That brought Fenn up short. He frowned in confusion and took a step toward her, as if needing to hear her answer more clearly as he said, “Wait. I thought they stole me.”
“I wish I could say that was truth.”
The woman sighed, but her gaze never wavered from his face. Fennrys recognized the similarity of her features to his own, even though her eyes were an even paler shade of blue—so pale they were almost dove gray.
“I wish I could tell you that I fought to keep you. Fought to find you . . . never stopped looking for my stolen babe. But the truth of it is that I called the Fair Folk to you. And I gave you to them freely. Because it was the only way that I could think of to save your life. And the world—although I cared rather less about that than I did about you.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Fennrys said, his voice tight.
“The truth of the matter is this: when I was young and not unpleasant to look upon, a young man—a traveling skald calling himself ‘Lothur’—came to my village. As much as he liked my looks, I liked his.”
“Let me guess. Loki.”
His mother nodded. “I didn’t know. Not until the morning he left me. He thought I was asleep when he bent down to kiss my cheek and, in a mournful whisper, called me ‘she who offers sorrow’ before walking out the door.”
“‘She who offers sorrow’?”
“‘Angrboda’ in the language of your ancestors.”
Fennrys knew enough of the Norse myths to understand what she meant. “Which just so happened to be the name of the Fenris Wolf’s mother in the myths,” he said.
The woman smiled wryly. “Imagine my confusion. Until a few months later when my dresses grew too tight around my waist. Now, my mother was a Celtic princess, captured on a Viking raid, and I was raised on the stories of her myths and legends, as well as those of my father. I also had a dowry of her captured wealth. I used it to bribe a crew of sailors. I knew I would never see my lover again and I knew that if I brought you into a Viking world, eventually you would be killed. Whether you were the real Fenris Wolf or no. I bid the ship’s captain sail west, hoping to find the Faerie lands my mother had talked of. Instead, we found this land. And the Faerie, having heard my cries as I gave birth to you onboard that ship”—she gestured to the boat on the river far below—“found us. I gave you to them before you ever set foot on the soil of this world, hoping to save both.”
Fennrys didn’t know what to say. He just looked at the woman—his mother—and his open mouth produced no sound. He’d spent his entire existence hating and resenting the Fair Folk for having stolen him away from his rightful destiny. And now he’d just been told that that belief—the core resentment of most of his life—had been a lie. Well, not a lie, really—Faerie couldn’t actually lie—but a mistake, an assumption he’d made as a very young child that no one had ever bothered to correct because it had suited their purposes to let him accept it as truth. He really didn’t know what to say to that.
His mother reached forward after a moment and, again with that amused look in her eye, gently nudged his jaw shut with her fingertips. She left her hand there for a long moment, just touching his face, and a look of longing crossed hers.
It was strange but, where Fenn expected there should be a smoldering coal of rage waiting to burst into flame in the center of his chest, he instead felt a kind of lightness. From the moment he’d come back to himself after Rafe had turned him into the Wolf, he’d felt as though he’d barely been able to contain his fury. But in that moment, the beast inside was quiet. Like it had been when Mason had pulled her magick trick and transported him to his Safe Harbor.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” his mother said. “But my name—my real name—if you would like to know, is Sigyn.”
“I’m Fennrys,” he replied, his mouth quirking up at the corner as he reached up to take her hand in his. “But I guess you already know that. Nice, subtle name choice there, Mom.”
She laughed, and it was a lovely sound, echoing off the distant hills.
Fennrys felt a tightness in his throat. He’d meant it as a joke. But it was the first time he’d ever called anyone by that word. His heart felt bruised.
“It seemed there was little reason to hide the fact from the very people I was sending you off to live with,” Sigyn said. “They already knew who—and what—you were. That was the whole point. To remove you from this world so that you would no longer pose a danger to it. Although I must say, I do like the Faerie spelling.”
“Sounds the same.”
“It does.” She lifted one shoulder. “But I’ve found that what a thing sounds like is often not at all what it is, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do,” Fennrys said. “But if it means there’s a chance for me to become something other than what I’m supposed to be, then I’ll take it.”
“Oh, my son.” She squeezed his hand. “You have become exactly what you were meant to be. That is the thing. You will do what you have to do. And you will be magnificent.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“I think Auberon, the Faerie king, would dispute that.”
Fennrys grimaced, thinking back on his life growing up with the Fae. It had been like living in a paradise from which there had been no escape. The unrelenting, extravagant beauty of the Faerie Courts had driven him to seek out its darkest corners and most dangerous creatures. He trained himself to become a monster hunter.
Maybe, he thought, it’s because I was always secretly terrified I was the monster.
In time, Fenn’s exploits made an impression and he was appointed a member of the Winter King Auberon’s Janus Guard. And then, eventually, around the turn of the century in the mortal realm, he was stationed along with the other Janus in New York City to guard the Faerie gate in Central Park during the one time of the year when it opened. In order to make sure nothing crossed over into the world of men to threaten its inhabitants. The way Fennrys was threatening it now.
Is that irony? he wondered to himself. I can never tell.
“The fact that they let you back into the mortal realm even as a guardian of their Gate means you earned their trust,” Sigyn said.
“Or maybe I was just really good at killing things,” he said bitterly, “and they decided to put that skill set to use in a way that kept the mortal realm safe, and gave the Otherworld ogres a break from me once a year.”
“You are a guardian, Fennrys,” Sigyn said. “You and Mason Starling.”
The mention of Mason’s name sent a stab of longing through Fennrys’s heart so sharp it was almost physically painful. He missed her in a way he’d never missed anything else in his life. Almost from the moment he had met her, he’d felt as though they were meant to be together. And then the whole “Rush to Ragnarok” thing had begun and he’d realized that, in the way of horrifying prophecy, they were. And that was the worst thing in the world.
But now, to hear his mother talk of it, she had an entirely different take on the situation. He felt a tiny, moth-winged flutter of hope stirring inside and he just couldn’t find the ruthlessness within himself to crush it.
His mother seemed to sense what he was thinking. Her gaze sharpened on his face and she said, “Everyone—even me—has been so eager to tell you what you will do, what you must do, and what you cannot help but do. Prophecies and portents and doomy truths are the first things to spill from the lips of those eager to write the future. But there are spaces between all of those words where you are free to write your own. It’s time you were given the freedom to do that.”
“What about the Norns?”
“They have been trying to bring the End of Days to fruition down through all the long years.” Sigyn sighed. “I’m sure they thought they’d finally succeeded when I bore you as my son. So I sent you to the Faerie to thwart them, because I did not yet believe that you might one day be perfectly able to thwart them yourself.”
“But what if I can’t? What if every
thing plays out just the way they think it will?” Fennrys asked, turning to stare at the valley that stretched out below him. “So far, every move I make seems to play into their hands. Every time I try to make something right, it just takes a sharp left onto the highway of wrong. Even Mason. I tried so hard to keep her from taking up that damned spear. Now she’s a Valkyrie.”
Sigyn smiled. “She is, indeed.”
Fennrys raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s bad, Mom.”
“Is it? She is powerful now, beyond measure. As are you.”
“Isn’t that what the Norns wanted?”
“Yes. Of course.” Sigyn waved that away with one strong hand. “But there’s a wild card in there that I’m quite sure those hags never would have thought to make allowances for. Because it is a thing they do not understand.”
“And that is?”
“Love, Fennrys.”
His heart clenched at the word. But he wasn’t convinced. “I was hoping you were going to say there was a magick ring or sword or something hidden under a rock in a cave somewhere that I could use. Maybe even an actual wild card.”
His mother laughed again and Fenn was struck by how unconcerned she seemed about the impending end of the world. And how infectious that carefree attitude was. He felt better in that moment than he had in a long time.
“There have been magick rings and enchanted swords down throughout the ages,” she said. “None of them is as powerful a weapon as the love you carry in your heart for that girl. Do you think the Norns ever stopped to consider the consequences of their machinations if the Fennrys Wolf and a daughter of Odin took the initiative, not to end the world, but to fall in love?”
“I thought there was no escaping destiny.”
“I heard your Egyptian friend tell you otherwise.”
“How did you hear that?” Fennrys asked warily, thinking suddenly that this entire conversation could be occurring wholly in his brain. That maybe Loki had broken open Fennrys’s mind with his terrible revelation, and so Fenn had manufactured this lovely, serene version of his mother to comfort him in his madness. It would explain why he felt so much more at peace than he had.
His mother just shook her head, though, and said, “It doesn’t matter how I know. You know. And you only have to prove him right.”
“‘To hell with Destiny,’” Fennrys murmured. That was what Rafe had said to him and Mason. Maybe he really had been right. “Or maybe he was really just saying to Hel with destiny. Seems to be where this whole thing is headed.”
“Well . . .” And here his mother’s eyes flashed like glittering pale blue gems, sparkling and full of mirth. “If you’re going to charge headlong into such a place, you should travel in style!”
“Wha—”
Fennrys didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about. But he didn’t have the chance to ask her, either, before Sigyn thrust out both hands and shoved him, gently, but with enough force to send him sprawling backward over the edge of the cliff where they stood. With barely a yelp of protest, he went tumbling on down the hillside, falling head over heels toward the river that wound like the track of a teardrop down the cheek of the world he was born to destroy.
There were tears on her cheeks. Mason could feel their slow slide.
For the first time since she couldn’t remember when, she wept because she was laughing. And the reason was because her mother had started laughing first. Yelena’s shoulders shook with the force of the joyous laughter that poured out of her as she held her daughter wrapped tightly in an embrace. It was as infectious as it was incongruous—so much happiness in the face of such grim, gray circumstances—and Mason couldn’t help herself.
Finally, Yelena’s mirth subsided enough for her to be able to release her. “I sent the Wolf to find you,” she whispered, and raised a hand to Mason’s cheek, wiping away the tears there. “To help you. Now you must find me . . . so that we can help each other.”
“Okay,” Mason said, not knowing exactly how she would do that. “I will.”
“I know. With such a handsome helpmate, how could you not?” Yelena’s eyes glinted with a hint of wicked fun and she gestured over her daughter’s shoulder. “You are so strong, honey, all on your own. But you’re even stronger together. Stay together. Don’t let them tear you apart.”
A breeze lifted her mother’s dark hair and Mason swore she could smell the rich, sweet scent of apple blossoms carried on the air, even though the day felt more like summer than spring. Her mother smiled. And then, just as suddenly as she’d appeared, Yelena Starling was gone.
And Mason turned to see a shirtless, dripping-wet Fennrys climbing the ladder of the dock. The grin that split his face at the sight of her standing there brought a flush to her cheeks. That, and the fact that for an instant, she thought he might be naked again. She felt a mixture of relief and disappointment when he pulled himself all the way up the ladder and she saw that he was lacking only a shirt and shoes. His jeans, soaking wet and clinging to the muscled contours of his legs, were intact.
He left a trail of wet footprints across the bleached wooden deck boards as he strode toward her and, heedless of his sodden state, took Mason in his arms and lifted her off her feet into an embrace that she’d been longing for . . . forever.
“Wow,” she murmured against his lips when he finally let her up for air. She pushed him to arm’s length and felt a wicked grin spreading across her own lips. “See?” she said. “I told you Abercrombie model was a good look for you.”
Fenn rolled his eyes heavenward.
“I swear,” he groaned. “I swear to all the gods, I was wearing a shirt not two seconds ago. And a jacket. And . . .” He looked down at his bare feet. “Boots. With socks inside the boots. I had to take all that off when I fell down a hill and wound up underwater. Why does this keep happening to me?”
“Do you see me complaining?”
“You never lose your clothes,” he grumbled, tugging at the scooped neckline of her tank top and pulling her closer to him. “We’re standing on a dock beside a lake and you’re not even wearing a bikini. It’s grossly unfair.”
Mason ran a finger down the center of his chest, noticing with detached wonderment that all of his scars seemed to have disappeared. “Again,” she said, “no complaints here.”
Fennrys kissed her a second time, and after another long, blissful moment, he sighed contentedly and glanced around. “Speaking of lakes and docks . . . where are we? Really?”
“I don’t know.” She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck. “Well, actually, I do know . . . but it’s not important.”
“How did we get here?” he asked.
“No idea,” she murmured, staring up into his eyes. “Not important.”
“What—”
“Fenn, shut up.”
“Wh—”
“Shh.” She put a finger to his lips. “I love you.”
The wave of emotion that surged over his face made it look like he’d been electrocuted, and for a moment Mason was afraid that those were the last words he wanted to hear. But she’d said them, and she wasn’t going to take them back.
“It doesn’t matter where we are or how we got here. There are no monsters here,” she murmured. “No peril. I don’t care where ‘here’ is. I said to you back on Roosevelt Island that I would tell you how I felt when that happened. I don’t know if that’s ever going to happen again in the real world so I’m telling you now because I need for you to know. I love you, Fennrys Wolf.”
The kiss he gave her then, even more so than the two that had already gone before, told her everything she needed to know. When he bent and wrapped one arm around her legs, lifting her off the ground and cradling her to his chest, she laughed and kicked her feet. He carried her up onto the gently sloping bank and set her down, collapsing beside her in the sweet-smelling grass. He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down into her eyes.
“Tell me you love me again,” he murmured, sweeping the
long ebony hair off her shoulders.
She stared up at him. “I love you.”
“Then you’re right,” he said. “It doesn’t matter where we are. I don’t care what this is. Dream, vision, spirit-walk, Safe Harbor, happy place . . .” He grinned.
“Very happy.” Mason nodded, grinning back.
“And even if monsters and peril come thundering out from beneath those trees, right this very second, I don’t care.” He moved so close to her she could feel his eyelashes brushing her cheek. “Say it again,” he whispered.
“I love you, Fennrys Wolf.”
“I love you, Mason Starling.”
She kissed the sharp contour of his cheekbone and whispered, “Good. That means that we can do anything together. So long as we stay together.”
“We will.”
“As far as I’m concerned, we never have to leave—wait.” She sighed and closed her eyes, remembering suddenly, everything that had gone before. Remembering that what she had just said to Fennrys was almost exactly what her mother had said to her only moments earlier. Mason sat up and gazed back down toward the dock, and the empty space where her mother had stood. “Yes, we do.”
“‘Yes, we do’ what?” Fennrys asked, reaching up a hand as if to pull her back down beside him.
“Have to leave this place.”
“How can we do that if we’re not even here? And I don’t even know where here is,” Fennrys said, but he sat up too, as if he already knew the moments in that place were ticking away.
“Here,” Mason said, “is the place we need to get to. In the real world.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I think someone is trying to tell us something with these shared visions. Here, and in your loft. They’re leaving us clues. Or we’re leaving them for ourselves.”
“Clues.” Fennrys quirked an eyebrow at her. “Okay . . . I remember you said something about a heart in the elevator—I’m assuming, hopefully, that you didn’t mean one that had been removed from its owner.”
“No. I drew it.” She traced the same shape on his chest with a fingertip. “On the glass plate you smashed. Before you smashed it.”
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