Page 57 of Sky and the Grumpy Troll

“So,” Sky said as he twisted on my shoulders. “Is that the edge of Frostholm down the road?”

“Yes,” I said. “You can see the bridge from town. Oh, that makes me feel so much more guilty for deceiving you.”

He chuckled. “It’s okay, sweetheart, we talked it through. You released your guilt last night under my paddle, unless you need that treatment again.”

I groaned, rubbing his leg. “Would it be wrong to say I do?”

There was a rush of warmth through the trolgar that told me that was a reply that pleased him. “We’d better give your body a night or two to rest. Do you want to continue on? Or stay a while?”

“Maybe just a while longer,” I said, walking back to the bridge and looking down into the gorge, then across to the statue of Bryndala. I studied the face of the broad-shouldered troll woman, trying to remember if that was what she looked like. It felt right. Her long hair was swept back in a loose braid, and she had a roll of plans clutched in her carved hands. She was set to face back across the gorge so that she might regard her own work for as long as the stone endured. Bryndala would not have liked a statue of herself. That was not her style.

I wondered how the person who had carved it had created her likeness. I could not, for the life of me, remember if I had given the artisan an image of her, or if I had agreed to this statue at all, though during the numbness that followed her accident, I suppose I probably went along with a great many things just to save myself from having to talk to people.

And standing here, looking back across the bridge, I could feel her with me. She’d say that the bridge had turned out quite fine indeed, then walk around inspecting the mortar joints for any recent damage.

“Could you keep an eye on Clover? I’d like to go talk to her,” I said, lowering Sky to his feet.

He stood on his tiptoes, and I bent so he could plant a kiss on my cheek. “You go. I’ll watch both of the animals.”

I walked slowly back across the bridge and looked more closely at the statue, wondering if this was where her ghost would linger, if ghosts were real.

Up close, the likeness was imperfect, as all likenesses are. The mason had made her jaw too soft and had missed the crease that came to her brow when she was solving something. But he had caught her hands: broad, and blunt, the hands of someone who built things that outlived her. I looked up into the carved face that was almost her face.

“I think I should like to find love again,” I told her. “It does not mean I did not love you, you know. I think it means my heart has room in it for two great loves.”

She did not respond, because she was a statue. I glanced back over my shoulder to where Sky had released Poppy from her habitat and was goofing off in the grass, doing a series of cartwheels for absolutely no reason I could think of.

“I fear I might have accidentally found it already,” I whispered. “I hope you understand. He is quite ridiculous, and at the same time, so full of warmth and strength. I find it charming.”

A strange warmth filled me, and at once, I knew that Bryndala found him charming, too. I looked up at the statue and smiled. “I’ll always miss you, my love. Thank you for making my first century so full of joy. And I’m sorry for avoiding your bridge. I think I should like to come back here often.”

Something told me that would be quite welcome, and I was smiling a little as I walked back across, stopping halfway across by the railing. I looked down at the gorge, a little queasy about the fear she and her workers must have felt as the water slammed into them. Then I turned to the mountains the flash flood had come from. The skies were clear in the mountains, and the water flowed steady and slow.

Sky came up beside me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Poppy back in her habitat and Clover’s lead tied to a tree.

“Could we stay here a while?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, big guy. We can stay. Talk to your statue for as long as you like.”

I huffed. “I wouldn’t talk to a statue. But do you want to say hi?”

He laughed and nodded, and I took his hand and led him back over to her.

“Hi, Bryndala,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind too much if I fuck your husband.”

“He’s so cheeky. You’d probably tell him to hush. Handsome, though, isn’t he? Almost makes up for the mouth.” I could almost imagine the statue grinning.

“Almost?” Sky gasped. Then he looked back up at Bryndala and winked. “He knows he can’t resist me, just like I’m sure he couldn’t resist you. I promise to spoil him for as long as I am able. We don’t want him writing any more sad books; the fans will revolt!”

“Those books were well-reviewed, thank you very much,” I said. “You would enjoy them, Bryndala. You always said my books had too much sex in them.”

“Too much sex in a book? Is that a thing?” Sky sounded horrified. Then he reached out and laid a hand over Bryndala’s. “Seriously, though. It was very nice to meet you. He always speaks highly of you, and I hope that wherever you are, you’ve found someone to snuggle with, too.”

My mood stayed light as we crossed the bridge. We walked back to Clover and Poppy, and led Clover and the wagon up off the road, to a flat green clearing above the gorge, overlooking the town of Frostholm.

He planted his hands on his hips. “Look at that view,” he said. “Perfect place to camp for the night, so you don’t have to hurry the little conversation you’re having.”

“No one talks to statues. It’s ridiculous.”