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Back The Beholder
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. About the Author
  62. Books by Anna Bright
  63. Back Ad
  64. About the Publisher

“I am free, because you made me free.” I cupped his cheek, saw his heart in his eyes. The blue stones of the ring sparkled against the red of his beard. “No matter what happens, Torden Asgard, I will always love you for what you’ve given me.” I bent my head to his chest, feeling the blood race beneath the rune tattooed there. Ash. Asgard. Home.

“I gave you nothing you did not already have.” His voice was husky. “But Asgard will feel a little less like home without you here.”

I could feel myself breaking apart there in his arms. Pieces of me scattered across the banks of the Bilröst, never to be recovered.

I wondered if I’d ever be whole again.

The dark was tense with our wanting and our sadness and our certainty as Torden’s mouth found mine. I didn’t understand the Norsk words he whispered in my ears, but I knew his voice. I knew what he meant.

And with his ring on my finger and his voice in my ears, I left him behind.

56

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Skídbladnir cut through the Bilröst’s dark water under Fredrik’s deft steering. Our sails and the fjord glowed in the fog and the moonlight. My eyes tracked the great stone walls as we sailed, certain I’d see Alfödr’s men descending upon us at any moment.

Once, I swore I saw Aleksei standing on top of a high rock, only his shock of black hair moving in the wind. When I blinked, he was gone, a shadow disappearing on the wind over the Lysefjord.

But when I closed my eyes again, it wasn’t Aleksei I saw.

Torden’s face filled my mind as we sailed over the midnight fjord, his half smile and forlorn mouth that broke my thudding heart as we sailed away from Norge. Red hair and red blood and freckles and muscles, honor and rashness and strength and fidelity, all of it enough to break me like a bottle of wine against the hull.

“There she is!” Fredrik’s soft call was a shot across the bow. And when I turned, the blank, starry eyes of the Beholder were watching me, her arms flung wide.

Welcome home, I heard her say.

Skídbladnir drew as near our ship as Fredrik was able. J.J. and Cobie and Lang brought the Beholder’s proffered rowboat close, moving our things into it one trunk at a time.

I nearly collapsed against the deck in relief.

Fredrik leaned against the rail beside me. “Any last words?” He looked nothing like Torden, but he was every inch his brother—the broad shoulders, the wry grin.

I bit my lip. “Tell him thank you. Tell him . . . I miss him already.”