“Tell me why.” There’s something desperate in her tone, a fierceness that one might miss at first.
Then I see what she’s holding. A large wooden bowl. She holds it straight out over the prone form of a man bound by glowing chains. He’s asleep, his chest rising and falling with a slow steady rhythm. His long red hair is a filthy mess of tangles, his clothing hardly more than rags. And above his head, directly above the bowl, a snake is coiled. A sickly yellow green substance drips from the snake’s bared fangs and lands in the bowl with a soft plop.
My lips part. I know this scene, have seen it depicted in my book of Norse Mythology. The punishment of the god, Loki.
“You’re Sigyn.” Disbelief courses through me, but deep down I feel the truth. “You’re Aiden’s mother.”
“I named him Vali.” She stares down into the depths of her bowl, sadness emanating from her. “But he no longer goes by that name.”
My lips part. Her confirmation means the sleeping man on the slab is the trickster god himself.
She lifts her chin and glares down her nose at me. “I thought you were going to be different this time, that you care for him.”
“I do.”
“Then why did you abandon him to torment?” Her tone is condemning.
Suddenly, it’s all too much. I stand and face her, my hands balling into fists at my sides, temper fraying to the breaking point. “Why did you?”
She shakes her head. “I must stay here.”
My gaze focuses on her unbound legs. “I don’t see any chains keeping you here.”
“You don’t understand.”
“You’re right, I don’t. You chose to stay here. Stay with your unfaithful prick of a husband. You’re the one who let those other bastard gods drag him off to be killed. You decided that Aiden, who did nothing wrong, didn’t matter as much as his father.”
“Done nothing?” She stares at me, incredulous. “You know nothing about us, about our lives.”
Gods, what is wrong with these people? “Maybe not. Just like you don’t know anything about him, the man he is now so don’t judge me for leaving him behind when you turned your back on him first. Do you know he blames himself for Nari?”
She looks away. “That wasn’t his fault. I wanted to tell him when he came back for it.”
“It?” I ask, not following.
She swallows visibly and chokes on the words. “Nari’s heart.”
The one that now beats in my chest. My hand raises up, covering the beating organ protectively. “It would mean the world to him to hear you say those words. He can’t forgive himself. I can’t save him until he realizes that he’s worth saving.”
“And you think he is?” She tilts her head to the side.
When I nod she glances toward her sleeping husband as another drop of venom lands in her bowl. “I couldn’t have stopped them. The gods were too powerful, too determined. I couldn’t protect them.”
I stare down at the bound and sleeping Loki at the glittering chains made from Nari’s entrails. The ones the Aesir had used to trap him. Eventually the bowl will be full and Sigyn will turn away to dump it out. Then the venom will strike him. I can see the red blisters on his skin. Still healing marks from the last time she had done so.
“Okay, the past is what it is. Maybe you couldn’t have done anything else. But you can now. Did it ever occur to you to go find him? To tell him that what happened to Nari wasn’t his fault?”
She jerks her chin toward the bowl. “How can I leave him?”
“How can you stay? After all he’s done to you and your sons, all he will do? Aiden was an innocent. He’s hurting. Go to him, convince him that he really isn’t the monster he thinks he is.”
“The wolf—” she begins, but I’m sick of excuses.
“Is an animal. It was scared after being bound to an immortal being. It lashed out as any cornered beast would. You can’t blame it any more than you blame Aiden, yet you choose this bastard over your last living son.”
She looks down, the hands holding the bowl are shaking. “I need him.”
There it is. The same damn excuse emotionally abused women have been using to justify staying in shit situations since the dawn of time. Some people will blame the men for being bastards. And they aren’t wrong. Yet the old adage is true—it takes two to tango. She could have easily left Loki to his miserable fate at any time. Left the trickster to suffer alone. And even as I detest her choice to put her faithless husband above herself or her son, I can’t help but be impressed at her compassion. Is this where Aiden’s undying loyalty comes from?
I swallow, looking around for my exit, ready to be away from this sad, sorry woman and her miserable existence. But the portal is nowhere in sight.
“Did you bring me here?”
She shakes her head “Underhill did.”
“Why?” I stare at the inert figure on the stone slab with new consideration. From my reading I know that Loki will one day break free of his punishment, that he and his monstrous children will bring about the end of the world.
But he can’t break free if he’s dead.
I’m a killer. Lachesis asked me if I would kill for Underhill and the fey instead of just for myself. Did Underhill bring me here to stop Ragnorok before it could begin by killing the trickster?
And the bigger question is can I actually do it? Kill Aiden’s father? With his wife, a goddess in her own right and a woman who’s sacrificed everything for her man, sitting there watching me?
Would Aiden want me to? I didn’t save him from the trolls, but maybe this would be a bigger, better sort of salvation. One that would stick.
But is it right, for me to kill his father? He’d spoken fondly of Loki. Said that he was a fun dad who had taken him and Nari fishing, taught them how to laugh. That laughter had been stolen from them both though because of the trickster’s ambition. In Nari’s case, forever.
Damage has been done, but is it the sort of damage I was sent to deal with?
Heart beating at a frantic pace I take one step toward the bound trickster god, then another.
He’s brought this suffering on himself.
Sigyn’s grip on her rapidly filling bowl tightens. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing if he’s one of mine.” Could I even kill a god with my Goodnight Kiss? I’d roll the dice if it means I have a shot at preventing the end of the world.
Yet as I study Loki’s inert form, I don’t feel the telltale pull that I do to the true monsters of the world. He may have sired the wolf Fenrir, the half dead Hel and the world serpent Jormungand and set events into motion for the twilight of the gods, but he isn’t pure evil. He just...is.
I start when his eyes snap open, the same brilliant green as Aiden’s, and fasten on my face. “Release me, pretty dead queen.”
Beside my Sigyn shifts her weight. Is she worried I’ll free him? “Thanks, but I sort of like you where you are.”
Those green eyes grow distant. “He is the beginning and the end, the slayer of all.”
“Who?”
“The fire demon. He has but one purpose, to stand at the edge of the blaze clutching his fiery sword, and wait for the signal that Ragnorok has come at last. It will envelope the nine worlds, consuming the mortals and the dead, even your Wild Hunt. There is no escaping him. The fire will devour all. All that remains will be ash.”
I stare down into those eyes and see it there, the hysteria, the madness. Was he like this before or did centuries of torture bring out the worst in the trickster?
Out of the corner of my eye I spy the swirling vortex and move to catch it.
His hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist. “I have a riddle for you.”
Pretty dead girl
How will you die?
First fire, then water
And the stab of a lie.
Pretty dead girl
What will you gain?
Knowledge is power
Unless you’re not sane.
Pretty dead girl
Third time will do it
The wolf at your bosom
Will be sure to see to it.
I HATE RIDDLES, I REALLY effing do. They’re morbid and creepy and I’m just not a fan. The trickster must be losing his edge. Wolf at my bosom? Obviously, he means Aiden, means to sow discord between us. Why the hell is he calling me a dead girl? Sure, I died once, at the hands of Brigit, Queen of the Fire Throne. I know that. Okay, so there’s fire. But water and a lie? Is it some sort of message about Wardon?
I study him. His is the face of a man who will watch the worlds burn and dance on the ashes. After tugging my wrist free, I turn back to Sigyn. Her expression is pure defeat, her bowl almost filled to the brim. The loyal, broken-hearted wife Loki hasn’t even acknowledged. She knows what he is, what he will do. And she stays, bound to him as though she too is tethered by the cursed chains that had destroyed both her sons.
She will die for the sake of her love.
“Think about my offer,” I say then throw myself through the waiting portal. Behind me the ground shakes as Sigyn turns away to empty her bowl and the venom from the serpent drips onto the trickster god’s waiting face.
THE PORTAL DEPOSITS me on a familiar hillside. The grass is brown and sports a thick layer of frost. The trees overhead are bare. The farm. I’m back where I started, or at least where I entered. Up ahead the water from the pond ruffles with the chill winter wind and the tire swing spins around and around as though it’s been recently vacated. The spot by the pond, the one where I used to come to swim with Sarah.
The place where we buried her.
My gaze goes unerringly to her grave marker, the cross made of grape vines. Jasmine had woven flowers through the vines and they’d bloomed all summer. Now though the marker appears as barren as the rest of the winter landscape.
I haven’t been back since the funeral. Though not a day has gone by without me imagining coming here. What I would say to her. Deep down, I know the Sarah I knew is gone, that she’s been reborn and has a shot at a happy life. It’s only her body beneath the frozen ground, the corpse decaying.
Now that it’s upon me, I still don’t know what to say. So, all I can utter is the unvarnished truth. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” The voice comes from behind me.
I whirl around. Where a moment ago the swing had been empty, now there’s a slender young woman seated within, smirking at me.
“Sarah?” I whisper. “Is that really you?”
“In the flesh, so to speak.” She’s wearing ripped skinny jeans and a leather jacket, though her feet are bare. As I watch she starts to twist the rope clockwise. “You didn’t answer my question though. What are you sorry for, Nic?”
How is this possible? Is she really here? Are any of the things I’ve seen since entering the gauntlet real or has my mortal brain gone off the rails? “That you’re dead because of me.”
“No, I’m not. I’m alive because of you.” When she can barely touch the ground anymore she lifts her feet straight out. Around and around she spins, head thrown back, dark hair whipping in the winter wind.
“I’m sorry I didn’t kill your stepfather.” I take a step closer to her, wanting to touch her, to see if my hand will pass right through her. “I could have helped you.”
The rope twists past the neutral point but she continues to spin. “You did. Just by being there, by listening to me, helping me escape.”
My hand goes right though her hair. She plants her feet on the ground, halting the swing. Tears sting my eyes. “I should have done something.”
There’s something in her eyes I don’t recognize. Regret maybe? “Nic, it was my fault. All of it. I should have never taken Brigit’s deal. You were a better friend to me than I ever was to you. That’s why I’m here now. It’s my turn to help you.”
“Help me how?”
“I’m not fey, but neither am I an untethered spirit. I have a new body, it’s about five months old. Though when I dream I can travel to places like this.” She waves her hand around encompassing the hillside. “It’s here I met Underhill.”
“Met Underhill?” I shake my head in disbelief. Pharaildis had said as much but I hadn’t believed her. “She really is a person?”
“Of course.” Sarah shrugs. “Or at least she was. Now she’s something more. And she needs your help, Nic.”
“Is any of this real?” I ask, heart in my throat. “Or is it happening only in my mind?”
I’m praying she’ll say no, that I really haven’t met Aiden’s parents, that I didn’t leave him unprotected in the custody of the trolls. That the fey realm isn’t asking for my assistance.
“All of it is real, Nic. Some of it has happened and other things are not to you yet.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
She waves her hand at the mammoth oak tree and glowing symbols appear. “Do you recognize these?”
I stare at the glowing lines. “They look just like the ones in Addy’s journal.”
“They’re Viking runes, symbols that passed from the gods to mortals. Only these particular symbols are lost. Sort of like the original Ten Commandments. The messenger destroyed them, believing them to be too powerful for mortal hands. Only your Norns and a few select gods possess the knowledge of them now.”
I crawl to the base of the oak and trace a glowing line that looks like a jagged sideways A with my fingertips. “What do they mean?”
“That is time. See the way it branches? The choices we make create new branches. This,” she points to what looks like a down facing double arrow. “Is resurrection. Bringing the dead back to life.”
“What?” I recoil before my hands can make contact with it. “Why would anyone want to do that?”
She offers me a sad smile. “Don’t you want to go back, Nic?
I stare at her. “What do you mean? I’m not dead.”
Sarah leans back in her swing, hair trailing across the barren ground. “That’s what I said, too.”
I Call a Do-over
I scramble up and back away from her. “I can’t be.”
She sits up, a sad smile on her lips. “How did you get out of the river, Nic?”
“The water sprites...” I begin.
“Are all dead. Why do you think you stopped hearing Aiden’s voice in your head?”
I shake my head. “He took the syrup. Broke the bond.”
She rolls her eyes. It’s such a Sarah move that I almost laugh. But there’s nothing funny about what she’s telling me. “Do you really think he would do that?”
My lips part.
“Think about it. That Aiden, the one who attacked the river sprite? Didn’t he seem...off to you?”
“Yes, but he’s been through a lot.”
“You mean you put him through a lot.”
Can’t argue with her logic there.
She pushes off the ground easing the swing into a gentle rocking. “You died right in front of him. Let go before he could get to you.” She waves her hand and a bubble rises from the icy pond. Inside it, I see an image of Aiden reaching for me as I release my grip on the branch and fall into the water. The juggernaut of the downed tree barrels toward me, crushing my body against the rocks.
A slick of red melds with the inky blackness of the frothing river and Aiden screams, tearing himself free of the tree roots so he can dive in after me. There is no sound, no change for several minutes and then he surfaces, dragging something up out of the water.
My lifeless body.
His eyes are wild, his motions jerky as he hauls me to the shore. I can see steam rising from his throat and his hands are everywhere, desperate to fix all that is broken in me.
But he can’t. I was born mortal and my body is too fragile. I’m not just broken, I’m pulverized, unrecognizable.
An unearthly sound tears from him, and the ground quakes as he bellows in fury. The same way it had for his father. His sharp claws punch through his fingertips and
he shreds his own skin, great gashes opening across his body as he tears at himself as though he can claw the hurt free.
“Stop,” I turn away, unable to witness his grief. He’d lost me again. Had watched me die. And now there is no sacrifice he can make to bring me back.
My heart is pounding and bile churns in my stomach. “So much has happened since then. The river sprites, Aiden, my mother. How could I have all these memories if I’m dead and they didn’t happen?”
“Everyone you’ve met since that moment is dead, Nic.”
Tears sting my eyes. “No, Aiden can’t be—”
“I told you, time moves differently here. Some of the souls you’ve met are at this moment, alive, like I am. Like Aiden is. We enter this place with our unconscious minds. That’s why he was different, you were dealing with the seething angry inner Aiden, the one he tries to hide from you. The unconscious self has no filter, no social etiquette. When we wake, we will continue on their path. Our interaction with you nothing more than a vivid dream. Aiden will awake from his nightmare of you and dismiss it as a figment of his imagination. The bad news is, he’ll be waking to a world where you are dead.”
“And the others?” Like the river sprites, like Sissy. And like me. My knees start to shake. “How?”
“All you need to know is Underhill pulled your mind into the gauntlet before your body died. That’s why you can see the dead, why you can talk to them in your mind.”
I need to sit down. Can it be true? Am I really dead with my consciousness preserved by Underhill somehow? “Why would she bother?”
“I told you, she needs your help. You had to learn some things. That’s why she’s been moving you around, testing you, preparing you for what’s to come.”
“Like what?” I ask.
Sarah answers my question with one of her own. “What have you learned?”
I swallow and think about my trials. Seeing Lachesis, realizing why Aiden had let himself be hurt, not killing Loki. “I can’t control it, any of it. It’s not just about what I do or don’t do. Other people’s choices impact the outcome.”
The Immortal Queen Page 27
