Page 44 of The Ashborn

Broan grunted and looked back at Ithril again. Even freezing, she held a straight face. A tough woman who let nothing bother her. When she noticed Broan fixated on her, she sneered, and he looked away, only to exhale a short laugh. Gods be with him if she kept treating him like that.

He should have been paying attention as Kaelthar started talking about Ingrid again. Something about her being the first person he’d need to get on their side before the jarl would come around. There was also a brother, but Broan didn’t catch his name. His thoughts kept drifting back to Kienna’s brother.

Seeing Jacob stirred emotions in him. He didn’t even like Jacob. The only way he could describe it to himself was by comparing it to seeing Akin’s dead face in a pile of men during the war in Dalelry. River Storm haunted him wherever he went, and he looked right into the face of a dead man when Jacob’s hood came off.

“—and when the mad king raided our fleet, they burned our ships and tore you from the arms of yer milkmaid,” Kaelthar continued.

“Were the fleets not prepared for battle? I thought the realm was at war?” Broan asked.

“Aye,” Kaelthar nodded, climbing a rather slippery step. He almost lost his balance before catching himself on a rock. He dusted himself off. “We couldn’t fight magic. Once the flames took the ship, we had to take to the báturs. Yer mother went lookin’ for the maiden, but the timbers were already splittin’.”

Broan cleared the slippery stone with ease. Ithril took hold of his arm, slipping enough to bang her knee against the iced rocks. Broan immediately clasped her wrist and pulled. She winced and limped past him, sitting when her leg couldn’t hold the weight of her body. Broan sat, too. He didn’t mind the rest—preferred it, really. Kaelthar turned back, noticing he’d made it a few paces further without them and sat up ahead, picking ice away from his dark beard. The snow softened, the wind dying as they hid behind a larger rock.

“How much longer, Chatterbox?” Broan asked, his voice carrying up the mountain.

“We should be there by afternoon tomorrow.”

Broan squinted. Afternoon tomorrow? The fuck? Ithril’s face registered the same tension he felt. Broan hadn’t realized they’d be sleeping in the frigid cold. He could have done better to ask about the distance before setting out on the journey, but it did him no good now. He imagined they’d all be shamelessly curled up next to each other, the poor Elvish woman in the middle to maintain enough heat to stay alive. She probably realized as much as her round eyes widened.

“No one is going to touch you,” he whispered.

Ithril’s brows knitted together as she shifted to Kaelthar and then back to Broan. “Would you believe yourself in my position?”

Broan shrugged. “Sleep with your fucking arrows if you don’t believe me. Or don’t sleep at all.”

“There’s a cave up ahead if we keep goin’ a few miles,” Kaelthar said, standing and stretching the ice from his bones. “We can attempt a fire for warmth.”

“Can you walk?” Broan pointed to Ithril’s knee. She attempted to stand, then stumbled. “And I suppose you’re too proud to let me carry you.”

She peered at him as she limped up the stairs. Broan folded his arms and shook his head. A stubborn woman, like all the other women he knew.

Kaelthar led them up the mountain until the opening of a cave appeared. It was small, only a dwelling place carved into the rock for sleeping on these journeys. A well-mapped location to keep travelers going without the temptation of stopping frequently to find warmth. They huddled in, and Kaelthar reached for the wood piled neatly against the back. He dug into his pack, pulling out patches of dried grass, leaves from the forest, and small twigs. Kneeling to lay the nest of tinder in a circle encompassed by stone, he neatly placed larger logs. Then, he pulled out a dark gray rock and handed it to Broan.

“Use yer blade, would ye. Strike it down and guide the sparks over the brush.”

Broan scraped the stone until sparks flew. It took a few tries, but the minute the ember took to the leaves, Broan boomed a laugh. He could move the earth to the best of his ability, but in all his years, he’d never started a fire. He always had someone nearby who could do it with magic. Now, he’d be lethal.

Kaelthar handed them jerky to snack on while he unraveled the furs and sleeping blankets from his and Broan’s packs. He laid them together on the ground a few feet from the fire.

“Strange, isn’t it? A seafaring people building homes in stone and frost.” The fire hit the gleam in his eye as he chuckled. “Best we sleep now. If those clouds hold outside, a blizzard’s coming, and we’ll want the mountain behind us before it breaks.”

Ithril shivered as she fixated on the blankets. Broan watched her through the fire, the wrestling thoughts playing out on her face as she grimaced. “You’re blue, Tightstrings.” Broan stood and tossed the rest of his dry meat into the fire. “Try to get some rest.”

Kaelthar settled in on the fur furthest from the flame. “Best if she lies between us to avoid frostbite.”

Broan extended his arm out. “Climb in.”

Ithril limped forward with her bow and found a spot next to Kaelthar, climbing into her own sleeping sack. By the time Broan found his, Kaelthar was snoring. He held in a laugh, but the bastard was so oblivious that he couldn’t help but release a snort. He turned his back to Ithril, though she shifted constantly, squirming as if the air from her lungs was scarce. She did this dance for at least an hour, as if all she wanted was to come up for air.

“You awake, Tightstrings?” Broan whispered, watching the fire dance along the cave wall.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be?” she asked, pulling her arms closer to her.

She was probably pulling her arrow closer. Broan pitied the woman. The thought never came up until now that they’d have to swarm in a cave for warmth. The raw, animalistic fear that bounced off Ithril since learning the situation made him shift a few times as well. He tried to scoot away from her to create more space, but in the end, he got up to sit by the fire.

Ithril sighed with relief, following him. “Do you blame me for being uncomfortable?”

“Seeing as Chatterbox is already snoring, and I’d rather be by the fire…” Broan stoked the flames as Ithril adjusted her furs and scooted even further away. “I don’t know you, Tightstrings. I won’t even waste my breath convincing you that you’re safe. Whoever hurt you took that from you.”