Page 13 of A Darkness So Sweet (The Kingdom Below #1)
Chapter Thirteen
MAIA
Maia sat in the same place and watched him prepare a makeshift campsite for the night. Ragnar refused to bring her back to the others after their conversation, but she wasn’t pushing for him to. She could still feel their claws raking down her spine and how easily her skin had split. The experience had been similar to cutting herself on her father’s sharpest knife, and she simply did not wish to endure that again. Let the trolls’ anger fade with time. Perhaps they wouldn’t be so inclined to kill her in a few days.
Although she understood their anger. She would have been mad too if she had discovered the trolls had tricked her people.
Huddled as she was, she could see everything Ragnar did. He was quick to build a circle of stones, not crystals. He kept his eye on her the entire time. She wasn’t sure if he thought she was going to bolt, or if he was just worried about her in general. She wanted to bristle at the thought. Maia had always taken care of herself.
But she was bleeding quite badly. She could feel the shirt sticking to her skin where the blood had soaked through the fabric and her wrist was aching terribly. Her palm hurt where the witch had bled her. Everything in her ached, even the top of her head.
So she stayed right where she was. She didn’t offer to help, nor did she care to do so. Ragnar worked hard to get the fire going and then left once more, returning with armfuls of leaves over and over again until he’d created a sizable pile that was clearly meant for sleeping on. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in, but it would do just fine for the night. Hopefully, they were going back and not just... staying here forever.
The thought terrified her. She felt all the blood drain out of her face as he returned with a rabbit and pulled his knife out of his pocket. At least this time he sat down with her, slowly skinning the poor fluffy beast that he’d killed to feed her.
“Are we staying here?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Forever?”
He looked at her with a frown. “No, not forever.”
Maia was ashamed to admit that she sagged a bit in relief. “Oh, good.”
He paused in skinning the creature, then pointed the bloodied knife at her. “Did you think we weren’t going back to the other trolls?”
Well, when he said it like that, it sounded a little silly. Shuffling her feet and sticking her toes into the soft dirt, she shrugged. “Well, I don’t know what your plan is. You don’t tell me anything. All I know is that they wanted to kill me just a few hours ago. I’m still the wrong human to be here, and that can’t be easy for them.”
“It isn’t,” he muttered. That knife made quick work of the rabbit and soon enough, he was threading the meat onto a stick. “You leave that part up to me. They’re not a forgiving lot, but they’ll accept you if I ask them to.”
“Is that because you’re...” She struggled to find the right word. “Noble doesn’t sound correct for your people. Or do you have nobility? Well, you must. You have a king, so that means there must be others. A duke is what we would call someone like you, perhaps. Or an earl?”
She was rambling at this point. But trying to make some sense of what had happened to her helped with the panic attack currently coiling around her heart.
All the while, the damned troll sat there looking at her. Slowly, he extended his arm, easing the meat over the open fire. “Trolls don’t look at it that way. Nobility, like what you’re saying, has to be earned through deeds, not through bloodlines. We don’t give our respect to others so easily.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “I like that.”
His mouth twisted into something similar to a smile before he looked back down at the fire. “So on your terms, I would be the son of a ‘noble’. My father was a grand general who won many battles for our people. All know of him, and all think of him as a... grandfather to them. He was a good man, with many impressive deeds.”
“Ah.” Maia nodded as though that made sense. “And you’re a healer? At least, that’s what the blood witch said.”
He nodded again, turning the rabbit over the open flame. “I am.”
“How long have you been a healer?”
“My entire life.”
Right, because that was his magic. Trolls were far more tied to the magic they were born with. Though, she supposed if she was born with more magic than what she currently had, she would have used it more.
And she was running out of things to say. He didn’t have a lot to say, even when she asked very specific questions. Maia was distracted by the pain in her back and the sensation of numbness running from her wrist into her fingers. It was hard to think about superficial things to talk about, especially when the creature in front of her didn’t want to talk.
Still. She had to try. He’d all but agreed to be her husband and that was progress. She wasn’t in a one sided marriage anymore and she didn’t want to be married to someone who hated her.
Clearing her throat, she tucked her aching wrist against her belly and tried again. “What’s your favorite food?”
Both his brows shot up. “What?”
“What is your favorite food?” she repeated, a little louder this time.
“I heard you, I just... What kind of question is that?”
“I just want to know you a little better than I do. I don’t know what you like to eat, or what you hum when your mind is bored. I don’t know what your favorite color is, your favorite flower, or how often you think about your future. I want to get to know you. If we’re married, that only seems fair.”
There was a long moment of silence. Eventually, she gave up on hoping that he would even respond. Maia listened to the crackling sound of the fire and scooted a little closer to it for the warmth as the sun dipped below the horizon. Crickets started up, their chirps likely the last before winter set in. She’d miss their song, but she also loved the first snow. When the world was blanketed in white, and all was still, she had a wonderful feeling of peace.
Eventually, he shifted, shaking himself off as he stood. The evening chill didn’t seem to affect him at all as he walked over to her with that rabbit in his hands.
“Here,” he said as he reached her side of the fire. “Eat this.”
“Oh,” she let out a little startled squeak as he handed the hot, dripping stick to her. “Thank you.”
She ripped off a small steaming piece, trying very hard not to get it all over her already ruined shirt, and then handed the stick back to him. But he shoved her hand back into her lap, ignoring the grease that spilled onto the ground and moved behind her.
“What—” Maia cleared her throat. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“It’s for you.”
“I can’t eat a whole rabbit.”
“You’ll try.” He settled onto the ground behind her, and she was terrified to look back. She had no idea what he was doing, and didn’t want to look. The firelight set his features into a terrifying grimace.
But then his hands came down on her back, light and soft, as he parted the long gashes in her shirt to look at her wounds. His claws weren’t so terrifying as he peered at her wounds. Then, with a low hum, she felt the first wash of his power. Cool and calming, it was a balm to the heated wounds that were burning long before his touch.
Sighing, she tried to lean back into his hands. He nudged her forward again.
“Eat,” he said, and she did.
Maia put the strip she’d ripped off in her mouth and let the flavor explode on her tongue. Rabbit really was good. She’d had it a few times, perfectly bathed in wine beforehand and braised to perfection. But this was somehow better. This was wild rabbit that he’d caught with his bare hands, charcoaled over an open flame while crisp clear air surrounded them.
It was better this way. Filled with wild abandon that eased some knot inside of her.
Or maybe that was the healing magic that dripped down her back, like he was painting her. Long slow strokes of magic, even though he wasn’t touching her.
Then his deep voice quietly interrupted her thoughts. “There is a certain kind of mushroom in my homeland. The trolls are known for growing it. We can do much with that mushroom, but my favorite is to cook it simply with garlic and butter from our cows. You’ve never tasted a sweeter mushroom in your life, and it feels indulgent to eat it. Even if it is common to grow in Trollkin.”
“Do you know what my people would call it?”
“I believe you call them morels.”
She’d seen them before. They were delicious when cooked right, and a little finicky to grow.
Now, she wasn’t sure what to say next. Morels were hard to find where she was from. Few people knew how to grow them, and even fewer knew how to find them in the woods. It wasn’t like a lot of people were wandering into the forest, anyway.
She couldn’t have thought of another thing to say because he started to hum . His voice was already a baritone, but it dropped into a voice so deep it was like the earth itself was singing. Like the depths of a mountain had opened up, and the call was the very roots of trees that had grown for a thousand years. The song was simple, more like a nursery rhyme, but it moved through her bones and vibrated every part of her being. So lovely. So deep that it made her bones rumble.
And when he stopped singing, she wanted to ask him to continue. To keep going, even though it might seem strange that she wanted to listen to him hum. Was it odd to ask?
But then he stood up again, and she didn’t say a single word. He’d think her a silly little thing with her head not quite screwed on right. After all, he’d probably just been humming to keep himself concentrated on healing.
Her back no longer ached, like even the bruises were gone from where she’d fallen on rough stones.
“That feels much better,” she murmured, rocking her shoulders a bit. “Thank you for that. You didn’t have to heal me.”
He grunted before shifting her so her side was facing the fire. Then he sat down in front of her and took her hand in his lap. Unfortunately, that meant he also grabbed onto her wrist.
At her little high-pitched noise of discomfort, he froze.
Right, she should just tell him, so he didn’t think she was hiding that too. “When I fell in the creak that first day, I think I hurt my wrist. I don’t think it’s all that serious. I can still rotate it. It just... hurts to do.”
His frown deepened, but then he rotated her wrist for her. Up and down, side to side, watching for when she tensed or flinched in pain.
“Green,” he muttered.
And she hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about. “Green?”
He nodded. The cool touch of his power flared again between them, this time in a shackle around her wrist that tightened with a pinch before she felt it start working.
Was he losing his mind? Or did he have some odd way of focusing his magic? She wasn’t sure what he was muttering about, as he stared at her wrist with almost too much concentration.
“And violets,” he said quietly. “Violets are my favorite flower.”
Was he... answering all her questions? Every single one, in the order that she had asked them? Maia didn’t even remember what she’d asked, let alone in what order. She’d just blurted out a bunch of random questions that weren’t all that important for her to have answered. If she didn’t know his favorite flower, that wouldn’t be the end of the world.
But now she did know his favorite flower. “The tiny purple ones?” she asked, just to clarify.
“They grow outside of caves. They’re hardy and strong, and the first sign that winter is over and spring has come.”
“I think that’s a lovely reason to like a flower.” And it was far more deep than she was expecting out of him. But then again, she was constantly surprised by this troll, who was supposed to be a beast yet seemed to be anything but.
She bit her lips and stared down at their hands. His dark claws were so close to the veins in her wrist, yet now she wasn’t afraid he was going to use them. Perhaps this tumultuous start had been a good thing. She’d needed to see the worst of him, to know that his best was... well, better than just that of a murderous troll who was coming to destroy her home.
He turned her hand gently, tracing his fingers over the deep wounds in her palm. “And I think about the future constantly. I worry about what path my people will have to walk to stay alive. I fear what your people are planning to do to mine and how our numbers have already dwindled. The joining of our peoples was supposed to stem the flow of hatred that always leads us back to war. And without the binding, my powers are limited to what I now know how to do. If we are at war again, I won’t be able to heal as many people as I’ll need to.”
Her heart broke for him. Without thinking, she turned her hand in his and laced their fingers together. “It’s not up to you to save your people. One single person cannot change the hearts and minds of countless others. There would be no war if there were not so many who hated each other. The fear that causes all the strain and stress and strife was not born out of your mind. It’s not up to you to fix it.”
Ragnar’s haunted gaze met hers. “We all have to try to fix it. If there is but one person who says they don't matter, then there are a hundred, or a hundred more than that who agree. So many people saying they cannot make a difference will lead to no one even trying,” he said. “I will be the first to make the change, and others will follow suit.”
There was so much more to this troll than she ever would have guessed. And it stung to know she had been so wrong about him, and perhaps his kind.