But I’ve been in his arms. I’ve kissed that mouth. I smile at him, meeting his gaze fully. “So this is you.”
Njål regards me with timorous hope, taking a step closer with the air of one who fears startling a bird. “You’re not frightened?”
“Not at all. I didn’t have any expectations, and you’ve filled in the gaps of my knowledge. I’m glad you did.”
Perhaps the next step will be him allowing me to see whatever’s hidden in the east wing. Considering the bone room lurking in Bitterburn’s depths, I ought to be worried about what he finds troubling enough to conceal. And how much of a role did Njål play in the evisceration of this place? I want to believe he’s innocent, and while he certainly was an blameless victim in the past, I’ve no idea what happened when he grew up. The townsfolk only speak of the beast, not how he became one.
I hold my ground as he moves until he’s standing right before me, and I breathe in his lye and pine scent while gazing into his unnaturally brilliant eyes. Really, they’re like quicksilver or the heart of a star. I imagine the latter, as I’ve only seen the stars from far away. He reaches out and I don’t flinch when he cups my cheek in his palm, careful with his claws. Instead I cover the back of his hand with my fingers, telling him with silent strokes that the reality of him is far less disturbing than the mystery.
“I had long since given up on the gods, but now I might consider. Because I have no other explanation for you.”
“You think I’m heaven-sent?”
“I can find no other explanation. Perhaps it took this long for them to act on my desperate pleas, but at last, here you are.”
“While I don’t mind the notion of being a divine emissary, it removes free will from the equation. And I like it better when I’m the one who made this decision and acted on it.”
“Yes, I can see why you would. Then let me thank you instead of absent gods.”
“You’re welcome.” It’s strange to look at his face as we talk, but not in a bad way.
He pulls his hand from my cheek with a soft sigh. “While I’d much rather spend the day on more agreeable topics—”
“The voice.” Before the odd, fuzzy feeling returns, I start with a summation of the nonverbal force, the one that shows me visions like the one of the bone room and how I think it’s related to my dream forays into the past. I finish with what the presence has been whispering and how I sometimes don’t feel like myself.
Njål takes a step back, bracing on the edge of the worktable. “Do you mean . . . were you not yourself when we—”
“No,” I cut in. “I’m not implying that you took advantage of me. Everything that’s happened between us occurred because I was willing. Eager, even. This is more . . . I can’t hold on to certain thoughts, or my mood shifts without my volition and I lose track of facts. It’s like something wants me content and complacent, not examining too much.”
His voice quickens with excitement, and for the first time, I can see the related glimmer in his eyes, the curve of his mouth. “If that’s true, then it’s likely that you hold the secret to unraveling the curse. Perhaps it diverts you when you’re starting to get close?”
“I need to pay attention to when it happens, keep detailed notes. Maybe a pattern will emerge.” Part of me can’t believe I’m this important. I’ve lived my whole life accepting that I’m no one, albeit a bit strange, always asking awkward questions, making people question what they believe to be true, and knowing things without having access to proof.
“Good idea. And tell me when it happens. It might be . . .” He trails off—and now that I’m privy to his expression, I discern that he’s wondering about a secret he keeps, possibly related to the east wing.
Njål has lived alone for so long that he’s forgotten how to hide anything, if he ever knew. I go straight for it because I’m not good at prevarication either. “You’ve thought of something,” I say. “If you know what’s causing this, you should tell me.”
“I’m not sure,” he says slowly.
“But you suspect.”
“I’ll look into it. If anything comes to light, I’ll share it with you.”
Things are different now. We’re lovers. It’s not wrong to call us that, I think, but he still wants to curl up with his secrets as if they can keep him warm. I’ve been trusting him, believing him on all counts, but I only have his word about any of this. It’s possible that he murdered all those people currently lying in the bone room. Maybe he’s played this game with others throughout the ages, and when I lose my willingness to take everything on faith, I’ll join the rest. My heart beats ferociously fast in my chest.
And he hears it, lurching backward like I’ve unexpectedly lodged a blade in his side. “You’re afraid now. Of me.”
“I don’t want to be. But it’s impossible not to wonder what you’re hiding in the east wing,” I say.
Njål goes then. A
