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“I think we’ve proven that I can take you in a fight,” he says smugly.
“Oh, is that what you think happened in that sparring room? I think we need a rematch.”
“As much fun as fighting you is, Zaina, I can think of so many other ways we could be spending our time together.” He kisses me again, softly, languidly, and I can’t help but melt into him.
I know we have monsters to vanquish and people to save, but there is nothing we can do for them in this moment. Right now, I just want to lose myself in Einar’s touch again, if only for a little while.
When he is showeredand dressed, he agrees to take me to see Sigrid. It’s been so long since I’ve set eyes on her, I’m not sure what to expect when we enter through the passageway door.
She is smaller, somehow, and has nearly disappeared into her bed. Her beak is more prominent, and the feathers on her fingers are longer and thicker now, too.
The curtains are pulled shut, allowing no light to filter in aside from the oil lamp on her nightstand, while she takes in ragged, measured breaths.
My eyes burn at the sight, and I look to Einar as if he can explain how rapidly she’s deteriorated, but he only shakes his head.
“Úlfur? Is that you?” she asks in the Jokithan tongue.
“Of course, who else has been sneaking through the passageways to see you?” His casual tone belies the anguish on his features.
Sigrid chokes on a laugh, and Einar rushes over to help her sip from a glass of water near her bed.
“I’ve brought someone to see you,” he says after a moment.
She sits up, looking in my direction, and I brace myself for her reaction. Will she hate me? Judge me?
But she seems to do neither.
“I was wondering when you would make your way over here.” She speaks in Jokithan.Is it an oversight, or intentional?
If she’s feeling this badly, though, I won’t make her translate on top of everything. Besides, I’m exhausted from all the subterfuge.
“I came as soon as I was able,” I answer in Jokithan.
She doesn’t so much as blink in surprise. Einar narrows his eyes.
“You knew.”
“I know everything,” she says.
“But you didn’t see a need to share that with your king?”
“Everyone has their secrets, Úlfur, and don’t you take that tone with me when I changed your soiled training pants and am on my deathbed to boot.”
“You’re far too stubborn to die,” he tells her, though I’m sure she sees the lines of worry painting his face as well as I do.
“Not before I see the two of you acting like adults, anyway,” she mutters.
We had never been precisely close. That would have been impossible with the wall of secrets we both maintained. Still, like the boy she raised as her son, she had always managed to see more of me than I meant her to.
Whether she knows what I did or not, she seems no more irritable with me than she is with Einar.
“How are you feeling?” he asks her in a quieter tone.
Sigrid coughs when she tries to respond, and he is quick to grab her a clean cloth from her nightstand. She holds it to her open beak until she is finished. Einar’s shoulders sag, and I move closer, placing a supportive hand on his back before refilling her glass of water.
When she pulls the cloth away, even in the darkness I notice the spattering of blood on the material, and something inside of me wilts.
“Let’s not focus on me. You are much changed since your last visit.” She looks at me and offers a small smile, and suddenly I’m not sure which of us she is referring to.
