The facade slipped from Ingrid’s face.
The king broke the connection and stood. When the rest of the guests rose, Ingrid’s body reacted without her, bringing her to her feet. She’d been too engrossed in Thelonius’ comment. Had he meant he knew why she was in Alfheim? That he knew of her destiny? Would he help her?
“I’m sure Ingrid is tired. Caelya, will you please escort her back to her rooms?” Jarrick’s voice broke through Ingrid’s thoughts.
Don’t be a fool, Ingrid. No one is going to help you. That’s what the king meant. He wanted me to remember that I’m alone and whatever needs doing, I have to do it myself.
“It was nice speaking with you, Ingrid. I’m sure we’ll have another opportunity soon,” Urkon whispered. He’d leaned forward as Ingrid turned to step away from her chair and pinned her in place. Subtle and quick, but the gesture was clear. She was trapped.
At least, that was what he’d wanted it to mean, but there was a stirring inside of Ingrid. She may not have her powers, yet she could act. She was Norse. Regardless of anything else, she had the blood of her mother and father flowing through her veins. If her magic never returned, she wasn’t helpless.
“Aguane will be here shortly to help you out of your dress,” Caelya said as she opened the door.
Ingrid hesitated before she walked into her rooms. “What is she, exactly?” Thoughts of being alone again with the floating woman sent a shiver up her spine.
Caelya rolled her eyes and huffed. She strode through the door ahead of Ingrid and turned to wait. Once inside, with the door shut, the two stood face to face.
“Aguane is a sylph. She’s a cenobite, a holy woman, from Sodell. When elves near their age of maturity, it is a stressful experience—physically and emotionally. Sodell is a sanctuary of confinement within the frozen peaks of the Oirthear Mountain range. Sylphs are normally solitary beings. I had a particularly difficult time, and Aguane saw me through it. The experience touched her as much as it did me. When my transformation to adulthood was complete, she chose to stay with me.”
“Is she a spirit?”
“No. They are living beings, only rather than flesh and blood, they are the embodiment of air—the fabric of all its elements. Aguane confines her true self to live here for my sake. Do not underestimate her, however. Though she appears as fine as mist, she is stronger than a hundred elven warriors.”
Ingrid shivered. “How do you communicate with her? She doesn’t speak to me.”
“Are you sure? Her voice is as much the gentle whiff of a butterfly’s wings as it is the gale forcing waves against jagged cliffs during a storm. Perhaps you should learn to listen better.”
Caelya chuckled and left. Alone, Ingrid wrapped her arms around herself. The night air coming in from the balcony was balmy, yet her skin pebbled. How would she ever learn to navigate within Alfheim? Every direction held someone, or something, that she didn’t understand.
As she contemplated her new surroundings, the temperature shifted. Ingrid dug her fingers harder into her arms and spun toward the door.
Once again, Aguane seemed to float barely off the ground. Tendrils of her gown shifted about the floor as if they drifted in water.
Ingrid’s tongue grew thick inside her mouth. As hard as she tried to form words, she could only stare. The sylph reached out her hand toward the fireplace with her head cocked to the side.
“No, please don’t light it,” Ingrid managed to squeak out in a hurry. “I . . . I can’t stand it.”
Aguane gave a slight nod, then narrowed her eyes. Her stare pierced through Ingrid with startling accuracy.
What does she want?
The sylph stepped closer. Ingrid remained rooted to the ground. Inside, she screamed at herself to run, but outwardly, she froze. Aguane reached her hand toward Ingrid's temple. A feathery touch fluttered against her skin. The bedchamber faded, and light surrounded Ingrid. She was in the air, floating as if she was part of the breeze itself.
Then, from behind her right shoulder, came a gust of wind. Something leathery yet sharp as glass grazed her shoulder. Unable to scream in her dreamlike state, Ingrid held her breath as the dragon flew overhead, inches from where she hovered. Scales black as midnight shimmered with a hint of blue or green as the serpentine body moved. Wings, wide enough to encompass a longhouse, stretched thin enough to see the delicate bones that held them together.
“No! I can't do this, take me back!” Ingrid screamed.
Suddenly, she was inside a mountain-sized dark cavern. The orange glow of flames flickered on the walls, illuminating dozens of smaller alcoves. Far below, fire swirled and sputtered like boiling water. The stifling heat seared Ingrid’s lungs. Sweat dripped down her face and into her eyes. She swiped away the salty burn and swallowed down the fear scratching its way up her throat.
Inside each alcove was a nest, large enough that Ingrid wouldn’t be able to touch the sides if she sat in the center. Many were empty, but those that were occupied held dragons. Sleeping dragons, with their bodies curled around objects that appeared to be large, oval stones, speckled in various colors. Not stones, Ingrid realized, but eggs.
Slowly, she twisted around. In the distance, she could see a point of light, the opening to the cavern. Awestruck, she continued to view the numerous sleeping beasts as she turned. Then she spotted an area that, at first, looked like another alcove but without a nest. Only, it wasn’t. It was the opening to a tunnel—a pathway deeper inside the mountain.
Once again, the scenery changed. Cold mountain air dried the sweat on her body and caused her to shiver uncontrollably. A castle nestled into the side of the mountain rose into the air. Tall spires peaked several round towers surrounding a central building. Stone of glittering black contrasted against the snowy landscape.
Montibeo. The name impressed into Ingrid’s thoughts. This was Jarrick’s castle. As she watched, a figure appeared out of the clouds in the distance. Small and shadowed, it grew larger as it approached. The black dragon from the courtyard—Voxx, Jarrick’s fylgia—flew toward the castle. Ingrid watched as she angled her wings to fly lower, then tucked them to her side and disappeared into an opening below the castle.
Bright light flashed, and an instant peace washed over Ingrid. Soft and gentle singing settled her mind. When the light cleared, she once again stood in her room. With legs too shaky to stand, she crumpled to the floor.
Whether or not she joined Jarrick, she had more dragons to face. The smell of smoke and flame, which reminded her of her loss, was the least of her worries. The dangers in her path grew beyond reason. Who was she to think she could defeat Jarrick or rescue Galwain?
I am a descendant of Freya and chosen to protect Midgard.
Ingrid pushed herself to her feet. She wouldn’t give up before she’d tried. Jarrick and Urkon would destroy everything, and she was the only one to stop them. A snarl twitched her lips as she clamped her mouth tight.
Defiance simmered in her blood. “Thank you,” she said to Aguane. The sylph nodded, and her crystalline eyes flashed brighter.
The next thing Ingrid knew, her dress was removed, and a night dress slipped over her head. It was so gentle and effortless she barely felt either motion. Moments later, she was alone. Her hair had been brushed, and she found herself propped up against the wooden headboard under the soft, warm comfort of her bedding.
As she sat in the silence, rays of silvery light from the moon peeked into the room. Something glittered on one of the chairs near the dark fireplace. It was the gilded edge of a book.
Odd. Where did that come from?
Ingrid was sure she had seen nothing sitting there before, but she wasn’t in the mood to investigate. She had a rebellion to plan.
Neither Urkon, nor Jarrick could succeed. If that meant Ingrid had to become an assassin rather than a savior, so be it.
16
Ingrid
Ingrid watched as the morning’s lavender rays peeked over the balcony. She hadn't slept, and wha
t little she managed hadn’t been peaceful at all. The entire night, she’d contemplated how she would overthrow the two powerful elves. Jarrick had a connection with her. At least, it seemed like that whenever he spoke to her. It was kind of fatherly at times, which she found odd.
That would be what she used against him. She'd use that bond, that closeness, and find a way to defeat his plans.
It was Urkon who had her confused. The dark arts master was a mystery. From the way his eyes pierced through hers to the way he seemed to know what she was thinking. A scowl came through with every word he spoke. Thinking about him made her skin inch.
Urkon had no need for Ingrid that she could use. She was a means to an end for him. No matter which angle she examined it, Ingrid couldn't find a weakness to exploit.
She hopped out of bed and stretched, letting the kinks work out as she rolled her neck from side to side and swung her arms back and forth. There was a solution—she just needed to think harder.
Fresh air will do me some good.
She strode toward the balcony, and something caught her eye that made her stop. The book that had appeared in her room the night before still sat untouched. She wanted to read it but didn't have the desire right then.
Even still, she didn't want to lose track of the book. Somehow, it had showed up in her room, and that made her curious. Was someone trying to tell her something? Did the book have information that she might need?
Maybe so—she'd have to find out later. Right then, she needed to find a safe place to stash it where no one would find it. She picked up the heavy tome and clutched it to her chest as she peered around the room. The mattress! It was the only place someone might not check. She shoved the book under the heavy padding, pushing as far as her arms could reach toward the center.
There, now it’ll stay safe until I have time.
Returning to her feet, she continued her path to the balcony. Fresh air washed over her when she stepped outside. The skies were clear and calm . . . peaceful.
What she wouldn't give for gray clouds, a drizzle of rain, and a bit of mud. She missed her village. She missed her family. Then she remembered her village no longer existed. Dúngarr had made sure of that, but her family had escaped. Wherever they'd gone, they were safe. Now she needed to make sure all of Midgard had the same opportunity. The Norns fated her to protect humanity—she wouldn't fail them.
She heard the door open and spun around. When the breeze lifted the curtain, Ingrid saw Caelya standing in her room. She headed inside to find out what the princess wanted.
"Are you going to get dressed for the day, or would you like to come with me dressed like that?" Caelya asked as a greeting.
"I wasn't aware I had anywhere to be."
"I thought you might like out of your rooms for a while. Though, if I was wrong, it won't bother me." Caelya turned to leave.
"Wait, where are you going?"
The elf faced Ingrid once again. “I’m going with Kelvhan to the marketplace this morning."
"Jarrick has allowed that?"
"Jarrick doesn’t make all the rules," Caelya said. "If you want to go, you have to get ready now. I won’t wait for you."
Ingrid said nothing more and rushed to the bathing room. She found her turquoise dress, the one she could fasten by herself, and hurried into it, adjusting her rune pouch to hide within the fabric. She quickly plaited her hair into a single braid and rushed back into the other room, hopping as she fitted the dainty slippers onto her feet. When she made it to Caelya, she closed her eyes for a heartbeat, then pulled her shoulders back, brushed down her skirts, and folded her hands.
"I'm ready. Was that fast enough?" Blood pounded through her ears, and she struggled to breathe steadily, but she maintained her composure.
The corner of Caelya’s lips twitched, and mirth lit her eyes, but she said nothing. Turning on her heels, she opened the door and strode away as Ingrid hurried after her.
"How does that work? Why is it that I can go through the door with you, but on my own, these hallways turn against me?”
Caelya glanced down at Ingrid and then returned her gaze to the front. "There's a spell on the door."
"That much I guessed. Does it only work on me?" It was one of the other things Ingrid had thought of throughout the night. To stop Jarrick, she'd first have to get out of the palace. If Caelya had that information, she was one step closer to a plan.
"I didn't do the spell. I don't know how it works. But yes, it's connected to you.”
Hmm. Ingrid would think on that more. There had to be a solution. It was personal, something that Jarrick must have designed only for her. She decided to leave that thought alone and concentrate on where they were going. "Who is Kelvhan anyway?"
"Are you going to talk the entire time?” The princess sighed, then spoke into the air. “This is my punishment for being nice."
“I won't talk the whole time. You should meet my friend Selby. She never takes a breath." Ingrid smiled as she thought of her friend. Growing up, Ingrid never had to carry a conversation. In fact, with such little practice, it surprised her that she could. Then pain stabbed her chest when she remembered she'd never hear Selby's voice again.
"Kelvhan is a member of the king's guard . . . and my friend."
"Friend, huh? What kind of friend?”
"The kind that can put you in the dungeon instead of a fancy room."
Ingrid grinned. “The palace has a dungeon?”
She caught the annoyed glance that Caelya darted at her, but she kept her eyes forward. A member of the king's guard would be a good friend to have. Someone who knew their way around. Someone allied to the king rather than Jarrick. Caelya's companion he might be, but his loyalties would be to the king. A good friend to have, indeed.
When they made it through the doors and down the stairs to the gravel path, Ingrid felt the weight on her shoulders lighten slightly. The expanse of space, the wide path, and the fresh smell of greenery invigorated her.
Other details didn’t escape her notice either. Like all the shrubbery next to the stone palisade wall. Good places to hide.
No one milled about. It was quiet . . . deserted.
They really aren't worried about keeping prisoners around here.
If she could get out those doors alone, she would be free.
When they passed the guard booth at the gate, both males stood tall and nodded to Caelya. They'd barely glanced at Jarrick when they'd walked through the first time. The princess was beautiful; maybe that was it. She was regal and had an air of confidence around her. Ingrid couldn't help but admire her as well.
The path split as they approached the marketplace. The smaller path veered to the left while the wider path continued to the right.
"Where does that lead?" Ingrid asked, tipping her head to the narrow track.
"That’s the servant area, those who work for the market owners and prepare their wares for sale."
Ingrid nodded, making a note to herself.
Elves filled the market. Everywhere Ingrid looked there were groups talking and pondering their purchases. Unlike in Jorvik, no one shouted or haggled here. Everything was so civilized. The elves spoke to each other with lowered voices in calm tones. While no one screamed, yelled, or got into a fistfight in the middle of the street, no one laughed either.
They were all so stoic, not angry or excited. They smiled and nodded. A few seemed like they might laugh, but if they did, it wasn’t noticeable. There weren’t any extreme emotions either way. The elves held themselves with dignity and composure at all times. Ingrid didn't understand it. Where was the passion? She’d take a longhouse full of rowdy warriors singing songs, spilling mead, and enjoying life over this serene but boring bunch any day.
As they strode through the streets, they came to a section that was even more crowded. Ingrid became unnerved as the crowd thickened and she couldn't see over or around anyone. Being short worked against her. Although . . . maybe it didn't.
No one pai
d any attention to her. She could slip right through the crowd and no one would notice. Right then, Caelya reached over and took Ingrid by the arm with gentle fingers.
"Kelvhan's over here, this way."
Ingrid followed along closely, and when the crowd parted, she saw the guard standing by a booth, talking casually with another male. She supposed he was handsome; all the elves were. Kelvhan had the same brown hair as Jorg. With a wry grin, she realized she constantly compared all the males to Jorg, and no one ever matched up. A sting blurred her eyes that she blinked several times to thwart.
"Kelvhan, you remember Ingrid," Caelya said with a nod toward Ingrid as she smiled at Kelvhan.
“Of course. It's nice to see you again." Kelvhan gave a slight bow. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Ingrid instantly liked him, despite the circumstances. Becoming friends with him would be easy, but she wouldn't let herself become attached.
"Is it always this crowded?" Ingrid asked, lurching forward when someone bumped into her back. She scoffed at the apology that wafted into the air.
"Not always," Kelvhan said. "But the king's birthday is coming up. The whole city celebrates, and everyone's getting ready."
"The king's birthday?" Interesting.
"Thelonius hates it, but many years ago, we deemed his birthday a feast day. Now the celebration lasts an entire week. This is only the beginning. Festivities won't be in full swing until several days from now."
"Will I be able to attend?" Ingrid tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. An event like that would keep everyone distracted.
Caelya and Ingrid stared at each other. Ingrid knew it wasn’t Caelya's decision to make, and the princess seemed to know Ingrid was up to something.
"She's feisty," Kelvhan said with a chuckle. “I'm starving. Let's go find something to eat. Then you two can continue whatever is going on here.”
Realm of Fate Page 9
