23. Wren
Wren
Harsh winds send ripples of snow over sidewalks and curbs.
The drop in temperature changed the weather to suit its mood but the result is the same. Smart people stay inside, bundled up, in need of protection from what hides in the flakes.
Out on the side street, the gleam of amber light from Helene’s window is a beacon. I’m close enough to sense her but not far enough to lead any lurkers astray.
I should put more distance between us.
I don’t.
Every instinct I have screams to get closer to Helene. Which is exactly why I'd be better served leaving town.
I hunch forward, hungry tendrils of cold tearing at my clothing. The space around is empty, devoid of life. Even the stoutest of winter weather creatures take comfort.
They know something is happening tonight. The anticipation in the air isn’t from the storm.
Helene pops her head out the window, the human equivalent of waving a red flag. I glance up to see her eyes land on me and skitter away.
Nothing will touch her. Not if I have breath left in my body.
Darkness parts and a tall blue shape strides forward. I stand up straighter and offer a quick smile to my friend.
“Do you have any idea how long it took to cross élivágar to meet you tonight? The spirits are angry, and the doors to Niflheim won’t stay open forever,” he greets.
“I knew you wouldn’t be late for our date, Hríd.”
“Late? You’re lucky I made it out at all.”
I hold out a hand for him to take and chuckle when he envelops me in a hug. Elongated arms wrap around my body, thick enough to crush, though the exchange is gentle.
“This place...” he begins.
“You’re safe. The glamour’s built and stable. Anyone who sees you will think you’re a dashingly tall bodybuilder from Texas,” I tell him, expressionless.
Claws like icicles curl against a ribcage of a chest. “I’m a proud Hrimfey. Not a Texan.”
I yawn. “You want to blend, don’t you?”
He sneers, blue teeth glowing in the near dark, the snow capturing and holding any meager light. “We should have met in Niflheim.”
“You know as well as I do, I’m not welcome.”
Himfrey, frost-coded Fae, share one of King Draven’s borders. Court business is usually messy and never straightforward.
Some things are not forgiven no matter how many centuries pass.
My eyes stick instead of roll, something Hríd will have no gratitude for. “Thank you for meeting me.”
He takes a drawn-out deep breath. “Smells like home.”
“Which sends the wrong message. We don’t want Midgard to wreak like your world.”
Not in the least. The scent is proof of the leak between worlds.
Niflheim birthed ice, mist, and creatures with terrible tempers, older than most gods and twice as unpleasant. Which explains Hríd perfectly.
Of the creatures from both worlds, my people have more of an affinity to dark ice Fae like Hríd. Better temperaments.
Terribly long memories.
“We have to keep this brief, but I have news,” he says quickly, glancing left and right. “You sought information, yes? And you’re—”
“Willing to pay,” I interrupt. “Always. There might be a tip in there since you’ve traveled such a long way.”
Hríd watches the space around us with care born of past mistakes. “It took effort to make the journey. élivágar bleeds into this river but its waters were hungry tonight.”
“If someone tracked you here, I’m throwing you into the river,” I say.
“I took many precautions, but there is always the possibility of eyes on us.”
I slide my hands into my pockets. “And you wonder why my glamour wanted you to be Texas.”
Out of my network of informants across the worlds, ice Fae are the most loose-lipped. If anyone has any idea on what is happening, Hríd will.
“And we both know my glamours are impeccable. Trust me, we’re two average males out for a stroll in subzero temperatures.” I shrug.
Another glance at the window shows it empty. My shadows purge, pouring free from my skin and seeking out Helene’s warmth. Traitors to the cause, one and all.
Soon.
“There are worse things than eyes on us,” Hríd growls. “And even spells like yours fail.”
“Mine? Rude.” Magic cloaks my features, twining over bone, chastised.
“You know who I’m speaking of, Wren.” He seems surprised I haven’t caught his drift.
But this gods-cursed gift of mine, foresight, doesn't miss a thing. Or much. Not anymore.
My mask remains seamlessly in place. “Enduring even the mention of his name isn’t worth it, my friend. What have you heard?”
Hríd shakes his head. “Only that the Dokkálfar are not behind the weakening veil. Despite their high-handed machinations, they’ve mostly kept to themselves over the last few centuries.”
“Horrible thought.”
“Scary,” Hríd agrees. “Although their plans span gods know how long. This might have been something the king’s Seers sensed in their future, and the court is content to let it happen. I only know they surely intend on using it to their advantage. And soon.”
I try my levelheaded best to block out another glimpse of Helene at the window, as if every glance reminds me of her taste on my shadows. Reminds me that what they sense, what they feel, I do, as well.
It’s my fucking job to keep her safe.
“The court is restless,” I mutter.
Which means everyone else should start panicking, too.
“They believe the mortals have spent too long under the control of the Asgardians.” Hríd sneers into the dark, peppered with snow. “They are biding their time and planning behind the scenes. I know nothing more than rumors.”
“You’ve heard enough,” I counter. “Overthrow the gods? Interesting thought.”
“Dangerous.”
Creatures like Hríd, hybrid spawn of my kind and those of Niflheim, postdate the gods of any pantheon. But there are others out there, like the jotun, like King Draven, who predate them.
Bitterness churns beneath my collarbone. “Rumors have been circulating for years. The pattern never changes, only the words. There’s no reason to believe it will be any different.”
Wind howls, and the reek of moisture in the air scalds the inside of my nostrils.
Hríd clasps my shoulder. “You’ve been gone too long. You’ve forgotten how much truth is hidden in suspicion.”
“It’s impossible to forget. You know my mother.”
“I know your family better than you know them in recent years, and I’m telling you, it’s getting bad.” He huffs out a silent beat of laughter laced with pity. “Rokkrheim is filled with rot.”
Court life is nothing but pretty clothes wrapped around cruelty. Everyone smiles while calculating where to best sink the knife.
“Are you suggesting I stage a break-out? Or a break-in?” I ask with a grin.
“As if you are worried for your sister’s life any more than your own.”
My silver tongue has carried me long and far. It’s a shame Lark hasn’t learned the same skills as me.
“You never listen, Wren. You act as though you are, but you don’t hear me.”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to meet if I wasn’t paying attention,” I reply. “We’re talking about the stakes going high and the king’s catastrophic schemes, such as they might be.”
Hríd is correct about one thing—plans stretch past human comprehension. The denizens of Rokkrheim know better than most to bide their time, wait for the perfect moment, then snap.
“It doesn't matter how well you play the game when there are others using the same maneuvers as you, Wren,” Hríd reminds me. “With more accumulated power than you have at your disposal.”
I wave him away. “My power has been growing.”
“Not when you hold it up to the King’s true court.”
A burn in my chest proves him right again.
Hríd and the others, the ones I rely on, have no idea the depths of the situation with Helene. They only know I’ve given my heart away like a fool. Not Odin’s involvement.
Not the weight of my failure or how many have been damned because of it.
“The Unseelie Fae want the chance to stage their comeback and claim power for their own. Control,” Hríd adds. “They say the strings of destiny that have already been woven are coming to an end, and soon the Norns will have to spin fresh thread.”
My stomach drops, but my voice holds firm when I ask, “Any idea of a time?”
Fuck me.
The Norns are ancient, influential, and deeply irritating.
Imagine fate itself run by vindictive older sisters.
Needless to say, I'm not a fan.
“It’s a big deal, Wren.” Hríd gentles his tone, eyes narrowed.
Pressing my cards so tight to my chest grows tedious. Shoving them in his face might ruin everything.
“You think I don’t know?” I steal a steadying breath. “They only weave fresh thread every few thousand years.”
It opens up options for many different factions to come out of the closet. Virgin weavings are a time to forge new alliances, solidify old ones, change destinies, and make bold choices.
If the threads reshape...
Could I finally stop watching her die?
The wind kicks up with a mournful banshee wail. When I glance at the window again, it’s shuttered against the cold and ice, and Helene is gone.
“The rumors were worth the trip past the river. I thought you’d want to know even if there is nothing you can do about it.”
“Selflessness? I’m shocked.”
Hríd stares at something to the left, his blue skin tight across the bones of his face, ignoring my tone. “The Norns spinning fate...” he trails off.
“Huge,” I add.
They never work their weavings in my favor, those sibilant bitches.
Hríd steps in front of me to block another pelt of snow. His lanky form bends with the blow, and it cuts around him. For a long moment we do nothing but stare at each other, read each other.
This world is poised to tip, and the domino effect of a new weaving will either give me the advantage I’ve lacked or someone else will take it.
I’m not stupid enough to go up against the gods and Draven at the same time. Not unless I find a way to reframe it.
Hríd inches backward. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
“You didn’t answer me, either,” I say, rocking back on my heels. “How long?”
He shakes his head. “It’s impossible to know. Time is such a foreign concept. And when you’re dealing with immortals, they have much of the stuff. They may make their move the moment the new threads weave together. Or they may choose to act a hundred years from now.”
“No. They won’t wait.”
They think I fell in love—as if that’s the problem. The problem is I keep losing her.
“My thoughts too.” His form thins.
“What? Leaving so soon?”
“The worlds are stirring, Wren. This place is too steeped with the leaking of the mist. And if any of them sense my exit, they will come running. We’ve already taken a significant risk in meeting like this.”
“Then I appreciate your bravery, my friend.” I tip my head toward him. “Always.”
“Be careful. Keep your eyes open.”
He has a point. Other parties are watching and waiting. The moment the next attack lands, I’ll be ready to strike, fast and brutal.
Helene may not like what she sees but it isn’t an overreaction to circumstances so much as pressing an advantage.
A new weaving means we have a shot to shamelessly fuck with the assholes in charge.
“Including the ones in the back of my head,” I mutter.
“Stay out of trouble. Do nothing to draw the gods' attention, or the Norns.”
It’s too late on both counts.
“If you have any love for this world, Wren, then consider this. There are times when being selfish is the only recourse. And there are times when a little selflessness can’t hurt...
My lips peel up.
Hríd disappears in another shower of snowflakes, and I push them away.
My eyes drill into Helene’s empty window as I walk away from the side of the building and do my best to walk easy down the street.
If I were to hate anything more than Odin, then Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld would be a small step above him. The Norns are not a separate race but part of an order of beings who draw power from the wellspring of creation. They exist in all realms, the sisters, inspiring fear and awe.
Their dominion and influence carves destiny, including the fates of the gods themselves.
Some call them giantesses. Others say the sisters are Jotnar. They were given the roles they inhabit.
And they are bitter. They like to play games.
Will the Unseelie taking over impact my curse at all? Will they weaken it? Or can they break it?
There is something galling about being at the mercy of those three. Add a lecture from Hríd on top of it, and my evening has officially gone to shit.
“I’ll fix this,” I whisper.
So what if I have bigger things to worry about than frostbite?
Fuck it. Let the worlds burn if it means I get to keep Helene this time.