His features lightened, and a smile crept tentatively across his face. I felt my own lips curve in response.
“Don’t you think my wolf can keep you safe?” he asked.
I buried my face in his chest, inhaling his scent, letting myself melt into the warmth and strength of his arms. A cool breeze filled the room, swirling around us as it carried the thick scent of the ocean. And the tang of coal smoke.
The forge. It was still going, even in the middle of the night. I shivered against Fenris.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to say nothing, then stopped myself. “That smell,” I admitted. “It’s the forge, isn’t it?”
Fenris murmured in agreement and ran his hand through my hair.
“But, what are they possibly making?” I asked.
“Another chain.”
“What?” I pulled back to meet his eyes.
Fenris shrugged. “What else could it be? I passed their first test, and now I’ll be tested again. They’ll keep going until they know me almost as well as you do.”
A tight knot of panic rose in my throat. “Why?”
Fenris gave me a sad half smile. “I’m a friend of the Æsir. They need to know how to use me.”
“Loki said not to let them tie you up again—”
Fenris pulled back from me with a snort of disgust. “Loki? You listened to that snake?”
“He’s your father!” I snapped back.
Fenris leaned against the wall above the fire and sighed. “My father.” He turned to me, ran his fingers through his hair, and settled on the edge of the bed. “Listen, Sol. I grew up thinking I my father was the great King Thiassi. He died before I was born, leaving me the sole heir to his kingdom.” Fenris paused. “The sole, unworthy heir.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed with him. Gently, I reached for Fenris’s hand and knotted my fingers in his. He sighed again, pulled away from my touch, and stood.
“Stars, how to even explain it?” Fenris said, turning to pace before the fire. “Everything I did in that castle was wrong. Everything. I had no magical ability. I was bad at etiquette, bad with people, bad at my lessons. And I had the governess, and the tutor and everyone else there to constantly point it out. Nothing I did was ever worthy of my father’s great name. I—I—”
He paused at the darkness of the open window and yanked his hands through his hair. “I used to hide under my bed at night and pretend my father was still alive. That he had just come home from a war or a hunt. And he’d come into my room, pull me from under the bed, and—”
Fenris choked, then spun away from the window and stalked back toward the bed.
“It doesn’t matter,” he spat. “Children have their fantasies. Do you know how Thiassi died?”
I hesitated, unsure how to respond.
“Loki killed him,” Fenris said. “For my entire childhood, every mention of my noble father Thiassi was followed by a curse upon Loki the Lie-smith, the man who killed the king. And every time I wished I still had a father, every night I cried myself to sleep in the darkness under my bed, I wished for Loki’s death. I wanted to be the one who killed him, you see? It was what I held on to. It was how I would make myself a worthy prince.”
He spun on his heels again, turning back to the window. I caught his wrist and stopped him. “My love. I’m so sorry,” I said.
Fenris’s face contorted into something halfway between a snarl and a sob. He spun back toward the fire. “Don’t. It’s not worth anything now.”
He walked back to the window, leaned against it, and gazed into the darkness in silence. I came to my feet and closed the distance between us, pressing a hand to his back. His breath hitched.
“How did you find out?” I asked. “About your father?”
His shoulders sagged. “Loki told me. In the dungeons.”
“The dungeons?”
Fenris turned to me slowly. His lips curled into that sad half-smile, but his eyes remained dark and haunted. “After I ruined my own betrothal feast.”
“You were betrothed?” Surprise tore through me like a shard of ice. How had I not known this about my own husband?
He nodded miserably. “Angrboða was desperate. I was...not performing my duties. Mother thought she could at least get a profitable alliance out of me, and maybe start to groom my wife to be an acceptable regent.”
“Your wife,” I echoed, dully.
Angrboða’s tight, dark dress and perfectly composed face flashed through my mind. I remembered the cold, appraising look she’d given me across the throne room of King Nøkkyn’s castle. It hadn’t occurred to me that she’d once picked another wife for her son.
“Who was she?” I asked.
Fenris gave a sad, hollow laugh. “Oh, stars, Sol. I don’t remember her name. Something with an R, I think.”
I pulled my lip into my mouth, wondering if that made me feel any better.
“What happened?” I finally asked.
Fenris sank to the bed and hid his face in his hands. He was silent just long enough for me to decide I’d best change the subject when he straightened and met my eyes.
“I was drunk, of course. By that point, I was drunk pretty much all the time. My fencing instructor had abandoned me. The tutor left in disgust after I broke his arm.”
I gasped. “You broke his arm?”
The edges of Fenris’s mouth pulled together as he frowned. “He’d been beating me. Again. I couldn’t remember the name of the general who betrayed my half-sister Skaði’s troops to Óðinn, so he was using the cane on me. And I just decided I’d had enough. I turned on him, smashed him against the wall, and heard something snap beneath me. I didn’t mean to break anything, but—” Fenris sighed. “He left the castle screaming and cursing. Mother didn’t hire another one.”
“Oh,” I murmured.
“After that, I spent all my time drinking. Angrboða told me about the betrothal, of course, and the reasons for it. I’d never be a passable ruler. I needed a wife to control me. Angrboða cursed and threatened me every way she knew, telling me not to fuck this one up or she’d destroy me. But—” Fenris shrugged. “People liked me more when I was drunk. And I wasn’t so scared. Not when my gut was full of wine.”
He fell silent, and I reached for him again. This time, he didn’t pull away when I threaded my fingers through his.
“I mean, to be honest,” he continued, “I didn’t realize how drunk I actually was. Being drunk is like that, you know?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “I guess I do know.”
He gave me a little smile, and some of the fear that had clouded my heart slipped away.
“So, what happened at the feast?”
Fenris tilted his head to the ceiling and huffed. “Well, I was pretty drunk going in. I managed to walk to the table without embarrassing myself, but still. I could tell Angrboða was furious. What could she do, though? The girl’s father was there, Lord Something or Other, with his entire retinue of servants and guards and everything. And then, of course, there were lots of toasts. Etiquette dictated I drain my cup after every toast.”
He shrugged again, his lips still curved into that little smile. “It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t been wearing a white dress. Or if we hadn’t just eaten so much spicy food. But, as it was, when it was time for me to stand and praise my lovely betrothed, I froze. I couldn’t remember the poor girl’s name.” He frowned at the floor. “And, when I finally did open my mouth, I threw up all over her.”
“Oh!” I gasped.
A horrible, inappropriate giggle rose from somewhere inside me. Before I could stop myself, it slipped from my lips. I clasped both hands over my mouth, but Fenris met my gaze with a grin.
“That’s all I remember from my betrothal,” he said. “And I’m still not sure of the poor girl’s name. I woke up in the dungeons.”
“Your own mother put you in the dungeons?”
The smile faded from his lips. �
��She’d warned me often enough. I guess I wasn’t really surprised, when I woke up on the stone floor and found myself staring through the iron bars. But I hadn’t expected her to leave me there.”
Fenris stopped to rub his hands across his face, as though he were wiping the grit of Angrboða’s dungeons from his skin all over again.
“I was sick at first,” he said. “I saw a lot of things that weren’t actually there. When Loki first showed up, I thought he was another hallucination.”
“Stars,” I murmured.
Fenris stood and began to pace across the small distance between our bed and the flickering fire on the low hearth. “I woke up to find someone had lit the torch in the hallway after I’d spent who knows how long in the darkness. When I rolled over, I saw a man standing in my cell, leaning against the wall. He said I’d made quite a mess of things, and then he said he was my father. Loki Laufeyiarson.”
Fenris fell silent. Shadows from the fire danced across his face.
“Did he get you out of the dungeon?” I asked, when the silence pulled too tight between us.
Fenris laughed, although it sounded forced. “No. I tried to kill him.”
“You what?”
Fenris turned to me, his pale eyes gleaming. “Sol, every day of my life, I’d dreamt of killing Loki the Lie-smith. Of avenging Thiassi’s death. When he came to me in the dungeon, when I’d been discarded like something broken, something useless, I lunged at him with all the rage in my heart. And...I changed. For the first time, I shifted into the wolf’s form. It only lasted a moment, but it felt so good. Like I’d finally found what I was meant to do, or who I was meant to be.”
Fenris tilted his eyes to the ceiling, and the heavy frown lifted slightly. “I was so stunned I lost the form almost immediately, and came back to myself. At first, I thought Loki had cast a spell, but he said no, this was proof that I was his son. He offered to teach me, to bring me with him to Asgard, but—” Fenris shook his head, then ran his hand through his hair. “A lifetime of hating someone can’t just end like that.” Fenris snapped his fingers. “I lunged at him again, and wrapped my hands around his neck.”
I gasped.
“It was just an illusion,” Fenris said. “Loki was never in the cell with me. He vanished the moment I laid hands on him. For years, until he came to me again in the Ironwood, I wondered if he’d been another hallucination. Or a dream.”
Fenris walked again to the hearth and ran his fingers over the smooth stone mantle of the fireplace. “But the magic was real. After Loki vanished, I focused all my energy on creating the wolf’s form. I got better at controlling it. I got stronger. The wolf’s body grew, until my cell could barely contain it. And...I thought about Loki’s words, too.”
Fenris stood still long enough to meet my eyes. I watched as he pressed his lips together. “There was no way Angrboða would imprison Thiassi’s heir, you see. I didn’t understand much about etiquette and protocol, but that I managed to comprehend. In the darkness of that cell, I could look back and see how my position had been slipping for years. I finally understood all the comments about how I was no match for Thiassi. I didn’t want to believe the Lie-smith was my sire, but I had to admit I’d never actually been Thiassi’s son.”
I wiped my hand over my eyes, clearing the tears that had pooled during Fenris’s story. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Stars, that’s terrible.”
Fenris shrugged. “I guess. I mean, terrible, maybe. But liberating, too. There was finally a reason why everything I’d done had turned out so wrong. I wasn’t meant to take Thiassi’s place after all. And I finally had magic, powerful magic. The kind of magic my tutors had tried to beat into me for my entire life.”
He sank onto the edge of the bed again. His chest rose and fell, as if he were winded from pacing between the bed and the fireplace. I ran my hand across his cheek, pushing his hair back from his eyes.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I broke the bars,” he said. “The wolf’s form finally got strong enough and big enough to break free of the cell. I climbed out of the dungeons, and the guards just stared at me. They let me walk straight through the entire castle, right to Angrboða’s throne room. And I shifted into my wolf’s form right there, in front of my mother and all her attendants.”
The smile resurfaced on Fenris’s face; his eyes shone with pride. “I told her I knew Thiassi wasn’t my father. And I told her I was done pretending to be a prince.”
“What did she do?”
“Nothing,” he said. “She didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Her attendants were running and screaming, her guards pissing themselves, and Angrboða just smiled at me.”
I remembered Angrboða. King Nøkkyn had raged at her as well, and she hadn’t flinched. Perhaps there was something of his mother in my husband’s bravery.
“She told me she’d managed to salvage the alliance with my betrothed by marrying the father of the poor girl, and that this castle would soon become the property of my half-sister Skaði and her Vanir husband. She told me she could find a use for me on the battlefield, and I was to pack my things for our move. And to take a bath.”
Fenris huffed out a sigh as a dozen inscrutable expressions flickered across his countenance.
“Did you go with her?” I asked.
“No. I ran. Angrboða’s chambers were on the top floor of the castle, four stories up. I smashed through her windows and ran into the Ironwood.” He paused. “I guess you know the rest.”
I wrapped my hand around his as we sat together, in silence, on the edge of the bed. Outside our window, the stars winked and faded as the ebony of night bled from the sky. Fenris’s shoulders slumped. His body slowly leaned against mine, as if telling his story had left him exhausted. I turned toward him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against my arm. I buried my face in the wild tangle of his hair, breathing in his thick, rich scent. It reminded me of the Ironwood, and the hours we’d spent together, our arms and legs entangled on the moss of the forest floor, sunlight slanting down between the trees, dappling his naked skin.
“If you hadn’t run,” I whispered, my face pressed to his neck, “you never would have found me.”
He laughed softly, just enough to make his chest shudder against my arm. Then he turned, and his lips met mine in a slow, gentle kiss. He smiled as he pulled away.
“My love,” he said. “I truly wanted to live with your family, you know.”
“Really?”
He’d seemed so hesitant as we crossed the Ironwood together. At the time I’d worried living in my family’s tiny cabin was too far beneath him.
“Of course I did. The way you talked about them, it was like something from one of Bard Sturlinsen’s stories.”
I thought of my mother, limping on her bad leg. Or my brother Jael asking why I needed to go into the Ironwood. My chest tightened at the memories, but the pain was not as bad, perhaps, as it had been when Fenris first rescued me from King Nøkkyn’s castle.
“My family was hardly a fairy story,” I retorted.
“They loved you, didn’t they? And you said they would welcome me, a monster? That sounds a lot like happily ever after to me.”
I giggled at his ridiculous words. “That doesn’t make them a fairy tale.”
Fenris’s face clouded, and he cupped my chin in his hands, bringing my eyes level with his own. “Sol, listen. I never wanted children.”
Something cold slipped between my ribs to grip my heart, but I nodded.
“I never thought I’d fall in love,” he continued, “because who could love me? Even my betrothed was just another tool of Angrboða’s to consolidate her power and control. I didn’t even want to fall in love. My entire life, love just meant pain. Childhood was misery. Why would I want to inflict that pain on someone else?”
I swallowed hard, fighting to ignore the cold biting into my chest like a sliver of glass.
“But, Sol, you changed everything. When you said you were pregnant, at first
, all I could think of was how unhappy I’d been as a boy, and how I never wanted that pain for anyone else.”
I murmured in agreement, remembering how he’d reacted when I realized I was pregnant, and how deeply his rejection had cut me.
Fenris ran his finger across my cheek again before he continued. “Then I left the cave, and I sat on the banks of the river, and I thought about you. I remembered how much it hurt to be away from you, like a piece of myself had been torn from me. And I remembered how good it felt to love you, how it made me feel like the Nine Realms were far more wonderful than I’d ever imagined.”
His brow furrowed, and Fenris pulled away to run his fingers through his hair. “I guess... in the end, I decided I didn’t have to do things the way they were done when I was a child. I could love you, after all. So, couldn’t we raise a child together, in love, instead of in fear and pain?”
Fenris met my gaze. His eyes were wide beneath his heavy brow, and he seemed almost to be asking me a question.
I answered him with a kiss. It wasn’t as soft and gentle as the first; instead, I pressed against him, seeking the comfort of his body. He opened for me without hesitation, pulling me in, wrapping his arms around me. For a moment, Asgard fell away, and all that mattered in the Nine Realms was the way his body felt against mine.
I pulled back just enough to draw a breath. “Of course we can,” I whispered.
Fenris’s embrace tightened, crushing me to his chest. “I swear to you, Sol, I’ll protect you. This place may not be safe, but I’m strong enough to protect both of you.”
His shoulders shook in my arms. When I turned to face him, I saw he’d shut his eyes. Tears rolled down his cheeks. I rested my cheek on his shoulder and let him cry against me.
Eventually, his lips sought mine again. His kisses held the salt of his tears, and he moved against me with sudden passion, like the crash of a summer thunderstorm after a long, sultry day. I met him with my own fierce hunger, my sudden desire as blinding and hot as the lightning.
I ran my fingers down his neck, his shoulders, the hard, sculpted muscles of his back as his hands tightened around my waist. As I pressed my chest to his, gasping with the ferocity of our kisses, I wished I could sink into him, could travel back into the dark and haunted corners of his past, to pull the man I loved out of the horrors of his own childhood. To protect him.
The Complete Fenris Series Page 45