Chapter 23
Istomp across the room. Anger pulsing through me with each step away from Gran. I don’t even check to see if anyone follows me out the door, but I know they do.
Mina leads the way, her scarred wings still out. I’m so close to her that I wouldn’t even have to stretch out my arm to grasp one of her feathers.
“As soon as I landed, it was fully golden. Not flickering anymore,” she says over her shoulder.
A kaleidoscope of colors dances in waves down the hall as we walk to the throne room. When we breach the room, a golden beam of light engulfs the rainbow, spearing from the center of the rune.
I swallow down the acid bubbling up in my throat. It’s always fucking something. What is it now that I can’t have a single day to grieve?
A soft wind sweeps in, erupting my exposed skin into goosebumps.
The clinking of armor and marching sounds from the terrace as Ramses and several guards emerge flanking the two guards already standing at the rune. Their weapons unsheathed, a look of determination carved into the lines of each of their faces.
“Who is coming?” Mathilda whispers, her eyes never leaving the rune.
The light grows brighter with each passing second, becoming so blindingly bright. I move a hand to shield the light from my eyes while still keeping an eye on the rune.
“Whoever it is, we are ready,” I grit out, pulling my axe from my back and disappearing my wings.
The anxiety of a looming battle overtakes that of the mind-numbing grief.
There’s a sudden flash of a brilliant rainbow absorbing the golden light—and then it’s gone.
My breath catches in my chest as I hold myself together, willing myself to face this next challenge.
The silence is deafening.
Piercing green eyes meet my own from a lovely feminine face.
White blond hair tied neatly into braids that rest onto her leather-clad chest. Wings the color of the puffy clouds on a summer’s day frame her tall body.
A cloak of brown and white falcon feathers conceals what I can only imagine is the body of a goddess. A helm of gold rests upon her brow.
A queen.
But of which realm?
I grip my axe tighter, my feet sliding into position. But she doesn’t look like an enemy.
My heart stutters in my chest as she places a hand on her own. The leathers she wears beneath her feathered cloak are the same rich, chocolate brown as mine.
“Greetings,” she breathes, her gaze keen as she studies us. “I am Freya. Queen of Vanaheim.” She gestures to the people I hadn’t noticed around her, as my eyes have had a hard time leaving her face. “And we’ve come for your help.”
Her words hang in the air. Vanaheim? So these are our allies.
Lachlan tenses on my right and Freya’s gaze flicks to him, widening slightly as she takes in the man beside me. His sword is drawn, the tip of the blade leveled at the man beside her.
If these are our allies, should we have our weapons drawn?
Before I can even formulate a response, Torin’s voice rings out.
“Freya?”
Her head swivels, trying to get a look at the man hidden behind us who called her name. Torin approaches and steps between us. He slips off his flat cap and squeezes it between his hands.
“Torin?” Her attention darts from his saddened face to his human clothes. “What are you doing here?”
He clears his throat and his chin quivers. “Bringing Skadi back for her sailing.”
Shock twists Freya’s face into something terrifying. The men beside her slide into defensive stances as she stumbles back a step.
And we do the same, priming for a fight.
“What has happened?” she chokes out.
Torin shakes his head, the weight of his grief lowering his shoulders. “It was her time.”
Freya’s face relaxes, the horror slipping away into—grief. She must have known Gran well then.
“Who is in charge now?” Her eyes scan those of us gathered before her. There’s a weighted silence as she waits for an answer.
Waits for me.
I step forward, my shoulders squaring, even though the world around me is crumbling.
“I am.”
Freya and her entourage study me closely, and I stiffen under their gaze. Three powerful males, each one the size of Tane or larger, stand beside her.
Her eyes sweep along me, from my head to my toes. I can feel the pressure of it as she scrutinizes me. Weighing and measuring. Judging me not just as one female often does to another, but more.
A ruler to another ruler. Looking for weaknesses or faults. I level my chin, my axe still held in front of me.
“I am Lena. Granddaughter of Queen Skadi, daughter of Queen Bryn, and the current queen of Idirhalla.”
There’s a pause as my words settle. I hold my breath.
“Well met, Queen Lena.” She nods with respect.
My shoulders relax a fraction, relieved that I’ve survived her scrutiny. A slow breath slips through my lips.
Clearing my throat, I address Freya’s opening statement. “How can we help you?”
The warriors at her sides lower their weapons and shift into a less defensive position, no longer perceiving us as a threat.
The man at her right with sharp blue eyes and black hair scans his surroundings, but his gaze snags on the asphidra remnants and the partially dissolved stones.
His booted foot knocks against hers. When she turns to him, he nods his head to my trophy. I need to remove it.
Freya lets out a low chuckle. The sound crawls its way down my spine. This is a dangerous woman. A woman who has seen war and death and does not cower from it.
“Well, well. You are your mother’s daughter, after all.
” She nods to the corpse before turning back to me with raised brows.
“You must know why we’re here, then. Odin is missing and the whispers of war grow louder.
We tried several times to reach you and have only now been able to step through the bridge.
” She gestures to the rune at her feet, the gold of it now dim and ordinary.
The past few months flash through my mind. Demons, threats of war, and shapeshifters…
I nod. “We have much to discuss. But first, we need some insurance.”
“Insurance?” Freya’s face twists with confusion.
“I’ll show you mine,”—I prick my finger on the blade of my axe,—“but you must show me yours.”
Lachlan grimaces at the sight of my blood. Turning, I show it to them. Pure red. Her eyes narrow as she understands what I’m asking.
“We’re not shifters,” the man beside her growls.
My attention slides from her face to his. “I require proof.”
Freya sighs, reaching out to trace her thumb along the blade of my axe. Her blood beads on the pad of her thumb, scarlet red. Not a silver sheen in sight.
The men next to her reach out to do the same.
No silver among any of them.
I look to Lachlan and he nods, lowering his weapon, as do the others.
“Thank you,” I say to Freya and her men. “Let’s gather in the council room and we can discuss what’s been happening here.”
My stomach twists in knots. I am an imposter, a child compared to them. Who am I to lead these people in a meeting?
But Gran’s words echo through my mind. I was made for this world. I am meant to be here.
Even if I don’t want to be right now. With that thought, I lock my grief away. Gran would want me to forge ahead, to lead.
My stride towards the council room becomes sure and steady. Freya takes up the place beside me, leaving her men and my people to trail behind us.
“I am sorry about your grandmother’s passing. Skadi was a beloved queen.”
Her words are kind, and there’s a warmth about her presence that pulls me in.
My lips tighten into a grim line. “Thank you.”
She smiles softly at me and I surprisingly return it.
“That man, with the green eyes. Who is he?” she asks. My smile drops away immediately.
Her question has my hackles rising. Mine—that’s who. I shove aside my earlier thoughts of warmth and kindness.
“That’s Lachlan. He’s m—my captain.” I can’t help the possessiveness that slips into my words.
Freya chuckles and the sound is like summer rain. “That was not my intention at all, my dear. I’m centuries older than you both.” Her words soothe the bitterness that had soured my tongue. “He just looks familiar.” She muses and the tension in my shoulders eases. “Was he raised here?”
“No. He was raised in the human realm,” I reply, a shade softer.
She nods, my answer enough to quell her curiosity, but anxiety stirs along with the grief that holds me. I inhale through my nose, readying myself for the onslaught of questions that I know will come from her about the past several months and beyond.
Will she consider me inferior? Have I made the right choices?
Evander jogs ahead of us to push open the doors.
“Thank you, Evander. Can you have someone dispose of the asphidra, please? It’s served its purpose.”
He nods, and motions to Ramses, who sets off back down the hall.
I slide into one of the red velvet chairs surrounding the massive round table, gesturing for everyone to take a seat. The open air ceiling is a riot of vibrant colors as the sun sets. Indigo clashes with magenta and gold.
A whole day has passed in what feels like the blink of an eye. My chest aches, the hollowness threatening to swallow me whole.
My fingers are numb and I twist them together in my lap.
I’m the last remaining member of my family.
The last remaining family member who’s not captured.
Odessa.
Odessa is my last living relative.
Swallowing past the tightness and burning in my throat, I address Freya, who has taken the chair opposite of mine around the circular table. Her wings vanish and the feathers of her cloak shimmer in the dimming light. She looks around the table at my friends beside me, waiting for me to begin.
“I’ll start with the introductions. This is Lachlan.” I gesture to him as he slides into the seat to the right of me. “This is Evander.” His copper hair shimmers as he bobs a nod, standing guard by the door.
“Mathilda.” She sits on the other side of me and gives a polite smile and nod. “Tane.” He gives a curt nod from Mathilda’s other side. “Mina.” She gives a grimace and a wave from the other side of Lachlan.