his magic. Magic nearly failed him when he needed it most, but brute force came through just fine.

  He didn’t know why he needed her to see that. Why it mattered at all. Maybe it was the tone of her voice, the way Finn saw her reaching out and curling her fingers around the loose black fabric of the
mage’s robes just before he approached camp. Whatever it was, he hated that someone like Brendolowyn was competition for him. Hated it more than he could ever say.

  “You should probably start working your magic.” The gruff tone of his voice startled the two of them, where they’d knelt across from each other by the fire. “Get your barrier up. There’s no telling what else is out there.”

  Lorelei seemed almost defiant, her hand still clutching the half-elf’s robes as she jerked backward and nearly lost her footing. She glanced over the mage’s shoulder at him, lurking in the shadows at the edge of their camp, then narrowed her eyes almost reproachfully.

  “I meant what I said,” she muttered to the mage, patting his arm before withdrawing her hand and then rising to her feet in front of him. “It wasn’t your fault, and I won’t have you blame yourself for my own foolishness.”

  When Brendolowyn rose to conjure the magic and raise the barrier around their camp, Finn resisted the urge to mutter, “It was your fault, and I’ll kill you if you ever let it happen again.”

  In the end, it didn’t matter if he said the words or not. The guilty look in the mage’s eyes told him he believed it, and would gladly welcome death if he ever failed in his duty to protect her again.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Logren’s party of three caught up with the men Hodon dispatched just as they were setting up camp for the evening. They rode quickly, swift against the bitter wind to join them. Frigga kept pace with him, galloping steadily at his side, as if she knew her very presence was the only thing keeping Vilnjar calm.

  Ironic, how much he protested her coming along; a part of him was relieved she asserted herself into their company. He still couldn’t get her father’s glare out of his mind, but the more he thought about what Logren said before they’d left, the less he seemed to worry about Broehn’s wrath when they returned.

  She wanted to be near him, to make him feel comfortable and safe in a world that was no longer either of those things. The only other person who’d ever wanted those things for him was his mother; he hadn’t expected to find someone else who thought about his needs in that way.

  It was midday when they left Dunvarak, but they didn’t catch up with the rescue party until moons rise. Setting up a small camp while the mage in Hodon’s first party raised a protective barrier around their site, Vilnjar kept himself busy, occupying his mind with menial tasks designed to distract him from worrying about what, or rather whom, he would find when they met with all that remained of the people from his village.

  He kept telling himself his sister was among the survivors. She had to be. Rue, much like Finn, was born with their father’s warrior spirt, and it was going to take a lot more than the fires of coward’s raid in the dead of night to take her out. Even if she wasn’t with the survivors, he would never believe she was dead; not until he saw a body.

  That thought, coupled with the fool’s insistence in his mind that he would know if one of his siblings was dead, was the only thing that kept him from pacing the camp like a madman.

  Well, that, and Frigga’s presence.

  “Eat something, Vilnjar.” She approached from the side and held a steaming bowl out to him.

  “I’m not really hungry,” he shook his head.

  “From where I am standing, it looks like you’ve been hungry your whole life,” she curled her lip in scolding, “always standing back and making sure others are fed before feeding yourself. It wouldn’t hurt you to put on a few pounds, and you can start with this bowl of vegetables and broth.”

  She had no idea how true that was. It was a struggle making sure his brother and sister were fed, even before their mother died; afterward he went without eating many a time just so Finn didn’t go hungry. It wasn’t until he’d undertaken his council apprenticeship things starting to improve for their family, but by that point habits were already formed and Vilnjar found he needed very little food or sleep to get through the day.

  He stared at the bowl cupped in her hands, watching the soft white pillars of moisture rise into the cold. Food was the last thing on his mind, but he reached out to accept her gift and for a long time he just held it in his hands, grateful for the warmth seeping through his gloves.

  A crooked smile tugged at Frigga’s lips. “Food is for warming the belly, not the hands,” she insisted. “Eat.”

  There was no arguing with such a command, and he yielded with a nod of his head before she turned her back to him and walked to the pot to ladle another bowl for herself. She rejoined him, watching him lift the edge of the bowl to his lips. He sipped the fragrant, watery broth, it smelled faintly of boiled onion and he saw thin chunks of potato floating near the edge. The air cooled it enough that it wasn’t scalding to the tongue, and he drank deep. Frigga nodded approval before squatting, sitting and silently ordering him to do the same with little more than a nod to the empty space on the ground beside her.

  He had never spent so much time on the back of a horse. Aching joints and muscles he hadn’t even been aware of cracked and popped as he lowered himself carefully onto the frozen ground. Soup sloshed out over his gloved fingers, momentarily burning through the leather. He hissed and cursed under his breath, and Frigga snickered into her shoulder before blowing across the steam to cool her own supper.

  They just sat together, sipping at the broth in their bowls and not speaking while the others hunkered down in front of the fire to do the same, but there was enough distance between them and the others to talk without prying ears. They said nothing for a long time, not even after their bowls were empty and Frigga laid hers on the ground in front of her and stared into the fire.

  Several times he found himself looking over at her, memorizing every curve in her face until he could draw her immediately to mind by simply closing his eyes. The soft sharpness of her chin, the way her nose dipped slightly upward at the end and how her long, dark lashes lay atop her cheeks when she blinked. He had been studying her that way for days, every time they were together. While she worked, while she listened, while they took lunch together during their short breaks from metalwork and storytelling.

  It was Vilnjar who finally spoke, nudging his chin into his shoulder and asking, “Why did you come with me, Frigga?”

  “You mean aside from the fact you still haven’t finished telling me the story you started? I want to know what happened to Jora Dragonslayer.”

  He chuckled, laying his half-empty bowl on the ground next to hers and drawing his legs up. Wrapping his arms around them, he laid his head atop his knees and stared over at her. “My stories aren’t that great.”

  “You sell yourself short.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice when she said that, her eyes closing for a moment as if she were thinking of how to phrase her next words. “The night you came to Dunvarak with the Light of Madra, you were the first one I saw. Standing behind them, feeling out of place and like you did not belong. I thought to myself, ‘now there is a man who has forgotten his worth. Maybe I should show him.’”

  “Worth,” he said softly, as if he’d forgotten the very meaning of the word.

  “See,” she tilted her head to look over at him, the golden glow of the fire drawing out the honeyed highlights of her hair. “You do not believe that I could possibly care for you, even though I’ve just told you.”

  “No,” he confessed. “I couldn’t even imagine why someone like you would show such kindness to someone like me.”

  “Someone like you.” When she shook her head, the gold braids of her hair jostled against her shoulders. “All my life I have waited for someone like you to come along.”

  Even hearing her say it didn’t make him believe. He kept waiting for the punchline, for her to throw her head back and laugh before admitting she was only having a go at him to gauge his reaction. But she didn’t laugh. Instead she grew solemn, pursing her lips together until they were two thin, white lines of sadness.

  “When I was young…”

  “You’re stil
l young,” he interrupted.

  “Not so young as I look,” she raised an eyebrow.

  “How old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen?”

  “Two and twenty.” She quirked an eyebrow, watching him with unspoken satisfaction. “Now are you going to let me tell you my story? Or do you not wish to hear it?”

  “Please,” he yielded shamefully, “go on.”

  “When I was younger there was a boy in Dunvarak I thought I would die without. His name was Erik and we had always known each other, even when we were children. He adored me.” She paused, watching his face as if waiting for him to react, and though he felt and instant surge of jealousy at the thought of someone else adoring her more than he did, he didn’t let it show. “Even my father approved of him and would have consented to our union if only he’d been given the chance. But the chance never came. Erik went out hunting with his father one morning and neither of them ever returned.”

  “What happened to them?”

  She drew a deep breath in through her nose, the nostrils flaring wide. “A big storm rolled in shortly after they left and trapped them beyond the walls for weeks. Hodon sent a party out to look for them once the storm passed, but by then it was too late. Both Erik and his father were lost.” She took a moment, her stare lingering on the fire. He swore there were unshed tears in her eyes, making them look glassy and even more distant. “I was devastated. I could not imagine my life or my future no matter how hard I tried, and I longed for Llorveth to claim my soul and commit me to the Hunting Grounds where Eric surely waited for me.”

  “I am glad he did not,” Vilnjar muttered.

  A momentary twitch of gladness worked at her mouth, and then she went on. “Yovenna came to me months later, and when she saw I was still crippled by my own grief she told me that though my heart was broken, one day a wolf would come and fill the emptiness I felt inside me. I would know him when I saw him and I would love him with every part of myself before he even spoke to me because I was to be his mate.”