The Gathering Storm

by Varna, Lucy

  “She’s hellbent on disinheriting you. Sent me an email last night letting me know I needed to come up with a fitting Retribution for abandoning a Son.”

  A sharp pang stabbed Will’s heart, taking his breath. Already? Did he mean so little to his mother then?

  Anya’s expression softened and she patted his arm. “There now, child. It’s not as bad as all that. You know your mother. Piss and vinegar when she’s hurt, and she’s hurting now, that’s all. She’ll come around.”

  Will frowned. “You weren’t there, Amma. She turned her back on me.”

  “Well, it’s not the first time. Headstrong girl turned her back on me, too, once.” Anya slid her arm through Will’s and tugged. “Come. I’ve a fire going in the library. We can sit in front of it and chat like we used to when you were a tiny tot playing with your wooden cars at my feet.”

  A memory flashed through his mind, of a roaring fire and roasting marshmallows, of Anya’s silver braids swinging as she smiled down at his younger self, her cornflower blue eyes twinkling. Some of his hurt eased and he managed a laugh. “I’m a little old for toys.”

  “Not too old for a chat, though.”

  “Never that,” he murmured, and walked with her through the house he’d always loved into her kitchen, where she pulled out milk and cocoa and set to making hot chocolate.

  Will leaned a hip against the counter beside her, watching her bustle here and there as the milk heated and she readied two enormous mugs. “Planning for a long chat?”

  “Of course. We haven’t had one in a long while.”

  He shifted against the counter, crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you think it’s going to take that long to come up with a way to stop Mom from going nuts?”

  “Oh, that happened a long time ago,” Anya said, smiling.

  “I’m not asking you to do all the work. Just…help me.” He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable there in the heart of her home. “Maybe act as a mediator so we can sort this out. I don’t want to lose my family.”

  “But you will,” she said, her blue eyes sharp, “if Willie forces your hand.”

  Will pressed his lips together into a tight line. His grandmother knew her family too well. “I have a right to live my life the way I see fit.”

  “Only if it accords with your mother’s wishes.” The words were gentle, as pointed as they were. “It’s the woman, I think. If you had fallen in love with someone else—”

  He shook his head, impatient. “I knew as soon as I saw Sigrid that she was the one for me.”

  “Your grandfather was the same way. Always so certain. He swept me off my feet with his bright charm and brighter eyes. Just like yours. Oh, not the color, no, but the shape. The laughter and love and determination.” She clucked her tongue and turned to the milk simmering on the stove. “Broke my curse before I knew it, and now look where I’m at.”

  “Happy,” Will said, and she grinned up at him, her expression mischievous.

  “Only when it suits me.” Her grin faded into a sigh and she snapped the stove’s eye off. “I’ll act as your mediator, Will, but I won’t interfere. I can’t change Willie’s mind, now that it’s set.”

  And well he knew it, but still. He had to try. “Thanks, Amma. You’re the best.”

  She harrumphed and arched her eyebrows high. “Don’t I know it. Now, get down those cookies from the top shelf and we’ll have ourselves a treat.”

  Obediently, he snagged the cookies she kept hidden on a shelf so high, she needed a ladder to fetch them. A deterrent, she said, to keep her from overindulging.

  “Good matches last night,” she said, and Will sighed, relieved over her easy acceptance. The battle lay ahead of him, but here was an ally, one he’d sorely need when he faced off with his mother and tried to force her to see reason.

  Chapter Twenty

  Early Monday morning, Sigrid woke with Will wrapped around her. She lay there for a moment, still half asleep, reveling in the warmth of his body against hers.

  Today they confronted his mother.

  She burrowed her head into the pillow and shoved the worry aside. There was plenty of time for that later, just not now in the remnants of a weekend spent with the man she loved.

  Will sighed into her hair and his hips shifted against hers. He grunted and buried his face in her nape, and the hard length of his arousal pressed against her ass. “Mmm. I love waking up next to you.”

  A small smile played around the corners of her mouth. “You want sex.”

  “Damn skippy. C’mere, woman.”

  But she didn’t have to. His hands tugged her panties down and pushed her onto her belly, and he slid into her slick heat, loving her until they both panted their releases out into the bedroom’s early morning chill.

  Later, after breakfast and a shower, Sigrid chose her clothes carefully, oddly numb around the lump growing in her stomach. Will slumped on the edge of her bed, buttoning a crisp, white dress shirt over an equally white t-shirt, his expression calm.

  She placed a hand over her stomach and closed her eyes. Where was her own calm, so readily at hand through battles and matings and the odd politics inherent to any gathering among the People?

  Lost, she feared, under the stress of the past few weeks.

  Her fingers clenched into a knot against the raw silk dress she wore, and the lump in her stomach leapt into her throat, lodging there.

  What was she going to do, now that she’d discovered her heart?

  Warm hands cupped her shoulders and drew her back against Will’s solid length. “I love that dress.”

  She half turned toward him, her head bowed. “Thank you.”

  “You look stunning in red.” His hands slid down her arms and landed on her hips, and he pressed a kiss to the side of her throat. “You look stunning in anything.”

  She laughed lightly, tried to. It came out wrong, choked and stunted, not the fearless humor of a warrior well honed.

  “Hey, now,” he said, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight, safe. “It’s going to be ok. Trust me.”

  “I do,” she murmured.

  “Yeah?”

  Always, she thought, but the single affirmation stuck in her throat, unable to escape the fear clogging her voice.

  “Mom will back down,” Will said. “You’ll see.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  His shrug shifted his shirt against her bare arms. “We’ll deal with it, one day at a time.”

  She closed her eyes and relaxed against him. One day at a time. Such simple ease over the nightmare awaiting them.

  Not long after, they bundled up and headed toward Anya’s house, the site of the mediation Will had negotiated on Sigrid’s behalf, without her being aware of his intent. She’d said not a single, chastising word to him when he’d told her on Saturday night, merely placed her hand over his and quietly asked what she could do.

  Anything. That was the least of what she’d do for him.

  Wilhelmina and Troy were already there when Will parked Sigrid’s car along the curb in front of Anya’s house. They exited the vehicle in unison, strode up the sidewalk, her gloved hand in his, their breaths frosting in the icy air.

  Snow later, a fitting harbinger to the day’s duty.

  Anya’s little mouse of an assistant greeted them at the door and took their outerwear, then led them to Anya’s library. Four chairs were arrayed in front of Anya’s Mission Style desk, in groupings of two centered at each front corner of the desk.

  Wilhelmina stood facing the fire on the opposite side of the room, Troy at her side. He looked up when Will and Sigrid entered. Wilhelmina did not.

  The lump that had been gathering inside Sigrid all morning withered into a tight knot in her chest.

  Anya stepped out from behind the desk, a warm smile on her face. “Good morning Will, Sigrid.”

  Will bent and hugged his grandmother. “Hey, Amma. How’s the temperature?”

  “Frigid,” Anya said, her serious
tone a sharp contrast to the soft smile she wore. “Tea, coffee?”

  Will glanced at Sigrid and brushed a finger over the end of his nose. “None for us, thanks.”

  Anya arched a single eyebrow at Sigrid, no doubt over the impropriety of Will answering for them both. Such was a Daughter’s duty and right, but Sigrid held her tongue, afraid her own voice would choke before it left her throat.

  “Well, then.” Anya slipped away from Will and rounded her desk. “Shall we begin?”

  “There’s nothing to say.” Wilhelmina’s voice cracked through the room, sharp thunder after the boldest strike of lightning. “He made his choice.”

  “Yet here we are,” Anya said evenly.

  “Because you threatened to disown me.”

  Will crossed his arms over his chest and coughed into his fist, hiding a dimpled smile.

  Troy murmured something too low for Sigrid to hear. Wilhelmina huffed out a breath and flounced across the room, her heels as sharp against the ancient rugs lining the library’s floor as her anger.

  Once they were all settled into chairs, Sigrid and Wilhelmina bracketing the men sitting in the inner chairs, Anya relaxed in her chair and eyed them steadily. “My grandson asked me to mediate the dispute between him and my daughter. I have agreed on the condition that I mediate only. Will, you may begin.”

  Will turned and looked at his mother, his gaze steady against her icy hot glare. “I love Sigrid more than my own life.”

  Wilhelmina sucked in a breath and paled, her lips a thin, red slash against her ashen skin.

  “She accepted me when she didn’t have to, fought for me,” Will continued. “Won. By law, I’m hers. There is no choice.”

  Sigrid’s hands tightened painfully on the arms of her chair. She opened her mouth, fully intending to dispute his words. Will was free to leave her, free to live his life as he pleased. She couldn’t hold him, wouldn’t if it meant hurting him.

  Anya lifted a single hand, silencing Sigrid’s protest before it began, but it was too late. The knot in Sigrid’s stomach shoved upward into her throat and burst inside her, filling her head with the oddest pressure. She placed a hand to the buzzing in her ears, scarcely aware of the conversation eddying around her.

  “Even if there were a choice, I would stay with her,” Will said. “I love her, but I love you, too, Mom.”

  “If you loved me,” Wilhelmina said stiffly, “you would never have defied me in the first place.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Will muttered. “It’s not like we can control who we love.”

  “You could’ve tried. You could’ve had some respect, some consideration, for your mother’s opinion, if not your own welfare.”

  A slow fire sparked in Sigrid’s chest, burning under the weight of Wilhelmina’s words. She inhaled tentatively, seeking to ease it, and just managed to control the cough tickling her throat before it could interrupt the proceedings.

  “Willie,” Troy said, and Anya shushed him with a gentle reminder of the People’s rules. Women talked. Men obeyed. That’s the way it had always been, hadn’t it? From the first day of the curse until now, when hope had finally come upon them. The curse could be broken, would be if the stars aligned correctly.

  “I love her,” Will said, his voice as implacably recalcitrant as his mother’s. “Why are you punishing me for finding love? Why can’t you be happy for me?”

  Wilhelmina stood abruptly, her eyes flashing a fire burning as brightly as the one consuming Sigrid. “She’ll be the ruination of you. As soon as she’s had her fill, she’ll discard you, leaving you an empty husk. How long before she uses you up? I’ll not have that for my son.”

  Sigrid shook her head, a mute denial. She should say something, defend herself, and would if only this blasted buzzing would cease. Will would never be discarded. She could never betray him, never lose him. He was her life, her love, discovered after so long on her own. Why had she ever resisted the idea in the first place?

  But she had, and now here he was, her destiny. Surely they could all see that.

  “I can take care of myself,” Will said hotly.

  Wilhelmina slashed a hand through the air, hurt fury radiating out of her stiff posture and fixed expression. “Then take care of yourself, and don’t come crawling back to me when she’s through with you.”

  Troy stood, his expression tight with anger. “Don’t say something you’ll regret, Willie.”

  “No,” Sigrid said, the single word a counterpoint to his. “I love him.”

  Will jerked around, his eyes wide. “You what?”

  Anya threaded her fingers together over her stomach, a satisfied expression on her face. “I think she said that she loves you.”

  “When?” Will said. “How?”

  Wilhelmina stepped toward them, unmindful of Troy moving to block her path. “She’s lying. That cold hearted bitch has never loved anything in her life except her own hide.”

  Sigrid lifted her head through the thick morass clinging to her and met Wilhelmina’s gaze with her own. “I love him, but I won’t separate him from his family.”

  “Fuck that,” Will spat out.

  Sigrid reached a hand toward him as a tear slipped down her face. Wilhelmina was right, in her own narrow-minded way. Outside of her family and a few close friends, Sigrid had never really loved anyone. She’d never loved a man before, never given her heart. How did she know now that what she felt for Will was real, true, as eternally strong as love should be? How could she wrest him from his family, knowing her own love might falter at some point, leaving him in exactly the situation Wilhelmina so feared?

  Better for him not to face that. Far better for him that she not be a part of his life.

  “I renounce my claim,” she whispered through the noise filling her to the brim. “I renounce—”

  The noise ceased, leaving a dread silence behind, and in its wake, a great weight pressed down on Sigrid. She gasped under the pressure, struggling to breathe. Will slid out of his chair and knelt beside her, his forehead creased into a frown. “Sig, honey, what’s wrong?”

  His words were thin, distant. She clutched a hand around his forearm and said, “Love you,” then the weight lifted suddenly, carrying her up with it until she could go no higher, and she separated from it and fell down alone, lost in a world without her Will.

  Will scrambled out of his chair and knelt beside Sigrid, ignoring his mother’s squawking, his father’s attempts to calm her, and his grandmother’s satisfied smirk. That last especially. The old biddy had played them all, though to what end he had no clue.

  He shoved the thought aside and gently patted Sigrid’s cheek. She’d been acting strange all morning, since the end of the exhibition, truth be told, but today more so. And now she slumped in her chair, her hands like ice and her pulse rapid under his fingertips.

  Damn it, what was wrong? Daughters didn’t get sick. Their immortality protected them from almost everything. Her body had nearly healed after the fight, so what could it be? There was nothing else to explain this sudden collapse.

  “Leave her be, dear.” Anya knelt beside him and gently pried his fingers away from Sigrid’s wrist. “She’ll come around in a minute. They always do.”

  “Come around?” he asked.

  Behind him, something thumped heavily into one of the chairs. “I don’t believe it,” Wilhelmina whispered. “She was telling the truth.”

  Will clenched his teeth together. “Would somebody please clue me in?”

  “She submitted.” Anya threaded her arm through Will’s and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Her curse is no more, thanks to you.”

  Will sat back on his heels and stared at Sigrid, at a loss. She loved him, so much she’d somehow submitted to him and broken her curse?

  She loved him?

  “Holy shit,” he finally managed, and his grandmother laughed and said, “Yes, that about sums it up.”

  He shook his head, disentangled himself from his grandmother, and
, still ignoring his mother, now deep in a muttered conversation with his father, Will picked Sigrid up, cradling her against his chest, and carried her upstairs to the bedroom he’d used as a child. The room was exactly as he remembered it. Twin beds stood on either side of the room’s only window, overlooking the back yard. Matching cedar lined trunks hulked at their feet. Blue and red plaid bedspreads covered the mattresses, an exact match for the curtains tied away from the light spilling into the room through the solitary window.

  Will stepped inside the room, skirting a rocking chair and the lone chest of drawers, and placed Sigrid gently on top of one bed. He dug a crocheted afghan out of one of the trunks and draped it over her, then shut the door and pulled the rocking chair up to the side of her bed.

  And waited.

  Anya’s assistant came by offering him a drink. Will waved her away and thought seriously about locking the door, and regretted not doing so when his mother slipped into the room half an hour later and perched on the edge of the other bed.

  Will kept right on doing what he was doing, watching Sigrid while rubbing slow circles over her stockinged ankle under the afghan.

  Wilhelmina cupped her hands together on her lap, her posture rigid. “How is she?”

  “The same,” Will said.

  “She’ll wake in a while.”

  Will grunted.

  Wilhelmina pressed her lips together, shook her head once. After a while, she said, “I’m sorry.”

  Will glanced at her, sharply. “Why?”

  She shrugged, lifted her hands in a helpless gesture, let them fall onto her thighs. “I was wrong about her.”

  “Yeah, well.” Will bit his tongue, staunching the bitter flow of words crowding into his mouth. “You could’ve believed in me.”

  “I do, Will.”

  “Really.” The word fell flatly between them, and Wilhelmina flinched. Will soldiered on, determined to get out what he should’ve said years ago. “I’m a grown man, have been for a long time. You made sure of that, you and Dad.”

  She turned her face away from him, toward the sunlight softening under the clouds darkening the sky. “It’s our way.”