Page 137 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Then the room resolved into unforgiving clarity.

“I will return shortly,” he said.

And then he was running.

Chapter 65

Njall

Fragments of Njall’s life followed him through blurred corridors. Loken kneeling beside him in the scrub forests when they crossed from Aurumierra into Norrelia, guiding his small hand over wolf tracks. He saw his father coaxing flame from wood so wet it should never have burned, patience in every breath. Loken had taught him to track, to hunt, to read the sky and the bend of grass. And yet Njall had failed to read the simplest truth of all.

His father had always been within reach.

And Njall, like a fool, had not pressed harder for answers withheld. Had let the silence between them harden like frost along a windowpane. The sting of that failure only deepened when Loken’s door yielded to his hand.

His father had never warded his chambers against him.

Illness clung heavily to every surface of the room. Loken slept reclined against a mound of pillows that barely bent under what remained of him. His skin had thinned to parchment. Sweat gathered at his temples and would not dry. His cheekbones protruded like cracked stone.

He startled awake at the sound of the door. When his eyes found Njall, he tried to sit straighter but his body would not obey. He sank back with a grimace he failed to hide.

“Father,” Njall whispered, vision blurring. He moved to the bedside, reading the room as he would a wounded animal’s trail: the bowl of water with a cloth gone cold, the untouched dish of salt, the labor of Loken’s breath through ribs that no longer had the strength to guard it.

“I am sorry,” Loken murmured, lifting a trembling hand. Njall caught it in both of his and felt the fever burning through his skin. Even so, he remembered being led by a strong hand that never faltered. “I should never have brought you here.”

Njall bowed his head to his father’s knuckles. “I am the one who should be sorry,” he said. “I saw this happening and did nothing.” He lifted his face, grief spreading through him like a bruise. “Why did you endure it?”

Loken’s breath hitched. “They told me…” He swallowed. “He told me that if I refused, they would hurt you.” Shame creased his features. “I thought if I kept you away—if you believed I had grown cold—you would not look too closely. I thought I could take the blows meant for you. Keep you proud of your post.”

Njall shook his head before he finished. “He told me the same,” he said hoarsely. There was no need to clarify who he was. “Yet none of it spared you.” A tear slipped free. He brushed it away. “And you chose to bear it alone.”

“I would choose it again to keep you safe.” Loken’s fingers tightened around his hand with sudden strength. “But you must not let them use me against you.”

A violent cough seized him, raking through his ribs. Njall braced him through it, holding him the way Loken had once steadied injured prey before granting mercy. When the fit passed, Loken sagged back against the pillows, breath shuddering. “Forgive me,” he murmured again.

“There is nothing to forgive.” The words were both true and not. Njall let them be both. He reached for the cloth, wrung it out, and pressed it to his father’s brow. Then, quietly, he dared the question, “You aren’t ashamed of me? I thought…”

“Ashamed?” Loken’s eyes cleared. “How could that be? Your mother’s fire is in you. You are the best of both of us. I am proud to be your father. Every day.”

Njall’s breath broke.

You have a heart.

“I will make this right,” Njall whispered quickly, said heart splintering. He pressed the cloth to his father’s brow again, the chill clashing with the heat in his blood. “We will find the cure. Kalaetzu will create a tonic that can heal—”

“Go.”

Njall’s hand stilled.

“Leave this place.” Another cough tore through him. “Let me go to the goddesses. Let me find your mother again.” A shadow of a smile touched his mouth. “I only ask that you do not give loyalty where it is not deserved. Do not repeat my mistakes.”

Njall set the cloth aside and covered both hands over his face. “I can’t leave you,” he whispered into his palms. Behind his lids came again flashes of color: brown, gold, amethyst.

Elara.

Ilen.

Loken.