Curse of the Troll by Emma Hamm (novels to read .txt) 📕

the past week, Elva was seated in one of the chairs. A small mound of snow sat between the two chairs where she’d placed an open bottle of wine.

Donnacha sank down in the ice seat beside her. “A rather cheery night for a drink.”

She didn’t look at him. Instead, she stared at the wall where the castle had opted to create a fireplace. The carved ice mimicking wavering flames was a nice added touched, although one he found slightly ironic.

He’d brought glasses a few nights ago, which she’d immediately tossed at the wall and shattered. They didn’t need glasses because that was for civilized people, she’d claimed. Clearly neither of them was that. He had kidnapped a woman, and she had given up a life to be a warrior. Formalities were useless between the two of them.

Donnacha hadn’t thought it was smart to argue when she’d been in a mood to break things. Tonight, she was silent.

He didn’t know which was more frightening.

Reaching out, he grabbed the bottle of wine and took a sip. “Not much for talking tonight, is that it?”

“Old demons haunt me tonight.” A rush of wind echoed her words, sounding like that of a spirit moaning through the halls.

“Ah. Anything I might help with?”

“Do you know how to banish memories for good? I’d wipe them from my mind if I could.”

Oh, he didn’t like the sound of that. Donnacha wasn’t one for dwelling on dark topics, but those weren’t words he wanted to hear her say again. “Banishing memories like that is a fool’s errand.”

“Is that so?” She looked over at him then, anger turning her blue eyes dark as a storm. “Do you have memories that plague you?”

He arched a brow. “What do you think?”

The knowledge of his curse dawned on her visibly. Elva shifted to stare back at the wall. “I supposed it’s similar.”

Donnacha leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, wine bottle hanging from his fingertips. “Those memories, however difficult they are to deal with, made you who you are. It’s not a weakness to still be affected by them. You should be. They clearly were difficult times for you to endure, and you shouldn’t be embarrassed by that.”

What had he become? A sweet talker so that women would tell him their inner most secrets? His brothers would have laughed at him for saying something like that.

He’d realized a long time ago that memories were the only thing keeping people intact. They had to know what happened to them, to remember every harsh detail of life, to enjoy living. And for some strange reason, he wanted this woman to understand how important it was for her to acknowledge that.

Her face remained turned away from him. A muscle on her jaw jumped as she clenched her teeth, angrily staring at the wall. “I don’t want to remember them.”

“Sometimes it helps to share the memories.”

“I don’t want to tell you either.”

“Why not?”

Elva’s shoulders curved into her body. “I don’t want to think about them at all. What makes you think I’d be interested in actually talking about it?”

He didn’t think it would be a bad idea. In fact, considering the haunted expression on her face, it seemed like she needed to talk about it more than anything else.

He wasn’t a qualified person to speak with her, certainly. She had no idea who he was. He had no idea who she was. There were a lot of factors that would make her not trust him.

Least of all that he’d forced her to come here. Elva had made it clear there was plenty she’d rather be doing than sitting in this fortress with him. She’d wanted to train, to become the most well-known warrior woman in the realm. Of course, she hadn’t told him the why behind that either.

Donnacha thought he might be able to piece that together just from the way she was sitting right now.

His eyes danced over the signs of a person close to a breakdown. The way her fingers were curled into her fists. How she crossed her arms, nearly hugging herself, but still appearing sullen. And, of course, the way she was using her hair as a shield now. She didn’t want him to look at her face, or her eyes, and he had a feeling he knew why.

Sighing, Donnacha held out the wine bottle for her to take. “Take a swig and talk.”

She took the wine bottle and drank deeply. Wiping her lips, Elva shook her head and remained silent.

“You haven’t talked to anyone about it before, have you?” he asked.

“Oh, I talked.” The words were practically a snarl.

“And they didn’t believe you.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need to ask her to know why she didn’t trust anyone to speak about her experience.

She looked at him then, her eyes dark and her mouth thin where she had pressed her lips together. “How do you know that?”

“My sister,” he explained, gesturing with his hands. “We didn’t have an easy childhood. Even though we are related to royalty, dwarves are different. We were just cousins of the nobles, which meant we were like everyone else. She wandered out of the mines when she was little, was caught by a few of the Seelie Court who thought it would be interesting to see if dwarven women were really female, or if we were all just male. It didn’t end well for her, and some people didn’t want to listen.”

It took every fiber of his strength to tell the story without reacting. He wanted to curl his hands into fists and destroy the men who’d done it all over again. Hate had burned in his chest for the Seelie Court for so many years, he didn’t know how to dull the aching rage.

“What did she do?” Elva asked, her voice barely audible. “To deal with the memories?”

He shrugged. “I think she’s the strongest woman on the planet. She married, had four children, laughs and dances all the same. Like nothing