Kjell’s gaze hunted her features for any sign of a reaction to the AAR. The realisation that she might connect it to the medal had overridden the wave of anger and shame he’d felt when he caught sight of it; the report was a rope around his neck tying him to things he needed to be free of. But Freya had shown no sign of recognising the documents or their importance and when she’d returned the conversation to his mother the honesty in her tone was clear.
‘She is,’ he said truthfully. Anita Bergqvist was the best of them all. He knew it and his father knew it. She loved everyone unconditionally and there was not a malicious or mean bone in her body. How his taciturn father had ended up with a wife like that Kjell would never know. His mother was—as Freya had said—wonderful. She was also incredibly good at her job and even though Brynjar had been a military man when they’d met he’d understood in his own way that her role was hierarchically above his and his complete and utter respect for chain of command made the choice to leave his career and country behind for Svardia an easy one. That and the fact that his father loved his mother completely. Kjell just wasn’t sure Brynjar felt the same way about his son.
‘Please don’t tell me your father works in the palace too.’
He shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of the stew before replying, ‘Mechanical engineer for an aerospace company.’
‘How did Anita meet an aerospace engineer?’ Her tone utterly mystified.
‘They met before, when my father was still in Sweden.’
‘What did he do?’ she asked as she buttered a thick slice of bread.
‘He was an Överste in the Swedish Army.’
Her knife paused mid-swipe, and he felt her eyes on him. Assessing. Probing. Looking for more. Looking deeper.
‘Following in his footsteps?’
Following the only thing his father had ever given him to cling onto. While his mother was all emotion, her love given freely with a kiss, a hug, an unconscious but ever-present touch, his father was the complete opposite. Monosyllabic and contained to the point where every gesture was small, efficient and practical, he rarely displayed affection or emotion and often retreated to his workshop to tinker with broken bits of machinery at even the mere hint of it.
When he’d told his father that he wanted to join the army it had been the first time he’d seen something like pride in his eyes. His father had placed a hand on his shoulder and Kjell had felt as if his heart might burst. But the day he’d told his father what had happened with Freya, Kjell believed he’d felt that thin fragile thread between them break and it had hurt him more than Kjell could ever have imagined.
‘Something like that,’ he said, finally answering Freya’s question, wanting to shift and twist away from the memories her questions conjured. ‘How was Marit? After the accident?’ He knew that she was okay, he’d not been living under a rock for the last eight years. But he knew how trauma could change a person.
‘Worse, if you can believe it.’
Kjell couldn’t help but smile. Freya had always been worried about her younger sister’s tearaway tendencies.
‘There we all were, terrified that she might not actually survive, and the first thing she said when she opened her eyes?Can I go again?’
Kjell saw past the mock frustration in her tone, knowing the depths of her love for her sister. With essentially what had amounted to absentee parents, Freya had easily and willingly slipped into that nurturing role, given the age gap between the two sisters. It had been a precariously balanced relationship, but one utterly filled with love.
‘She never seemed the type to buckle down to royal duties,’ he said, instantly stilling the moment he saw her tense—as if what he’d just said had hurt her in some way.
It was as if they were playing a game. On the surface were innocent questions, two old friends just catching up. Beneath that, though, was a darker, more dangerous current: one that tested and pushed at old wounds and new hurts.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘But what about you? You’ve been with the UN? All this time?’
The swift turn in direction Freya executed proved his point. Mentally he applauded, while almost feeling sorry for her. Because he wasn’t going to leave this table without discovering what it was she was hiding, and what it had to do with that damn medal.
Somewhere deep down a part of his soul cried foul, cursed him for using her vulnerability to avoid Enzo. To avoid the AAR. To avoid why he’d come out to Dalarna four months ago and not returned to active duty like the good soldier he was. But he’d spent a long time stifling that voice and Kjell only felt it as a gentle nudge on his conscience now. One that was easily ignored.
‘Yes,’ he answered her question, while working out how to turn the conversation around.
‘Where were you stationed?’
‘All over.’ He shrugged, his mind on—
‘Kjell.’
He pulled up mentally. She’d always done that. No one else ever knew when he split his focus between two different things, but she had. Every time.
‘The UN has peacekeeping missions across the world,’ he answered, deciding to play along for the moment. ‘I’ve been to the Philippines for disaster relief, ceasefire observations in India and Pakistan, Kosovo for human rights, I spent a secondment with UNTSO in the Middle East.’
‘Truce Supervision?’
He nodded, not surprised that she knew the different units and their roles. She might have cut him from her life and never looked back, but he’d not done the same. Some might have called it self-flagellation. Enzo had called it stalking. His body tensed, braced against a sudden wave of shocking grief.