by C. L. Roman
"I wasn't trying to cut a deal."
Anger suffused the king's cheeks. "You are too familiar, human. Watch how you speak to me."
"But I am not human. Not fully. Bran Danali was my grandfather, which gives me far more than a drop of Fomorian blood." Ignoring Gwyneth's startled gasp, he continued. "Which means that I have as much right to Fomora's power as you do. As for Solcruth?" He slipped the bracelet back around his wrist. "Bran gave it to my grandmother on their wedding day."
"They never married. Even if he gave her the stone, it was no lawful gift," Dinael sputtered.
Maeve lifted the grimoire and placed it in Jackson's hand. "Yes, they were," she said. "And it is."
Jackson opened the spell book and took out a sheet of paper covered in elegant script. "This is their marriage contract. Witnessed and signed, though she tells me that the people who stood up with them are long dead. Balor likely saw to that after he killed Bran."
"And when did she tell you this, boy? Before or after she died?" Dinael sneered.
The grimoire flipped open and writing flooded across the page. After, if you must know. Don't be such a nit, Dinael. We were friends once, you and I. Though I chose your brother in your stead, I never hated you until I thought you might have killed him. Since you didn't, there's no need to hate you now. And none for you to hate me since the truth is in the open and the real murderer fairly caught.
"Solcruth belongs to our family line." The edge in Dinael's voice might have cut glass, had it been a blade.
As it was, everyone in the room flinched except Jackson. "It is still in your family, Uncayl," he said. "Just a different branch."
"How dare you call me Uncle? You are no relative of mine." Dinael clenched his fists but made no other move.
"He is, Din. Can't you see it?" Gwyneth stepped closer to Jackson, peering into his face for a moment before turning to her brother. "His face bears the same shape as Bran's, and he looks at us with our brother's eyes." Her gaze was steady, her voice cool, as she added, "and I will tell the council so when we return to Aelfholm."
Jackson grinned. "Thank you, Ayntin Gwyneth. I feel more welcome already."
Dinael relaxed his clenched fists one finger at a time and forced a smile. "You inherited your grandmother's gift for irreverence, I see," he said.
"I wouldn't deny it if I could," Jackson said.
Dinael's mouth worked, opening and closing several times before he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the anger was well banked. "I will admit it is a relief to know that you had no hand in his death, Neala. I never wanted to believe it, but..."
His sister tucked her hand in his. "But it was easier to believe her a murderess than to accept that she loved another instead of you. No wonder you started ignoring her."
He didn't answer but looked at Jackson. "I owe you a debt for revealing the extent of Balor's treachery." He glanced at Gwyneth. "I will see you at the next council meeting, Sister. You will bring the Eye?" She nodded, and he walked through the still-rippling portal, his guard following behind.
Gwyneth looked at Maeve. "Will I see you at home as well?"
"I —" She snuck a glance at Jackson before continuing. "Not for a while, Mother. I have things to take care of here."
Gwyneth nodded and followed after the king, the portal swirling closed behind them.
"Mother?" All the color seeped out of Jackson's face as he raced through a series of mental connections. "And she's Bran's sister, which makes her Dinael's sister, which makes us —" He blanched.
But Maeve was shaking her head, fighting back laughter. "No. We aren't related. Not by blood, anyway. Gwyneth is my step-mother. My mother died when I was born." A fleeting shadow crossed her face and was gone. "Father tells me she was very beautiful but frail." After a moment she continued. "But then he met Gwyneth at a court ball. They married when I was about two. She's the only mother I've ever known."
Relief robbed his legs of strength and Jackson sank down onto the couch, drawing her with him. "I feel a little like I barely escaped a Mac truck," he said. "One thing I don't get though. You heard him. Balor said Aidan murdered his father. Why would Dinael make Balor his lieutenant if he had such a huge motive for wanting revenge? I mean, I've heard of keeping your enemies close, but you don't give them a knife to cut your throat with."
"Every child in Aelfholm learns this story in history class. Balor's father was Balor the First. Balor of the Evil Eye. He started out as a good king and a mighty warrior, but he went mad in the end." She went into the kitchen and returned with two beers. Uncapping one, she handed it to him and then opened her own as she sat down.
"Over the years, he became more and more paranoid. Eventually, he convinced himself that someone in the court was trying to kill him. When he started murdering random citizens who came to him for help, the council realized that he couldn't be trusted to govern. So, they deposed him and named Aidan king in his place.”
“Why not Balor? He would have been the next in line, right?”
Maeve shook her head. “Balor’s mother wasn’t married to the king. She was his mistress. It was a huge scandal when she named the baby after his father. And anyway, the council was worried that the madness might be hereditary, so…”
“No crown for little Balor.”
“Right. They took the Eye from King Balor and imprisoned him for his own safety, and that of the kingdom. After a while, he regained enough of his sanity to realize what he'd done. He saw himself as a monster, and committed suicide."
Frowning, Jackson took a swig of his beer. "So... How did Balor the second become Dinael's right-hand man?"
"They all grew up together. And sure, Balor blamed Aidan for his father's death. He was pretty vocal about it too, at first, but everyone felt bad for him. It's tragic when anyone commits suicide, but when they leave kids behind it's even worse. Eventually, the council brought him in and told him the truth. For a long time, everyone thought he believed it."
"But he didn't."
"Clearly not. But the immediate result was, he stopped speaking against Aidan and become a model citizen. I will say this for Balor. He knows how to play the long game."
Jackson shifted uncomfortably. "So, what happens to him now?"
"He'll be tried for treason, and convicted, most likely. And they’ll take the Eye from him."
"What will they do with it? Not give it to Dinael, I hope."
She shook her head. "That wouldn't be legal — and without a voluntary transfer of ownership, it wouldn't work for him anyway. Instead, they’ll hold it in trust for Balor's children -- or, if Uncle Din is smart, his children's children. There has to be some kind of plan to give it back to the family, but there's no law saying when."
"Huh. Always a loophole."
"Always." She turned, snuggling into his side. His arms came around her, and she stretched up to kiss him. "Meanwhile, I believe we have some plans of our own to make."
He smiled and let his brow arch up. "Do we? And what plans would those be?"
She drew his head down and pressed her mouth to his, open-lipped, tasting him as her hands wandered down his chest. "The best plans, of course," she said.
He unbuttoned her blouse and threw it on the floor, pressing his lips to her naked breasts as she lay back on the cushions. A moment later, her jeans joined the blouse with an odd thump. Neither of them paid attention to the small pendant that slipped free of her pants pocket and lay there, gleaming red against the dark blue fabric.
Solcruth pulsed once, and the ruby disappeared.
An Deireadh
A Note From C.L.:
Sometimes a place or a name gets ahold of you and won’t let go. This happened to me with Cassadaga, Florida. This is my second story with roots in the “Psychic Capital of the World,” and I enjoyed writing both of them, in part because of the opportunities these stories gave me to explore more of that fascinating little town. While the claim to world leadership in the psychic arena may be a bit
hyperbolic, there is something about the atmosphere there that tingles the senses, offering peace and intrigue in equal measure.
There are a number of ley lines that pass through the eastern United States. The Arcadian line connects New York City, Washington DC, Pilot Mountain, NC and Stone Mountain, GA like jewels on a much longer chain. Cassadaga is said to house a vortex, or concentration, of psychic power. The aforementioned Arcadian crosses the Serpent line in Pilot Mountain, creating a fairly powerful node. Another set of lines (including the Arcadian) cross in New York City. How much or little power these lines wield, I leave to the reader to decide.
Meanwhile, I hope you enjoyed Jackson and Maeve’s story. And don’t worry, we’ll be checking in with Shawna and Declan in the near future.
—CLR
About the Author
C.L. (Cheri) Roman writes sci-fi and fantasy with a paranormal edge. Most days you can find her on her blog at clroman.com, or working on her next novel or short story. Cheri lives in the not-so-wilds of Northeast Florida with her husband and their companions, Jack E. Boy, the super Chihuahua, and Pyewacket, the invisible rocket-cat.
Reviews for C.L.’s work:
Descent is ". . . a wonderful fantasy from start to finish..."
—A. O. Amazon review
Fire Candidate: “Love strong female leads, and Lila doesn't disappoint…”
—T.W. Amazon review
Gaia Returning is “Great fun, marvelously rendered, and stirring in its hopeful--and quite different--vision of the mother planet, you'll find C.L. Roman's novella to be a gem as precious and sparkling as those of the crown jewels.”
—K.P. Amazon review
Other works by C.L. Roman:
The Outcast Angels Series
Fantasy novels detailing the exploits of a group of angels who attempted to stay neutral in the war between heaven and hell. These epic fantasy novels explore the limits of love, loyalty and honor as the time traveling protagonists battle against remorseless evil in an effort to protect those they love.
The Witch of Forsythe High Series
Young adult fantasy novels which carry us through the adventures of hybrids, children of angels and humans discovering their unique powers and using them to defeat ever greater evil. These stories combine the challenges of growing up with the dangers of the modern world, pushing these young protagonists to their limits, and you to the edge of your seat.
Earth Prime Series (Working Title)
This space opera series follows Gaia, an extraterrestrial with a personal interest in Earth, as she struggles to survive while preventing interstellar war. These stories combine high powered future tech with real world intrigue and relationships to keep you turning pages long after you should be fast asleep.
Changelings
Four Fantasy stories of love, betrayal and intrigue set here, and in the mythical world of Aelfholme. Talking animals, monsters, elves and humans work together to bring you tales of honor and redemption, with a twist.
To find out more about C.L. and get updates on her work, as well as her take on books, life and the state of the world in general, visit her at her website and on social media:
Website | Facebook | Goodreads | Bookbub | Twitter | Instagram
The Key to Valhalla
The Valhalla Legacy
by
Terri A. Wilson
Kai won’t be the cause of another lover’s death.
T.A.W.
Copyright © 2019 by Terri A. Wilson
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Dedication:
For Cap
Chapter One
During the summer, New Yorkers were divided into three main groups; tourists, too dazzled by the city’s charms, and millennials, too conceited to understand life went on without them. Service people, though smaller in numbers, made the third group. Service people contributed to the illusion of importance the other two groups needed. Kai belonged to the third group and hated it. The monotony of toting ungrateful tourists and millennials drove her close to jumping off the George Washington Bridge.
Kai waited for the light to change. A young couple crossed in front of the taxi. The man whispered something to his girl, and she giggled. They stopped in the middle of the intersection and kissed. The light changed, and cars honked. Kai felt a jab in her chest. After all these years, she missed love more than anything else.
“All right already. I heard you the first time,” she yelled out her window. The car behind her was not as captivated with the couple’s affection.
“We have more details coming in now from tonight’s shooting in Times Square.”
Kai turned up the radio.
“In what spectators are calling a brave risk, one of New York’s finest placed himself between the armed suspect and the family. Personal details regarding the officer are coming in now. Expect delays on Forty-sixth around the Square as roadblocks are up for the duration of the investigation.”
A pedestrian flagged her down. She turned off the radio and switched off the medallion light.
“The Knickerbocker Hotel.”
Kai watched the two guys melt into the backseat. The smell of alcohol and sweat made her gag. “Most of Times Square is on lockdown tonight. I’ll get you as close as I can.”
“Whatever.”
Kai zoned out their mind-numbing drunken narrative of how much more they planned to drink and how many women they planned to screw. Tourists. Drunk tourists. Most the time they paid no attention and over tipped. She smiled to herself. Kai loved drunk tourists.
After meandering the roadblocks, she pulled over in front of The Hard Rock Cafe and directed them to the hotel. She settled the fare and turned on the off-duty light. Before pulling away from the curb, the back door opened, and a tired-looking man slumped in the seat.
“I saw you went off duty, but could you do one more?”
Kai turned to tell him no when the strong smell of roses filled her cab.
Crap.
“Sure, I’ll do one more.”
“Thanks. I just want to go home. Do you mind going all the way to Brooklyn?”
She waited for the walkers to clear the crosswalk. A tall lumber-jack-wanna-be saw her and waved. Kai couldn’t help, but chuckle. The lengths some people will go to; a lumberjack in New York?
She glanced back at the passenger. His smile and green eyes made Kai’s mouth go dry. She wanted to run her fingers through his short wavy hair. When he laid his head on the headrest, she imagined embracing him against her chest, holding him while he rested. But no matter how much her crotch tingled, she couldn’t ignore the perfume of roses.
Almost all of Kai’s fares were normal rides traveling from one point to another. Occasionally, she picked up a different fare. When the smell of roses filled her cab, Kai knew she needed to use her special services.
“Long day?” She studied him through the rearview mirror.
“You could say that. I’ve spent every summer of my life here and I still forget how hot summer gets.”
“Sorry, I don’t have AC in this car. I got to work late, and it was the best one available.”
“It’s fine. When I get home, I plan on sleeping under my AC for the rest of the week.”
Kai turned on the radio ho
ping the music and stuffy car would lull her passenger to sleep. She hated this part of her calling. He thought he was going home. A home where he would sleep in his bed and eat his food. He might even have family living with him. She would take him home, but not the one he was expecting.
Her chest burned as a red glow from a necklace illuminated her face. She glanced in the mirror prepared to lie, but the man in the back seat fell asleep, unaware.
The concrete landscape highlighted with glaring city lights faded the closer they drove to the pier. With the Coney Island attractions closed hours before, traffic was nonexistent, making it easier to study the passenger.
He wore a black, short-sleeved t-shirt with a bulky black vest embroidered with indistinguishable white letters. A simple helmet sat next to him. A radio receiver sat on top of his shoulder. Kai recognized this uniform. Law Enforcement. Cops made the worst charges. They assumed there was a choice and fought for a different outcome, often with the gun on their hip.
She rolled down the window hoping the sea smells would overpower the intense rose incense filling her cab. The charm around her neck made her skin itch with power. Worn around her neck, it passed as an artisan necklace, something she could have found at the art festival. When combined with the sickening fragrance, her training kicked in and she drove to the pier.
Cursed with a calling that demanded unwavering allegiance, Kai brought fallen heroes to the gates of Valhalla and opened the gates for warriors to pass through in accordance to Odin’s Creed. Shortly after sunrise, the man in the backseat would join a new blessed army fighting next to fallen soldiers from all time periods and realms. Without a choice, his reward for great service was more fighting. That was the one part she never understood. Questioning or arguing with Odin never ended well. She learned that the hard way.
