The Viking Maiden Box Set

by Kelly N. Jane

  Bremen’s feet flew out from under him, and he landed in the dusty ash with a thud. A whoosh of air expelled from him, and Selby let the tip of the spear hover an inch from his throat.

  “Yield,” she said.

  Bremen lay in what looked like a daze while he caught his breath. Selby waited patiently, her eyes focused on his face and her spear held steady. There was not a bit of remorse or regret in her expression.

  When Bremen finally moved, he slowly brought his hands up as if to surrender. That’s when Jorg saw the twitch in Bremen’s foot. Selby stood with one foot on either side of Bremen’s leg. Before Jorg could call out to Selby, Bremen slammed his legs together. He grabbed the spear and pulled with his arms as his legs pushed Selby in the other direction. She let go of the spear to catch herself as she landed on her side. Half of her face buried into the dirt.

  From a sheath that Jorg thought must have been under Bremen’s shirt and between his shoulder blades, he pulled out a foot-long dagger. He’d had the weapon the entire time. Now he pinned Selby to the ground and lay the blade flat against her throat, keeping the sharp edges away from her skin.

  “I won’t yield, but I will offer a truce,” he said just loud enough for the quieted crowd to hear. Then he leaned in and said something else. Jorg was sure that he, with his extra keen hearing, was the only one who could hear the proposition Bremen made.

  Selby relaxed and nodded. Bremen stood and offered her a hand up, which she took and easily jumped to her feet.

  “A fine warrior and my match in every way,” Bremen said with a smile and a bow.

  Cheers, laughter, and a few grumbles erupted from the crowd as it began to disperse. Bremen replaced his dagger, and Selby rubbed her face against her shoulder. Dirt and ash still covered both of them, and the scent of stirred-up sulfur lurked in the air. The spark that lingered between them when they looked at each other, however, created an ache that threatened to tear Jorg’s chest apart.

  6

  Ingrid

  Ingrid’s family was alive. The idea battled for position in her mind. Could it really be true? Were they able to escape, or had she only envisioned what she wanted to see?

  The possibility was all she needed to believe. It was reason enough to get back home. If her family might have a chance at a new life, she was their only hope. Wherever it was they settled again, they would need Midgard to be safe from invasion by the other realms.

  Ingrid wandered to one of the chairs before the cold fireplace. She ran her fingers over the expertly woven fabric.

  Whatever her mission took, she’d see it through. She’d follow the destiny set out by the Norns for her life and bind the spell. It would give her family a better life and defeat Jarrick at the same time. The perfect revenge.

  Though, she wasn’t sure how to do it anymore. Eir had trained her to use the well at the base of the Yggdrasil tree in Asgard. It also required her bead.

  Ingrid’s hand rose to her chest. Where the amber used to rest before Greer had ripped away as she fought him in the courtyard. The runes lay heavy against her skin instead.

  “Did you not know that?” Caelya asked, causing Ingrid to startle.

  So lost in her thoughts, Ingrid had ignored the princess. “No,” she whispered and turned away. Her stomach turned on itself, and it became harder to breathe. Her family might be alive, but she would never see them again.

  “Then perhaps that gives you a little encouragement to help Jarrick in his plans to protect Midgard.” A vase of flowers sat on a table near the door. Caelya fussed with several blooms, perking up the arrangement.

  Ingrid scoffed. “Jarrick wants to enslave humanity, not safeguard them. He wants the veil to drop and allow other realms to invade.” Whoever Caelya thought her brother was didn’t match what Ingrid knew of him.

  Because of Jarrick, Jorg and Selby had died. Because of Jarrick, she’d accidentally killed Plintze. Because of Jarrick, her life was torn apart.

  “I don’t believe you have all the facts—which are not mine to share. My brother may be overzealous in his methods, but he would never enslave anyone.” She kept focused on the flowers as she spoke, tipping her head as she eyed their placement.

  Stunned, Ingrid shook her head slightly. “You should ask him. Find out what he truly wants for the future of the realms and see how that matches up with your Alfheim ideals.” Everyone treats me as if I’m naive.

  “Thelonius is aware of the situation and monitoring it closely. Urkon is an honored Vanir and must be given full respect and privileges on Alfheim. The king knows that his influence on Jarrick has become an issue. It’s why you’re here instead of Montibeo.”

  Was it the king, not Jarrick, keeping her locked in her rooms? Ingrid clenched her hands tight at her side. “What does that mean—an honored Vanir? Does the king know he’s risking a new war between the gods?”

  “That’s absurd. The elves and the Vanir are related, cousins so to speak. Our duty to them has never disappeared. Many fled Vanaheim and came to settle here. The old ones, who wanted to preserve their independent heritage, live in Allanar. They are allowed sanctuary, and Thelonius won’t disrupt the peace we’ve shared.” Caelya faced Ingrid, finally satisfied with the flowers.

  My father would never allow such things. He’d have protected his people long before, not turned a blind eye.

  “Your king is weak if he’d rather allow other realms to suffer so he can avoid his own discomfort.” Ignoring Jarrick and Urkon’s use of the dark arts without check seemed like too high a price to Ingrid.

  Caelya glared, her mouth tight. A flicker of fear skittered through Ingrid. Perhaps she’d said too much. She steadied herself and decided she hadn’t. The truth was the truth whether anyone liked it or not.

  “It is not a matter of avoiding anything.” Caelya sneered between clenched teeth. “Thelonius understands that we must choose our battles wisely. Rushing forward with rash behavior only leads to disaster.”

  The elves only considered themselves, that was clear. The king didn’t want to disrupt his own realm for the sake of the others. That meant he wouldn’t help stop Jarrick or Urkon. If humanity suffered, that was just a reasonable casualty.

  Not to me! I’ll have to find a way to defeat Jarrick myself.

  Ingrid stepped closer to the princess. Something else Caelya had said pierced through her thoughts. “Where is Montibeo?”

  “It’s Jarrick’s personal residence. He’s been more sullen and angry over the last decade, staying up in that cold, dark place. It used to be his favorite place to go for time alone to think and have space away from court. I spent many happy times there, myself.” Caelya’s expression softened as she looked lost in a memory. Then she stiffened, and her features hardened. “Now, it’s where he practices the more questionable aspects of the seiðr magic he learns from Urkon.”

  Why would the king turn a blind eye to such a thing? “And that’s where he would have taken me, except the king said to trap me here instead?”

  “You’re not trapped. Don’t be so dramatic.” Caelya fidgeted with a bracelet on her wrist. “You’re a guest, one that will dine with the king at this evening’s meal, in fact. Having you stay here was just a precautionary measure to ensure your safety. I’m sure that Jarrick has no plans to hurt you, though Voxx might not agree.” Caelya flashed a wry smile.

  Ingrid huffed. She really didn’t know her brother as well as she thought. “Who is Voxx?”

  Caelya tipped her head to the side and eyed Ingrid as if she contemplated what to say. “Jarrick’s fylgia. Do you understand what that means?”

  Ingrid shrugged. “I met Vimala earlier. She told me she was bonded to the king and Alfheim, but I wasn’t sure what that meant.”

  “A fylgia is an animal that chooses another to share a special bond. One that integrates their souls. They become interconnected and communicate spiritually. If the bond is severed, the fylgia dies, which is why they are so careful with whom they choose. Only royalty can be considere
d for a bond, and not everyone is granted the privilege.”

  “Is Voxx a unicorn also?”

  Caelya chuckled quietly under her breath. “No, certainly not. Voxx is a dragon.”

  The air took on a sudden chill. Pebbles rose on Ingrid’s skin, and the scar on her arm ached. She thought of the time she’d come face to face with the gigantic dragon who’d given it to her. How Jarrick had used it to speak to her. The realization hit her that the glittering black creature scorching the courtyard had been the same one.

  “Is she large and as dark as the sky at winter solstice?” Ingrid asked as she stared into space watching the memories play in her mind.

  “Yes. She is the largest of all. The dragons keep their nests in the mountains near Montibeo, and she chose Jarrick when she was little more than a hatchling before it should have been possible. Their bond is especially close.”

  I killed the wrong dragon. “Does it work the other way? What happens if the fylgia dies?” Could that have stopped all the death and destruction in the courtyard? If she’d known, she could have saved everyone.

  “No, not in the literal sense. The spirit of the fylgia merges into their chosen partner. The death of a fylgia is said to be like the severing of all emotion. It causes madness and mental clarity deficits, but not death. It has only happened once, long ago.”

  Of course, it wouldn’t have killed Jarrick. That would have been too easy. Was there any way Ingrid could rid herself of his hold on her? Everything that had gone wrong was because of the dark elf. To defeat him, she had to find out how he could stifle her magic. She needed the power she’d drawn upon in the courtyard. Then she could stop him and avenge the death of her friends.

  “Thankfully, Voxx is not allowed to roam near Lyallona, so you won’t see her here. Besides, I think both she and Jarrick have been happier lately since his wife’s return.”

  Ingrid snapped her attention to Caelya. “His wife is here? Are you speaking of Galwain? She’s here in the palace? I need to speak with her!”

  Of course, Jarrick would have brought Galwain to Alfheim when he stole her away. It was also when he’d found out Jorg was his son. He’d said he wanted them to be a family again. Did she know he’d lied and instead came back to kill their son?

  Caelya whirled around and towered over Ingrid, pinning her with a narrowed glare. “How do you know Galwain?”

  7

  Ingrid

  Ingrid saw no reason to hide her connection to the queen, but she internally recoiled at discussing her relationship with Galwain’s son. “We met a few days before Jarrick stole her. I know . . .” The thought made her throat swell and her eyes sting. Pain tore at her heart, and she couldn’t continue.

  “Galwain has stayed away from her homeland for many years. How is it that within days of her return, Jarrick finds her and brings her back here? What connection is there with you?” Caelya spoke with a measured and direct tone, leaning closer to Ingrid.

  “I was friends with her son.” Ingrid forced the words past the lump in her throat.

  “Which one?”

  Silence echoed off the stone walls as Ingrid stared. She’d been deliberate in inferring a single son, yet Caelya knew there were two. Jarrick hadn’t known that.

  “What . . . what do you mean?” Ingrid tried for nonchalance even as she stuttered.

  The princess closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath before letting it out. “When I first met Galwain, I hadn’t yet reached my age of maturity. We became fast friends and spent much time together. Our mutual carefree youthfulness made for many fun adventures whenever Jarrick would travel.” She looked over Ingrid’s head into the air, and her eyes shone with softness as she spoke. Then as she hesitated, her expression cooled.

  “As I neared my confinement, Galwain found out she was pregnant. She was near her term when I left for Sodell . . .” Caelya’s words trailed off, and she smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. “She broke her promise to Jarrick and Alfheim. That’s all that matters now.”

  Caelya started for the door, but Ingrid hurried to step in front of her. Determination and strength lined her face.

  “He killed him. Has he told you that?”

  “What are you talking about?” She was irritated, either at Ingrid’s presence in her path or the conversation, it wasn’t clear.

  “Jorg—Alberich, as you might know him. Jarrick killed his own son.”

  The luminous features of Caelya’s skin paled. Her chest rose and fell harder, and she slid her foot backward. “That’s not true. If he found his son . . . He would do anything to have a relationship with him. You’re mistaken.”

  Ingrid stood firm and kept her features steady as she let her silence confirm the information she’d shared.

  “Why would he do that? Does Galwain know?”

  “Galwain left before it happened, so I doubt that she does. She had another son—as it seems you’re aware—born later after she fled from Jarrick. He is dead, too.”

  “Why?” The elf’s voice was impatient and sharp.

  “He wanted me and what he thinks I can do for him. Nothing else seems to matter. He called two dragons upon us. I killed one,” Ingrid huffed at the wry satisfaction it gave her, “but the other, Voxx, was unleashing her fire as Jarrick snatched me here.”

  Neither woman said anything. The air heavy with grief.

  Turmoil churned within Ingrid as she thought about facing the queen. One part of her ached for their shared loss, but another still burned with anger at how Galwain had abandoned Jorg. Ironically, had she let him grow up with Jarrick, he would still be here, safe and alive. Did that mean his death was Galwain’s fault or Ingrid’s?

  No! She squared her shoulders and glared.

  Jorg was dead because of Jarrick and his obsession with restoring Vanaheim. His belief in Ingrid’s powers to help him overthrow Asgard and the part he wanted her to play in his new regime. Galwain was as much a victim of Jarrick as Ingrid. Perhaps, they could work together to destroy him.

  “Can you arrange for me to see Galwain? I’d like to be the one to tell her.”

  A knock on the door startled Ingrid, and she noticed Caelya shudder before she called out for whoever it was to enter. The air chilled when the door opened.

  “Aguane.” Caelya nodded a greeting. “Help Ingrid dress and try to make her presentable.” Ingrid saw the eye roll she offered the newcomer. “She is expected at court, so please work quickly.”

  Caelya strode through the door without looking at Ingrid again. She’d avoided answering whether she would help Ingrid meet with Galwain. Why?

  There wasn’t any more time to contemplate an answer as Ingrid realized the new stranger was definitely not an elf.

  Ingrid swallowed hard and tried not to stare. The female didn’t concern herself with Ingrid’s worries, however. She glided to a gown draped over the back of a chair and separated out the pieces it required.

  She was tall, slender, and wore a flowing gown that looked more like mist than fabric. The way Aguane moved made Ingrid wonder if she had actual feet or was floating. She could have been using the transparent, shimmering wings attached to the back of her shoulders, but they remained folded tight against her back.

  Long hair of snowy-white matched her skin, and her gown flowed over her shoulders like icy tendrils. But it was her crystalline eyes, so light blue they almost glowed, that made Ingrid suck in her breath.

  She’d never heard of a being like the one before her, except possibly a valkyrie, but Eir held that title. This woman had to be something different. While Ingrid gaped, Aguane arranged the clothing Caelya had left during her earlier visit. She turned, radiating an essence that wrapped around Ingrid. Before she’d consciously decided—or maybe she had—Ingrid stepped forward to get changed.

  When the woman finished, Ingrid wore a gown of turquoise that matched her eyes and hugged her newly realized curves as it opened into a v-shape down her chest. A belt of silver threads, woven with tiny jewels of sapphir
e, garnet, and amethyst, circled her waist. Long sleeves, ending at a point on the back of Ingrid’s hands, were snug but not restrictive.

  Beckoning Ingrid to follow her, Aguane glided toward the bathroom. She had Ingrid sit on a bench and brushed her hair. Unlike the painful effort it took Moirin to arrange her hair when she stayed in Bremen’s camp, Aguane worked with deft, gentle fingers.

  While her hair was guided into place, Ingrid allowed herself to think once again about Galwain. Ingrid may not ever see her own mother again. Neither would Jorg. Galwain had lost Jorg when she gave him up as a baby to keep him safe from Jarrick. Now Ingrid had lost him too because of the dark elf.

  It was time for him to suffer. Jorg had told Ingrid about how he couldn’t hear her voice in his head anymore when she’d gone away to Asgard. The silence had nearly driven him mad. Eighteen years of that had to have affected Jarrick.

  If Ingrid could talk to Galwain, she could teach the queen how to block her mind. That might make Jarrick vulnerable, then he’d lose his grip on Ingrid’s powers. She and Galwain could escape together, and Ingrid could find a way to the Yggdrasil tree and bind the spell. Everything would be made right.

  Aguane applied kohl to Ingrid’s eyes, then held a hand mirror out for her to view the results. No longer in braids, Ingrid’s blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders in waves with some pulled back from her face to fasten at the back of her head with a golden clasp. It was hardly a practical style for battle, but Ingrid sat up a little taller and pulled her shoulders back. A woman, not a girl, reflected at her. Confident, prepared, and capable.

  Caelya had said she would go to court. As if she wasn’t a prisoner held against her will. So many people had underestimated her throughout her life. She stared at herself once more. Perhaps it would be easy to lull Jarrick into believing he controlled her. If he wanted her to become queen of his new regime, she’d play along. Her family was alive, and Galwain was nearby. Hope dared to prick at her heart.