CHAPTER 31: STRANGE CONDITIONS

  Elias had decided to wait outside Bjorn Halvorson’s opulent three-story mansion (which still stick out in the modest city of Saint Albus rather like a palm tree in the snow) as Abigail went inside alone to complete their agreed-upon trade: a one-of-a-kind jade necklace from the old Northern Empire in exchange for an exorbitant sum of relics. The weather was certainly cooler this far north, though not uncomfortably so, and Elias cherished an empty moment to be alone with his many, Abigail-oriented thoughts, staring out at golden tundra. Iric, on the other hand, wished to keep as much distance as possible from his estranged brother and was presumably somewhere on the opposite end of town with Gabby and the rest of their crew, picking up their usual shipment of nickel.

  Abigail was inside the large home for longer than he expected, and when its vibrant green front door finally swung back open and she reemerged looking annoyed, Elias was surprised to see her walking out empty-handed. Surely, she could not have come all this way for nothing. She passed through the property’s iron gate and stopped next to Elias before explaining the situation with an exhausted sigh.

  “He has the necklace,” she said, “and he’s willing to part with it for the right price.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Elias wondered.

  “His… unusual condition. Someone mentioned that his brother was back in town, and for some reason now he wants to see him. He wants to see Iric.”

  “I don’t understand.” Elias shook his head. “Iric has visited Saint Albus many times with us. Hell, he used to live here. Why does Bjorn want to speak so badly now?”

  Abigail tossed up both hands. “He didn’t say. He just insisted.”

  “So, we’re supposed to compel Iric to speak with his brother, whom he avoids like—well, even I didn’t evade you so insistently.”

  She chuckled at that.

  “The prospect will be anathema to him, but I guess all we can do is ask,” Elias added.

  “Please,” Abigail said, “and sorry.”

  * * *

  “Absolutely not” was where the conversation started. “Bjorn and I have already said everything we need to say to one another. There is nothing more for us to discuss.” Iric was loading crates of nickel onto The Sapphire Spirit, apparently too preoccupied to make eye contact with them.

  Elias crossed his arms as Abigail peered around the busy port for another plan. Saint Albus was bustling this time of year, as local traders from all across the United North and beyond took advantage of the fairer weather while it lasted. Far off the coast, an iceberg floated by like a reminder of seasons still to come.

  Gabby, who was sitting on a crate next to their ship rather than loading it, kicked out her feet and asked, “What are you afraid of?”

  “My mortality,” the northerner replied flatly.

  “I mean with your brother.”

  “I am not afraid of him. I don’t wish to see him. That is not the same.”

  “You don’t wish to see him so badly that you’re willing to blow up Mrs. Graystone’s mother’s birthday whatever?”

  Iric thundered down the gangway and paused in front of them. “I apologize, Mrs. Graystone. Had I known my presence would cause my brother to act strangely, I would have stayed in Sailor’s Rise.”

  “What’s so strange about wanting to see you?” Gabby again, insistent.

  “Bjorn and I have an understanding.”

  “An understanding that you don’t talk?”

  “Precisely.”

  “If I had a brother, I’d talk to him. Or a father. Or a mother. Or any family, really. Unless they were shit, I suppose.” Gabby pondered this. “I’d still hear them out. You don’t even know what he has to say. Maybe it will change your… understanding.”

  Iric exhaled horse-like through his nostrils. “That is not the nature of understandings in the north.” He sounded a little less resolute, however, speaking now with the cadence of a man bargaining.

  “Do it for yourself or do it for our fancy lady.” Gabby gestured toward Abigail. “But just do it. If you were in my boots—”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “I would not fit in your boots.” Iric looked down.

  “If you were in my boots, we both know you’d tell me the same thing.” Lowering her high voice, Gabby imitated what was presumably supposed to sound like a fifty-eight-year-old man imparting sage advice. “In the north, we do not hide from our brothers.”

  Hands on his hips, Iric’s resistance melted like an iceberg in summer, slowly at first before falling off in pieces. He shook his head, failing to suppress the sneaking smile the girl had forced upon him. That toothy grin—with its missing incisor—warmed the girl’s heart too.

  * * *

  Elias remembered Bjorn’s immaculate living room just as he remembered the flamboyant northerner’s offering of tea, which was extended once again. Only his red-cheeked brother, slouching out of place in a fabric armchair that seemed unfit to contain him, declined the drink.

  Bjorn left a steaming mug on the marble coffee table in front of him anyway, beside a closed box that might have contained the necklace that was their reason for being here.

  Abigail had naturally asked Iric if he wished to meet with Bjorn in private, but Iric had insisted that he had no private business with his brother. And thus they filled the living room together, as if an audience were a shield.

  “What do you want?” Iric asked bluntly.

  “You needn’t be so cold and transactional, Brother.” Bjorn sat down across from him. “I only wish to say something and to have you hear the words.”

  “Then speak your words. I am here.” Iric presented himself like an offering.

  “How have you been?”

  “That is your question? How have I been?”

  “No, I am just making polite conversation. You should try it sometime.”

  Iric snorted. “Coming from you, that is… sadly unsurprising. Let’s leave it at that, as the southerners like to say. I am fine, Bjorn. I live in Sailor’s Rise now with our sister. When was the last time you reached out to Alma?”

  “A month ago,” Bjorn replied. “We write.”

  “She did not mention it.” Iric crossed his arms, his tight chair looking like it might burst.

  “Well, I was writing to tell her something,” Bjorn continued. “I asked her to keep it private. Something I now wish to tell you.”

  “We are done with the polite questions, then?”

  “Iric, I’m dying.”

  A cold quiet swept through the room like a gust of frigid air. Iric did not say anything at first, and no one was queuing up to jump in on his behalf. It was for Iric and Iric alone to fill a brother’s silence.

  “How can you be sure?” he finally asked, his tone as formal as it ever was.

  “The doctor is sure,” Bjorn said. “And I can feel it coming for me.”

  “When do you think…” Iric’s formality was fraying.

  “Not today and not tomorrow, but the good doctor says in cases like mine… maybe a year.”

  “That is still—there is still time.”

  “Yes. There is. Time enough for two brothers to reconnect.”

  Iric’s nod came slowly, almost imperceptibly, until there was no mistaking it. “I suppose it is,” he said.

  “Then you must let me properly apologize to you.” Bjorn leaned forward.

  Elias had no idea what he might be referring to. He knew little of their disagreement, and Iric had preferred it that way, speaking of their estranged relationship more like a business deal that had fallen through over disagreeable terms.

  Iric offered nothing more even now, staying silent.

  “I should have been there,” Bjorn went on. “I mistakenly believed I had somewhere more important to be, and I have never been so wrong in my life. And not just for your sake—but hers too. She deserved better.”

  “She did,” Iric said.

  “I visit her grave occasionally.” Bjorn pressed his fingers into a trembling steeple. “I know that doesn’t erase my absence at her funeral—when it mattered most. She was a good wife to you. This is the part where I’m supposed to smirk and say, ‘better than you deserved,’ but I dare say you earned your slice of happiness, Iric. Me, on the other hand.”

  “I forgive you.” The words fell out of Iric like a bag dropped at the end of a long journey.

  Bjorn smiled a teary-eyed smile. Elias had only ever seen Iric hold back displays of emotion like a bad cough, but his epicurean brother was evidently a different man in more ways than one. “Thank you,” he said. “You don’t know what that means to me, or maybe you do. Thank you, Brother.”

  Bertrand had only recently mentioned Iric’s late wife to Elias in confidence, wondering why the northerner had never brought her up before. Elias figured it was Iric’s topic to broach, but he never again did, at least not around his younger chief proprietor.

  Even now, Iric was quiet again.

  Bjorn filled the silence with a cleared throat and turned toward Abigail, who had kept the most distance from them, her shoulder leaning against the cased opening into the living room. She was furthest from all of this. Abigail hardly knew Iric let alone the rest of it.

  “As for you, my dear.” Their fashionable host opened the cherry wood box on the coffee table and pulled out a necklace by its chain with one hand before resting its pendant on his other. For all the money at stake, it was a relatively modest piece, hardly more than a circle of jade on a silver string. Alas, the artifact’s true value was known, not seen, imbued with the quality of centuries and stories. “Worn by Queen Ragna of the old Northern Empire,” Bjorn added. “Estimated age: seven-hundred and thirty years, or thereabouts.”

  It was certainly old, but history lessons often sent Elias back millennia, to the Cataclysm and their ancient Ancestors—though not all were so ancient, apparently. Mr. Grimsby had lived for at least a few centuries. Was this necklace older than he had been, Elias wondered? Either way, he supposed it would be. Silver survived longer than man.

  Abigail approached Bjorn and the artifact he presented like a curator. “May I?” She reached forward.

  “Please.” Bjorn dropped it pendant-first into her open palm, silver string coiling like a wispy snake. He stared at it for a moment. “Just take the damn thing.”

  Brow furrowed, Abigail’s gaze flicked upward, meeting his. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “Take it. It’s yours. Free of charge.”

  “But it’s worth—” Abigail felt for her purse with her free hand. “I brought the amount we agreed on.”

  “I don’t want it, and I don’t need it.”

  Elias was not sure Abigail needed the relics either, but that seemed beside the point. Bjorn reversed, fingers out like a starfish, and plopped himself back down on his fabric armchair.

  “That is… incredibly generous.” Abigail seemed more uncertain of how to act now than Elias had ever witnessed. “Thank you, Mr. Halvorson.” She gradually collected herself along with the necklace. “Thank you so very much.”

  “As I said, I don’t need silver and jade where I’m headed,” Bjorn responded. “But I’ll tell you what I could use. Here’s a clue, my dears: it has the color and all the value of gold—but costs less than a relic.”

  His brother cracked a grin.