“Why you?” Freya asked, cocking her head.
“What?”
“Why did his astral form appear to you? Why not my husband, for instance, or one of his close friends? Grimm, Gunnar, Alucard, Talon...these names I know, but not yours. I guess what I want to know is the nature of your relationship with Master Temple. What makes you so special?”
I sensed Kára’s abrupt attention like a gun barrel pressed to the nape of my exposed neck but did my best to ignore it; I had more important things to worry about. Like quantifying my turbulent relationship with Nate Temple. I licked suddenly dry lips, giving the question the consideration it deserved under the circumstances.
I mean, sure, we’d become friends in another world, rescuing each other from imagined threats and saving each other from reliving horrifying mistakes. But did that make us close? I’d struck a deal to hunt him down, once. He’d broken into my apartment. Hijacked my Uber. Ryan wanted him dead more than anything in the world, and yet the Templefriends had saved my ass more than once. His parents had reportedly committed their fair share of sins, but that included conspiring with mine.
The scales were tipped, but which way did they fall?
“I’m not sure what we are to each other,” I admitted, glancing back at Kára. “We’re not romantically involved. Not at all. But it seems we are...bound to each other, somehow. It has somethin’ to do with our parents. A deal they made before we were born.”
“Like an arranged marriage?” Kára asked, alarmed.
“Jesus! No! I told ye, no romance. Zero. Zilch. He’s...a friend. An idget half the time, but a friend all the same. Beyond that, I’m not sure. But, for whatever reason, he did come to me. And I know for sure he’s being held by Zeus. I saw it in Circe’s pools.”
“And you swear he was alive?” Kára asked, her voice a whisper, her eyes pleading.
“I do.”
“I knew it.”
“Well,” Freya interrupted, “that’s good enough for me. Kára, you’ve met Temple’s friends before, haven’t you?”
“A few,” she said, dabbing at her eyes before putting on a brave face. “Want me to round them up?”
“Yes, go to them, first. Then send word to everyone you think may want to take part in the rescue effort. But be sure they know to keep the knowledge from falling into enemy hands, and that this has to be a coordinated response, not some half-baked scheme. Zeus will not give him up easily. We may only get one chance.”
“Yes, my lady!”
Kára reached out and grasped my arm, squeezing it, with a smile so broad that it made me feel a bit guilty for ever daydreaming about the various ways I would torture her once we reached solid ground. I found myself grinning back and watched the Valkyrie bolt for the stairs with no small degree of amusement.
“Well, now that we’re alone,” Freya said, drawing my attention, “it seems we have our own business to discuss.”
“Not alone,” Skadi insisted, her voice echoing like thunder throughout the chamber. “Have you forgotten I am still here, Freya?”
“Tell me what you want with her, and I’ll invite you in!” Freya snapped, repeating the same demand she’d made when we first arrived.
“That is our concern, not yours, little Vanir.”
“Small wonder my father left you,” Freya muttered under her breath. “Wasn’t the thunder he got tired of on that damned mountain.”
“What was that? You have to speak up when you talk to one of the jötunn, or else we cannot hear your whining, high-pitched voices.”
“Gah!” Freya sighed and threw up her hands, exasperated. “Give us a few moments to ourselves, then I will send her out to you!”
“Very well, but do not take too long or I will bury this land in snow.”
Skadi rose from her crouch and departed, sending faint vibrations rippling through the stone with every rumbling step. I had a brief moment to wonder whether she would follow through on her threat before Freya rose, as well, and descended her dais to stand before me, her honeyed perfume filling the air, her vines twitching along my skin.
“So,” she began, a wolfish look in her eyes, “is the imposter ready to receive her blessing?”
20
A thrill of alarm rippled up my spine, forcing me to straighten under Freya’s probing gaze. Imposter. The word settled like a noose around my neck as the reality of my current situation dawned on me; Freya and I were alone in the tower, which meant there were no witnesses should she take exception to anything I said or did. Like, for example, hedging the truth.
“Relax,” Freya said, smirking. “Róta sent word ahead. I know what happened in Valhalla.” She let that set in before continuing. “You should not have hidden what you were.”
“And what is that?”
Freya gave me a flat look.
“I mean it,” I insisted, earnestly. “As far as I know, this hasn’t happened to anyone else. At night, I can do t’ings that shouldn’t be possible. I can bend shadows to me will, I don’t get tired, I barely register pain, and I am hardly meself. But durin’ the day, I seem to be as mortal as I have ever been. Or at least I thought I was. Now even that is up for grabs.”
“How so?”
I gestured vaguely at Freya as if for emphasis. “I could sense your power the moment I met ye. Hell, I managed to chase it back, somehow.”
“Yes, you did…” Freya drifted off and began pacing the room with measured steps, her arms folded behind her back. “I should have suspected what you were, then. Unfortunately, it has become harder to gauge the gap between mortals and gods, of late. It’s clouded my judgment.”
“Wait, does that mean ye know what I am? Truly?”
“I...have an idea.”
“Well, d’ye care to share?”
“It is not for me to say.” Freya held up a hand, cutting off my response. “Some answers must be earned to be appreciated. This is one of those instances.”
“And until then I’m supposed to, what, fumble around like an idget? I could’ve hurt Róta, ye know. And it wouldn’t have been me. D’ye know what that’s like?”
“We all behave as our nature dictates,” Freya replied, cryptically. “If you feel you lack control, maybe that’s because you are meant to. Not all gods represent order.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but something in Freya’s expression warned me not to; she looked expectant, as though she’d given me something to chew on, not spit back out. I clamped my jaw shut, thinking furiously about what she’d said. Unfortunately, I’d never had a gift for puzzles or riddles; I scowled, dwelling on the latter portion of what she’d said, playing it again and again in my mind.
Not all gods represent order.
Fair enough, I thought. Circe had made similar claims, as I recalled, though she’d referred to a god’s “aspect” as opposed to his or her “nature.” Mine, according to the goddess within me, was bound to night. But there were many deities who represented more than one thing. Was I one of them? I considered Freya’s enigmatic response but kept coming back to the notion of order, triggered by the way she’d emphasized it. What was the opposite of order? Chaos? Was she calling me an agent of chaos?
That didn’t feel right. If anything, it seemed like I was the victim of chaos, not the perpetrator. Indeed, the more I thought about it, the more I felt something was missing—some measure of control, a sense of unity and purpose, a conduit for all this raw power.
“And what if I feel...incomplete?”
Freya beamed at me as though I were a prized pupil who’d just given her the correct answer to a particularly complicated question. I, on the other hand, felt even less sure of myself than I had before. Until now, I’d managed to put off thinking about it, but what if I ended up facing Ryan as I was, now? What if I couldn’t talk him down? Despite my brief display of competence when challenging Freya, I couldn’t be sure that would be enough to dissuade the monster he’d become. And worse, what if we did square off with the goddess in control? Would
I be able to sway her as I had before? What if I couldn’t?
What if even she wasn’t enough to stop him?
“I need to be able to control this power,” I admitted aloud, sighing. “If I’m goin’ to do what I came here to do, that is.”
“I am afraid I cannot help you with that.” Freya crossed the room and placed a hand upon my shoulder. “But I can give you my blessing. And, perhaps, offer you the means to enter Helheim, provided you agree to do something for me.”
“Somethin’ else, ye mean?” I shook my head, fighting the sudden urge to pull out my own hair. “Ye do realize I’m not some hired hand, right? Or do ye not care what happens to Helheim?”
“Come with me,” Freya replied, stepping away and angling for the stairs as though I hadn’t just asked her several pointed questions.
“Why should I?”
“Because,” she said without turning around, “you look like a fate worse than death. We can talk more after you’ve changed.”
Before I could reply, Freya took to the stairs and disappeared from sight, the sound of her footsteps receding faster than should have been possible. I cursed, glanced down at my shabby appearance, and followed after her, muttering under my breath.
“‘Ye look like a fate worse than death’,” I mocked, mimicking Freya’s voice, “I said because I t’ink I’m so funny, but really I’m a classless, ungrateful cow...”
The windowless stairs were as dimly lit as I remembered from our ascent, the braziers spread so few and far between it was as if the Vanir were concerned about the gas bill. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to tease Freya about it; the goddess was nowhere in sight by the time I reached the first landing, though I thought I could make out the sound of her progress on the flight below. A nagging sensation, however, kept me from descending further. I lingered, though I wasn’t certain why until I heard it.
Whispers.
The language was unfamiliar, but the tone was insistent, luring me towards the nearby wall. The whispers grew louder, and I could have sworn I heard my name being called. I pressed my hands to the stone, feeling its seams until my fingers brushed against something the gloom had hidden: more runes. I hissed as they stung me once again, but didn’t jerk back. Instead, I bit back my cry and traced them, marveling as they blazed in a kaleidoscope of colors, shifting from one shade to the next like a shimmering rainbow. Moreover, they were beautifully rendered—carved so seamlessly that there were no jagged edges to speak of, as if molded into the stone itself.
The wall gave way beneath my hands so abruptly I nearly slipped and fell, revealing a door so heavy that it barely shifted an inch even after I regained my feet and set my full weight against it. Resolved to find out what lay behind the door, I dug my heels in, driving with everything I had, but it only budged another few inches. Daylight poured through the gap, casting golden shapes on the far wall as I continued to apply pressure, which meant there had to be a window beyond. I redoubled my efforts, groaning from the strain.
Of course, that’s when Freya found me.
“What are you doing?” she barked, alarmed to find me pressing my face against the gap, trying to see what was on the other side. “How did you get that open?”
I froze.
“If I say I used me magic fingers, would that make ye more or less likely to get mad?”
“Get away from there, it isn’t—”
The door gave way before she could finish, swinging so easily on its hinges that I yelped as I fell into the antechamber within, my knees banging so hard against the floor that I didn’t immediately look up to see what I’d found; I swore up a storm, instead, oblivious to the whirling dust motes and the scent of rusted metal until at last I managed to clamber to my feet.
“So, what’s the big deal about this room...” I drifted off, my eyes widening as Freya stepped into the room behind me, her own gaze decidedly less surprised to find the treasure I’d uncovered.
And it was a treasure.
“This can’t be,” Freya whispered, her voice laced with so much disbelief that it bordered on horror. “Odin said her armor would lay unclaimed until…”
The goddess drifted off, seemingly captivated by the sight of the armored mannequin. I was focused on the armor itself, which—despite the rust stains, dents, and other signs of wear and tear—looked impossibly regal, if a bit vicious. The set as a whole reminded me of a bird of prey with its wickedly-spiked pauldrons, tapered gorget, and black steel vambraces. Even the artfully crafted chainmail coat mimicked a crest of feathers, obscuring a breastplate dominated by a single, indecipherable rune. And that was to say nothing about the unique shape of the helmet, the visor of which protruded like a beak, leaving the lower half of the mannequin’s face exposed.
“Sorry,” I said, only half paying attention at this point. “Until when?”
“No, don’t be.” Freya shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Come with me, this armor was not meant for you. There is another set below, much newer, that I—”
The stone door slammed shut behind us with a deafening clang before Freya could finish. The goddess waved a glowing hand, forming shapes with her fingers, but to no avail; the door refused to open no matter what she tried. I watched her with mounting apprehension, worried what she might do to get us out of here, but it didn’t take long before the goddess ran out of steam. She pressed her arm against the door and bowed her head over it, her shoulders tight with unspoken tension.
“Very well,” she said, though I had the distinct impression she wasn’t speaking to me. “But she will have to agree to my terms. Otherwise, mark my words, we shall stay here until the Norns speak their final peace and the Great Winter comes.”
“Um,” I interjected, clearing my throat, “who are ye talkin’ to?”
The light in the room burgeoned for a moment, so blinding I had to look away. Freya, as if awaiting the sign, sighed and turned her attention to the armor once more. She approached it and pressed her fingers against the helm, caressing the feathered cheek guards like a lover, her expression soft.
“Brynhildr. My husband’s champion, until she was led astray. This was her armor.”
“Led astray by what?”
“By that which even gods cannot overcome. Love,” she explained, catching my incredulous expression. “Brynhildr fell for a mortal, a hero, who woke her, tricked her, and betrayed her. She was the first—though not the last—to bear the name Sleeping Beauty.”
“Why was she sleepin’?” I asked, unable to disguise my innate curiosity. “If she was Odin’s champion, I mean, shouldn’t she have been by his side?”
“First you have to understand that my husband has always been prone to wandering in his pursuit of knowledge. He craves it more than anyone I have ever met, and even traded an eye for its sake. Except that meant he would often disappear without warning, leaving the rest of us behind to do as we wished. For someone like Brynhildr, who loved to fight and would do so often in his absence, that meant all manner of trouble for Odin to sort out when he returned.”
“Sounds like me kind of Valkyrie,” I noted, appreciatively.
“Under the circumstances, that isn’t surprising,” Freya replied. “Anyway, the Allfather tried to get Brynhildr to marry, hoping that would distract her, but she refused to do so unless he could find her a man without fear. Except no such men lived, then, and so the Allfather cast a spell on her to sleep whenever he journeyed elsewhere. It was during one such stretch that Sigurd found her.” Freya sighed and shook her head. “It is a long story.”
“Well, apparently we aren’t going anywhere anytime soon,” I replied, refusing to keep the snark out of my voice. “So, let’s hear it.”
“Very well. In the beginning, there existed the abyss, fiery Muselpheim, and frozen Niflheim. From their joining came Ymir, first of the jötunnar, who lay with himself and bore—”
“That’s not funny.”
“You asked me to tell you the whole story.”
“Of Br
ynhildr and...who was it again?”
“Sigurd.”
“That one.”
“If you insist,” Freya acquiesced, though I could tell she’d been messing with me from the get go. “Sigurd found Brynhildr guarded by a wall of flame my husband created to keep her safe from harm as she slept. He was a bold mortal. Strong enough to slay a dragon and passionate enough to weep for having done it. Sigurd took one look at Brynhildr and strode through the blaze, insisting his love for Brynhildr was hotter than any flame.”
“Ye don’t have to oversell it, ye know,” I interjected, eyebrow raised.
“Hush and listen. As I was saying, Sigurd survived the wall of fire, freed Brynhildr from her armor, and woke her with a kiss.”
“Hope she knocked his ass out.”
“They were engaged days later,” Freya went on, ignoring my commentary, “but Sigurd was also a restless man. One day, he left to seek greater adventures. After that, Brynhildr changed. She renounced her role as champion, fretting over Sigurd’s increasingly long absence. Unbeknownst to her, however, Sigurd had been given a tonic during his travels that wiped his memory.”
“Startin’ to t’ink I shouldn't have asked for this story” I grumbled, eyeing the battered suit of armor and the sad ending it promised.
“I never said it was a happy tale. Anyway, Sigurd ended up married to the mortal woman who’d drugged him. Worse, the mortal woman’s brother sought to trick Brynhildr by pretending to be Sigurd. When she discovered the deception, Brynhildr was devastated. Distraught, she demanded Sigurd be held accountable for his betrayal. And he was. She found his body the next day on the funeral pyre. Then, in a fit of remorse, she joined him.”
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Couldn’t ye have just said ‘it didn’t end well’ and have been done with it?”
“Perhaps. But her armor called to you. I believe it’s right that you know her story. Besides, some good did come of Brynhildr and Sigurd’s affair. They had a child. A daughter who, after her mother’s death, was raised by Valkyries until—it seems—she left for Midgard on the orders of someone posing as Odin.”
Brimstone Kiss: Phantom Queen Book 10 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 11
