Page 130 of Seared Fates

Once I’m finished, I sit up with a wince as a few stray hairs catch on the tape and I have to pull myself free. I push open the rusted door, give it a single kick to make it stick behind me, and step out into a wide, open field. Above stretches the bluest sky I’ve ever seen, and behind me rises a dense forest, its thick trees heavy with deep green leaves.

Like aJosé María VelascoorAlbert Bierstadtlandscape painting.

Or Windows XP background.

“You need a new car,” Vidar calls as I make my way to where he’s perched on the ground, a half-eaten bag of marshmallows at his side and hunched over a purple flame with shrimp hissing in a pan. My mouth watering at the salty-sweet smell of garlic.

“The more you say it, the less I wanna do it.” I sit next to him, mouth open—waiting.

“Annoying,” Vidar grunts, stabbing a shrimp with a toothpick. He blows on it a few times, then brings it to my mouth.

I pull it free with my teeth and moan as flavour floods across my tongue.

“How was your session?” Vidar asks, munching on his own shrimp.

“Good, not as good as these, though.”

I still tug on my hair or occasionally freeze dead in front of a car. But I’ve stopped feeling like a crushing failure when it does happen. Growth, apparently, takes time.

“Why did you want us to come here, anyway?” I ask.

Vidar arches an eyebrow. “Did you forget this was a surprise trip?”

Skewering two shrimp, I bring them to his mouth, and he sucks them up. “Fine, but I’ll find out soon, right?”

Vidar feeds me another piece. “I had no idea you were so impatient.” He gives me a smug look, even with butter shining on his lips.

“You did say this place was special!” I insist, mouth full.

He chuckles, moving the pan aside so we can continue to pick at our food. I aim a hand at the fire, pull my fingers in as if to beckon the flame in—and it vanishes with only a single curl of smoke left behind.

Squeezed next to my soulmate, our feet brushing together, we feed each other shrimp and talk about nothing important.

Vidar’s eyes soften every time he catches sight of the tattoo he inked onto my thumb, matching the one I did for him. AWunjorune, he explained when I handed him the tattoo gun nearly a year ago; joy and happiness.

When we’re done, Vidar places the pan on the side and holds out his hand. “Come.”

He pulls me up, our fingers weaving together as we stroll along the never-ending stretch of land.

The pristine green field waves as the breeze swishes through it, and as the fat sun begins its slow decline, dabs of pink colour the patches of little yellow flowers.

“Something big happened here once, long ago.” Vidar stops, bringing our entwined hands up to kiss my knuckles.

“Oh yeah?” I ask, curious. My skin tingling where his lips lay.

“A thousand years ago, my whole life changed in this place.” Vidar leans forward, silver eyes shining bright, smiling. “This is where I died.”

“What? No way!” I spin around, my hand slipping free of his so I can capture this piece of his history. Imagining instead of blades of grass, swords and axes. “Do you think there are Viking weapons buried under our feet?”

“Norse, and yes, probably.”

I smile when he corrects me, like I knew he would, and look around with new appreciation.

“This is also where I made a vow, little prince….”

I turn back—my heart stops. My breath catches.

Vidar is on one knee. He holds a small black velvet box, and inside, on a bed of purest white silk, two amethysts wink from where they’re pressed into a silver band.