Lydia came up behind her son and placed a narrow hand on the boy’s shoulder. The other smoothed a circle over the curve of her rounded belly. “Go play now, kandiri. Magnus will be back as soon as his mission’s complete.”
Arvid’s son looked put out at missing any of the grown-up conversation, yet he obeyed his mother, not before saluting Magnus with a little pounded fist over his heart. Magnus chuckled and returned the gesture.
Magnus turned back to Lydia. The smile slipped from his face at the look of abject concern filling Lydia’s eyes. Like all Dokiri hammas, Arvid’s wife was a lovely woman. She had dark hair and clear skin. Despite her youth, her gaze had always held a degree of shrewdness, a maturity that had helped ground Magnus’s friend in the responsibilities of manhood. That steadying gaze threatened to level Magnus right where he stood. She sucked in a breath, and Magnus braced himself.
“Ivan told me.”
Magnus cocked an innocent brow. “Told you what?”
He could guess. His brash older brother was never one to mince words, not even for the comfort of a widow, a Dokiri gritu. Or at least, a gritu for all intents and purposes.
Lydia pinned him with an impatient stare that warned she was not willing to be patronized. “The Eye won’t save him.”
Magnus pressed his lips together. “Is that what Ivan told you?”
Lydia swallowed. “He told me what happened to the imp. The one the Soul Thieves had enthralled. You all used the Eye on it.”
“And it worked.”
Lydia swallowed. “Then where is the creature now, Magnus?”
Its body was probably ash on some rubbish heap. Though the Eye of Azureal had removed the Soul Thieves’ influence from the creature, it hadn’t restored the imp’s own soul into its body. What had remained was a meandering shell. It hadn’t even the instinct to eat, nor defend itself when Ivan had finally put it out of its misery.
“It was an imp, not a Na Dokiri.” He had to believe that made a difference. There was no other option.
Lydia rubbed her swollen belly. The child was due this summer, and Arvid had been so excited. So proud to give his son a brother. A brother he himself had never had, except in Magnus.
Lydia’s eyes began to glisten, and the back of Magnus’s neck went suddenly itchy. She turned her head to the side, trying to hide the tears. Magnus reached out a hand to comfort her, then stopped, uncertain. Lydia wasn’t one to often touch others.
She sniffled. “I don’t know what to name him.” To Magnus’s horror, her voice broke. “I don’t know who I am without Arvid.”
Unsure what to do with his hands, Magnus tucked them under his arms. He kept his expression soft, pleading. “You are Lydia of Bedmeg. No matter what happens. You’re the mother of two Dokiri sons.”
Lydia gave a shaky sigh, then glanced back up at Magnus, her watery eyes searching his expression. He didn’t like the insightfulness suddenly lurking there. “And what of you, Magnus?”
Magnus’s brows drew together. “What about me?”
“Will you simply be Magnus of Bedmeg, forever?”
Magnus’s jaw tightened. He could sense where this conversation was going. His three older brothers had already claimed their brides, their hammas. It was Magnus’s turn now. Curious eyes had turned on him in anticipation from the moment Ivan and Lavinia’s bonding had been made common knowledge. Of course, no one could blame him for not rushing off to claim a hamma. Not in times like these. Somehow, Magnus knew that wasn’t precisely what Lydia was referring to.
He smiled and gave an easy shrug. “I don’t think you’re giving me enough credit, woman. I’m not known only as ‘The Vast’. I’m also known as the handsome, witty, and musically divine.”
Lydia’s lips thinned further. “I’ve asked you to stop guarding our house at night.”
Magnus’s stomach quickened. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “The night air is soothing in this barren wasteland. Why shouldn’t I enjoy it from the rooftops if the mood strikes me?”
Lydia cocked her head to one side. “There are other rooftops.”
True. But none that Arvid would come to.
Magnus knew the impulse bordered on total insanity. No, it was insanity. But he couldn’t shake this feeling he had that if Arvid ever managed to escape, he’d be drawn to his family. That, wherever they were, they’d call him home like a beacon.
On his good nights, the ones where he managed to actually sleep, Magnus dreamed of watching, first from outside Lydia’s bok, and then from the rooftop of her Ebronian boardinghouse, as Arvid wandered home. Joy had suffused Magnus in those dreams, and the weight of guilt had lifted off his shoulders as though he’d slipped out from underneath the mountain itself.
Then there had been the other dreams. The nightmares.
Arvid’s piercing blue gaze had been gone, replaced with that otherworldly, silver-white glow that had lit his body from within. There was malevolence in that gaze, the echo of some fiendish devil bent on destruction. This Arvid, too, had wandered home. Only this time, Magnus hadn’t been there to greet him. He’d only been there to witness the aftermath. A slaughtered little boy. Lydia’s dark, lifeless eyes. An unborn child strewn in pieces across the floor. Arvid’s hands, covered in blood.
To Magnus, anything was better than suffering that horror. Even long sleepless nights from a rooftop guarding those he didn’t love, but whom his best friend had loved most.
No. I won’t let that happen.
The silence stretched between them. Lydia wetted her lips, then extended a hesitant hand toward Magnus. She let it rest on his crossed forearm. “Arvid wouldn’t have wanted you to hold yourself responsible.”
Her words stung the back of his eyes even as the pit of his stomach rejected them. Magnus forced a smile and gave an exaggerated shrug that shook off Lydia’s grip. “Arvid knows the only person in Bedmeg less responsible than him is me.”
“He would’ve wanted you to live your life, Magnus. To claim a bride, to have children.” She frowned. “To be happy.”
Magnus forced his smile wider. “Well, I don’t know about happiness, but the bride claiming thing is taken care of.”
Lydia’s mouth dropped. “You found a hamma?”
Magnus clicked his tongue. “Assuming she’ll have me.”
Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Since when has that ever mattered?”
Magnus bent down to pick up his pack, then wiggled his brows. “It doesn’t. But she doesn’t need to know that.”
Magnus turned to go, then stopped. He leveled one last look at Arvid’s hamma. “Whatever else happens, Lydia, I’ll make sure you don’t have to ask yourself who you are anymore.” Hamma or gritu, he’d make sure she had her answer. Or die trying.
Her chin wrinkled and her eyes began to well again. Magnus was about to retreat when Lydia cleared her throat.
“Just remember what I said, Magnus. You can’t trade your life for his.”
No wonder the woman had been so perfect for his friend. She was a boulder of pure steel. Not a vein of weakness was in her.
Magnus looked away. He drew his fingers down from his forehead in a gesture of respect to Dokiri women as he moved toward the door. The sounds and smells of the city filled his ears and nose as he passed through the doorway. He made it all of five paces from the house before the sight of familiar boots stopped him short.