33

Aina

I clutch Tuoni’s hand as he leads me through the palace gardens. Away from my room. “Where are we going?”

“A queen deserves a chamber befitting her status.”

I peer up at the north tower, Tuonetar’s new prison. The shadow of her tower looms over the palace, a constant reminder of how close I remain to danger. And I’m the one who decided to bring her out each night to sit at my supper table. If Siiri were here, she’d kick me in the shins and call me a fool. In this moment, I think I’d let her.

Guards swing open a stout wooden door at the base of the south tower, and Tuoni steps through into the stairwell. Taking a torch, he leads the way up the spiraling steps. I lift the sodden hem of my dress with my free hand, following him as we climb. We pass two landings with closed doors, climbing higher. I nearly lose my footing as he stops on the last landing before yet another closed door. With a creak, the heavy wooden door swings inward to reveal a large, circular room. Tuoni drops my hand to secure the torch in a bracket on the wall.

I step past, glancing around. The first thing I notice is the delicious smell—rosemary and mulled wine, roasted duck with stuffing, winter squash soup, fresh-baked pulla bread, buttery jam tarts. The evening meal is set on a table before the hearth, which burns with a happy fire. I walk past the chairs, my fingers fluttering over the soft furs on the four-poster bed. Thinking of the man standing behind me, and the purpose of this bed, I drop my hand to my side, heat blooming in my cheeks.

An ornate wooden cabinet stands in the corner. Opening the doors, I smile, brushing my fingers down the sleeve of a finely embroidered gown. One of many. If Loviatar had any say in their selection, I’m sure they’re all exquisite.

I glance to my right. A polished mirror is affixed above a dressing table. The table contains boxes and vials for cosmetics and jewels. A boar-bristle hairbrush rests next to a pair of golden hair clips. Catching Tuoni’s gaze in the mirror, I blush anew. I’ve never been alone in a room with any man except my father and brothers.

“The door locks from the inside,” he says, swinging it shut. The latch clicks with such finality, I feel it in my bones. I do my best not to tremble as he steps fully into the room. “And you have a much better view now.”

Taking any distraction, I step over to the closest window and unlatch the shutter. A gust of wintry air sweeps in as I take in my view of the garden and the sloping hills beyond. Tuonetar liked the palace to feel dark and dank. Tuoni clearly prefers warmth and light, even knowing the sun will never shine. I peer down into the walled garden. The trees and flowering beds lay concealed beneath a thin layer of fresh snow.

“How do the plants grow?”

Tuoni joins me at the window. “With soil and water and light, same as in the realm of the living.”

“But there is no light here, my lord.”

“Is there not?”

I turn, one hand clutching to the cold sill. “I’ve never seen a sun rise, nor any glimpse of moon or star.”

“Do you have to see a thing to know it’s there, to feel its presence?”

“Well, I suppose...”

“Turn around.”

I go still.

“Turn, wife.” He takes me by the shoulders, pressing against me as I face out the window. I don’t look down as his hands cover mine on the sill. “Close your eyes,” he says, leaning down, his breath warm against my ear.

Heart fluttering, I close my eyes.

He presses in until my hips are against the sill, his body firm behind me. “Now... tilt your face towards the sky. Keep your eyes closed. It is still night. The moon is waxing. Search for its light. Feel it touching your face, soft as a lover’s breath on your cheek.”

I tip my face up. I feel the cold, to be sure. The chill of winter has set in so quickly, hardly a week wasted on autumn. There is no wind. No birdsong. But there is... something. A feeling. A deep kind of knowing. It doesn’t put me in mind of a cool breath on my cheek. Instead, it feels like the eyes of Kuutar watch me from the sky, warm and inviting.

“Where is the moon?” he says in my ear.

With my eyes shut tight, I smile and lift my hand, pointing up and to the left.

“Good,” he says behind me, his hands dropping to my hips. “You will come to feel the sun as well. In time, you’ll hardly notice the darkness.” He steps away, leaving me craving the warmth of his closeness.

“It’s beautiful magic, my lord. Truly.” I rest my hip against the sill as he sheds his cloak. “Whose is it?”

“Tuonetar’s,” he replies, tugging the axe loose. “For all her violence and madness, she has a deep love of flowers and growing things.” He sets the axe down with a clatter and helps himself to a cup of wine.

With his back to me, and his cloak shed, I admire the shape of his shoulders, the set of his hips, the length and strength of his long legs. All the other gods of the underworld are haunting in their strangeness. He looks so... normal. How can it be that his broad hunter’s shoulders and raven-dark hair cause me as much disquiet as Tuonetar’s cracked teeth or Kalma’s skeletal hands?

“You watch me, wife.”

I jump, my eyes darting away from him to look instead at the rug on the floor.

“What are you looking for in me?” Slowly, he turns, offering me a cup of wine. “I disappoint you in this form?”

“No,” I say, quickly, accepting the wine. I step away and his frown deepens.

“I frighten you.”

I take a nervous sip of wine. It’s delicious—rich and red, with fine notes of sweet plum. “‘Fear’ is not the proper word, I think.”

“Which word suits better, wife?”

I take another sip, stepping to the right to put the table between us. “You intimidate me, my lord.”

“Are they not one and the same?”

I place a hand down on the wood of the table, taking solace in something solid. “Fear implies a risk of pain. It assumes you are a danger to me. It assumes I will act against my will or character to avoid such threat of pain.”

“You do not fear pain by my hand?”

Feeling no need to lie, I say, “I believe you would cut off any hand that caused me pain... even if it be your own.”

A darkness flashes in his eyes at the mere thought. Behind him, the fire sparks. He sets his cup down, making no move to step closer to me. “I would do that and more, wife.”

I drop my gaze away from him. “You keep using that word.”

“Which word now offends?”

“Wife.”

“You are my wife. There is nothing wrong in me calling you what you are.”

“It is your very use of the word that intimidates me,” I admit.

“And why does my calling you ‘wife’ intimidate you?”

I swallow my nerves, looking for the right words to explain. “I have been afraid all my life. The sensation is known to me, as known as my name. When you call me ‘wife,’ when you show me kindness, when you look at me as you are looking at me now...”

“How am I looking at you?”

I shake my head, not daring to raise my eyes.

“Aina... look at me.”

I close my eyes, denying him what he wants. “I cannot,” I whisper.

“Why?”

“Because in your face, I see the raven who loves me. In your body, I see the man who hungers for me. But in your eyes...” I glance up at last, holding his mismatched gaze. “In your eyes, I see the god who owns me... and I am intimidated.”

“If I own you, then you own me. Ought I to feel intimidated too?”

“We are bound together. From the moment our blood joined, I’ve felt you pressing in at me,” I say, placing a hand over my heart. “I feel you here , seeking and pulling. Wanting, needing, aching. I think you mean to unravel me. You mean to take every knot in my tapestry and untie it, binding it into yours until we are no longer two people but one.”

“And should I not want this from my wife?” he says, his frustration rising as he steps closer. “Should I not want to shelter and adore you? Carve out half of me to make a place for you?”

“You take the words of marriage too literally, my lord. I must remain my own person. I must be free to choose you, to... to want you.”

“And do you?”

I go still, my gaze now locked on the candle. Tuoni waits, unmoving, his good eye watching me as I watch the flame. “I do not know you,” I say at last.

“You know the raven—”

“You are not the raven,” I cry. “For weeks I lived with him, sharing my every thought and dream. He knows me so well— you know me so well.” I shake my head. “But you are now a man, and I don’t know you beyond the stories and songs meant to frighten me. A god calls me ‘wife,’ and he is a stranger to me. So yes, I am intimidated.”

He glances around, settling his gaze on the feast. “Dine with me.”

I let out a little laugh. “What?”

“You’re hungry. I can hear the way your stomach groans. A feast stands ready for us,” he adds, gesturing to the table. “Dine with me and ask me any question. You say you do not know me. Now is your chance, wife. Dine with your husband and get to know him.”

My laughter grows. I see it upsets him, and I try to stop, covering my mouth with my hand.

“What is funny?” he mutters, his frustration rising.

“I just—” I shake my head again, stifling this laughter that has quickly turned to nervous trembling. “The god of death wants me to dine with him.” I choke on another laugh as I imagine saying the words out loud to Siiri. I picture the horrified look on her face. “The god of death is my husband and—oh gods—I am now the Queen of Tuonela.” I clutch at my side, sucking in a sharp breath. With my free hand, I reach out, frantically grasping for the back of the chair to steady myself. “I am—I married you, my lord. Your spurned queen now haunts the opposite tower, casting a pall over my life. And not an hour ago, the only three mortal souls left in this realm sailed away from me. I am truly alone now.” I can’t catch my breath. Nothing about this is funny anymore. “Oh gods, I am—I’m alone—”

He takes me by the shoulders, helping me into the chair. Soothing me with soft words and touches, he drops down to one knee. The god of death deigns to comfort me, his weak mortal wife. “You are not alone, Aina. You shall never fear loneliness again. I am here.”

“I miss my family,” I whisper, my trembling hands holding tight to his strong arms. “I miss my mother. I miss Siiri.”

He stiffens, sinking back on his heels. “Always Siiri. Your thoughts never seem to turn from her.”

I go still, not daring to look up. I can feel his jealousy through our bond. “She is my friend—”

“Don’t lie to me. You can lie to yourself, but not to me. As the raven, I listened to endless stories of your exploits together. You held me as you cried for her. I stayed by your side as you dreamed of her. Your fondness for her is a thorn in my side.”

“What other stories can I share when it is she who has been more constant in my life than the sun itself—” I gasp as he presses against me, his hips between my legs, his large hand cupping the back of my head as he pulls me closer, stealing all my air with the violence of his expression.

“I don’t want to hear another word about Siiri Jarintytt?r.”

I look at his eyes, from light to dark. “What use is jealousy when you know I will never see her again? How can you deny me even my memories—”

With a growl, he cups my face with both hands, his grip tight, his lips all but brushing mine. “I will not share you with another. You are my wife, Aina. Not hers. I will carve a place for myself in your heart, I swear it. I will be first in your affections.”

I stiffen in his embrace, feeling the chaos and confusion of his thoughts down the bond. He’s panicking. Gods help me, I think he’s scared. He’s just as unsure of this new bond as I am. He doesn’t know what it means to be a husband. I’m not sure he even knows how to be a friend. Slowly, I lift a hand, brushing the wool of his tunic. “You cannot force affection, my lord. Think of the raven.”

His dark eye fixes on me, his mouth set in a grim line as he sinks back, giving me room to breathe. I look for my Jaako in the slant of his cheekbones, the arch of his nose. Gently, I lift my hand and cup his face, my thumb brushing the softness of his wiry black beard. “A caged bird will only beat at its bars. Once the cage opens, it is sure to fly away... never to return.”

Shifting my hand, I brush my thumb over his lips. They part for me, and I feel his warm breath on my skin. “But a bird fed from an open hand will return to you.” He leans into my touch, his lips forming the echo of a kiss against my thumb. “Open your hand, my lord. Give me leave to love you in my time and in my way. And please, if you care for me at all, let me keep my memories.”

Slowly, he nods, his shoulders relaxing as I let him have my willing touch. I brush my hands over his scarred cheeks, across his brow, down his beard. He sinks against me. His hands drop to rest on my knees, gentle but claiming as they graze up my thighs. He lowers his head to my shoulder, content to breathe me in.

There is nothing sensual in our touch. He is a man, and I am his wife, but this feels altogether innocent. In this moment, we are two souls bound by some strange iron thread, seeking shelter in each other as the darkness presses in. He’s part of me now. Tuonela is part of me. I feel him in me, his blood, a whisper of his magic. There is a taste on my tongue, a taste of iron and salt.

It’s the tang of the death.

The death god is in me as much as he kneels before me. I know with a knowing marrow-deep that I can never root him out. Swallowing my fear, I lift my trembling hands and brush my fingers through his hair. Flecks of ash from the alder tree flutter loose, landing on his shoulders. I freed him from that prison. I bound him to me with blood and oath, pulling him from the fires of Tuonetar’s broken curse.

The awesome truth hits me as he leans away, his gaze full of longing as he looks in my eyes. The death god is in me. I am his. But this was binding magic. Two souls were required. If he is in me, then I am in him. If I am his, then Tuoni is mine .

Heart racing, I cup his bearded face, smiling down at my raven. “I want to know you. I want to know Tuonela. Show me everything.”