“It’s fine. I won’t ask anymore.”
He nods, controlling his emotions as I comfort him with little strokes on the back of his hand. “I can only describe that time as living at the bottom of a deep pit. No light. Only the sense of being trapped and powerless and all the while, I was . . . doing things. For them. When I finally came back to myself, so much time had passed.”
A sudden thought strikes me. “Do you know the date?”
Njål laughs. “I’m not even certain of the year.”
Though I’ve stopped paying attention to such things, I do know what day I left and how long I’ve been here. Quickly I count forward and tell him where we are on the calendar. There are only six weeks left in the year, and I make a mental note to do something special for the winter solstice. Back in town, they’ll do their best, but scant provisions will make it difficult. In my childhood, there was hot spiced cider and roasted chestnuts, sleigh rides, and skating on the frozen lake. Carolers would sing to usher in the deepest part of winter while also entreating the return of spring.
“I could tell by your clothes that things were very different in the world, but it’s been much longer than I realized,” he says softly.
“The writing in your journal . . . I can’t read it. But you speak as I do now.” I wonder if he can answer this much without a fearful reaction.
“Language evolves over time. I wasn’t alone at first, even after the curse.”
He seems calmer, his hand no longer shaking in mine. I don’t want to hurt him and it will make the situation immeasurably worse if I drive him back into that pit within his mind. If that happens, I suspect I won’t be safe either, but at least I know the danger now.
Even so, I must try to learn what I can, in ways that won’t harm him. My impetus remains the same. “What about the conditions for breaking the curse?”
“In the stories, it’s always so simple, isn’t it? Earn someone’s devotion. Receive true love’s kiss. Perform a noble deed.” His tone carries a mocking edge, caustic as he speaks in a way that makes me want to curl into myself to keep from being cut by his contempt.
I believe in love. I did while Owen was alive and I still do, though it seems that Njål doesn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t even credit my words if I told him that my sorrowful heart is healing because of him.
“Does that mean you don’t know how to earn your freedom?”
“Freedom is not something that should need to be earned,” he snaps, yanking his hand away.
And I have no response, because . . . he’s right. However he ended up like this, it’s wrong, a crime of the highest order. With no part of my heart do I imagine that he’s utterly wicked and deserves this fate. If he has done wrong, it wasn’t of his own free will. Whatever happened, it was so terrible that his mind snapped and it took ages to mend.
“I put that badly. I’m sorry.”
He sighs. “No need to apologize. I get so angry when I think of them. And I understand what you were asking and why. In truth, I had no power in this place. I was lucky to be fed or not to be beaten on any given day.”
While Njål might not realize it, that information helps me. That means the curse was born from his tormentors, somehow. “Do you remember what the keep was like before? Did you have the same sense of . . . sentience?” That might be the wrong word, but I think he’ll grasp what I mean.
He drums his claws against the table thoughtfully. “My memory is blurred from that time, but . . . I don’t think so. I feared the baron and baroness, not this place in particular.”
Yes. That’s valuable knowledge.
“Then the logical conclusion is that when you changed, Bitterburn did as well.”
I need to know what happened, but I can’t torture Njål with it. There are two potential options for me to explore: his journal and dream-walking. I can visit the library anytime, but I have no control over when I slip into the past, and if I manage to repeat that feat, I can’t choose where I appear. Unless I can learn to guide the ability in the witch book.
That seems unlikely though, as the charms I’ve encountered so far seem to be directed at household management. Still, it’s worth a look, I suppose. It’s a slim volume so it won’t take long for me to read it cover to cover.
“Yes,” he says slowly, as if he’s turning an idea over in his mind.
“What is it?”
“Let’s say you’re right about my fate being tied to Bitterburn. I was just wondering if I’d die if the keep was destroyed.”
Oh hell.
“Don’t think that way,” I beg.
“Death would be freedom,” he says gently.
“It’s just an ending. Don’t you want to live—”
“Can I, though? Even if you break the curse, there’s no guarantee I’ll survive. Fell magic forced me to exist this long, and let’s say you untangle it. I might crumble into dust.”
That . . . makes a terrible amount of sense. Fresh dejection surges through me and I slump across the worktable, propping on my elbows. Maybe I ought to stop poking at this. When I said I’ll set Njål free, I didn’t mean I would kill him.
End the cycle. Save the village, the awful, insidious voice whispers.
I tense, but before I can react otherwise, he steps up and wraps his arms around me from behind. His size swallows me, but I feel safe in his embrace. I straighten and lean against him; Njål takes my weight easily, holding me with such tenderness. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so precious.
“This time with you
