Tara Runeweaver's Arc

Chapter 18 of 19

After the feast, Bjorn pressed a small thing into her palm. It was a smooth blue stone on a leather cord, cold against her skin. He closed her fingers around it and walked away to his men. Tara waited for words. None came. She wore the pendant under her dress for days. She climbed the wooden watchtower at dusk and stood on its weathered platform. From there she could see him cross the yard. He nodded. He moved on. She held the cold stone and counted his steps. On the third evening she came down. She walked past the stone shrine where the carved lovers stood embraced in the snow. She passed the blue and gold tent where the women still hummed wedding songs. She found Bjorn alone by the low fire and stopped close to him. "Say it," she said. "Once. Where no one hears." He looked at her a long moment. He lifted the cord from her neck and held the stone between them. "I carved this for the child," he said quietly. "And for you. I am not a man of soft words, Tara. But I am yours. Every morning. Every night. Yours." His thumb brushed her cheek. He said her name again, lower, like a vow. Tara pressed her forehead to his. The stone warmed between their hands. The uncertainty that had lived under her ribs for weeks went still. She did not need to time his gaze anymore. He had spoken. He was hers.