Chapter 42: Warmth and Shadows

Sophia’s lips curled into a smile as the warm, tired voice called, "Come in," a familiar comfort cutting through the chill of the morning.

She pushed open the door to Brynhild and Lysander’s home, the hinges groaning softly, and stepped inside. The exterior, a modest stone structure weathered by the northern gales, belied the vastness within.

The house was a deceptive shell hiding a spacious haven. From the outside, it looked small and cozy but the inside was anything but small.

The air in the room enveloped her in a cozy warmth, rich with the scent of burning wood, dried herbs, and a faint hint of spiced tea.

The interior stretched unexpectedly wide, the high ceiling supported by thick beams carved with protective runes that pulsed faintly in the firelight. A large hearth dominated the far wall, its crackling flames casting a golden glow across the room, the stone mantel etched with swirling patterns to ward off the cold.

The floor was wooden, polished smooth by years of use, covered in patches with thick rugs woven from animal pelts, their gray white and even brown fibers adding a rugged elegance.

Stone walls, reinforced with the same rune-etched blocks as the exterior, held shelves brimming with jars of salves, scrolls, and dried plants, which Sophia suspected was Lysander’s domain, while a sturdy oak table bore a steaming kettle and a tray of bread.

The space felt homey yet functional, a perfect marriage of Brynhild’s practical strength and Lysander’s nurturing care, warmed by the hearth’s steady heat.

Along the walls were weapons, spears and swords alike with armours. Each of them had their own distinct beauty. There was a target at a far corner with small pocket knives in it. She suspected that was Brynhild’s doing.

Near the hearth, Brynhild sat in a sturdy wooden chair, its arms worn from use, a warm cloth draped over her lap to ease the strain of her pregnancy.

Her black skin glowed softly in the firelight, and her hair was released from its normal bun, instead everything spilled over her shoulders, framing her face with a wild grace.

Though blind, her eyes tracked Sophia with an uncanny precision, heightened by her condition. She wore a simple tunic, her twin swords absent, the blanket a quiet concession to the bed rest Lysander had imposed.

In a corner, Sophia’s gaze caught sight of baby items, a small crib crafted from dark wood, its sides etched with protective runes to shield the unborn child from northern spirits, and a soft pile of furs and woven blankets dyed in earthy tones.

Beside it stood a narrow bed, its frame sturdy and unadorned, piled with pelts to insulate against the cold, a practical addition for the healer’s late-night vigils or Brynhild’s restless nights. The setting fit the rugged northern weather but also provided that sense of belonging. Sophia reminded herself that this home belonged to Brynhild and her spouse so of course it would provide a sense of belonging.

Sophia stepped closer, her breath easing in the warmth. "Your home is beautiful," she said, her voice soft with admiration.

Brynhild’s lips curved into a smile, "It was all Lysander’s doing...at least most of it was his doing. He was with the planners before it was built and he pestered them endlessly to make it his way. I didn’t care how it was built as long as it had space for my treasures."

"Treasures being your weapons?" Sophia asked her with a smile as she pointed at the weapons and armour adorning the walls like they were decorations.

"What else?" Brynhild asked matter of factly making Sophia laugh. "I wanted a place for my treasures and Lysander wanted somewhere just for his herbs although if you ask me, there is no need for that especially given the fact that our home isn’t that far from the medical facility."

Sophia chuckled, settling into the moment. "So you say. But I can’t imagine Lysander pestering anyone. He seems too calm for that."

"Calm." Brynhild asked her.

Lysander is a bit calm but people refer to him as grumpy instead.

"Calm and grumpy. But you get my point, he doesn’t seem like someone who would pester people." Sophia said to her.

Brynhild’s laughter rang out, rich and unguarded, filling the room with warmth. " True, that. And he didn’t do it himself. He made Ronan do the pestering." She gestured to a cushioned stool nearby, her tone inviting. "Enough standing, take a seat."

Sophia obeyed. She glanced at Brynhild, curiosity piquing. "How did you know it was me?"

Brynhild tapped her nose with a knowing grin. "You’ve got a distinct scent, something like pine and steel, with a hint of outsider dust. My nose picks it up clear as day, especially now." 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

"You sure it’s not just the outsider dust you perceived?" Sophia asked her.

"Perhaps. But I’ll never tell." Brynhild said to her.

The cloak Sophia wore carried Orion’s scent. But the fact that it was mixed with Sophia’s scent which smelled faintly of flowers made her know it was Sophia not Orion but she wasn’t going to tell Sophia that she lied about her scent.

Sophia nodded and released a sigh. "I never thought I’d smell like pine. I was thinking of a more floral or girly scent but here I am."

Brynhild chuckled.

"Are you okay now? After yesterday?" Sophia asked her.

Seeing Brynhild collapse after coming back from her fight with the Skylurs sent a sharp pain through her ribs. But before she could close the distance between them, Orion had taken her to his office.

Brynhild’s smile faded slightly, her hand resting on the cloth over her lap. "I pushed myself too much, fighting off the Skylurs. Lysander says it’s why I collapsed, but as long as I take it easy, there’s nothing to worry about. Bed rest, no captain duties, no fighting." Her voice carried a trace of frustration.

Sophia groaned, a sympathetic sound. "I understand, but it’s a shame. You looked so cool fighting that Skylur! The way you swung your swords at the gate, dodging its claws like it was nothing. I was there, watching from the barricade. You were like a storm, unstoppable! You were like bam! Wham! Gbosh! " Her words spilled out in a fan-girl rush, her admiration genuine, her memory of the gate fight vivid in her mind.

Brynhild stiffened, the smile vanishing from her face as the words sank in. The mention of the gate...Her gaze narrowed, her posture tensing as she turned her head toward Sophia.

"You were at the gate?" Her voice was low, edged with a sudden, sharp curiosity and a trace of anger that hung in the air, marking the end of their easy exchange.