by S. T. Bende
THE ELSKER SAGA:
TRO
ST Bende
The Elsker Saga
Tro
Copyright © 2013, ST Bende
Edited by: Lauren McKellar and Eden Plantz
Interior Snowflakes by: Eden Plantz
Cover Art by: Rebecca K. Sterling, Sterling Design Studios
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First publication: 2013, ST Bende
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
BACK COVER COPY
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CONNECT WITH ST BENDE ONLINE
WANT MORE OF THE ELSKER SAGA?
BACK COVER COPY
Sometimes you just have to believe.
Finding her destiny nearly cost her everything. Kristia knows she can handle whatever The Fates throw at her next—including her long-awaited honeymoon with the God of Winter. But as things heat up between Kristia and Ull, a frost settles over Asgard. An unexpected death marks the beginning of the end, much earlier than anyone expected. Kristia’s barely begun to understand what she’s capable of, and controlling her powers seems completely out of her grasp. With her new family fighting for their lives, and Ull fighting for their future, Kristia has to make a devastating choice: preserve the life she loves, or protect the god she can’t live without?
Dedication
To my biggest little blessings: may your faith in your dreams be every bit as strong as my faith in you.
To the man who has blessed my life with faith, hope, and love.
And to everyone who fell for a Norse god—this one’s for you.
Acknowledgements
To the cutie-pie who gives me the world every single day. Jeg elsker deg. Forever.
To my little gentlemen—for teaching me to live fully within each moment and for filling my heart with more love than I ever thought possible. You are the pinnacle of tro. I’m so grateful God gave me you.
To Lauren McKellar and Eden Plantz, two of the finest editors in all the realms; to Rebecca K. Sterling, whose covers brought our gods to life; and to Stacey Nash, the voice of reason and happiness. Thank you for making these little journal stories shine.
To Ull’s Valkyries and the RagnaRockstars, whose tireless enthusiasm and willingness to #Drool4Ull transformed a cranky Norse god into a bona-fide book-boyfriend. Takk for every tweet, post, share and meme, and takk for believing in our boys. Y’all rock. And I owe you #ChurchWaffles…with extra jam.
To Stacey Nash, Jacqueline Gardner, Bianca Janakievski, Brittany Ferrell, Aly Martinez, Bianca Smith, Adriana Pacheco, Stacey Mosteller, Melinda Dozier, Stephanie Wardrop, JC Emery, Jessica L. Brooks, Rebecca Moree, Dylan Quinn, Amalia Dillin, Kristie Cook, Chrissi Jackson, Inga Kupp-Silberg, Julie Bromley, Stacey Nixon, Laura Howard, and the friends who gave the thousand-and-one pep talks. Tusen takk. For all the things.
To the readers who embraced these reimagined myths from the beginning—I’m humbled and thankful that you choose to spend your time with my imaginary friends. Mange takk for taking these crazy journeys with me.
To Imagine Dragons, Peet’s Coffee, Alexander Skarsgard, the makers of McVitie’s Caramel Digestives, and Gunnar’s mom. Because, reasons.
And to MorMorMa. Always.
Chapter One
“Down you fall, into a sleep;
Monsters all, with you, shall creep.
Demons joyful, spirits fly,
For the gods, at last, shall die.
Goodnight little ones.”
THE SHROUDED FIGURE finished the macabre lullaby on a sharp note, her scratchy voice reverberating through the otherwise quiet nursery. She clutched three bundles as she stood. Her silhouette easily stood twenty feet in height; she made an imposing figure against the arched window. She crossed the room with awkward strides to deposit each bundle in a crib. With the babies safely distributed, she moved to the rocking chair and touched one gnarled finger to a piece of paper. Her eyes were hooded, but even in the semi-darkness, I could see the joy behind them. Her mouth curved into a menacing smile, yellow teeth poking at sharp angles against purple lips.
“Sleep well, my little darlings,” she croaked. “Your prophecy is a thing of beauty. The Fates expect great things of you.” She dropped the paper onto the chair and walked out of the room, directing an eerie smile at each crib as she left. Then she closed the door tightly behind her.
I crept toward the note on silent feet, careful not to disturb anything more than the air. It was a cavernous room with forty-foot ceilings, and heavy tapestries that lined the walls. Three cribs sat beneath an imposing chandelier. The three bundles slept peacefully, their hushed breathing the room’s only sound. But the bundles weren’t making the kinds of cooing sleep sounds I’d expect of newborns.
Now they were stirring, the movement loosening the bindings on their swaddles. Their faces were still obscured in shadow, but I was struck by the unnerving realization that these babies were nothing like human babies. One let out a guttural hiss; the other a soft growl. And the third made a noise so animalistic, it sounded like a wail…or a war cry.
As the cacophony in the nursery reached a fevered pitch, I darted for the rocking chair. Without thinking I grabbed the note and stuffed it in my pocket, then I made a dash for the door. Whatever those babies were, I didn’t want to be around them any longer.
My hand burned as I turned the knob. I jumped back, cradling my fingers. The skin pulled across my bone; large blisters had already begun to form. Someone, or something had turned the metal molten. Maybe it was a defensive spell, something to protect the children. With any luck, I’d never know. I pushed through the pain and gripped the doorknob again, wrenching it open and bolting down the hallway. I ignored the searing ache in my palms as I pumped my arms, willing myself to reach the exit faster.
Heavy footsteps thudded behind me. They were slow but determined, each step closing the distance between my pursuer and me. I didn’t have to turn around to know an angry giantess was bearing down, and I didn’t want to think about what she’d do if she caught up.
Ducking my head, I tore around a corner and bolted for the doorway. It was close, only ten yards away. When I was halfway there, two heavily armed guards stepped into my path. They were easily thirty-feet tall, each with an array of weapons attached to a thick belt. One held a spear in his hand, while the other wielded a broad sword. Both locked me in their sights and charged. My head whipped back and forth—the angry mother closed in on me from behin
d. The guards were fast approaching from ahead. My only option was to hide.
I turned on my heel and bolted through the closest doorway. Now I was in some kind of recreation room with large chairs, a blazing fireplace, and, thankfully, high windows, flanked by thick curtains. My legs burned as I dove behind one, curling into a ball and willing my breath to come in quiet gasps. It might have bought me a minute, tops, but a minute was all I would need.
Thundering footsteps announced the giants’ entry. They crossed the room with angry shouts. The language was foreign but the sentiment translated easily enough. A few more seconds, and I would be deader than a doornail.
My blistered palm wrapped around my grandmother’s necklace as I squeezed my eyes shut. I drew on my happiest memory of my sinfully gorgeous husband, Ull. Just that morning he’d stood at the altar of the little church in Cardiff. He’d been the most beautiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on, watching me walk up the aisle with near-worshipful eyes. The smile playing on his lips and the gratitude in his gaze were images I’d remember for the rest of my existence—no matter how short it might be. The footsteps stopped just beyond my reach, and I knew the guards had found me. It was only a matter of time before they ripped down the curtains and eliminated the threat.
Hopefully, it would be over quickly. Pain had always been my undoing.
The silver replica of Thor’s hammer began to warm in my hand, and I opened my eyes. Beams of light radiated from between my fingers in bright flashes. They were sure to give away my location, but I didn’t care. I knew exactly what was happening.
It was taking me home.
I squeezed my necklace as the guards tore down the curtains. The beams increased in intensity, striking the guards in the chest and throwing them back. The angry giantess stormed across the room, hands outstretched and ready to strike. Before she could reach me, I was sucked into the air, my insides churning under the unbearable pressure as I hurtled through darkness. My bones felt like they might rip clear out of my body, and the pounding in my head was so insistent I danced precariously along the edge of consciousness. Just before I could pass out, I remembered the note. I tore it from my pocket as I hurtled through space, determined to see its contents before I woke up from this bizarre vision. My gut told me the scene I was in was old; I was intruding on a nightmare from a long ago past. And I had a feeling I’d need to know what that note said in order to protect our future.
The paper shook in my hands as I strained to make out the words. This prophecy would spell the fate of the three babies. It would explain why their giantess mother was overjoyed at its news; and why my very presence had driven her to a rage. Whatever it was, whatever their fates, my gut told me the prophecy and those children had deep ties to my new family.
I unfolded the note. Hastily scrawled letters told the future of the three newborns from the nursery. The prophecy marked a new beginning that necessitated a violent end. It contained only two words.
End Asgard.
I closed my eyes as the bile rose thick in my throat. And then I was consumed by darkness.
“Sweetheart. Wake up.” The voice in my ear was soft yet commanding; the words managed to be both a plea and an order. My eyelids fluttered, and I buried my face against the warmth beside me. It smelled of earth, and pine.
It smelled like home.
“Wake up now, Kristia.” The warmth moved away from my cheek, and when I dragged my eyes open I found myself cradled in strong arms. The magnificent blond deity looking down at me had a furrowed brow, set jaw, and the perma-stubble that was so characteristically Ull. Even on his wedding day, he couldn’t bring himself to shave.
“Hi,” I murmured as I rubbed the sleep from my lids. All thoughts of my nightmare were instantly forgotten as I lost myself in my brand-spankin’-new husband’s endless blue eyes.
“Hi yourself.” Ull brushed a lock of hair off my face and lifted me so I was positioned tightly against him. “Must have been some dream.”
“Hmm?” I dragged myself away from the whirlpool that was Ull’s gaze, and absorbed my surroundings. Opulent couches equipped with seatbelts, a small table holding half-empty champagne flutes, and an entertainment unit that would rival my fantasy of a Hollywood screening room. Asgard’s private jet was equal parts elegance and comfort, and right now it was barreling toward the mysterious destination where Ull and I would spend the first night of our married life.
Oh, God. Our wedding night. I swallowed hard as I tried not to over-think that one.
“Are you cold?” Ull reached behind him to pull a blanket over my bare legs. The skirt of my going-away dress had inched up another few centimeters, so it barely covered the tops of my thighs. Now the expanse of exposed flesh was being massaged by Ull’s rather sizeable palm.
I flushed. “Not anymore.”
“Good.” Ull leaned down to press his cheek to my forehead. “Now, are you going to tell me why you were yelling in your sleep? Did you have another vision?”
I struggled to remember the images that must have troubled my dreams. But for the first time, something had slipped through the normally firm grip of my subconscious. Flashes of colors came to mind—dark purples, menacing crimson; and feelings—desolation, fear, and…joy? That made no sense. Those feelings went together as well as peanut butter and pickles.
“I don’t know what I was dreaming about.” I shook my head. “I can’t remember it.”
Ull’s brow furrowed against mine. “Is this common? Have you forgotten your dreams before?”
“Not that I can think of. Usually they’re right there when I wake up.” I shrugged. “Must not have been important, I guess.”
“You were screaming.” Ull spoke softly. “You sounded afraid.”
“Really?” I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to force the dream back into my consciousness. But it was gone, filtered from my memories like water through a fishing-net. “Sorry. I have nothing.”
I opened my eyes and blinked at Ull. He was frowning at me.
“I do not have to stress to you the importance of your visions. If they—”
“I know.” My fingers grazed his arm.
“You are the Seer—and now that you are immortal, this makes you Asgard’s strongest defense. If whatever you envisioned is something that might come to fruition, it is imperative that you share it with me.”
“Sorry, Ull. I’ve really got nothing.” I shook my head. “You know I’d tell you if I could.”
“If you think of anything, anything—”
“I know.” I raised a finger to stroke the stubble along his jaw. “I’ll tell you right away. You know you don’t have to worry about me all the time.”
“Kristia, you are my world. Of course I worry.”
I sighed. Ull was innately protective—his position as an Asgardian warrior gave him every right to expect the worst could happen to the people he loved. But ever since our favorite Norn, Elsker, had declared I was this long-prophesied visionary the gods dubbed the Seer, he’d taken protective to a whole new level. Because I was privy to visions of the past, present, and future, I was the shiniest new weapon in Asgard’s arsenal. I was also one of our enemies’ most highly sought-after targets. And with everything we’d just been through, my six-foot, five-inch, immortal assassin was terrified that somebody would take me away from him.
It was kind of adorable.
“Is there any chance we could just enjoy our honeymoon?” I moved my finger along Ull’s jaw, over his Adam’s apple, and down the hollow of his neck. My palm rested against his chest; the thud of his heart beat a steady rhythm against my skin. “Please?”
“That look is not going to work on me every time, you know.” Ull sounded frustrated.
“Then why is the corner of your mouth twitching?”
“Because. That look is going to work on me ninety nine percent of the time, and you know it.” Ull chuckled. “All right. I will drop it. But only because we are here.”
“We are?” I leaned across U
ll’s lap and tried to raise the window shade.
“Not yet. Trust me, you want to see the whole picture. Not just a sliver of it.” He tightened his arms around my shoulders as the plane touched down. In seconds it came to a stop, and the world’s loveliest flight attendant walked out of the cockpit. She pressed a button on the side of the plane and a door opened, inviting beams of sunlight into the dim cabin. It was a shock after spending several hours in semi-darkness, and I blinked against the brightness.
“Sorry sweetheart.” Ull reached into my bag, then placed a pair of sunglasses atop my nose. He cupped my cheek in one hand. “I forget how sensitive your eyes must be.”
It was true. Enhanced vision was just one of the side effects of becoming a goddess. But if the sparks shooting off my cheek were any indication, my sensitivity to Ull’s touch was going to be much more problematic.
“Come.” Ull stood. After the wedding he’d changed into a black suit and a crisp button down, but sometime during the flight he’d ditched his coat. Now he smoothed the front of his pants, stretched his long legs and held out a hand. I wound my fingers through his and followed him to the front of the plane, tugging at the hem of my dress as I moved. “Leave it,” Ull ordered without looking back. “I like it up there.”
The temperature in my cheeks tripled.
“Mr. and Mrs. Myhr.” Our flight attendant tossed her chocolaty-brown hair over one shoulder. “Welcome to Asgard Cay.”
