Page 34 of Heart of the Mountain King

It was possible Sten might get bored, Rask supposed. Or grow tired of making the climb up Rask's mountain. Humans did not always form the same bonds that bergsrår did. Rask had heard some had many mates, while others took no special interest in their partners once lust had been slaked.

And yet, Sten did not seem that sort to Rask. Perhaps, one day, he'd even be amenable to something more? Until then, Rask would enjoy their time together, looking forward to each visit for as long as Sten continued to return.

Over the steady rhythm of Sten's breathing, a tendril of Rask's magic unfurled; weaving the faint but rising harmonies of Treasured and Beloved deep into the Song.

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Epilogue

A Plan

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"Began to fear I'd never see this day come."

The air in Sten's lungs froze, his hands clutching tight the wooden hook and bit of blue wool he'd been trying — and failing — to work into a ribbon.

A very particular sort of ribbon; which was why he should’ve known better, really, than to do this in the Jarl’s Hall where everyone could see. But it'd been an unusually long Mistide this year, and the misthings particularly active. Most of the Hall was safely asleep at this time of night, blithely unaware of the scrabbling of a hundred tiny claws on stone shingles that’d made it so impossible for Sten to lie still in his cot.

Thumping and bumping and scraping at the edges of the mages’ protections, they’d kept Sten awake at all hours as they slithered and crawled around outside the wards. He was itching for it to be over so he could race up Rask's mountain as fast as he dared, and launch himself back into the bergsrå's arms. Until that blessed day came, however, he’d thought to distract himself with his project.

Too distracted, if he hadn’t heard those oh-so-familiar footsteps coming up behind him. Tucked up in a spare corner formed by a stack of emptied food crates, Sten thought maybe he'd be safe from prying eyes here. Enough to try and work out what he was supposed to do with the bit of blue wool he'd traded that loudmouth of a weaver for last week.

"Grenson told you, huh?"

"Andris, actually; the brewer's new 'prentice. You know, I think the rumor mill here is the only thing that works harder during Mistide than the mages' wards?" Pa said, sinking to take a seat opposite Sten on the floor as he leaned against a crate. He nodded at the sorry bit of snarl in Sten's hands. "So, who's the lucky girl?"

Sten glanced around them quickly. Thankfully, it seemed what few equally restless souls remained awake were content to gather by the massive hearth dominating the far end of the Hall, leaving no busybodies lurking nearby to overhear. Talk flying hither and yon about him acquiring wool in the particular shade known as 'courting blue' was bad enough. He didn't need the whole Hall discussing this, too.

Sten took a deep breath.

“There’s no girl, Pa," he said quietly. "And…there won't ever be."

He'd tried; he really had. Years and years ago, when he'd still been an apprentice, Sten had thought he'd found both a fellow compatriot as well as a solution. But then Liri had met Giovigia, and decided life on the road as a traveling actor held far more appeal than a sham played out solely for the benefit of their small village. She'd chosen love and adventure over surety and safety, and honestly — could he blame her?

Back then, he'd been distraught. Lost in anxiety over his own predicament, and too selfish to share in her joy, Sten had been preoccupied only with how her choice had affected him. But now, with the advantage of time, Sten could only be grateful. For in choosing to be brave, Liri may well have saved them both — leaving the way free and clear for Sten to find Rask.

He hoped she was happy wherever life had taken her. A shame he hadn't asked his parents then how to make a courting ribbon, though. It would have been far less awkward.

He could feel Pa's eyes boring into him, but Sten kept his own locked firmly on the tangled mess in his hands. Briefly, he spared a thought for Messy, fingers tightening on the wool. A pang of longing shot through him to be up there right now with her and Rask, and he swallowed down the bitter lump it brought to his throat.

"You know, feels like we don't get to see much of you these days," Pa said finally. "Your Ma keeps me up to date with all that — whaddya call it? — singing you do with the quarry. Can't say as I understand it, but she tells me you're doing good work. That it keeps people safe."

"Yeah," Sten muttered, not really in the mood to try and explain it all again to his Pa. He listened well enough, but it was always painfully clear when he didn't get it. Like it wasn't enough for him to know it was just what Sten did, but that it was somehow Sten's fault for not explaining it better, no matter how hard he tried.

"You must've learned quite a lot from that bergsrå the past few years you've been going up there," Pa continued. "Your Ma told me the thaneskassör's been dropping hints lately. Something about commissioning you to check on Thane Uffark's other quarries, even mines and such."

Sten huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Says he wants me to take on a few apprentices too. Teach them how to talk to the vættir."

"You gonna do it?"

"Dunno." Sten shook his head. "Not sure I've got the time."

Pa was quiet at that for a long while. "He keeps you busy, doesn't he? Your bergsrå, I mean."

His bergsrå.

Sten's lips twisted. "Yeah."