Sea of Storms: a Norse Mythology Retelling by Lindsey Pogue

Author:Lindsey Pogue [Pogue, Lindsey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Roar Press LLC

25

BRYNN

From inside our little alcove, I watch the sky deepen its orange hue as the sun sets somewhere behind the clouds. I’m bathed, my belly’s sated, and I’m wrapped happily in furs, unable to do much other than bask in the moment.

“So,” Killian starts, plopping down beside me with a bottle in hand. “How was your feast?”

I grin, unable to help myself. “You mean the crab I boiled?”

“I brought them to you.” He cuts the wax seal off the glass with his knife as if he’s done it a thousand times before.

“Yes, you did. Thank you. And it was delicious.” He pulls the cork from the bottle with a pop. “How was yours?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t have cooked it better myself.”

“Well,” I huff. “That’s a given.”

Before Killian takes the first sip, he offers me the bottle. “Whiskey, from home.”

“No, thanks,” I murmur, shaking my head.

He takes a drink as my stomach rumbles, and his eyebrows pop up. “Still hungry, little Skadi?”

“Not in the slightest,” I promise him, and rub my belly. “I guess my body doesn’t know what to do with so much food. It’s been a while since I was actually full.” I’m not sure why, but my cheeks flush as I admit that.

“How long have you had to live like that?” Killian asks gently, and my cheeks burn brighter as I look away.

I want nothing more than to change the subject, because he already knows too much about me—he has already seen too much. But maybe that’s why I tell him. Or maybe because even the painful memories of Estrid are better than none at all.

“After our farm was burned,” I say, clearing my throat, “my sister and I were unable to tend to what bit of land was left. Our home was gone. So was our family. Looking back, I don’t know if we left because the memories were too painful, or if it was because we were afraid the Reaper’s men would return, but . . . we went to the city to search for help, shelter, food—anything.” I sift a handful of sand between my fingers. “It was worse there, though.”

I don’t tell Killian that we learned to survive amid the livestock and other street urchins, but just barely. That we’d resorted to scouring the sewers for anything that moved, and after a while, I couldn’t keep doing it, and stupid as I was, I nearly lost my life for stealing meat and bread scraps from a trapper.

Closing my eyes, I feel the cool, sharp blade of his skinning knife pressed to my throat as if the edge still slices my skin. “What will you give me in return for your sister’s life?” I can still hear the sickening purr in the man’s voice as he eyed Estrid, and the sudden understanding that dawned on her face. She was only thirteen the day she realized she’d grown into her beauty, that men liked her blonde hair, big blue eyes, and cherubic face.

“I was too impulsive one day,” I start again, picking at the well-worn fur beneath my fingers.

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