The building itself was nice. Not posh or anything, but it looked well taken care of and the neighborhood seemed quiet. When he entered, he stopped before the stairs, eyes wandering over the mailboxes in the vestibule. Apartment 9, Tara Farhansdóttir. An odd name, Arabic and Scandinavian mixed into one. A good portion of Odin’s runepriests were Arabs. She had to be connected to the monastery.
His heart hammered a furious tattoo against his ribcage as he climbed the stairs to the apartment. The number nine glared like a beacon at the end of the hall, and he almost felt like he was floating toward it. Was he really knocking or was that someone else’s hand? He gritted his teeth hard to try and keep himself tethered to reality.
He had to know. The answers were just beyond that door.
Something shuffled behind inside the apartment for a moment before a tiny voice asked, “What do you want?” He recognized it as the vættr’s voice.
“I’m here to see Tara,” he responded evenly. “I didn’t deliver her letter. I have questions.”
There was a period of silence, and he wondered for a moment if she wouldn’t let him in at all. Then, metal slid against metal and the door opened a crack. A familiar, pale pink eye looked him up and down. Then, the door opened more fully, revealing the landvættr he’d spoken to in the library.
“You need to deliver her letter,” she said, almost in a whisper.
So she wasn’t Tara. Marius put a hand on the door, praying she wouldn’t try to slam it. He wasn’t going to leave until he got answers, but the last thing he wanted to do was scare this already nervous person. “I will deliver it, but I need to know what it means first. Please. She said she would tell anyone who would listen.”
The vættr looked him over warily again before taking a step back and opening the door a little more. Once he was inside, she closed the door behind him quickly. “Come with me.”
As she led him down the hall, he took in his surroundings. The apartment was cozy but well-appointed, and smelled like fresh rain and moss. Lush plants—from vibrant flowers to cacti—decorated the floors, walls, and ceilings everywhere he looked. Watercolors and cross-stitch of cute animals and affirmations hung at intervals. Something was baking in the kitchen, and as they passed it, he spotted a big fluffy white dog curled up near one of the windows.
Eventually, they entered the living room. Two large windows looked out onto a garden with the city in the skyline. A home hospital bed sat in front of them, hooked up to a blinking machine. Curled up in the soft-looking blankets was a woman wearing an oxygen mask. Short black hair framed a tired face with slender brown eyes. Her ochre skin looked sickly and sallow, and her frame was so limp that he didn’t have a hard time believing she was on death’s doorstep.
She raised her head, and he was surprised to see how young she was—no more than five or six years older than him. She removed her oxygen mask to speak. “Hello?”
The vættr passed him and went to the other woman’s bedside, checking the machine quickly before leaning down to kiss her. “This one is a vivid, Tar. He wanted to ask you about your letter.”
Tara’s eyes lit up, and she looked over the vættr’s shoulder to study Marius. She whispered something to the vættr, who nodded in response and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Awkwardly, Marius came closer and pulled a seat up to Tara’s bedside.
She sighed and sank into the blankets. “It’s nice to meet you, Mister…?”
“Harald,” he lied.
“I’m Tara. The one who let you in is my girlfriend, Harper.” She looked out the window, and Marius wondered how she would even find the strength to tell him anything. “What do you have questions about? Eirik didn’t send you to kill me, did he?”
“No. I didn’t give him your letter at all.”
She turned her head and frowned at him, waiting for an explanation.
“Before I start something, I want to know what happened,” Marius said.
“At the monastery?”
Slowly, the vivid nodded. “Yes … but I don’t understand. You can’t be much older than I am. How…?”
“How am I dying?” She smiled thinly. “Thyroid cancer. I’ve been in remission three times, and this is the fourth time it’s come back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m about to tell the doctors I’m done with medicine. I’m tired of being sick.” With a mournful smile, she added, “And so the little girl who survived a Gloaming sacking succumbs to human illness.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not meeting her eyes. “How did you survive?”
“Do you really want to know?” she asked. “Once you know, you can’t un-know. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
Marius paused for a moment, but … of course. He had to know. He nodded.
“All right.” Tara turned her face away, closed her eyes. “I was only a little girl when the monastery fell. It was after a long stalemate between the Gloaming and the Aurora protecting us. The Gloaming suddenly pushed. The priests tried to gather the apprentices and the few children in the relic room with one of the vivids, but I wanted my mother, so I slipped them.
“I went looking for her. There was fire everywhere, beams and stone falling, arrows flying over the walls. I was terrified. Eventually, I found her body in the courtyard, near a pile of other priestesses. I crawled under it … out of some sense that I needed to hide, and I wanted to be close to her, and she would protect me.”
Tara stopped, putting her oxygen mask back on. Marius’s arms warmed with light, and he wondered if he could do anything to help her. Would that be rude? He could almost feel the spark of life within her, and it was still salvageable.
After a few deep breaths, she continued.
“The Radiant came charging out with a troop of Aurorans. He had shut everyone else away. They fought for a long time, but … I— I don’t remember. I only remember how hot and loud it was, and how badly it smelled. Eventually, the fighting stopped. Everyone was dead or dying. Gloaming rushed past my hiding spot.
“I remember peeking out and seeing the Radiant lying face-down. I thought he was dead, too, but then a lady appeared. I remember that the way she looked scared me. Pale skin, hair as orange as flame, red lips. She sent the Gloaming away so that she and Eirik were alone.
“She brought him up to his knees”—Tara mimicked the movement—“tipped up his chin, and ... she seemed to know him, but he didn’t know her. I didn’t understand until later that she must have been his dís.”
A spirit of Fate. A Norn. His father’s Norn, the one he had always said had given him foresight. Marius swallowed hard, voice sandpaper as he asked, “What did she say?”
“She said that if he promised to serve her when she called for him, she would spare his life and give him powers that would make him a legendary Radiant. She said if he refused, she would tell the world his son’s secret.”
Marius’s extremities turned numb.
Secret? He had no secrets to keep.
“I had to tell,” she rasped, “because now I understand. Now I can see that this is … this is bad, something he didn’t want anyone to know. She must have been someone dreadful, and he made a deal with her. And now the resurge of Gloaming has taken root in Anster so fast … even if the other Radiants sent their best tomorrow, they’ll never quell the rise in time. It’s too late. We’re already at the flashpoint.”
Marius’s mind reeled, barely registering what she was saying. He was still focused on the last part of her story. His voice was barely above a whisper. “The son. Did she say what the secret was?”
Tara only shook her head. She looked exhausted from the stress and trauma of recounting her story. She took another few breaths from the oxygen mask, then let it drop. “I couldn’t tell you.”
Silence fell between them as he tried to process this new information. Things were starting to fall into place like some sort of horrific puzzle, painting a picture that filled him with the most spine-tingling dread. He f
elt like he might vomit.
One piece, however, was still missing.
“Do you speak modern Icelandic?” he asked softly. “Can you translate something for me?”
Tara seemed surprised, but nodded. “What is it?”
Taking a deep breath, he recited what he had heard Ynga say about Zaedicus a couple days before. “Ég mun finna þig í fjöru. I thought it was I will meet him on the beach, but she can’t possibly be meeting this person.”
“Ah.” Tara smiled sagely. “I see. No, you translated it well enough, but it’s not what you think it means. I will find you at the beach is a promise of violence, back from when punishments and trials were held seaside. Basically, she was saying she’s going to kick his ass.”
Marius frowned at the floor. He’d been misled by a godsdamned idiom?
As he sat there, trying to collect himself, Tara turned her head. Her tired eyes searched the vista out her window like she was looking for someone. When she spoke next, her voice was quiet. “You know … I often wonder about that secret. What happened to the Radiant’s son, what he’s hiding.” She looked back. “Do you know him, Harald?”
Slowly, Marius raised his eyes. “I don’t know anymore.”
Edie gasped as yet another ball of death magic destabilized, exploding in her face. That made, what, seventeen? Across Astrid’s hearth room, Cal was regarding her with increasing boredom and irritation, arms crossed. But god help him, he was trying.
Breathing raggedly, Edie doubled over with her hands on her knees. “Can’t I practice something else? I haven’t done any plague or shadow magic yet.”
“I’m not letting you touch any of that shit with a ten-foot pole till you get a hang of this,” he scoffed. “Humanity’s got enough trouble with preventable diseases as it is, never mind a new plague.”
She inhaled and exhaled sharply like she was in labor, shaking the excess energy out of her system. “How about blood magic?”
Cal shook his head. “Death magic was what cropped up when you were pissed off, so we’re starting there. Besides, I’d rather have you accidentally boil a guy’s blood than rot him into a skeleton. Easier to explain.”
“Fuck you, man.” Edie groaned and held her hand out again. It felt like it might be easier to practice on someone, but people’s bodies were exactly disposable. “Could I maybe practice on you and then necroheal you all better?”
“That’s a big fat no.” He gestured for her to conjure the magic again. “The ball.”
“Are we training a necromancer or training for the NBA, here?”
“Show me the ball, Edith!”
Another, longer groan. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to put herself back in her dream. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned the wolf coming at her, and let the now-familiar icy sensation race down her right arm and into her palm. When she opened her eyes, ghostly blue light swirled in her hand.
Cal maintained a safe distance, watching her skeptically. “Okay, now let it kinda … flow out and over.”
“I’m not really sure how to do that, Cal,” she said through gritted teeth. It took enough effort to keep the magic from exploding again. It really wanted out, and wasn’t happy with being slow and steady.
“Well, stop trying so hard.”
Stop trying so hard. Easy! She tried to loosen her mental grip a little.
The spell vibrated in her hand and flashed, then burst in a shower of blue sparks. Edie moaned as the embers hit the wooden floor and died.
Cal sighed and came closer. “Listen, you need to relax. Just let it come.”
“If I do that, I’m afraid I’ll blow the whole block up,” she mumbled, taking her leather jacket off and shaking her arms again. “It’s not that easy.”
“You gotta work the magic, not force it. Like the heavy bag, remember? Jab and flow.”
“Easier said than done.”
“It’s a little like … like playin’ an instrument.” He strummed an air guitar. “Do you force it this hard when you’re playing bass?”
Edie wrinkled her nose at him. “No, but it’s different. First of all, I know I’m not going to hurt someone if I mess up. Second, I know where my fingers have to go. I have a rhythm. This is … chaos. There is no rhythm.”
Rolling his milky eyes, he returned, “Then you’ll just have to make your own.”
The sound of the shop door’s bell tinkling gave Edie pause. The CLOSED sign was still in the window, but maybe it was one of the employees coming to check on Astrid. She turned to look over her shoulder as someone threw the private door’s latch and barged in.
Her heart stuttered. Marius. And he looked pale, like he was about to puke.
“What’s wrong?” Edie asked.
“I have to tell you something.” The vivid took a couple steps closer, looking lost. Urgency tightened his voice to the point of breaking.
It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts, but he told them everything that had happened. The letter delivered by the vættr, the hush money, Tara, and the story about Eirik and the Norn. It all seemed too crazy to be true—a Radiant working with the Gloaming? But there were so many little things were coming together now.
When Marius was done, Cal stood rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “It would explain why the Aurora keeps getting their asses kicked whenever the Gloaming riots. He’s doing just enough to keep the place from falling apart all at once, but he’s still lettin’ it fall apart.”
“Is that why the Aurora was trying so hard to find me?” Edie asked, looking between them. “Eirik didn’t want to kill me, he had a job to do. To give me over to Sárr?”
“Could be.”
Marius looked equal parts haunted and angry, but angry seemed to slowly be winning out. He paced a hole in the floor. “He knew what he was doing was bad from the beginning. He saved Tara, but told everyone that no one had survived. He warned her never to tell. And then, recently, he was paying for her cancer treatments to keep her quiet.”
“Why did she tell?” Edie asked gently. “Did she say?”
“Because she has more honor in her thumb than he has in his entire body? I don’t know,” he snapped, holding his head.
She frowned. “You said that the Norn was his dís?”
“Must be. She must be. No one but your own spirit of Fate can give you such a strong talent like that, besides maybe a god. I always assumed he’d had it since birth, but…. The Norn must have been planning this for centuries, waiting to line up the perfect string of events.”
Cal crossed his arms, glancing over. “White skin, orange hair, red lips, likes fucking with people, works with the Gloaming—?”
“It must be Indriði,” Edie finished.
Marius cursed and stopped pacing, his voice a murmur now. “The mirror wasn’t warning me about a traitor trying to assassinate my father. It was trying to tell me the traitor was my father, and that he had to be brought down.” He almost seemed to pant for a moment, as though he was struggling for air. “Why would he do this?”
In that moment, Edie wanted to reach out to him. She could feel the pain radiating off him—pain she had felt herself. To suddenly find out that your father had lied to you was a feeling she knew better than anyone else. But she refrained. Comfort wasn’t what he needed now; she could see that in the way his golden eyes burned, the way every muscle in his body was tight and ready to go. He needed to act. He needed answers.
She turned and slipped her jacket on again, which seemed to shake him from a reverie.
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m not letting you go alone. Where is the Radiant now?”
He loosed a puff of air, searching her face. Then, suddenly, his eyes were wide. He looked at the ceiling and said one word: “Ynga.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
The portal in front of Indriði blazed azure against the stones surrounding it. The vibrant color was cut off at intervals as her veiled servants walked through with her belongings. The artifacts had b
een saved first; now just her spiders, her furniture, and her documents and books remained. She was prepared to close the portal at a second’s notice, but she wanted her creature comforts if she was to start fresh in another city.
It had been two days since the “Auroran raid” that had turned out to be a false alarm, infiltrators trying to retrieve the hellerune and the shieldmaiden. They had also stolen her drake, but the idiots could have the lot; she had met all her goals. All that was left of Astrid were her shield and spear, nothing but valuable trophies—finally hers, no thanks to Lylirion Dead-Shadow.
Without the valkyrie, the universe was a better place, and the Reach would finally crumble to dust.
“Ahem.”
Behind her, Zaedicus, the annoying little worm, was supposedly helping her supervise the transport. What he was really doing, however, was standing off to the side, getting drunk off blood and criticizing her. If there was one thing mediocre men liked to do, it was criticize people who were more successful than them. Elves were no different.
“Do you think leaving Anster on such short notice is really wise?” he intoned skeptically, swirling his goblet like the Anne Rice reject he was. His pet human, Scarlet, was almost as egregious, but at least she wasn’t a coward. “Did you not put years of effort into cultivating your Auroran?”
Indriði crossed her arms, not bothering to turn around to address him. “I did. But Anster was only the start. I’ve got bigger things in the works.”
Did Zaedicus really care about her leaving? Ha. Chances were what he really cared about was not having her around to ask for favors and guidance. He was useless, and he knew it.
“I stayed this long mostly to watch the hellerune and bring her close to me. And to kill Astrid.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Now I’m done.”
She was done with Eirik, too. For years, he had been easy to control through blackmail. Funny that the secret he was protecting was one she and Sárr had also worked hard to keep under wraps—best for everyone that Marius stay clueless—but Eirik hadn’t needed to know that.
No Earthly Treason Page 31
