Noah drains his cup, then grabs my tankard and drinks it deep. “I’ll get you another," he says. He does. And then he drinks that too. And then he starts to dance with the others and then I am forgotten.
I sit at the bar and I think. I want out of here. I belong here, but I don't want to be here. Is that what love is? Does it make the familiar feel wrong? Does it inspire one to be better? That last part sounds right.
I tortured Thor the entire time I knew him. I made his life hell. And his mother disposed of me. She must have seen right through me. I’m not angry at her. I think I might have done the same were I her. I’m not good for him. He's probably better and happier without me.
“Another?”
The demon behind the counter is a stunning blonde man. I am surrounded by gorgeous men and women, and an atmosphere of support and acceptance. I don't make anybody here angry. I can’t. We're all the same.
“Please.”
Another tankard comes across the counter. This time I pick it up, and I drink.
14
Thor
“It is for the best, my child. She was not made for you, and you were not made for her.”
How could this outcome be for the best? And at the same time, how could this have ended any other way? I knew the moment I first laid eyes on her that she was trouble. I watched her behave recklessly, barely surviving scrape after scrape. Until this one. The one she could not survive.
I carried her back from the lake, cold and stiff. Now she is wrapped in linens, stored away neatly. One of my things.
I told her that, once. More than once. I made it very apparent she was a belonging of mine. Not a person to be loved. A thing to be had. And used. And in the end, she chose the darkness of the night. If it was a choice at all. Maybe it was just an inevitability, a cruel reminder from the universe itself that I did not deserve the heat of her passion, or the intensity of her existence.
Grief has become my only temperament and mood. It has crawled into every orifice, sunk into every pore. I am pickled in it. I stink of it. And I cannot escape it.
“I need to return to Direford. It is where she came from. It is where she should be returned.”
Skathi inclines her head in agreement. “That may be best, my son. The embrace of the Brotherhood and the work of your brothers will heal what the world has taken from you. It is best you focus on your calling, Thor. This was an unfortunate interlude, but as I understand it, a short one.”
“A week, I think. Beginning to end. Sunday to Sunday.”
“Sometimes the shortest things in life affect us the deepest,” she acknowledges.
“Sometimes things are gone before you know what they were.”
“Don't imagine that you loved her more than you did simply because she's dead. That’s a very human mistake to make. Let yourself grieve and move on. If you want to take a bride at some point, you can find someone more suited. Someone less chaotic. Someone with elegance and breeding.”
She's trying to distract me with visions of a future we both know I’ll never have. I’m not made for nice women with good temperaments and whatever she means by breeding. I was made for that rough and ready streak of pure feminine madness who could not be contained, who took me by the shaft and turned my world upside down. I wonder what would have happened if I'd just let her hold my hammer in the first place. If I hadn’t tried to fight what was between us. She might still be here. That moment was explosive in so many ways, and I didn’t see it for what it was.
A flight later…
“Welcome home, brother."
Bryn embraces me, but I don’t feel his hug. I don't feel anything anymore. There’s a numbness where feelings used to be.
“I’m sorry," he says. “I know you were fond of her.”
Words are always too little in these situations. Bryn’s words somehow manage to be less than too little. I don't blame him. There's nothing he could say now that would make a difference.
Crichton and Crocombe appear to be hearing this information for the first time. Crocombe lets out a sigh and buries her face in Crichton’s chest. The two of them have never gotten along, but grief bonds in a way happiness cannot. He murmurs something in her ear, something that makes her look up quickly and nod. Then he disappears.
I'd worry, but I’m not capable of worrying anymore. I have lost my ability to care. I may not ever care again. I might not be capable of it. I might be internally cold and frozen forever.