“Why are you telling us all this? Why not kill me?” I asked.
“I’m telling you because I wanted to put a stop to you harassing my clientele and my employees. And I’m not killing you because I gave my word tonight that no one would die here, and I might be a demon, but my word is my bond.” His smile deepened. “Besides, I want everyone to know when the Evig Riksdag falls that I had a hand in it.”
He spoke to us a bit longer, not really saying much beyond bragging about how strong and capable he was for outsmarting everyone and everything. But soon he grew bored and dismissed us, saying he had fun to attend to.
Just before we left, though, he stopped us. “Oh, and if I ever see the three of you in my club again, I will kill you.” He smiled broadly. “But tonight, have fun. Live a little before the world ends.”
SIXTY-NINE
The sun was beginning to rise, and I couldn’t sleep.
Asher lay beside me, sleeping, and I listened to the sound of him breathing as I watched the sky slowly lighten through my window blinds. I counted each breath he took, focusing on that in a vain attempt to keep my thoughts from racing through everything Velnias had told us.
There was a lot that he had said that sounded true, or at least true enough. I didn’t think he’d lied, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be wrong.
But the thing I kept going back to, poking at it like a fresh bruise I couldn’t leave alone, was: Had I ever made a choice myself? Did I really love Asher, or was I just designed to feel that way? What about Quinn? Or Oona?
Was anything I had ever felt real?
Before I fell too deeply down that rabbit hole—trying to define “real” emotions and debating whether a lack of choice negated the validity of love or hate or grief—I tried to distract myself with another horrifying thought: Where the heck was Odin?
I hadn’t asked Velnias about him, because if Velnias didn’t know about the missing god already, it would be dangerous for me to tell him. But I thought it was a fairly safe bet he had nothing to do with it, or he would’ve been bragging nonstop.
He was so proud that he’d manipulated a Valkyrie—one that had already proven she could be manipulated, thanks to Tamerlane Fayette—and that wasn’t anywhere nearly as impressive as kidnapping a Vanir god.
“Can’t sleep?” Asher asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
He lay on his stomach, with my pillow all mashed up under his head, and his dark blue eyes were on me. I reached over and put my hand on his arm, acutely aware of the raised bumps of his healing cuts under my fingertips.
My only comfort was that the balm Oona had prepared for him seemed to be working. He still kept the deepest marks on his chest wrapped under gauze because they still bled on occasion, but he assured me they were healing well.
Most importantly, though, he hadn’t had any strange tremors or nightmares or even a headache since his seizure the other day.
“No.” I rolled over to face him more fully. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“You didn’t. How are you doing with everything?”
“Other than my existential crisis?” I forced a smile, making a lame joke out of my very real discomfort. “I’m okay.”
“You can’t stop thinking about what Velnias said.” It wasn’t a question.
“No. I try to, but…” I sighed, trying to put into words what exactly was twisting me up. “Without free will, I can’t help but feel like my whole life is a lie.”
His brows pinched in confusion. “How is it a lie?”
“Because I didn’t choose anything.”
“Choice is what makes something real?” he asked.
“I mean … yeah.”
Asher rolled onto his side, facing me directly. He took my hand and placed it on his chest, right next to the gauze bandage that covered his heart. “Do you feel that?”
“Your heartbeat?” I asked as it thudded slowly beneath my hand, his skin warming mine.
“I’ve never chosen for it to beat,” he explained. “Somewhere, deep inside my brain, I know synapses fire every second to make it happen. But I’ve never had a conscious thought about it. No matter how hard I think about it, I can’t make my heart stop beating.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it though?” he argued.
“An involuntary reflex isn’t the same thing as an emotion or a life decision.”
“I didn’t choose to feel the way I do about you,” Asher admitted. “And if I’m being honest, if I could’ve chosen when I met you, I wouldn’t have. Now isn’t the right time. Neither of us are in the best place. But it doesn’t matter how pragmatic I want to be. I still fell for you. And I don’t know if that’s predestination or because love is an impossible thing that does as it pleases.”
“What about now?” I asked.
“What?”
“If you could choose. If you could suddenly decide to stop how you feel right now.” I paused, steeling myself for the worst. “Would you?”
“No,” he said softly, his eyes searching mine. “Would you?”
“Before I met you, I would’ve said yes. I would’ve happily shut myself off from caring about anyone. To spare myself all the pain and confusion…” I trailed off.
“And now?”
“Now … I love you, and I don’t want to stop.” A rush of terror and elation and relief washed over me as I realized it was true. Completely, irrevocably true. “Not ever.”
Then, without waiting for me to say more, he sat up and pulled me into his arms. He kissed me fully on the mouth, his tongue parting my eager lips, as his hands slid underneath my shirt to the bare skin beneath.
I pulled him closer to me, wanting him closer still, but the sound of someone pounding on the front door interrupted us.
SEVENTY
“It’s like five in the morning,” Asher realized as I untangled myself from his arms. “Who could that be at this hour?”
“I don’t know, but I better go find out.”
I got out of bed in a flash, pulling on a pair of loose pants as I opened my bedroom door. Oona poked her head out of her bedroom, waiting for me to investigate, while Bowie preferred to hide under the kitchen table and stomp his back feet.
When I opened the door, Valeska was standing there. Her wide eyes were surprisingly alert under her heavy lashes, but her lips were turned down into a bored scowl.
“Took you long enough,” she said, pulling in her wings so she could slip through the narrow apartment doorway past me. This was just as Asher was coming of my bedroom, pulling a T-shirt on over his head. “You have sex hair.”
“I—I was sleeping,” I fumbled and felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Who are you to judge messy hair, anyway?”
She touched her frizzy bob. “Mine always looks like this. Yours is different.”
“Anyway,” Oona interrupted, casting a look to me and Valeska. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”
“Samael doesn’t believe in phones anymore. He thinks everything’s being tracked or bugged.” She waggled her fingers in the air with faux-spookiness.
“Is it?” I asked.
Valeska shrugged. “How should I know? I just started working for him.”
“Well, what’s going on?” I asked. “Why did you have to come here and wake us all up?”
“Have you ever heard of the Drawing of the Nine?” Valeska asked, her eyes bouncing between the three of us to gauge our reactions.
“Nine what?” I asked.
“Is it a picture?” Oona asked.
“No, not drawing, like an artist making a picture,” Valeska clarified. “It’s drawing like selecting or choosing. It’s an old prophecy.”
“An old prophecy about what?” I asked.
“The nine original Valkyries,” Valeska said, like it should be obvious.
“The first nine are long since dead,” I pointed out.
“Believe it or not, Samael knows that,” Valeska said dryly.
“So what
is the prophecy?” Oona asked.
“The only thing Samael could find was a brief line from one of the gilded books in the Seraphim Library. He copied it down exactly, so I wouldn’t butcher it.” She pulled out a scrap of paper, rolled up into a tiny scroll, and handed it to me.
I unrolled it to find Samael’s insanely elegant calligraphy scrolled across the parchment in bright gold ink.
And if it comes to the end of time, the world will be freed by the Drawing of the Nine.
“What does that mean?” Asher asked, after he’d read it over my shoulder.
“How does Samael even know that’s about Valkyries?” I asked. “Nine seems like an awfully vague correlation.”
“I don’t know,” Valeska said, and she was beginning to sound exasperated. “I didn’t see the book. Samael found it, then he came to me and said this was super-important and I needed to go talk to you and tell you to go to Ravenswood Academy and go to the Sanctorum Library for research.”
“Why can’t he go himself?” Asher asked.
“And don’t they have the books he would need at the Seraphim Library?” Oona added.
“An Eralim going to Ravenswood would cause a big scene, since they usually only go there for major events, and Samael is doing this all under the radar,” Valeska said. “Which is also why he doesn’t want to go snooping around the Seraphim Library. Besides that, he says the Sanctorum actually has more books than they do at the Riks.”
“They do, yeah,” I agreed with a bitter laugh. “The Sanctorum has thousands upon thousands of books. They have a whole wing dedicated to prophecy, even. And the only thing I have to go on are twenty words vaguely written in a rhyming scheme?”
“Yep,” Valeska replied, unmoved by my growing frustration. “Samael thinks it’s important, though, so it probably is.”
“Is there someone who can help you?” Asher suggested gently. “Maybe a favorite professor or a librarian that could point you in the right direction?”
I thought back to the Sinaa—the leopard-like guardians of knowledge who glared at me every time I entered the Sacrorum Wing—and immediately dismissed them. But there was somebody who spent a lot of time in the wing who knew her way around the books.
“There is someone, actually,” I said, and glanced over at the clock on the wall. “But considering it is not even seven, I should probably wait a few hours to reach out.”
“That’ll give us time to see if we can look online,” Asher said. “Maybe we can find something that will narrow down your search a bit more.”
“That’s the spirit!” Valeska said with faux-enthusiasm.
Oona walked toward the kitchen and pulled a takeout menu off the fridge. “Since we’ll be working this morning, I ought to get us food. Jaipur in the Morning delivers this early, I think.”
“Oh, awesome. Can you order me some of the pudla?” Valeska asked.
SEVENTY-ONE
Sloane Kothari met me outside the Sacrorum Wing. Instead of the usual tight ponytail she wore, she had let her long curls bounce free. She’d also traded in her cute Mary Jane flats for more practical boots that went up to her mid-calf, but she kept her plaid skirt.
She saw me as soon as I came down the stairs, looking up from where she texted rapidly on her phone, and while she didn’t look as irritated to see me as she once had, her pursed lips and hard eyes weren’t exactly happy, either.
“You were vague in your text, so I wasn’t able to narrow anything down beforehand,” Sloane said, sidestepping any pleasantries. “What is it that we’re looking for?”
I had text-messaged her this morning, asking her to meet me at the library for something important, but I didn’t say more than that. Samael thought phones might be tapped—by who or what, I didn’t know—but if it made him nervous, I thought it would do me well to be cautious.
“We’re looking for something that references this particular passage,” I said as I handed her the paper Valeska had given me from Samael.
“Drawing of the Nine,” Sloane repeated as she thought. “And this is supposed to be about the nine original Valkyries?”
“That’s what he told me. Should we start in the Prophecy Room?” I asked.
She stared down at the slip of paper, rereading the phrase to herself before asking, “Have you heard this before?”
“Not until Samael gave it to me, no.”
“You’re a Valkyrie, so if they considered this to be a prophecy, you would’ve heard about it,” Sloane reasoned. “Which means that any info there might be on it was probably mislabeled as a limerick or poem.”
“So … where should we look?”
“We should probably split up so we can cover more ground,” she suggested. “My top two suspects would be either the Valkyrie Room or the Songs of Adventure.”
“I’ve already gone through the Valkyrie Room a dozen times, and I think it might be better if I went somewhere that I could approach with fresh eyes,” I said.
“Then head down to Et Ingressus Est Praetorium Caneret.” Sloane pointed down the hall. “Look for the oldest books you can find and grab them all. If this prophecy exists, it had to have been overlooked, which means that it most likely wasn’t reprinted tons of times.”
With our destinations in the Sacrorum Wing decided, we walked silently down the hall. The bright white walls bled into the ceiling curving above us, making it feel like a tunnel, with two dozen doorways into bomb-shelter-like vaults. Since it was during school hours, the thick metal doors were open, resting flush against the wall.
A Sinaa passed by us, keeping its head down while the large eyes hidden in the jaguar spots eyed me warily. We reached Sloane’s stop first, and she quietly whispered, “Good luck,” before turning under the plaque that read ET VIRGINES IN MORTE.
I finally found the room that Sloane told me to investigate, all the way at the end of the hall. Fortunately, it appeared to be smaller than the other rooms, but books were still stacked tightly on shelves floor-to-ceiling.
The Sacrorum Wing always had a hermetic smell to it. Not clean or antiseptic, although it was always spotless here, but more stale and empty. It wasn’t until I got up close to the books that I could breathe in their must and paper.
As I perused the books—running my fingers along the spines, searching for those that felt or looked the oldest—I came to understand why this room was so small. The titles seemed random and with topics and deities from every walk of life, and I realized this must be where they stuck everything they couldn’t find a place for anywhere else.
But I did as Sloane had suggested, grabbing all the oldest books I could find without worrying about the title, until I had a slight stack of twenty-five. I sat down on the floor, carefully but quickly flipping through the ancient pages, looking for any mentions of Valkyries or their swords.
When I finished those twenty-five books, I put them back, then grabbed twenty-five more. There was one book that I hesitated before finally grabbing it. The brown leather cover felt too new, but I kept coming back to it, so I added Codex Aeterna to my pile.
I saved it until last, but as soon as I opened it, I realized the cover had been a trick. The pages were ancient vellum—yellowed but transparent, waxy and delicate under my fingers. Some time ago the book must’ve been rebound, giving it a slightly newer cover.
Written carefully in thick black calligraphy, the pages contained various poems and songs. The first few were strange tales of immortals I hadn’t heard of before, but then it came to one about Frigg, Odin’s wife.
While I didn’t think I had read this particular poem before, the story was very familiar. It described Frigg’s love for her husband and her son Baldur, and her refusal to share her precognition with anyone. When Baldur ran off, hiding in the underworld, Frigg was devastated. She tried to reach him, but as a Vanir goddess she wasn’t allowed, and Baldur never even heard her cries.
The normally joyful Frigg fell into a deep depression until one day she hatched a plan. She dressed in begg
ar’s clothes and started a fight with the Valkyrie Brynhilda. To defend herself, the Valkyrie slayed the disguised Frigg.
Except, of course, a Vanir goddess cannot be slayed. Instead, Frigg fell into a deep sleep, promising only to awake when her son Baldur returned to her. And so she slept, for thousands of years, until most had forgotten about her.
The poem after that was called “Friggadraumr,” which loosely translated to “The Dream of Frigg.” It alleged to have been written when Frigg awoke once, shortly after she had fallen asleep, to describe a dream that she had.
This one began with the whole history of the world, giving a brief overview of some of the major events that had transpired before Frigg had fallen asleep. It wasn’t until nearly the end—the fifty-ninth stanza when it only had sixty-two—that things started to take shape, and my fingers trembled as I turned the page.
From the earth to | the shadows
Fetters will burst | and the raven flies free
Much do I know | more can I see
Of the fates of the gods | the mighty in fight
Sun turns black, | sky sinks to the sea
Fierce is the flame, | but the raven flies free
Now do I see | heroes anew
The motherless children | rise together
And the mighty past | they call to mind
Bloodied blades of | Odin’s maidens fair
In wondrous beauty | once again
The sun now shines by | the drawing of the nine
Then goodness shall win | on prophetic raven
Daughters and sons | can now abide
And happiness ever | there shall they have
On an unfettered earth: | would you know yet more?
“Bloodied blades of Odin’s maidens fair,” I repeated softly to myself. “The sun now shines by the drawing of the nine.”
In old texts, Valkyries were often referred to as Odin’s maidens. Blood-red blades would be their swords, which were apparently needed for the Drawing of the Nine.
From the Earth to the Shadows Page 29
