Chapter 14
“Magic gets your farther.” Rising from the sodden wooden planks, I slumped onto a bench seat. “But yeah, sure, flattery is nice and all.”
Freyja threw on her jacket, sparing me an unamused glance.
Gunnar wasted no time and slipped past me to the engine, revving it to full speed. The loud hiss cleaved the silence; its vibration rattled my head and my teeth, swishing the layer of water and glass spread over the bottom of the boat.
My fingers curled around the wood. They stayed that way, for at least an hour or two, as the glacial landscape passed us by until, finally, I said, “seriously?”
“What?” Freyja sat, resting her back against the bow, cheeks red and chafed.
“Why didn’t you use your magic back there?” I fought to keep my voice loud over the howl of the wind.
“Why didn’t you use yours?”
I gripped the edge tighter, the skin stretching over my knuckles. “I’m the captive here.”
The temperature dropped, coaxing tears out of the corners of my eyes. Freyja wove her hands through her hair, redividing it into three thick strands.
“And regardless, I shouldn’t be saving you.” The merfolk’s tuneless croon ripped through my mind. “After all, aren’t you ‘the queen’s most treasured Eye’?”
Her fingers froze. “What did you say?”
My body swayed as we drove faster between the icebergs, turns growing tight and desperate.
“You’re right, angel.” Pulling the elastic from her wrist, she tied off her fresh braid, slinking forward to rest her elbows on her thighs. “I am. And it’s in your best interest to shut up and do as we say.”
A frown tugged at my lips. Twilight settled in around us. Gunnar lit a small lantern on the bow; it swung wildly in the wind, casting Freyja’s face in warm light and wicked shadows.
“So, you’re like royal guards?” I asked.
Freyja’s laugh was far from lighthearted. “That is far too simple a term.”
It was Gunnar, back at the helm, who provided an actual answer: “Eyes are all-seeing, all-knowing—and quick to dispatch any threats to their Kingdom.”
When I first met him at the hostel, he was talking about his shift, how tired he was. I had thought he was a local employee, maybe even someone working at the hostel like Freyja. But no doubt he’d been out all-night sleuthing for the elf queen. “Fine, royal spies.”
The motor slowed. Silence settled over us, heavy and jarring, as we drifted towards a small dock.
Without the buzz of the throttle, my voice came out deafening. “And what, surfing and waitressing is part of the job?”
She glowered. “It can be.”
“A queen’s best soldiers aren’t always the most useful at her side,” Gunnar added, as he maneuvered us against the bottom of the sparkling glacier, lining up the boat’s frame to the dock at its foot.
He cut the engine and anchored us to a metal bar, knotting the rope so tightly his hands shook, and tossed the duffel and my backpack—which were miraculously still stashed beneath the first row of seats—onto the planks.
One foot on the deck and the other on the dock, he held his palm out, expectantly.
Freyja took it, stepping onto the platform with a toss of her hair.
With her safely deposited, he repeated the gesture, his hand extended back towards the boat. Waiting. “You going to stay there all night, angel?”
Maybe.
Something splashed in the distance. My chin swiveled towards the darkness.
Maybe not.
Springing onto unsteady feet, I let him guide me off the vessel, legs wiggly at that first step on somewhat-solid ground.
He swung the duffel over his shoulder and headed for the glacier. “We leave at dawn.”
Freyja marched behind him, the dock groaning with the thud of their boots. Dawn?
“You know, some would consider this kidnapping?” I grabbed my backpack and scurried after them, a relentless chill in my bones. At their silence, and clear lack of concern, I added, “So what are we supposed to do now?”
The frigid night air stung my raw skin, a slash with every stride of my legs.
Gunnar slowed at the threshold between wood and snow. A fresh coating of powder dusted the ground.
He again held out his palm. Hushed words left his lips—whispers of a spell, of a dialect long lost. A ball of light ignited in his hand. With a gentle toss, it floated up into the air, hovering a few paces before him. My insides fluttered.
“Sleep.” He peered over his shoulder at me.
“You expect me to sleep after that?” I sputtered.
Using his magic to light our way, he headed inland, his pace slower, less urgent. “At this point, expectations aren’t something I have for you.”
“I could say the same,” I grumbled, my sneakers sinking into the snow.
Yes, it was pitch-black and freezing, but these were severely less dangerous circumstances than the open water filled with flesh-eating mermaids…
and he was going to call forth his power now?
! Freyja ripped apart the earth at the lighthouse—Galdur, they’d called it.
I’d witnessed firsthand that there was more to it than party tricks like this.
Clearly, I was missing something here—but I couldn’t imagine they’d willingly share their secrets with a so-called prisoner. So, for now, I just waddled behind, trying not to faceplant on the slick ground, and came up with my own theories.
Maybe the elven magic behaved similarly to my Source and needed a conduit to act as an anchor? Or… maybe the type and intensity was different, depending on the elf, kind of like how Nephilim abilities worked?
Ryder would know. The thought rose, unbidden, with a ring of truth to it. Ugh. Stop it. I swatted it away as if it were nothing more than drifting snow.
The sky unfolded above us, wisps of color swirling between the stars, painting the deep blue canvas in vibrant glows of pink and purple and green.
Even if I wanted to escape—even if every fiber of me was fighting against this excruciating walk up the glacier—the auroras were a reminder: I’d seen them in the Pearl of Truth.
I was supposed to be here.
In this godforsaken, deadly, polar place.
Gunnar’s light grew brighter. It cast the cold world in a warm, yellow glow, sparkling up the slope to a near-vertical wall of ice. Holes punctured the face—footholds, handholds.
My knuckles went white. Oh no, were we supposed to climb that?!
Tripping over clumps of ash and wood scraps, some of the few signs of life littering the worn path, I jogged to catch up with the elves. They were peering inside the many cavities dotting the sheet of translucent blue.
“This one’s good!” Freyja called, her voice echoing off the hollow inside.
With a tilt of his chin, Gunnar led us into the heart of the ice, his Galdur glistening off the opaque walls. The duffel slid off his arm, thumping to the hard ground.
I followed it warily with my eyes. “What’s in the bag?”
“Body parts,” Freyja chirped with no hesitation.
I stilled at the edge of the cave, wind nipping at the wet, frozen strands of my hair.
“Sleeping bags, water, food, axes, crampons.” Gunnar rolled his shoulders, a chuckle shaking his voice. “Get in here before you freeze to death. And take that backpack off. You’ll need all the rest you can get before we hike the glacier.”
Hike. Ugh. I knew it. My backpack dropped to the floor with a thud.
Kneeling next to a ring of stones that held the remnants of a campfire, Gunnar took his magic into his hand and, as if it were melted wax, poured it onto the pile of charred logs.
Flames crackled to life, pulsing warmth over my cheeks while a bitter chill danced at my back. Rubbing my palms together, I reluctantly inched closer.
Freyja rolled out three mats, topping them each with fresh socks and a sleeping bag.
My brows furrowed. “Coincidence that there’s the perfect amount of stuff for all of us, or was this kidnapping planned all along?”
“Well, we have to pack enough gear for ourselves, and we always carry extra in case…” She looked me up and down with those arctic eyes. “…the situation permits.”
I blew out a sigh. I guessed it could be worse. At least they gave their captives beds.
After taking her heavy outer garments off, Freyja draped them over a boulder and plopped herself on top of her makeshift mattress.
Gunnar kicked off his boots, curling into his bedding.
The middle one remained open, inviting.
My body ached for rest.
Blowing warmth into my hands, I took another step inside, then another, and another, and the next thing I knew, I was fully in the ice cave, nuzzling down into the fleece.
Shadows from the fire flickered overhead, twisting with each loud snap.
Freyja rolled onto her other side, facing the embers. “Interesting day.”
“Yep,” I said to the ceiling. “Very interesting.”
A soft whistle floated up from Gunnar’s bed. I held in a laugh. He was already snoring.
Goosebumps broke out over my arms as a blast of cold hit me. The sweater Freyja had let me borrow was much better than what I was originally wearing, but it was damp and did little to retain any heat in these glacial temperatures. I burrowed deeper into the blankets.
“What were they saying about your dad?” It was hardly a whisper; I wondered if I had even said it out loud. And I sure as hell didn’t expect an answer.
“The truth.”
At first, I thought I was imagining it, until she flipped onto her back and her gaze briefly locked with mine before stalwartly fixing on some point far above our heads.
“My father was Commander of the Eyes, the queen’s right hand. The most intimidating warrior you ever laid eyes on—who wore honors from hundreds of battles, someone they wrote rímurs about”—a smile leached the strength from her voice—“but he always had time for me.”
A tentacle of guilt snuck around my chest as I thought about all the time my own dad had carved out for me.
“What about your mom?” I asked hesitantly.
A darkness crept over her face. “Too busy for me. It was my dad who actually spoke to me during the Jól festivities, my dad who snuck me an extra slice of cake after dinner and read me bedtime stories and took me to see the royal huskies.”