by Linsey Hall
No.
Hurriedly, she dumped the contents of the bowl onto the ground and thrust it back beneath the snake’s near-constant stream of poison. But not before more poison dripped into his grievous chest wound and he writhed in pain. How long had she been unconscious? Was he still alive—though barely—because he was a full god?
Whatever the reason, she tried to be grateful that his breathing hadn’t stopped. But it was so ragged and weak that it might as well have. His beautiful face was twisted with pain, pale and streaked with sweat. The gleaming black hair that was normally so lovely was lank and dim against the stone.
Soon, the bowl would fill with poison and she’d have to empty it again. She glanced at the grievous wound on his chest, wondering how much more he could withstand. He was a god. Immortal. Could this kill him? Would it matter, when the punishment itself was so terrible?
Oh, Loki. What have you done?
And what would she do? Already, her arms were becoming weak. The poison that had dripped onto her hands was certainly affecting her. Eventually she would pass out from exhaustion.
Her gaze darted around the great stone. She would have to break his bonds.
Defy the gods and you will never become one of them, a small voice whispered from within.
If she did this, would she gain what she sought?
Loki moaned and her eyes zipped to him. She forced the doubt to the back of her mind. She had to help him. No matter the consequence. Still, a tiny part of her seethed that he’d put her in this position. But she cared for him. She must help him.
She bit her lip and pondered her options, which were few. Finally, she reached for her staff, careful to balance the bowl with one hand.
How would she ever manage a spell in these conditions? She fumbled to find her focus, to remember the techniques that would force apart his bonds and allow him to go free. Sweat poured from her as she tried to force her magic into the iron, to break it apart through the force of her will alone. Her knuckles whitened on her staff as she gripped it, desperately attempting to draw power from the wood.
Nothing.
She glanced at the huge snake that draped across the overhead branches. It eyed her with a fearsome yellow gaze. She hated the idea of harming an animal, but there was no help for it.
As she balanced the bowl beneath its venom, she directed her staff at the snake and forced a jet of flame at it. The trick was a new one she’d just learned, but the blaze was fierce enough that it should obliterate the snake.
It bounced off, and the snake remained unharmed. It struck out at her, stopping just short of her face. She lunged backward, barely managing to avoid spilling the bowl of poison.
Freya. The snake was Freya’s creation. Her magic wouldn’t work against her mother’s.
Despair streaked through her as she returned the bowl to its position beneath the calmed snake. Panting, she watched as the poison in the bowl neared the rim. Her mind scrambled for another spell, another bit of magic that she might use.
Out of time. She pulled the bowl away as carefully as she could, not wanting to jostle the terrible contents, and dumped it in the dirt. Loki roared as poison, fresh from the snake’s fangs, poured into his gaping chest wound. It was as if the snake watched her and waited.
She thrust the bowl beneath the snake’s jaws once more. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she searched her soul for the answer. Her soul was the source of her power, imbued with the magic of Freya. It should have the answers. It should.
She sobbed when nothing came to her. She’d pushed all her power into the iron chains, given it everything she had to tear them apart. Yet they hadn’t broken. Her power hadn’t been enough to break the gods’ enchanted iron and she couldn’t defeat her mother’s snake.
If she couldn’t break the chains, Loki would have to escape them. The only way to do that would be to aetherwalk. Traveling through the aether, that ephemeral substance that connected Midgard and the afterworlds, was a skill possessed by all gods and demigods.
But Loki’s ability had been bound by the gods.
There was only one thing she could do to save him. And it would doom her if she were caught. Did she care for him that much? Enough to risk everything she’d worked for? Everything she wanted?
The bowl of venom overflowed again, brushing the tips of her fingers and splashing onto Loki’s chest until he roared. Pain shot up her arms and she stumbled, barely directing the spilling bowl of venom onto the dirt.
Sweat stung her eyes as she cradled her injured hand against her chest, fighting the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. She barely had the strength to extend her shaking arm toward the snake to catch the poison with her bowl.
The tremors wouldn’t cease, nor would Loki’s shudders of pain. His eyes were rolled back in his head and his lips parted in a grimace.
It didn’t matter how much she cared for him. She couldn’t watch another living being in such distress and leave them there for eternity.
Damn you, Loki. I told you not to seek your vengeance yet.
She closed her eyes and dragged a shuddering breath into her lungs, attempting to brace herself for what was to come. When she opened her eyes, she could barely see through the film of tears.
Though it horrified her, she set the bowl on his chest, grimacing when it settled into the great gaping wound. Loki gasped harshly, still unconscious. She’d need both hands for what she was about to attempt. Still trembling, she shifted toward Loki’s face and placed her hands on either cheek.
“Freya forgive me,” she said as she reached deep into her soul and tore off a piece. Pain lanced her as she thrust it into Loki. The magic that swirled in her mind obliterated logical thought.
A gnawing emptiness grew within her until her soul reached out for his, grabbed hold and tore off a piece to fill the gap left by her gift. It didn’t have anything to do with the spell—just a need to fill the hole that had been left behind.
Darkness crept into the corners of her vision. With her final breath, she imagined Midgard, the realm of mortals, and sent the piece of her soul now owned by Loki to that strange place.
The last thing she saw before she passed out was the empty manacles that had once held Loki’s wrists.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Syvli’s Cottage, Immortal University
Present Day
Sylvi’s head felt like a rhinoceros had run over it. It definitely wasn’t the best feeling to wake up to, but what did she expect after crying herself to sleep like an idiot? She’d known when she’d approached Logan last night that it could end in heartbreak. Of course she’d ignored her own misgivings and it had ended terribly, as she should have expected.
If she’d been smart—which she’d officially proven she wasn’t—she’d have never slept with Logan. But she hadn’t been able to stop herself. She hadn’t wanted to stop herself.
She scrubbed her hands over her eyes and stared up at the ceiling in her dim room. She hadn’t seen Logan last night after she’d stormed into her room, but her reprieve was about to be over.
She shook her head, attempting to banish the memories, and swung out of bed. They still had to deal with the prison and they were running out of time. She snuck out into the kitchen, careful not to wake Logan, who was sprawled on the couch.
As quietly as she could, she put the kettle on and listened carefully for boiling, flicking it off before it could whistle. A few minutes later, she was back in her bedroom and setting her mug on the bedside table, grateful that she’d extended her reprieve from Logan.
She didn’t bother to turn on the lights and would have preferred to do this away from the bed that held so many memories. But it would have to do because the floor was too drafty.
She climbed back onto it and settled cross-legged with her back against the headboard. She drew her staff from the aether and laid it across her lap. This time, when she closed her eyes and focused on the warm wood beneath her palms, the architect’s knowledge spread out before her
like a field of golden light.
The breath shuddered out of her lungs as she steadied her mind and prepared to ask the questions she hoped would get them to the answers they needed.
By the time she opened her eyes, the sun was shining brightly through the windows. She’d spent several hours sorting through the information, and while she was considerably more knowledgeable, not all of it made sense. Most of it was still a mystery, in fact.
It was the best she could do at this point, and at least they had somewhere to start. Logan would have some ideas. She’d have to face him, because the labyrinth had to be dealt with. She swallowed hard.
She wasn’t embarrassed, exactly. Well, not a lot, at least. But just the thought of seeing him made her heart hurt. She’d just have to ignore it and the fight they’d had and pretend everything was normal.
From the faint noises coming from the living room, it sounded like he was up and she was out of time.
She fortified herself with a hot shower and her favorite sweater, then walked out into the living room as casually as she could.
He raised his head from the phone he’d been fiddling with and looked up from his seat on the couch. His voice was heavier than normal when he said, “Good morning.”
“Morning.” It hurt to look at him. “Have you been up long?”
“An hour. How did it go in there?” He nodded toward her bedroom.
She must have left the door open and he’d seen her with the staff. At least he was also ignoring what had happened last night. Though she had a feeling that ignoring might not be the right word. Biding his time, more like.
“Good. I know who we’re up against.”
He shifted so that she could sit. She took the seat at the far end of the couch, which was still too close for comfort because the living room was too small for anything but a love seat.
“The Architect’s mind worked in a very strange way,” she said. “Which it would have to, I guess, to build places like the labyrinth. Most of what I discovered was a bit confusing. The way she saw the world was more complex than facts and definitions, but I was able to decipher enough to get us started. The Triumvirate is composed of three…” she searched for the right word. “Titles. Components of a puzzle.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Architect thought of herself as the Architect, so we were right there. She didn’t have a name, at least, not one that she remembered or cared about. And she considered herself to be the designer of the labyrinth. She’s not a god, but I never figured out what kind of Mythean she was. Then there’s someone she thinks of as the Retaliator. A male, though I don’t know what kind, and he’s the heart and the passion that propels the creation of the labyrinth. He’s got a serious grudge against the gods, but I’ve no idea what it is. Last, there’s the Ancient One.”
“What the hell?” Logan’s black brows slashed down over his eyes.
“I don’t know who. There’s such a sense of age and power from the Architect’s perspective that I get the impression that the Ancient One is one of the original gods from before the Divine War. Or something equally powerful and immense.”
The Divine War had occurred thousands of years ago when gods had come to earth to war for followers. They’d nearly wiped out the entirety of the mortal population of central Europe and had decimated their own pantheons by inciting the mortals to war in favor of one true religion. Eventually, the university had managed to broker peace with a treaty that barred gods from returning to earth to openly recruit followers. It had been the beginning of life as Mytheans now knew it—secrecy from mortals in exchange for relative peace and safety. It was also one of the reasons that some gods didn’t like the university.
“If the Architect is the designer and the Retaliator is the heart of the project, what is the Ancient One?” Logan asked.
“The life force. It took immense power to build the labyrinth and will take immense power to capture the gods to imprison them. The Ancient One gave part of his life force. Possibly part of his soul.”
“That’s heavy.”
“I think that’s what will fuel the spell that drags all the gods into the prison when the labyrinth is finally complete. Like a calling spell, but on a divine scale.” It was the most terrifying thing she’d learned from the Architect—because it could actually work.
Logan dragged a hand across his face, then rumbled, “Fates, why?”
“The Architect thought of the Ancient One as tragic and exhausted and disappointed. And he obviously doesn’t like gods, though he might be one himself.”
“He’s the most dangerous one. From what you’re saying, there’s logic rather than passion or insanity driving him. And if he’s powerful enough to fuel the creation of the labyrinth with part of his soul, then he’s going to be a problem.”
Sylvi nodded and dragged a blanket over her lap. For the first time since they’d started this, she was actually getting scared. Someone like this, hiding out at the university? It was terrifying.
“Who they are, and their strength, will determine what we’re up against,” she said. “The Architect thought of herself as the most important piece of their puzzle—and she was—but also physically the weakest. These two are another matter.”
“So you have no idea of their identities?”
“No. They kept them hidden. They’d have to in order to keep themselves safe. I’d know if one of the ancient gods worked at the university. For one, he couldn’t get on campus without permission. I doubt he had that, so he has something like your bracelet that gets him past the protections.”
“How will we find them, then?”
“I know where the Retaliator is. Or at least, I have a sense of it. Though he works for the university, he doesn’t live here. It’s not unusual. At least half the staff doesn’t, and all but one prison administrator lives off campus.”
“So where are they?”
“I can’t get a bead on the Ancient One. According to the Architect, he is everywhere. Which doesn’t make sense.”
“Fuck.”
“No kidding.” It also meant he was immensely powerful. “But the Retaliator lives in Svalbard.”
Logan jerked backward. The Retaliator made his home on one of the islands in the remote archipelago halfway between Norway and the Arctic? “Could he be a Norse god?”
“I’ve no idea. I haven’t had news of Asgard since I was evicted. Have you?”
The sick tug of guilt pulled at his insides for all he’d cost her. After last night, he realized how much he’d hurt her. In their past, when they’d parted ways, he’d been so ill and had focused mostly on her rage, not her pain. Hurt Sylvi was far more difficult to bear than angry Sylvi. Hurt Sylvi made his insides twist and his head pound.
“Well?” Sylvi said, shaking him from his dark thoughts. “Have you heard anything from Asgard since we were evicted?”
“Some. Not enough to guess who it would be.”
“I think going after him is our next move. The labyrinth is so huge, so complex, that there was nothing in the Architect’s knowledge about how to destroy it. There was some vague notion about each of the creators being linked to it—the Retaliator in particular—so he might know how to destroy it. They’re each responsible for some aspect of the prison, so if we take all their knowledge, we’ll figure it out, too.”
“You propose that we do the same thing to him that we did to the Architect.”
“Yes.”
“Clever plan. Bloodthirsty, which also recommends it. We can leave today. Can you pinpoint which island he lives on?”
“No, but I would recognize it if I saw it. The Architect only went there once, but she wasn’t able to aetherwalk because the Retaliator had some kind of blocking spell in place. He’s the only Mythean who lives in the archipelago. There’s also a monitoring spell in place to alert him to the presence of any Mytheans who might visit. He’s watching all the islands—not just his.”
“He’s paranoid. It’s why he lives a
thousand kilometers from the nearest land.”
“Yes,” Sylvi said. “It makes sense that the heart of the labyrinth would be a bit odd.”
“This means we can’t aetherwalk. His island is blocked and if we appear on the wrong island, the monitoring spell will alert him to our presence.”
“He’s paranoid, but he’s smart. A boat is our only option. It’s the only way to land on the right island and give him as little notice as possible.” For fuck’s sake, how many days would it take to reach Svalbard? Two? Three?
“That’s what I think. I’ll recognize the island from the Architect’s memory. Once we’re close, I can probably do a spell to locate the Retaliator. His protection charms will only alert him to our presence once we step foot on land. As long as we stay on the water, he won’t know we’re there. By the time we make landfall on his island, he’ll have very little forewarning.”
“So we just have to get a boat.”
“And some help. It’s time we told others about this.”
He nodded.
“I’m going to tell my boss, Warren, what’s going on,” she said.
“He’s in charge of the Praesidium, right? How can you know he’s not involved?”
“I know, all right? Give me some credit for being able to read people. We won’t tell him you were the one who broke out of the prison disguised as Ian, but even if I explained it to him, I’m sure I could have him on our side in that too.”
“Fine. How can Warren help us?”
“It’s not him, exactly. It’s his wife and her sister. Esha and Aurora are soulceresses.”
“Shit.” That would be enormously helpful. Soulceresses drew their power from the immortal souls of other Mytheans. Not only were they powerful sorceresses, they weakened whoever they fought with their mere proximity. “If we use them well, it won’t matter overly much what type of Mythean the Retaliator is or what he’s got guarding him. The sisters will minimize his powers.”
“Exactly.” She stood and went to the door, grabbing her coat from the hook. “Come on, we’ve got some soulceresses to recruit.”
