The Second Blind Son by Amy Harmon

EPILOGUE

He had not grown accustomed to happiness; mayhaps he never would. He and Ghisla had said their vows at the altar uncovered from the rubble of the temple, and King Bayr had pronounced them man and wife, though he’d stumbled over Ghisla’s name. She would always be Liis of Leok to Bayr and her sisters, and she answered to both. She did not want to return to Tonlis, though he’d offered to take her. He was confident he could make his way across the sea now, especially with her eyes to guide him.

“This is my home. You are my home,” she said without hesitation, and he had vowed to make it a good one.

They’d been given a room in the palace—a room for honored guests—though he would have been happy in the little chamber by the stairs. Ghisla had never had a room of her own or even a space of her own, and she had easily adjusted to the order he required.

“I find it amazing that you can hear when I am hungry but you trip over my shoes,” she teased him.

The palace was teeming, but they had a corner to themselves. A happy, glorious corner. It was all he’d ever wanted.

He’d been welcomed by all and shunned by none, though Ghost had reservations. She was mourning. She had made herself Highest Keeper, and she worked tirelessly day after day, but her heart was broken. She did not trust Hod—his strangeness was too much like her own—and Master Ivo’s suspicions, and probably Dagmar’s too, had colored her view of him.

He’d been raised up to be a keeper, and he offered to assist in preserving and cataloging the rubble of the temple. He knew the names of the runes and how to draw and unlock them, but Ghost was not ready for his companionship or his counsel, and Hod kept his distance. He was not even certain he cared whether the runes were preserved.

It was a conundrum; to rebuild without understanding the past—both the triumphs and failures—was to start over instead of moving ahead. Saylok could learn from the runes, but they would be better served not to worship them. Saylok needed keepers to hold a king’s power in check, but mayhaps they should be keepers of faith and justice instead of keepers of runes.

Princess Alba—Queen Alba—had embraced him with open arms. She asked him almost daily to put his hands upon her belly and listen to the child within her.

“Can you tell today if it’s a daughter?” she would ask.

“I have no experience with such things, Majesty,” he always said. “But the heart is strong and steady . . . and if I had to bet upon it, I would say it is a girl child. A daughter’s heart is . . . different.”

A heartbeat thrummed in Ghisla’s womb as well. Two of them. And if he had to guess again, he would wager they were boys. Brothers.

“We will call them Baldr and Hod,” Ghisla proclaimed, and he could not sway her against it.

He had not grown accustomed to such happiness. Mayhaps he never would.

He was getting to know his brother. Bayr had no artifice and very little ego. He was fierce in his duty, fierce in his love, and mild in his manner. Sometimes Hod would hear his mighty heart and think of Banruud—the sound was the same, like the sea in a storm, the wind moaning through the cave where he’d been raised. Their voices were the same too—the gravel tones and the rumble from their chests. Ghisla said Hod sounded the same, though he couldn’t hear it.

“You share the same voice, all of you. It is one of the things that convinced me, all those years ago, that Arwin spoke the truth.”

Bayr was bothered by his paternity. “He was not a good man, our father,” he said to Hod not long after his coronation, as he studied his kingdom. He liked to climb up on the wall and survey the lands around him. Hod simply liked to be at his side.

“No. He was not. He caused great grief. Great suffering,” Hod answered.

“Does it bother you . . . that we . . . are his?”

“It did. Once. But then I thought of you.”

“Of me?” Bayr asked, surprised.

“Yes. I knew long ago you were Banruud’s. And I knew all the stories of the Temple Boy. So strong. And good. To belong to Banruud meant I also belonged to you. It made me happy. I was honored.”

Bayr did not speak, but he wrapped his hand around the back of Hod’s neck, clasping him like the bear from which he’d descended.

“You could have come to me, Hod. You did not have to sail to the Northlands,” Bayr said, his tone gentle.

“Arwin was always adamant about my training. I have now served three kings,” Hod replied. Then he smiled. “Two of them are dead, though . . . so I don’t know if that is much of a recommendation.”

Bayr laughed, but he grew tender again almost immediately.

“You do not have to serve me, brother,” he murmured.

“But I will. I will guard your heart—and your back—all the days of my life,” Hod promised.

“You sound like Dagmar.” Emotion limned Bayr’s voice. “But surely you want more than to serve yet another king.”

“I have everything I have ever wanted,” Hod professed. “A home on the mount. A woman I have loved from the moment I met her. And hope in Saylok.”

“Ah, brother, we are exactly the same,” Bayr said, setting his hand upon Hod’s shoulder. They stood together thus, listening to Ghisla usher in the dusk with keeper song.

All that was and all that is, all I am and all I wish.

Open my eyes to see, make me at one with thee,

Gods of my father and god of my soul.

Give me a home in hope, give me a place to go,

Give me a faith that will never grow cold.