White Stag (Permafrost #1)(78)

“It’s not your fault, Hreppir,” I assured the pup.

On the contrary, Breki said. It is.

Hreppir snorted and sat as dignified as he could, wrapping his tail around his legs.

The temperature was dropping rapidly. Frost replaced the moisture in my nose and formed on my eyelashes. I clutched the cloak of wolfskin closer to me, greedy for its warmth.

We continued until the darkness made it impossible to go forward, and even then, no one seemed happy about having to settle for the night.

“Sleeping will help if we’re going to confront Lydian,” Soren offered, but all of our eyes were on the ever-disappearing sliver of moon. “Hel knows we’ve bad enough odds without being sleep deprived.”

I ignored the last comment and unrolled my bedroll. Sitting down, I checked to see how my hand was faring. I moved each finger and squeezed a tight fist. The motion was almost like normal, but the skin was still an ugly blackened color with redness underneath. Just like the barely cooked meat Soren enjoyed. The pain was ebbing away, though, and I could move it. That was what mattered most.

Soren sat beside me, his own bedroll spread out. He handed me the waterskin and waited as I took a long drink. When I gave it back, he offered the jerky and a few pieces of dried fruit.

“I’m fine.” There were too many nerves coiled in my stomach for me to eat much. Even if we did find the stag—or Lydian—we had no plan. The stag was simple. Just kill it. Lydian had a whole pack of men with him. Soren was powerful, but even with Seppo and me helping, he wouldn’t be able to take on a whole hunting party.

“You need to eat,” Soren said, the hint of a growl in his voice. “You haven’t eaten enough. When a creature like me, who doesn’t need to eat daily to survive, has to remind you to eat then you need to eat.”

“Fine,” I said, taking the food from him. “As long as you stop growling.”

“It’s not an angry growl,” Soren protested. “It’s a concerned one.”

“I can’t tell the difference!” I snapped, then sighed. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and lay back on his bedroll. Lykka lay at the head of it, her gray fur silver in the moonlight. Soren checked to make sure Seppo was sleeping before speaking. “I know you’re nervous.”

“I’m not—” I gave up trying to hide it and lay down next to him with the cloak as a blanket. “Even if we find Lydian or the stag or Lydian with the stag, we have no plan. We have no idea what to do. And last time I checked, he still has twenty-some more men than we do. Going in ourselves and fighting, we’re all going to die. There is no way we can win this.”

Soren brushed back a strand of hair that’d fallen in my face. “We’re going to win,” he said. “And you’re going to be safe no matter what. I promise.”

“It’s not fair.” I breathed deeply, trying to calm myself. “He isn’t supposed to have any hold over me anymore. He isn’t supposed to scare me. I faced him. I won’t cower from him. I won’t let him harm me. I’m stronger than what he can do to me. I know that. But then why am I still scared? Everyone gives me too much credit.”

“Just because he holds no power over you doesn’t mean the memories will disappear,” Soren said softly. “Things like that stay with you no matter how hard it is to forget them. It doesn’t mean you haven’t survived. It doesn’t make you weak.”

I inched closer to him, and he wrapped his arms around me. My head was nestled in the groove of his shoulder, and my quick breath slowed to match his steady pace.

“When did you get so wise?” I asked.

“Around the same time you came to life,” Soren said. “Sleep.”

Came to life. Over a hundred years ago my fate was sealed with the burning of my village. I clung to the memories there, the good, bad, painful, and ugly. I held the traits that should’ve made me human in a death grip as I lived in the Permafrost, keeping my distance from everyone. Came to life. When a fire was burning in a forest, sometimes the best thing to do was let it burn itself out. Then when the forest grew back, it would grow back stronger, its roots dug firmly into the earth. Sometimes a part of you died to let the rest of you continue living. I clung to bitterness and hate—at Soren, at the gods, at myself—until the roots within me withered and died. The oak is the strongest tree in the forest, but the willow bends and adapts. When the fires and storms hit, it is the willow that survives. I was now that willow. A part of me always knew that, but now that part wasn’t ashamed of it.

I fell asleep to the whispering of the willow trees.



* * *



THE FOREST SHIMMERED with the silver moonlight. It was silent except for the rustling of the leaves in the wind. They were fully grown, fleshed out in the trees. Not Permafrost trees. Not even border trees. These were trees from the human world. Tall, alive, and green as grass. They weren’t the only signs of life. Fresh grass, gorse, and brambles grew wild under my feet. Ripe berries clung to their vines, just waiting to be picked.

A rustling in the shrubs behind me caught my attention, and I turned, reaching for my bow. But there was nothing where the weapon and quiver usually lay. The stiletto on my hip was gone too. All that remained were the clothes on my body.

The rustling noise came again, closer this time. From between the greenery, light brown antlers peered out and flashes of white fur kept reappearing. Then a wet black nose stuck through the branches and with it came a young white buck.