Chapter 36
I killed a man.
Those were the only words I could hear, think, feel, as we scattered the clouds and soared above the vast Icelandic fjords.
Flóki’s seized muscles, the bob of his head, the way his body sank to the floor. I shut my eyes, but under my lids, the images only grew stronger.
The jelmadag was silent—quiet thoughts, quiet wings, quiet breaths. Crisp air burned my lungs, cooling some of the hellfire, my Source roaring through me to shield its burn. As I sank into his mane, the blue-tipped flames tickled my face. I needed to get to Jarearbaeli.
Somehow, I was sure the demon knew that. But perhaps even more so, that I needed this: to let my tears fall, to fly even without my wings, to simply exist, no expectations.
I killed a man.