If it means I only get half as long in this realm, and I spend every moment with him, it’s worth it.
31.
Gasping, I fall to my knees with the force and speed of that last working.
Hardly daring to look at Njål, I crawl over to him, afraid that it’s not enough, that I must watch him perish. But his color returns, the specter of death receding. Soon, he sits up and takes my hand, staring in awe. The air swirls with ash while the mirror flickers in the scant light, clouded, hateful shapes swirling in the glass.
“You gave me half your life,” he whispers.
“I’d give you all of it.”
“No. I won’t let you,” Njål says, wrapping me in his arms.
I settle against him, too tired to move. “If I can’t live without you, the opposite ought to be true as well. And I’ll learn to pull from the land. Not irresponsibly, like the baron and baroness did, only enough for us to live into old age without causing undue harm. But . . . that would mean we need to keep moving to spread the drain.”
“I’ve always wanted to travel. Is it truly over?”
“Let’s test it.”
I sweep the citadel with spirit sight and find that the wicked web is gone, no longer leaching from the world so that it threatens all life in the region. Njål helps me to my feet and I lean on him as we make our way back to the heart of Bitterburn. The kitchen still reeks a bit. Outside, in the courtyard, the ice statues are gone, a handful of sparkling dust where they once stood.
“I didn’t honestly think they could come back to life,” Njål says softly. “But I’m still sad. Is that strange?”
I take his hand crossways, palm to palm. “Not at all. I’m opening the portcullis. Go ahead, see what happens.”
Njål steps to the gate and pauses, gazing across the threshold with an agony of hope and indecision; his hesitation breaks my heart. Even if he can leave, I don’t know if he’s able to. The world has changed so much, and I wish to show him everything, but he might be afraid. Of being persecuted for his appearance or of the unknown.
Then he takes one step, another. Until he’s on the other side of the wall. No longer trapped, no longer entombed with a monster.
“Oh gods, I’m really free.” He throws both arms heavenward in exultation and spins, unfettered and joyous as I’ve never seen him.
I dash over to join him in the silly, celebratory dance, and the goats gambol over, stamping all over the snow. It’s too brisk to stay outdoors, but even the cold is different. Natural. Not the icy barrenness that drains all life. Njål shows no signs of wanting to go back in. For at least an hour, I watch him run around with the goats, up and down the path, until my toes feel frozen.
Smiling, I head back inside to make some hot drinks. Soon after, he comes up behind me and hugs around my shoulders as I steep the herbal tea. “I’ve no idea how I got so lucky. How did you do it? I thought they were unkillable, like fiends from a story.”
“I didn’t, exactly.”
“No?” Now he seems worried, turning me to face him. “Can they come back?”
“I don’t see how. They’re locked inside the mirror.” As best I can, I explain what happened, but it’s difficult since he doesn’t have spirit sight and he can’t sense the same things I can.
Finally he says, “I think I understand. The baroness used that mirror for scrying, so maybe that’s why it worked? It was already attuned to magic.”
I smile tiredly. “I don’t care about why. As long as they’re gone and you’re safe, that’s what matters most.” It occurs to me then. “You know, it’s odd but I have no idea what their names were, other than Baron and Baroness Bitterburn.”
“Neither do I,” Njål says somberly. “They used stolen ones for so long that I doubt even they remembered at the end.”
Maybe I shouldn’t ask right now, but . . . I kept my promise, and deals should be honored, even among loved ones. “I know there’s something you don’t want to tell me about the ritual. You promised to answer, after. What happened to Gilda?” I recall how she was strapped to the table in the bone room.
His joy fades, leaving his expression alarmingly blank. Stepping away, Njål turns his back and I immediately miss his warmth. Even his body temperature feels different now that he’s free, properly alive for the first time in ages.
“I killed her,” he says.
“You did?”
He gives the account in a neutral tone. “She was the first person I killed. Not the last. After I changed, the baroness attempted to steal her body. I tried to get us both out, but the room was warded and locked. They would’ve destroyed her and worn her like a glove. I killed her rather than let that happen. They punished me with these marks. Not for violence. For acting outside their interests. And for a long time, the sigils controlled me.”
Part of me is horrified and the other half wants to comfort him. He murdered Gilda . . . for the right reasons? Killed her body to save her soul. That’s not something I ever imagined I’d believe, yet I do.
“If it was me,” I say carefully, “I would prefer the quick end. You gave her soul another chance. If they had their way, she would’ve just been gone.”
“You’re trying to be kind. No need. I’ve done terrible things, so much that I probably don’t deserve to be free. For years I lived as their puppet. I fought
