Page 28 of A Darkness So Sweet (The Kingdom Below #1)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

RAGNAR

Ragnar watched her sleep with a troubled mind and a hardened heart. His people wanted Maia dead. That much was certain. Trolls were a fickle bunch, but they also desired to have some retribution for what her people had done. He could see it in the way they moved around her, in the stones they had thrown and the pain in their chests whenever they looked at what had been done to their beautiful home.

The trolls’ entire culture was based around righting wrongs. They were the ones who had been injured. Their people had been killed, their homes destroyed, all the safety and comfort of Trollveggen ruined because of what the humans had done.

He supposed there was still anger left in him as well. He hadn’t told her the entire truth of all that he had done. The screams of those dying men were still a song he thought of in his mind when he grew too angry at her. He had gotten his own revenge. But many of the troll people had not.

Fixing this wouldn’t be easy. Ragnar had a reputation that he could fall back on. Many of the trolls might not have liked that he was married to her, but they knew what he had done for them. Healing their people had been in his bloodline for many ages, as the gift had been his mother’s before it was his.

Maia had helped heal them, too. They had softened toward her when they’d realized her magic had convinced his own to keep going, and that it was her touch that had eased his torment while he’d healed them. She’d won much support in doing that, although his people had conveniently forgotten that now that hers had attacked them.

It wouldn’t get better without intervention.

Maia stirred in her sleep, and he breathed out a long sigh as he tucked the strands of her hair behind her ear. None of this was her fault. She hadn’t ordered her people to attack, nor did he believe that she had been sent here as a spy. Her king had used her to deceive them, proof that humans would never work with trolls.

King James likely believed that he had sent her to her death. He perhaps even intended that the trolls would quickly realize that she wasn’t the princess—how they hadn’t realized sooner he would never know—and kill her. There were many calling for it, so Ragnar supposed the human king hadn’t been all that wrong.

Still. He wouldn’t let it happen to his own troll wife. Not when there was still honor in his body and breath in his lungs.

He needed to prove to the other trolls that she was valuable and not dangerous. If he could do that, then perhaps at the next attack, they wouldn’t be so quick to see her as human. Those ties had to be knotted around each and every troll. They had to see her as one of their own.

And in doing that, perhaps they would forgive her for being what she was.

He could do this. There were places he could take her, and trolls he could introduce her to who weren’t so hardened that they wouldn’t be able to see past her size and strange eyes. They would recognize the usefulness of her tiny hands, or perhaps see the magic that had been building in her since their blood had bonded.

It wasn’t much. She would never be able to heal the masses or stop storms from coming onto their mountain. But perhaps he could still find use for her.

Ragnar stood from the bed, creeping out of the room so he wouldn’t wake her. Healing always made people sleepy, and perhaps he had used a bit of his magic to convince her to rest more thoroughly, so he didn’t have to talk to her about all of this. Not yet, at least. Soon, they would talk about everything. But right now, he simply did not know what to say. There were no excuses for his people’s actions.

He left his home with a purpose now, though. The plan built in his mind as he strode down the streets of his home, eyeing the piles of stone and rubble that many trolls had left outside their homes. Someone would come to take those rocks out soon enough. But for now, they were a reminder of what had happened.

But then, as he rounded a corner, the entire city seemed to open up. The massive gardens as the heart of Trollveggen were filled with plants that his troll wife had likely never seen. They grew in the darkness and the meager light provided by the wisps. Massive plants that were rooted into the ground. Some of them were ancient, ones that the elves themselves had grown. Some of the brightly colored leaves were larger than he was tall and hid glowing berries that were used in medicinal spells. Flowers could easily fill his hands with their pollen, the tiny specks lifting up into the air as they passed and emitted the sweet scent of powdered sugar. So many plants turned the gardens into a veritable feast for the senses.

Neat rows lead in spirals away from the center, creating a labyrinth that many found hard to get through. He knew his way around fairly well and also knew that all the spiraling paths led to a cottage in the center. It was a small, quaint stone building that had been mortared together by years of hard labor and a troll who wanted nothing more than to be left alone by everyone and anything that bothered him.

The garden thrived under the touch of loving hands. Green magic made all the plants grow when they shouldn’t, and such magic was limited. There was only so much anyone could do here. Although, clearly the plants were loving where they were. A wisp darted past him. The blue shimmering light had little striations that made it appear like a ball of lighting as it zipped along the ground. Most of the wisps ended up here. Someone had once told him it was because they liked to be in gardens where things were ever changing.

Then there was the troll at the heart of it all. The man who had taken care of this garden for decades, and who was known to be far more sullen than any other troll in this mountain.

It was a terrible plan, but it was the only one he had. If he could convince Birger to like Maia, then everyone else would quickly follow suit. If only because they were shocked the old troll could like anything.

“Who goes there?” the ancient troll called out, his voice already sullen with dislike.

“Ragnar.”

“Who?”

“The healer,” Ragnar replied with a chuckle. “You’ve seen me nearly every week for years now, Birger. You know who I am.”

Finally, he could see the gardener. Birger’s face appeared from behind a massive green leaf with variegated holes in it. The troll used to have tusks, but they had been lost to the humans after he’d been caught the last time he’d gone above ground. It made his face a little different from the other trolls, and that had always set him apart. His skin was a strange pale yellow color as well, which many had whispered looked a little too human for their liking. That, along with his advanced age and many wrinkles, led many other trolls to feel uncomfortable around the old man.

Ragnar had never felt the same way. There were still claws on his hands and a ferocity in his eyes that no human could ever match. Birger was far closer to being an animal than any troll ever had any right to be as well. The old man growled regularly and snapped his jaws like he wanted to bite.

As he did now—snapping at Ragnar like interrupting him was the gravest deed.

“I have work to do,” Birger said. “We are not meant to see each other for a time yet.”

“No, we’re not. But I believe you need a helper around here, and I have someone who can help you.”

Birger’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to send that human into my garden. She’ll trample the garlic and feast upon the carrots long before they’re ready.”

Ah. So rumors had made it all the way out into the garden. Ragnar crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the old man. “Who told you about my troll wife?”

“Everyone’s talking about her.” Birger batted the leaf away from his head and marched down the path away from Ragnar. “You bring too much conflict wherever you go.”

“I don’t bring conflict anywhere. When was the last time I caused trouble for you?”

A coughed laugh trailed behind the old man. “Always! You brought your old lovers here when you were a youngster. You made the garden quake with fear every time you let out one of those loud moans. The plants still talk about the troll who marched into battle whenever he took a lover.”

Now that... that he was rather proud of.

With a wicked grin on his face, Ragnar followed the old man with the plan already falling from his lips. “She has green magic, just like you.”

“She doesn’t. Everyone says that girl has barely any magic at all. I won’t fall for this just because you want to foist her onto someone else. Didn’t the king tell you to get rid of her?”

Damn it, the old man was far too smart for his own good. He’d seen right through Ragnar’s plan.

He trailed Birger to his cottage. Smoke coiled out of the small stone chimney, and ivy grew on every surface it could cling to. Ragnar remembered being able to see some stone at least, but not a single gray speck was visible beyond the plants now. Even the ancient wooden door was nearly covered as Birger pushed it open and strode into his cottage.

Well, he would not wait for an invitation. The old man needed to listen to him.

Ragnar followed him right into the home uninvited, not caring if he got an earful. But Birger didn’t yell at him. Instead, the old man limped over to his chair and sank into the cushion before the fireplace.

The fire blew off a lot of heat, but it was still chilly inside the cottage. Even Ragnar felt the hairs on his arms rise as he strode toward the matching patchwork chair that was right in front of the flames. He sank down onto it, noting that there was no longer a plush rug beneath his feet. In fact, most of this cottage appeared emptier than he remembered. Even the bed in the corner was smaller, now more like a cot.

“Are you moving?” he asked, frowning as he peered at the other details. There used to be herbs hanging in that corner, drying for the chefs that were dotted around Trollveggen, but now those were gone too.

“No. I’m not moving.”

Hadn’t there been a painting on that wall? It had been a picture of Birger’s late wife and his girls, all of whom were now married and no longer lived with him. “Where are all your things?”

“I’m getting rid of a lot. I can feel my time is coming to an end soon, and I would like the right people to have them.”

“Birger. I would tell you if your time was coming soon,” Ragnar replied with a chuckle. But just in case, he reached from his chair to put his hand on the old man’s.

He’d always been able to feel when a troll’s body was starting to fade. If they didn’t die in battle, it was rather easy to tell when they were going to leave this realm. Their magic was what kept them alive. Once it began fading in their bodies, they were likely to leave their families soon.

Birger’s magic was still strong, still full of power and green magic that tasted like basil the moment Ragnar prodded at it with his own.

The old man was just fine. So at least Ragnar could lean back in his chair with a little more relief.

“I need you to take her on.”

“Absolutely not.”

“As a favor to me.”

“I have no interest in having someone hanging around my garden and touching all my plants. She’ll make a mess of the entire garden, and I’m too old to be fixing other people’s mistakes.”

The old man was right about one thing. He was getting older. Ragnar narrowed his eyes as he tried to figure out the best way to phrase what he needed. “She’s rather good at taking care of a home. She’ll clean up in here for you.”

“I can do that myself. I don’t need someone else’s troll wife to do that for me.”

“She was a gardener in the human realm.” Ragnar threw that out there despite knowing it wouldn’t convince the old man.

As he suspected, Birger scoffed. “I don’t care what she knows. Humans cannot convince anything to grow well. She’ll just insult the plants and then they’ll spite me by not giving us any food for the year.”

Rubbing his chin, Ragnar tried one last time. “She’s kind, Birger. I think if there is anyone who can put up with your surliness, it would be her. You could yell and scream and scold her all you want, but she’s not going to flinch from any of it. I’ve never seen a woman more capable of handling anything that I throw at her.”

There it was.

The old man stilled, his breathing even stopped as the challenge burned through him. Birger had never met a person he couldn’t get to leave the garden. He was famed throughout all of Trollveggen for being an absolute beast of a man, and anyone who stepped foot in the garden left with their ears blistering and their pride bruised.

If there was a single person who wouldn’t let him get to them, though, Ragnar was certain it was his Maia. The woman knew how to let words roll right off her. Her father and the other humans had taught her that much.

Hopefully, she could do the same with this ancient troll.

Birger finally looked at him, the calculating expression on his face one of pure glee. “So you say?”

“I’ve never once been able to make her upset with me.” The lie rolled off his tongue with ease. “She doesn’t seem to fear our kind at all.”

“Bring this human to me, then. I’ll remind her that trolls are not something to fear just because of our size.”

Ragnar hoped he hadn’t just made all of this worse.