Page 62

Maude could now say, in no uncertain terms, that she hated hiking.

The air in her lungs seemed to thin with every breath, burning all the way down her throat as her chest heaved.

It was straight uphill once their group had left the small, ancient town that served as a gateway to the mountain where Hilgafell rested on its peak.

The sun hung at the highest point in the sky, but even with the wintry weather, Maude had stripped her outer cloak and wore only the sleeveless cut shirts that she favored in Logi.

She had also removed the leather corset that gave her some shape in order to allow her skin to breathe.

Sweat poured down her spine as Maude finally caught up with the rest of the group. The only straggler, besides herself, was Gunnar.

"Gods above," Maude panted as she tried to catch her breath. "People can't possibly do this every day."

Gunnar, who had just caught up to the rest of them with Dahlia acting as his shadow, sat on the fallen log on which Maude had planted herself as soon as she reached the small plateau on the mountainside.

"Those who travel to Hilgafell do so often enough that they have become accustomed to the perilous incline," Dahlia explained as she withdrew clean bandages to treat Gunnar's oozing slice on his scalp.

"You're too kind, Dahlia. I grew up on flat lands and climbed short distances," Maude grumbled as she unlaced her boots to massage her aching feet. "This long-distance endurance hiking is awful."

Liv chuckled behind her, the sound airy and light as she moved to stand in front of Maude and Gunnar. She motioned to Gunnar with her thumb and said, "At least he has the excuse of still healing."

Maude withdrew the small blade she kept in the heel of her boot and flicked it at Liv. The Light Elven plucked it out of the air mid-spin with ease, laughing before pocketing the small knife.

"We're almost there, minn m?nen, " her birth father said, humor dancing in his silver eyes.

Nodding mutely, Maude looked back down at her blistered feet. My moon. The affectionate moniker forced her throat to swell uncomfortably.

When they had been on the longship, sailing to the island that housed Hlidestad and Hilgafell, Maude had tried to find the courage to speak with him some more.

In her heart, Maude knew that she wanted to know Aeric as her father, but a lifetime of memories tainted by Helvig did not disappear just because she wished them to.

So, she started small. Maude asked him about his life: if he had grown up in Nida, how he was voted into the power he now held, how old he was.

It had been staggering to discover her father was close to five hundred years old.

It was one thing to hear a story about the Elven having long lifespans, but to hear it confirmed was difficult to absorb.

Her jaw had been hanging open when he told her.

Eventually, it became easier for Maude to speak with Aeric.

Though her father had offered up any information about himself that she asked for, Maude realized that a large part of the story— which could only be told by Sylvi— was hidden somewhere in the journals, and avoiding them wasn't going to change that.

Liv may have also called her a coward for avoiding the journals that only she and Bryn could read.

Sylvi was much more cunning than Maude had ever given her credit for— spell-locking the journals so that only her children could read them by placing a small drop of their blood on the clasp was a stroke of genius that she admired from the first moment she opened the keepsakes.

During the sea voyage and overnight in Hlidestad when she should have been sleeping, Maude continued to read her mother's journal entries.

To say she had become enraptured by the sly wit written into the pages kept secret just for her and Bryn would be an understatement.

With each passage, Maude felt closer to her mother.

If she had known the real Sylvi, she would have really liked her.

With each dinner that I partake in on the prize from my encounter with the Elven hunter, I am reminded that I never learned the male's name.

Which pisses me off.

He was cunning and intelligent, his silver eyes bright with humor.

But the longer I go without encountering him, the more I forget his beautiful face.

To be cursed with such a one-track mind that I remember very little of important details, but everything it takes to bake bulle was a hardship I had grown up with.

Until now, it hadn't really been a problem.

But now I forget the way his hair shone in the dying sunlight, the image of his face blurring each day.

At first, I had hoped to meet him again because of how aggravating he was. Now, I only wish to see his face again to know I did not create him from loneliness.

Maude had kept reading long past when she should have been sleeping, her eyes heavy but refusing to close as she discovered more about the beginnings of her mother and Aeric.

As the others resumed their journey up to Hilgafell, she thought back on the last journal entry she had read in the early morning hours before her battle :

Thank the Allfather, I did not hallucinate the Elven hunter.

That is where my gratitude ends, however, because he is more irritating than I remember.

I came across his path again in the same open field as before, only this time, we were not hunting reindeer. We seemed to be hunting each other.

I had left the town under the pretense of hunting, of course, but I had made my way to this meadow and plopped down onto a rock in the center out of sheer stubbornness.

Somehow, I knew that his curiosity had to match my own, that he would make his way back here eventually.

It was only a matter of waiting him out .

So I sat and waited. The rock I had perched on was a large, flat boulder that sat a few feet off the ground and was as wide as I was tall. The surface was worn smooth from the climate so it provided an excellent spot to wait in while also being visible to the entire shadowed tree line.

After a few hours, I grew bored. I had been staring up at the constellations that scattered across the night sky, counting the different celestial arrangements I could see when I heard the distinct crack of a branch breaking under heavy weight.

It was too loud to have been an accident, too quiet to have set off nearby wildlife.

I willed myself to relax, to keep my eyes on the night sky while my focus was on the bulky shadow that seemed to have detached itself from the tree line.

Slowly, the incorporeal form circled the open field while I lay on the flat rock, my arms tucked up behind my head.

The icy temperature had dipped when the sun disappeared over the horizon, but my flames kept me warm.

My breath fogged in front of me as I controlled my breathing, waiting for the right moment to move.

Before I could blink, the shining black blade of an axe was pressed against my throat as the handsome face of the Elven hunter blocked the night sky.

"Bold to be so relaxed when the last time we met, you shot me with a flaming arrow," the male said in his low and melodic voice, almost capturing me with his smooth words.

I grinned, his confusion clear in his silver eyes for only a moment before they narrowed at me. From behind my head, I pulled a dagger that was now pressed against his groin, right over the artery that bounded there.

"Bold to assume that I was not aware you were near," I said, unable to hide the mirth in my words.

We stared at each other for what seemed like a very long time before he removed the blade from my throat and put his hands up in a sign of concession.

Following his lead, I withdrew my blade and sheathed it at my thigh before standing to face him.

Seconds ticked by as I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for the Elven to speak, but it seemed he was just as content to wait as I was.

So we waited in silence. Waited to see who would break first, waited to see who would grow more annoyed .

Alva would say that we were two fools ready to perish for the sake of stubbornness, but it felt more like a test to me. Was he waiting to see if I possessed as much patience as him? Did he think I was here to kill him? Was I here to kill him?

While every possibility ran through my head, the only end to this standoff that I had not considered was the one that came to be true. The male spoke, his exasperation clear as he sat on the snow-covered ground and planted his chin on his closed fist. He motioned for me to sit, but I hesitated.

"It seems I was not the only one curious about the other," he said, his words sliding over my skin like the softest of silk.

I shook the thought away as I took a few steps and sat, pulling my knees close to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.

"I never learned your name," I said.

"As I never learned yours," he countered.

Silence fell again. Two wills that would not bend clashing until someone grew frustrated. The rest of our conversation went this way— one person offering the tiniest bit of information, which prompted the other to return the kindness until they each settled back into a stubborn silence.

It was only when the moon was high in the sky that I became aware that I had stayed too long.

"Fuck," I muttered as my gaze tracked the arc of the moon and guessed what time it was. "They'll be sending out a party to look for me if I don't return soon."

I stood, brushing the snow off my leather leggings and ignoring the frigid water that had melted into them the longer I sat with this male, who I had still not learned the name of despite all my prodding.

"I take it that I'll be able to find you here again," he said as he stood as well, seeming reluctant to let me leave.

"I would say yes, but as you will not give me your name, I cannot promise my return."