Curse of the Troll Read online

  Curse of the Troll

  A Retelling of East of the Sun, West of the Moon

  Emma Hamm

  Copyright © 2019 by Emma Hamm

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  This is for you

  For everyone woman who has struggled in the same way Elva has…

  You survived because you are strong, not because you had too. And you will forever be my family, because we survived together.

  You are never alone. This I promise you.

  Contents

  This is for you

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Also by Emma Hamm

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a faerie princess fell in love with a dwarf. He wasn’t like other men. His beard was long, his eyes dark, and he barely came up to her shoulder. But he was kind, and he understood her need for war.

  But the dwarf was cursed. He couldn’t love her as long as the Troll Queen laid claim to his body.

  She lived with him as the curse grew stronger. Every day, he hated his monstrous form all the more. Every night, he lamented his inability to be beside her.

  The faerie princess didn’t have it in her to tell him she couldn’t be with him. Not as a normal woman. There was no heart in her chest, only a gaping hole, rendered there by so many men who had not believed in her. Men who had hurt her, maimed her, made it impossible for her to know how to love.

  The dwarf wasn’t afraid. He loved her more than enough for the both of them, he said, but in that moment, the Troll Queen stole him away.

  East of the sun, the princess had to travel. West of the moon, she had to go. A slice of the world hidden between sunlight and darkness. All the way to the troll kingdom, she journeyed to save him.

  When the faerie princess made it, she realized it wouldn’t be as easy as she thought. The trolls were crafty. They wanted a price for his hand, and it was a price she didn’t know how to pay.

  A golden apple, so pretty it reflected the sunlight deep within it, was the only thing she could offer. The faerie princess gave the Troll Queen this gift, and in return, asked to see the dwarf. When the troll agreed, she found the dwarf asleep in his cell.

  The next time, the princess brought with her a golden necklace, and the inset emerald gemstones caught the eye of the Troll Queen, who snatched the necklace immediately.

  This time, the dwarf remained awake through the poison just enough to tell her to fight for him.

  And so she did.

  The faerie princess gave the troll a sword and told it to fight. To prove she was worthy of this dwarf’s love when the princess barely felt worthy herself. They battled as only legendary warriors could.

  When she won, breathing hard and slick with sweat, she reached out for the dwarf.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I cannot love you back,” she replied. “My heart is gone, and I don’t know where to search for it.”

  The dwarf placed his hand on her chest and, suddenly, a heart grew where there had not been one before. “I’ve had it the whole time,” he said. “Now, I can give it back to you.

  1

  Elva slashed at the straw man in front of her. Over and over, she hacked with her sword until there were tufts of yellow sticking out from its torso in all directions. She had to train, had to be ready for the next time when someone needed her blade. Or when she had to protect herself.

  The last thought stuck in her mind. Protect herself. Be someone who knew how to stand up to another person and say no.

  Sweat dripped from her forehead into her eyes. The sting reminded her she was training for a reason. She didn’t want anyone to feel the pain that she had felt in her life. No other woman or man should be forced to marry someone they didn’t want to marry.

  But she hadn’t really been forced, had she?

  Memories slipped through her rigid control of a night with a man who had made her smile. He’d tucked a strand of her silvery hair behind her ear and chuckled at a joke she couldn’t remember. He had been beautiful in the moonlight, keeping her gaze and attention from anyone who might have loved her more.

  Her husband, ex-husband now, she reminded herself, had once been a good man. Fionn had loved her more than the sun in the sky and had tried so hard to make her happy. But the King of the Seelie Fae had never wanted her to be his queen. He had told her he wanted to save her from the struggles of living in the palace with eyes watching her every step. She would be his concubine, his pretty little kept thing, and they’d be happy together.

  Until they hadn’t been.

  Happiness had given way to arguments, to resentment, and then she’d drifted away from him. His voice whispered in her ear even now.

  The swish of the blade became his musical voice. “Why can’t you love me like you used to? We were perfect together. Why can’t you make yourself feel that again?”

  Because they’d both changed into someone they hadn’t been. Because he’d found himself addicted to opium and then convinced her to try it as well. Elva hadn’t recognized herself around him. How could she when the world had turned into nothing more than a hazy version of itself?

  She whirled, lifting the deadly blade above her head and striking it down. His violet eyes stared back at her, reflected in the silver metal.

  With a snarl, she twisted on her heel. She shifted her weight, holding the blade higher and drawing it across the throat of the straw man. The blade was sharpened to a perfect point. It sliced through the material wrapped around the straw with ease.

  For a moment, the straw man’s head remained where it was. There were no eyes to stare back at her, but she still saw the man who had made her believe he was something more than just a spoiled brat. Something more than just a prince who wanted another pretty bauble to put on his shelf and stare at.

  She saw the King of the Seelie Fae, who was now banished to the mortal realm, removed from his throne but just as beautiful as he’d been when she had married him. She saw Fionn, and she didn’t know how to see anything else.

  Slowly, the head of the straw man tilted to the side, then fell onto the ground. The soft hush of straw hitting dirt cleared her mind. Blade still lifted, she stared through the hole revealed by her movements.

  Elva lived on the Isle of Skye with the rest of the women who were training to be warriors. Each had their own reason for being here. Some wanted to fulfil their dead brother’s promises to family. Some wanted revenge on people who had hurt them. Others had nowhere else to go and thus had turned to war and violence.

  Whatever reason brought them here, Scáthach took them in. She was the most decorated warrior ever known to mankind. She’d trained Cú Chulainn himself.

  The training grounds were little more than a field outside the keep where Scáthach lived. Rows upon rows of tents lined the fields. Those who were training weren’t permitted to
sleep within the keep. Sleeping on the hard ground would prepare them for their difficult lives ahead. Elva preferred it anyway. She didn’t want someone sneaking into her room at night. Here, she could control every bit of her life.

  Visitors to the Isle of Skye were ignored. If they drew a blade, they were all confident it wouldn’t leave its sheath before at least three warrior women destroyed the person who attempted to draw it.

  Now, all of her fellow warriors were lined up on the road. Never had she seen the warrior women stop in their training for someone. Each woman held a hand on the hilt of their blades, staring at the newcomer with mistrust and…hatred? Elva had never seen so much hatred on their faces before.

  She remained where she was, sword lifted above her head, and watched as the most miraculous thing she’d ever seen strode toward her.

  A bear.

  Larger than any other bear, this was more than just an animal, but a monstrous beast. His shoulder was taller than her, taller even than the biggest woman here in the training camp. Brown fur covered his body and dark, black eyes watched the women with an equal amount of mistrust.

  It had to be a male. She’d never seen a bear grow to be so large, certainly not in these parts. Elva hadn’t even heard of bears on the Isle of Skye.

  Great paws slapped at the ground. He didn’t speak, but it had to be something more than just an animal. A beast of the wild would have attacked someone by now. This one seemed to know where he was going. He walked with a confidence that belayed his intelligence.

  Elva stood frozen where she was, not moving even when he stared directly into her eyes. Those eyes had so much emotion in them that it made her head spin. Hunger lurked in the shadows of that gaze, but something sad as well. Something that made her own soul turn away in fear.

  Elva didn’t want to see something of herself in this creature. He couldn’t be anything she could help, no cursed man or creature who needed her involvement. She’d dedicated her entire life to being a warrior, a woman who protected those who needed her, not to find her attention captured by a beast.

  She forced herself to turn away from him.

  The bear walked by her, the ground shaking under his great weight as he passed. Claws scraped the ground so close to her foot, the gravel skittered. And then he was gone.

  Her gaze lifted to follow his path. Would he look back?

  Did she want him to?

  Another of the warrior women, Deirdre, whose story was worse than Elva’s, stepped up to her side. “That’s the Beast of Fuar Bheinn.”

  “Who?” Elva had never heard of such a creature. She’d come from the Seelie court in Ireland and hadn’t spent much time exploring the faerie realm of Scotland. There was much here she still didn’t know.

  “Fuar Bheinn, the cold mountain. It’s always covered in snow, even in the greatest warmth of the summer. Ice never melts there, and the cold blasts of air will freeze even the greatest warrior’s hearts.”

  Elva snorted. “Seems like a myth more than a reality.”

  “I’ve been there before.” Deirdre’s fingers twisted together as she shifted restlessly with nerves. “Naoise and his brothers thought we could run through the mountains to get away from the man I was promised to marry. We had to come back down. The storms there are treacherous, but it wasn’t the snow or the ice that sent us running.”

  “What did?” Elva already knew what the woman was going to say. It made her turn her gaze back toward the keep. The bear had nearly reached the gates that already stood open, awaiting his arrival.

  “The screams,” Deirdre replied. “The wind carries them until it’s all you can hear. Something on that mountain is in great pain.”

  “Why didn’t you try to help it?”

  “Sometimes the screams weren’t from pain. Sometimes they were from rage, and then there were more voices that joined them.” Deirdre shivered. “I wouldn’t go back to that place if someone paid me to do so. There’s more there than just a beast on a mountain.”

  As Deirdre strode away, Elva continued to stare back at the keep. Who was that beast? And what did he want here, of all places?

  She could only hope Scáthach sent him on his way as quickly as he’d arrived. No one here wanted to help him. This was a tribe of women who had been scorned by men one too many times. They didn’t save those who had put themselves in harm’s way.

  Of course, her dearest of friends would tell her that was dangerous thinking. Bran wanted to see her happy, or at least happier than she was right now. Considering he was the man she had wanted to marry originally, and the man who was now married to her sister, Elva realized she should probably listen to him.

  After all, he was an Unseelie king and keeper of the largest army known to faerie kind. He’d done more in his first few years as king than most would ever do in their lifetime. If he was taking the time to speak, then it was probably something important.

  But she never listened to him, though. Even when they were just children in fields of golden wheat, playing at being in love, she’d always done the opposite of what he wanted her to do. The mere idea of someone telling her how to be or act had made her rebel immediately.

  Until, of course, she’d married. Then she’d done whatever her husband had wanted. She’d been whoever he wanted.

  Look at where that had gotten her.

  She tried so hard not to remember that time, but the memories always threatened to swallow her whole. They rose in her mind, bubbling like a witch’s brew and popping at the worst moments.

  One of them arose in her mind now, filling her with the memory of the sweet scent of licorice and the spice of pepper. Fionn had always smelled like candy and something that burned.

  Elva felt his finger stroke down her arm, the slow glide so smooth it was clear he’d never worked a day in her life. He had always marveled at her beauty, at the way her flesh was nearly hairless, so much so that it sometimes made her sick to her stomach. He hadn’t ever seen her as anything more than a bauble, a toy he could take out when he wanted. Every time he complimented her looks, she had been reminded of how little he loved her.

  He had loved her because she was beautiful, not for who she was.

  But she couldn’t blame him entirely. She had married him because she wanted to be a queen. Because her mother had pushed her to be something she wasn’t.

  “Be beautiful,” her mother used to say. “Beauty gets you more places in this life than intelligence or brute strength, Elva. You’re choosing now to either work the rest of your life or have someone else do the work for you. Wouldn’t you rather have pretty things?”

  At the time, that had sounded perfect. Never having to worry about lighting the braziers or getting her own food? That was a life of luxury.

  Now, she realized, it was so far from what she wanted. Elva wanted to work for what she earned, not be given something because another person thought she might give them something in return.

  She was done bartering with her body. Now, she was the beast that roamed the forest, making deals. Not the little girl wandering through the shadows, hoping to avoid creatures that might eat her alive.

  Sliding her sword back into its sheath, she stared up at the keep and prayed something wasn’t about to change. That bear had made her stomach churn.

  And Elva had learned to always trust her gut.

  2

  He carefully placed one paw in front of the other, trying his best to look less intimidating. The last thing he needed was one of these warriors to assume he was here to attack their stronghold. He could destroy them all if he wanted.

  But he didn’t.

  Donnacha chuffed out a breath as one of the warrior women stepped a little too close for comfort. Her eyes flicked side-to-side, planning out her next move if he stepped a foot out of line. He would have done the same thing if something like him had stepped into his home.

  Anyone with a good head on their shoulders would assume a massive bear wasn’t here for something good. He was either here t
o destroy them, their mistress, or their home. What other possibilities were there?

  They’d never guess why he was really here. Donnacha was certain of that. The curse that had turned him into a beast was an ancient spell known only by a few. Thus, only a few would know how to break the curse.

  He hadn’t known how to break it himself until the blasted woman who had cursed him in the first place had arrived in his castle. She’d only told him the single loophole because she knew he’d never be able to break the curse. Still, he had to at least try.

  Scáthach and her women were the only creatures brave enough to try. He had to beg on hands and knees for them to help him, even though he knew it was going to be a long shot that this would work.

  He stepped beyond the front gates, entering the training grounds. He cast a glance across the women here. They were all strong creatures. They would have made his ancestors proud.

  Long ago, Donnacha had been a dwarf. One of the royal line, he was destined to be a duke who would have taken care of his people with a discerning eye and a kindness passed down from his father. Strange how those were the first two qualities he’d lost to the curse.

  Now, he looked at these women and wondered how long it would take him to swipe a paw and barrel them all down. They would fall. Everyone always fell when they tried to attack him. But he wouldn’t feel good about destroying these women.

  As he walked farther into the training grounds, his gaze caught with that of a rather fierce creature. Her blond hair shone in the sunlight, nearly silver and metallic. Those blue eyes stared at him with so much hatred in their depths, he wondered if they had known each other in a previous life. He didn’t remember ever dealing with the Seelie Fae, and she had to be Seelie.