Beautys Justice – By Alexa Santi #8
Firchara swallowed hard and rose to her feet, determined not to sway or show weakness in front of the crowd as she followed the armsman through the small, familiar door to Ulfjadir’s privy chamber behind the Great Hall.
As the armsman ushered her through the door, Ulfjadir rose from his chair, his face as closed to her as it had been that first day, and her heart fell once more.
“Please sit,” he said, his voice rumbling through her despair.
She sat in the chair he indicated, and he sat in another across from her. They contemplated each other for a long time. She still could not read his present mood.
“I must tell you of the prophecy.”
“The prophecy?”
“The one you asked about.” He seemed strangely diffident, almost nervous. Not at all the arrogant god she was familiar with. Had she not already known she loved him, she would have loved him for that alone.
“Tell me.”
“The gods are not all-powerful. None are. We are bound to prophecies and rules just as mortals are, and by powers even greater than ours.”
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “As you saw, my sister and I have long disputed who should rule justice. She was not pleased to have a mortal impinge on what she felt was her rightful domain, even one who had been made a god. She was even less pleased with the prophecy, when it came.”
He paused, and Firchara prompted him. “The prophecy?”
“The prophecy was about mercy. That my sister would continue to judge the dead, and I the living, but one would come who would mediate between us and bring mercy to our decisions.”
Firchara’s heart beat fast, and she shook her head, rejecting the very idea. “And you think I am this person?”
“We do not think it. We know it. Your action of using your magic to assist the shade of the woman who committed suicide, changing her fate in my sister’s realm, confirmed it.”
He sat back in his chair, once again looking very remote… and very lonely.
“What do we do?” Firchara asked softly.
“You have a choice. This is prophesized, but you can still refuse. I can declare your mother innocent—even though she is not—and you can return to your home in the mortal realm.”
“Or?” She was half-holding her breath, watching him closely for any sign of his true feelings.
“Or you could go to my sister’s realm. She can transport you there in the blink of an eye, along with your mother. You could assist her the way you have assisted me, and bring mercy to those who have died.”
Firchara was silent for a long moment, contemplating this possibility.
“Or…” he said. “Or you could stay here. With me.”
His expression was as closed and dour as ever and, impossibly, her heart soared. “Stay?”
“Yes. And your mother, of course. My people love you, and we can do great work together.”
“And you?”
“What of me?”
“Do you love me?”
He looked away for a long moment. Took a deep breath.
And looked back at her, his eyes glowing as they had in the library, as they had in this room the previous day.
“No,” he said.
“Liar.” Her heart soaring with the truth, Firchara rose from her chair and moved to stand in front of him. “Tell me you want me to stay. Tell me why you want me to stay.”
With a groan, he pulled her down into his lap, arms tight around her, his face buried in the crook between her neck and shoulder. She reveled in finally breaking through his defenses as she held him close, marveling that this god—this man—could love her.
“I cannot tell you. Not now. It would not be fair for me to influence your decision by saying it.”
“You are not the god of so small a thing as fairness,” she said, and when he raised his head in indignation, she kissed him, a kiss full of warmth and love and acceptance. He growled and kissed her back, so passionately that she forgot herself, too, for a long moment.
At last, he came up for breath. He cupped her face in his hands, and the glow in his eyes nearly made her heart burst.
“I love you, my lady Firchara. Stay. Stay by my side. Be my wife. Be my goddess.”
She paused to drink the moment in, to enjoy feeling truly whole at last, not just with this man, but with herself and her magic. She felt the prophecy settle into her very bones, warm and strong, setting a new path for her she could never have dreamed of. The path of a newly-minted goddess.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, to everything.”
“Say it.” He swallowed, and she watched the motion of his throat, wanting to trace her lips and tongue along it. “I must hear you say it, too.”
“I love you,” she said, and pulled his mouth back to hers.
I struggled with this story since I wrote it out of continuity with what I have planned for the rest of the series, so I need to thank my editor Whitney Jones Francis and my stellar beta reader and fellow author Caro Kincaid for helping me make this story stand alone.
Thanks also need to go to my ever-patient spouse, who had to nod along as I tried to explain the story to myself, and to New Romance Café Publishing, especially Jenny Simon and Andie Wood, who published the original, shorter version of this story.
Award-winning romance author Alexa Santi has been telling stories since she was a child, but it took years and several detours, including a master’s degree in screenwriting, before she returned to her first love of writing romance.
She lives in the Los Angeles area with her handsome archivist husband and their pesky cats, who ensure she takes plenty of breaks from writing to pay attention to them.