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To Erika, my first friend and biggest fan. I love that you’re cool talking about Permafrost at two in the morning.
To Katherine, who is one of the best people in my life. Your support, strength, and resilience inspire and empower me every day.
I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night.
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole,
When the night had veild the pole;
In the morning glad I see;
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
—WILLIAM BLAKE,
“A POISON TREE”
Prologue
FEAR
THE STAG HAS never been afraid. Never had a reason to be afraid. He’s the lifebringer to the Permafrost; he is the reason the Permafrost exists. And even when he is hunted, he feels no fear, only the thrill of a challenge. That was how it had always been and would always be. Because those hunting him want his favor, not his flesh.
At least that is how it used to be.
Now he is stuck in the void that is time and space, death but not death.
He doesn’t blame the girl who took the mantle of his power, his abilities, away from him. In fact, he encouraged her, knowing well that he was dying and would not receive a second life.
But even in the void, he felt her desperately reach out to him, begging for his help. But the once-stag ignored it. She would have to figure it out on her own. No more did he exist on her level. She must learn to exist as he did. He fears she will never learn.
She has survived so much. A sadistic goblin who tried to destroy her body, the slow acceptance of another goblin in her life, the Hunt where she found much of what she missed about herself, and the brutal fights along the way. She is strong. She will continue to survive.
The once-stag hopes, at least. Because the towers of the worlds are falling down, and the current stag needs to be ready.
PART ONE
THE STAG
1
VISIONS
THE EYES STARING back at me in the mirror weren’t my own. Sure, they were green, but a different kind of green. Not like mine. Not the color of moss and ivy but an unnaturally bright color.
They were mocking eyes with a cruel mouth and a harsh nose. Freshly made scars littered the intruder’s once-pretty face.
Lydian stared back at me from the mirror with a slow, taunting smile growing on his face.
From beside me, Soren was still heavily asleep, and for that, I was glad. Perhaps if he looked in the mirror, all he would see was our own reflections, but I didn’t want to risk it. Not with my worst nightmare staring back at me.
“Leave me alone,” I said, knowing full well that he wouldn’t.
But you haven’t answered my question. He didn’t open his mouth to speak, but I heard the words in my head all the same. What happens when the serpent stops eating its tail?
“What happens if I smash this mirror? Will you leave?”
Oh, you should know by now I’ll never leave, Janneka. Not when there’s so much work to be done.
That was it. With a flash of hot fury, I slammed the heel of my palm into the glass, causing it to shatter on the floor. The specter of Lydian disappeared with the broken glass, but his voice still lingered in my head.
You cannot get rid of me. Not when there’s still so much to do.
“Janneke?” I whirled around, prepared to see Lydian somehow staring behind me, but it was only Soren. His long hair was disheveled and his lilac eyes blinked sleepily. “Are you okay?”
“I—I’m fine,” I stammered. “Sorry for waking you.”
He sniffed the air. “You’re bleeding.”
I was silent. What was I supposed to say? That I kept seeing the apparition of his dead uncle who gave me cryptic advice, and I got tired of it so I smashed the mirror? That would go over well.
Soren sighed and took my bleeding hand, gently nipping the broken skin until it knit itself back together. “I’m not going to ask you why you smashed the mirror,” he said. “I know you’ll tell me in your own time.”
“I keep having nightmares,” I said. It was true. Maybe not the reason I smashed the mirror, but it definitely was true. They plagued me every time I closed my eyes. A serpent twined around the world, waiting to devour it whole; a ship manned by the dead, made of fingernails, sailing ever closer to us; the earth crumbling in on itself and falling into oblivion; people riddled with holes and pockmarks and wounds so terrible that all they could do was lie there and wish for the sweet release of death.
The nightmares came from stories I’d grown up on. The serpent that stretched around the world forced to bite its own tail to keep it from devouring the world was the world serpent, Jörmungandr. My father delighted in scaring all of his daughters with tales of the jaws of the great beast. And the ship made of fingernails … the Naglafar. Too terrifying to put into words, almost; I would hide under my blankets whenever he told that tale—something unbecoming of a young warrior. If you didn’t die in battle, and your life wasn’t bad enough solely for Hel, then the Naglafar is where you went. To work bone-chilling labor as your fingernails grew faster and faster, painful and debilitating, until they fell off thick as wood and long as branches. They crafted a ship with them; a ship where they would travel to fight in Ragnarök, on the side of those who’d end the world.
My father used to hold me and say they were just stories. But, considering all I’d been through, considering I’d even talked with a goddess, my faith that the horrific remained in stories was starting to waver.
But I was no longer a child. Yes, I had nightmares. But until now, they never were like this.
Part of me believed I would always have nightmares. There was so much in my past that continued to haunt me. I was safe. But I would always be haunted. My mind couldn’t simply forget the horrors I’d been through. But at least those nightmares had a root, a cause. At least those nightmares made some sort of sense. I knew why I was having them. With these, I didn’t even know where to begin. None of it made sense. It was horror after horror flashing in my mind.
“Lydian?” Soren asked, wrapping one strong arm around me.
I leaned into the embrace. “Yes,” I said. “Among other things.”
Soren kissed the top of my head. “He’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore. I know it takes … time, and you might never get over what he did to you. But you have to keep repeating that he can’t hurt you anymore.”
I glanced to the shattered mirror; a sliver of blond hair flickered in t
he glass before disappearing once again. Oh, how I wished that were true. But I couldn’t tell Soren that. I didn’t know how I’d do so without convincing him I’d gone certifiably mad, and to be honest, I was embarrassed to admit what had been going on after keeping the secret for half a year. So, instead, I continued to press into his embrace, cherishing the warmth of his body and the sound of his beating heart.
“Come back to bed,” he said, and I let him guide me back to the sleeping platform we shared, and we climbed under the furs. His arm was still around my shoulders as I curled up close to him, my head resting on his chest. His heart beat calmly, slower than a human’s and quieter, but it beat all the same. I let it lull me to sleep.
Thankfully, the nightmares didn’t come back.
* * *
THE COLD SUNLIGHT was filtering in through the glass panes of the window by the time I woke, and I immediately swore. It had to be nearing noon and we’d drastically overslept. Usually I woke up with the sun and then spent the next hour rousing Soren until he finally got up, but obviously I’d been too exhausted from my ordeal last night to do so.
Continuing to swear under my breath, I nudged Soren. He groaned a little and threw an arm over his face.
“Soren, get up.” I nudged a little harder, not wanting to startle him and risk the possibility of a bloody nose. Goblin fast reflexes were not always a blessing.
“Five more minutes,” he moaned and tried to pull the furs over his head.
I yanked them back down. “It’s nearly noon, Soren. We’re late. We’re incredibly late. You’ve got a meeting with the svartelves today. Do you want Donnar to get mad?”
At the word “svartelves,” his eyes shot open and I quickly got out of the way as he sprung to a sitting position. “Fuck,” he said. “Shit.” He looked at the sunlight gleaming through the window. “Fuck,” he said again. “Shit.”
“Your vocabulary continues to astound me,” I deadpanned, already up and dressing for the day. The room we shared in the Erlking’s palace was much bigger than either of our rooms had been back at Soren’s manor, though it was as sparsely furnished. Soren and I decided to get rid of most of the decorations and trappings when we moved in. Soren’s statement long ago about the Erlking’s palace sorely needing redecoration had not been wrong.
“Someone’s cheeky this morning,” he said as he joined me in the rush to get ready. He turned toward the mirror as he raked his hair with his hands before swearing when he realized it was broken. “How’s my hair look?”
I gave him a withering look. “Soren, your hair always looks perfect.” The white locks were shorter now after they’d been burned during the final fight with Lydian, reaching a little bit past his ears. Too short for traditional long braids, he wore it all in a single braid atop his scalp. To my great ire, he never woke up with bedhead, no matter how disheveled the rest of his appearance was in the morning. In comparison, it took me at least a half hour to be presentable.
“The day it doesn’t,” I continued, “I will declare a national holiday.”
That gave him pause. “You know, maybe I should go in looking sloppy. Just in case Tibra is there.” He scowled. “That little menace cannot keep her hands to herself.”
“Try not to kill them,” I said. “It would really put a damper on the whole diplomacy thing.”
Soren cracked a smile. “It’d be so much easier not to kill them if you were with me.”
“You know I have training,” I said. “If I ever want to fully learn how to use the stag’s power, then I need to train my abilities. I’ve not even reached a quarter of their capabilities. Besides, Satu will definitely keep you from killing anyone.”
“I know, I know,” Soren said. “Go train, little stag. I’ll hold down the fort and try not to kill anyone. But first.” He swept me up into a kiss. What was probably only meant to last a second lasted even longer as I twined my fingers in his hair, pulling him against my body. His heat, his smell, his body, it surrounded every inch of me, and I ached to fall into it and lose myself in the expanse of blue-white skin. Soren growled under his breath, a hungry, near-primal growl, as he deepened the kiss, sucking hard on my bottom lip.
Each of us was so wrapped up in the other that we didn’t hear the door open and the small “oh” that came from the intruder.
“Um,” said an awkward voice. “My mom’s looking for you, Soren. Better get on that.”
Soren opened one eye and peered over my shoulder at Seppo before growling again and returning to the kiss. It was softer now, sweeter, and our lips lingered together for one more moment before we broke away. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
Seppo’s eyebrows raised, but he said nothing as Soren grabbed the sheaths for his swords, threw on his cloak, and headed out the door. When he finally left, a smirk played on the halfling’s lips. “That was quite the display of dominance.”
I rolled my eyes as we turned down the hallway to the courtyard where I usually trained. “How’s your mother?” I asked.
“Pregnant. Again,” Seppo said in the same tone of voice someone would announce the weather.
We picked up our pace as we traveled through the mazelike hallways of the palace, by now knowing which places had dead ends or random drops and which places would take us to our destination the fastest.
“Again?” I asked. “Really?” Satu, Seppo’s mother, was known to couple with human men instead of other goblins and carry halfling offspring. There were very few halflings in the Permafrost—Satu most likely was mother to a high percentage of them.
Seppo shrugged. “I’m getting a new little brother. Or sister. One more for our merry home.”
“How many siblings do you actually have anyway?”
Seppo paused, frowning. “Um, huh. Hold on, let me think.”
“Think and walk,” I said, continuing forward.
We arrived at the courtyard far too late, but at least we got there without any hassle. I breathed in the crisp Permafrost air, the cold filling me with energy. The flavors of life danced on my tongue, muted, but there all the same. The changing of leaves, the burrowing of small, hardy creatures that made the tundra of the Permafrost their home, the smell and taste of sweat from people and creatures alike. All of it was covered in canopies of prey lines that glittered like ice crystals across the grounds.
I’d barely been able to take in the beauty of it all before someone grabbed me roughly and pulled me aside.
“Ouch!” I glared at the serious-faced, black-haired she-goblin. Her dark blue eyes sparked with electricity and her touch stung. I yanked my arm away.
Diaval crossed her arms. “You’re late.”
“I know,” I said.
“Incredibly late.” Her expression didn’t change.
“I had a … rough night last night. We overslept,” I explained, trying to discreetly glance toward Seppo and then back at her.
Her eyes told me that she understood. “Hey, Seppo. Rose was looking for you. I think he’s somewhere in the stables.”
At the mention of his boyfriend, Seppo stood a little straighter. He gave Diaval a wary look, like she might possibly bite him. No doubt he would be happy for any excuse to leave the area.
“Oh, well,” Seppo said. “I better help him, then. With the horses, I mean. Help him with the horses.”
We watched as the halfling attempted to sprint off before we could catch the sight of his ear tips turning crimson.
“Well,” Diaval said. “That was easy.”
“Any excuse to be alone together.” I nodded, looking at Diaval’s semi-disgusted face. “Their love is purer than rain,” I added, smirking.
Diaval grimaced. “Excuse me while I puke.”
“Nice, healthy relationships are that unimaginable to you?”
She waved her hand. “I don’t bother with that sort of stuff. Now sit and let’s get to work.” She brushed back the leather tails of her coat to sit cross-legged on the stone tiles of the courtyard. She rested a hand on each knee, curlin
g her fingertips from where they poked out of her fingerless gloves until blue light crackled from them.
I sat across from her in the same position, though, as usual, nothing ever emitted from my hands. Reaching down into the solid cold of my core, where I could envision my stag powers rested, I tried to pull them up, but it was like fumbling in the dark for something that might not even exist in the first place.
“Stop forcing it,” Diaval said. “It won’t come if you force it.”
I sighed. Not even a minute in and I was already frustrated enough to throw something. I’d been the stag for nearly a year and still had nothing to show for it. Other than the unconscious regulation of Soren’s power and the connection we had as the stag and Erlking, I was no closer to unlocking any abilities that the stag might have. Bitterness rose in my throat like bile. The more I tried and the more I failed, the more I couldn’t help but feel like I was missing some fundamental part of being … well … whatever I was supposed to be. That this destiny laid out for me might not truly have been my path at all.
Ah, Janneka. Always conflicted.
“Get out of my head,” I muttered under my breath. Diaval raised a fine black eyebrow.
“Still bothering you, is he?” she asked.
“Hence the rough night. Both him and nightmares. I ended up breaking a mirror.” I released the tension between my shoulder blades, head coming to rest against my palms.
“Poor Soren,” Diaval said dryly, before becoming serious once more. “Have you told him yet? About these things?”
I scoffed. “What am I supposed to tell him? He’s got enough to worry about without me seeing the specter of his dead uncle and dreaming of the apocalypse.”
“You two are the stag and Erlking. More important, you’re partners. I may not partake in relationships, but I think that should mean something regarding these types of situations.” Diaval ran a hand through feathery black hair. “What’s more is that obviously whatever you’re experiencing, it has to do with being the stag. It started with the stag, right?”
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