Realm of Fate

by Kelly N. Jane

  “My orders were clear. Because of what happened, he wants her close. He’s there now, and I’m sure he’ll explain his reasoning to you. We should all go.” Dúngarr gripped Ingrid harder. Apparently, if a fight was to break out over her, he was prepared.

  “Fine, it will save me from having to speak to Thelonius, anyway.”

  “How far is it? Will we walk?” Ingrid wasn’t sure why, but she had the sensation that she needed to stay. Something was pricking the back of her mind, trying to get her attention, and she wanted to know why. Perhaps it was the idea of being so near the dragons or the beast army. Suddenly, she wanted to stay as far away from that castle as she could.

  “We aren’t walking,” Dúngarr said. Then he looked over her head to his men. “Return through the pass, and I’ll meet you there when you arrive.”

  Mountain pass? There was a passage between the two castles that didn’t involve the forest?

  “Why aren’t we taking the pass?”

  Dúngarr rolled his eyes and didn’t answer her. The guards immediately marched away, and he said nothing until they were out of sight.

  “I assumed you would prefer to travel differently,” Dúngarr said to Urkon.

  “Of course.”

  Ingrid was about to ask why the guards went separately when Dúngarr’s eyes popped open wide. “How is that possible?” He stared at something behind Ingrid.

  Afraid more of the dragon-elf army had escaped, Ingrid peeked over her shoulder, ready to run. Stunned, she twisted and fully gaped at the sight before her.

  Next to a building fifty paces away, stood Jorg. At first, she thought she was hallucinating, except it had been Dúngarr who had alerted her. He’d seen him, too. Jorg was alive—and in Alfheim!

  25

  Jorg

  There she was. Ingrid stood a short distance in front of him. When she met his gaze, he almost fell to his knees because his heart squeezed so hard. Then he noticed who was with her. Dúngarr had her by the arm. Another, more dangerous looking elf stood close to her as well.

  “Ingrid!” he yelled without thinking about the ramifications. He was unworried about his or anyone else’s safety at that point. She was the reason he’d risked everything.

  Without waiting for an answer, he charged. Ignoring the others, he kept his gaze latched onto her. She stared at him, obviously startled and confused. He urged himself faster, to pull her away from the vile elf attached to her arm, and he cared about nothing else.

  Before he could reach her, she vanished. Quicker than the portal he’d witnessed Jarrick use once, she disappeared. They were all gone.

  Skidding to a stop, Jorg roared into the sky. Footsteps pounded behind him as he sank to his knees. He could feel the presence of the others but didn’t dare speak. His heart pounded, wanting to burst free and follow wherever she went.

  Breathless, Selby arrived and slid to the ground next to him. “Was that her? Where did she go? I only caught a glimpse and then nothing.”

  “There was only a flash of light, not even an opening,” Bremen added.

  “That was different magic than a portal. Whoever that was, he’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.” Plintze lumbered over to the spot Ingrid had stood a moment before. Running his hand over the grass, he studied the area.

  “Can you tell where they took her?” Jorg asked. It was a stupid question, he knew it when he said it, but he didn’t know what to do. How could he have come that far and let her slip through his fingers? What was he supposed to do now?

  “There’s no way to know,” Plintze said.

  “Perhaps I could help with that, that is, if you’d like to tell me who you are and how you arrived in our realm?” a male voice said from the left side of the group.

  Jumping to his feet, Jorg faced the newcomer. From the look of his armour, he was a member of the elven military or a guard. It was grander than the uniform Dúngarr wore, but Jorg trusted no one who worked for Jarrick.

  “How we found our way here is our business. Tell me now if you have information on where Ingrid is.” Regardless of the fact he was an intruder to the realm, Jorg only cared about finding Ingrid.

  The elf narrowed his eyes as he studied Jorg. Then he glanced at the others as well. “You’re an interesting group. I wasn’t aware the tunnel to Svartalfheim had re-opened—or that the dwarves helped humans cross their realm.”

  “Humph.” Plintze gave no other response, and Jorg smirked.

  “Though, you’re not all humans, are you?”

  Jorg set his jaw tight and raised his chin, begging for a comment that would let him take out his aggression in a way he would relish.

  Confusion creased a line between the man's brows, and he cocked his head. “How do you know Ingrid?”

  “That’s none of your concern,” Jorg answered.

  “We know Galwain, too,” Bremen interjected, and Jorg shot him a sidelong glare.

  “I think you should all come with me. There’s someone I know would like to meet you.” The guard stretched his words, and a grin tipped half his mouth. It was as if he found the situation amusing.

  Jorg was going nowhere with a stranger. Even if he had information on Ingrid, he wouldn’t risk the others—again. “Why would we go with you? Who are you?”

  “Pardon my manners. My name is Kelvhan. I’m a member of the king’s guard and would like to introduce you to a member of the royal family.”

  “We’ve already met the prince, and you must excuse us from any more time with him,” Jorg said with a huff, imitating Kelvhan’s formality.

  “This isn’t the prince,” Kelvhan said and held Jorg’s stare. “It is to your benefit, and safety, that you come with me. It won’t go well for you if anyone else finds you here.”

  “Do you know where Galwain is?” Bremen asked too eagerly.

  “I do. Please, come with me, and we can talk in a more private setting.”

  “I think we should go,” Selby said, resting her hand on Jorg’s arm. She’d risen to her feet to stand between the brothers.

  The touch brought an unexpected surge of emotions. Part of Jorg wanted to pull her close and let himself fall apart as if she were his sister. The other part wanted more than ever to find Ingrid and eliminate his emotional turmoil.

  “How do we know that you’re not leading us into a trap?” Plintze asked.

  Jorg reached down and placed his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder, grateful for a voice of reason right then.

  “To be fair, you don’t, but I’m your best bet. Right now, I’m speaking as a friend. If anyone alerts the guard of your presence, protocol will require me to take you before the king. Then everything will become more . . . complicated.”

  “Why would you do that?” Selby asked.

  “Because I know who you are.” Kelvhan said the words to everyone but held Jorg’s stare.

  Selby gripped Jorg’s arm tighter. She needed a healer. He felt punched in the gut by the reminder of how Ingrid had been so close. She could have helped Selby, and Bremen, too. Twisting, he looked at his brother. What did he want to do? Did he trust this stranger? His own emotions were too volatile at that moment.

  Bremen held his gaze for several long seconds before he nodded once, strong and decisive. Jorg exhaled and faced the guard again.

  “If you'll provide us with a healer, we’ll go with you.”

  Kelvhan pinched his brow and glanced at each of the group, hovering over Selby and Bremen. He nodded. “Follow me. We’ll avoid the main gate.”

  Kelvhan strode toward the palace on the hill. A tall stone palisade wrapped around the outside, and when they reached it, he followed it around a bend away from what Jorg assumed to be the village. When the guard stopped, he pulled aside the branches of a tall bush and exposed a hidden door cut into the stone. Using a key he pulled from under his belt, he swung it wide and ushered them through while scanning the area.

  So far, he’d done nothing but help them, yet Jorg stayed wary and ready as Kelvhan once again
took the lead. Bremen was also on edge and stayed near Selby, helping her occasionally, even though he clutched his side as he walked. It was dark, but there was no mistaking the coppery scent of his bloodied tunic. Too brave and stubborn to admit how much pain she was in, the fact that Selby accepted any help spoke volumes.

  Plintze appeared the most uncomfortable, yet Jorg was sure it wasn’t from physical injury. Knowing the hostility they’d received in his homeland, he probably expected the same treatment for himself in Alfheim. Jorg was nervous for that, too, but had hope the elves weren't as devious as the dwarf council.

  “This way,” Kelvhan said. He led them up a set of marble stairs and inside a tall door emblazoned with crystals and gold filigree.

  Everything was opulent though it was a palace. Jorg fought a grin when he checked on Selby and saw her wide-eyed wonder. At that moment, Jorg realized that he had considered nothing about what Alfheim would look or feel like. The air was lighter, and he noticed he breathed easier. If he had to fight, he suspected he’d have more energy and stamina.

  I wonder if everyone feels the same, or is this because of who I am?

  Dwelling on his elven heritage only brought up thoughts of Jarrick. His mother was somewhere in the realm, too. If he let them, the emotions would overtake him again. He choked them down; what he needed was fortitude, not feelings.

  No one spoke as they followed as quietly as possible. That was made easier by all the plush rugs lining the shiny floors. When Kelvhan halted and knocked at a set of double doors, the others stood in positions that would allow them to fight if need be. Kelvhan glanced over his shoulder, and Jorg caught the smirk as Kelvhan returned his gaze to the door.

  A woman’s voice called for them to enter. Jorg wasn’t sure if everyone else had heard it through the thick wooden doors, but he had. Nervous and excited, he let himself wonder for a heartbeat if it was Galwain.

  When they entered, however, a she-elf greeted them. She was tall and elegant with the same white blonde hair as Jarrick. Kelvhan had said he was taking them to a member of the royal family. Could this be Jarrick’s sister? His aunt? The way she focused on him made it seem as if she was as surprised to see him as he was to meet her.

  After they were all inside the room, Kelvhan made introductions. “May I introduce you to Caelya, Princess of Alfheim.”

  Jorg didn’t know what he should do. How did one greet royalty in this realm? When he’d met the king in Jorvik earlier in the year, they’d only nodded to each other. Movement caught his attention at his side. Bremen bowed gracefully from his shoulders and cocked a brow to Jorg as he glanced sideways.

  Jorg and Selby followed his example, but Plintze stood still and stoic.

  “Though we skipped introductions,” Kelvhan spoke again, causing them all to stand upright once more, “I believe this is your nephew and his companions. They've come in search of Ingrid and Galwain.”

  “Is that true? Are you Jorg?” Caelya asked.

  Jorg nodded, his tongue suddenly thick. Silence crept over the room for a long few seconds before he recovered himself. “This is Selby, Bremen, and Plintze.”

  Caelya followed with her eyes as Jorg gave their names, tipping her chin in greeting as she went. Then settled her gaze on Plintze. “Do we have you to thank for helping everyone find their way into our realm?”

  The question could have been an accusation, but she spoke it with a note of gratitude. Jorg watched Plintze out of his peripheral vision, waiting to see what he would say.

  “I helped everyone into Svartalfheim. Getting into Alfheim was a group effort,” Plintze said. They all huffed a wry acceptance to his response.

  “Well, thank you. We'd heard all of you had perished on Midgard. I'm grateful the reports were false.” Caelya then turned her focus on Bremen. “Would you be Galwain’s other son, by chance?”

  “Yes . . . I wasn’t aware anyone would know of me,” Bremen answered.

  “Both Galwain and Ingrid have spoken of you. I know your mother will be pleased to see you both. And you,” she said, turning to Selby with a grin, “must be a friend of Ingrid’s. I can see the fierce warrior in your eyes as I’ve seen in hers.”

  “Humph.” Plintze instantly stared at the ground, having slipped the sound into the air.

  Selby smiled, and tension eased around the room, except within Jorg. He continued to stand straight and serious.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I promised a healer. I’ll return shortly,” Kelvhan said with a quick dip of his shoulders.

  “Pardon me for being blunt, your highness, but can you take us to our mother?” Bremen asked after the guard had left.

  “I’m afraid I can’t. She’s elsewhere at the moment. But I will do what I can to arrange the reunion. I understand you saw Ingrid. Can you give me more details about that?” Caelya focused on Jorg.

  No one had said anything out loud to her about what had happened, but Jorg gave her the details. Do they hear each other's thoughts as he did with Ingrid? He'd figure that out later.

  “She was with Dúngarr and another male. Before I could reach her, they vanished.” He said the words as calmly as he could, giving no hint at how his heart wrenched.

  Caelya narrowed her eyes, studying him. Jorg suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. “What did this other male look like?”

  “He was in a dark, hooded cloak. I didn’t see his face,” Jorg answered.

  “Urkon. He’s your father’s mentor from Vanaheim. That could make things more inconvenient.”

  Bremen and Jorg exchanged glances, but before either of them could ask what she’d meant, the door to Caelya’s chambers opened without notice.

  “Apparently, there is a need for my services in here,” Eir said as she strode into the room. Several guards followed, Kelvhan among them, while another male stood next to the goddess, wearing a crown.

  26

  Ingrid

  Ingrid fell to her backside as soon as her feet met the ground again. Whatever magic Urkon used differed from the portals Jarrick created. None of that mattered—Jorg was alive! He’d found her, and Ingrid was sure she’d seen a flash of Selby’s coppery hair before something had sucked all the air out of her lungs.

  How had they survived? How had they crossed the realms? Perhaps it was a trick. Could Urkon or Jarrick conjure such a thing? But why? She was already within their grasp.

  It had to be real.

  Ingrid’s arm wrenched as she was pulled to her feet. Wide-eyed, she returned her focus to those surrounding her. Dúngarr dug in his fingers while Urkon stared at her.

  “If you’ll ensure there’s a chamber ready for our guest, Dúngarr, I’d like to speak to Ingrid alone.”

  The guard said nothing, his jaw muscles popping before releasing her in a huff. He spun and strode away, his boots clunking against the mirrored surface of the black stone floors.

  Ingrid recognized the dark marble tiles from the vision Urkon had shown her. She was at Montibeo. They stood in a wide corridor with pillared arches along one side, and more of the same stone lined the wall on the other. Firelight danced from sconces every few feet and cast an orangish-red glow into the darkness.

  “Am I a guest like Galwain? Will you be attaching a collar around my neck?”

  Urkon narrowed his gaze, and one corner of his mouth tipped upward. “So you understand where you are? Good. Whatever Jarrick does with his wife does not concern me. As long as it doesn’t interfere with our plans for you.” He stepped closer as he spoke.

  Regardless of the unease slithering up her spine, Ingrid stood her ground. She couldn’t give in now. However it happened, she needed to make sure the realms stayed safe. Her desire to fulfill her destiny renewed itself with vigor now that she’d seen Jorg.

  She’d tried to escape before only to achieve disastrous results. There was only one way she would be free. The thought she’d had before lingered in the back of her mind. Urkon needed to die. They were alone, and she could do it right then—except she had
no weapon. Even though her wounds had somehow healed, her powers hadn’t resurfaced.

  “If you want to use me, do it now. I’m tired of all your talk.” She’d end the dark arts master, but until then, she would cause as much trouble as she could. Perhaps she could provoke him into making a mistake.

  Urkon gave an oily laugh. “When the time is right. For now, you will tell me how you escaped your rooms at the palace. How did you drop the wards?”

  What? Why would he want to know that? Shouldn’t the dead dragon-elf in the palace dungeons or the fact that she couldn’t fight against the creatures in the forest cause more concern?

  “Training,” she answered. It was mostly true. He didn’t need to know it was also a guess. If he didn’t know elves had escaped yet, she wouldn't say anything.

  “Your training was in how to use your powers. Are you saying they’ve returned to you?”

  “You know they haven’t. Whatever you or Jarrick did is still working.” Believe me, I’d use them right now if I could. “Why are you making an army?”

  Urkon blinked and kept his breathing steady as he stared at Ingrid. She struggled to stand still and not fidget against his scrutiny.

  “What are you talking about?”

  At first, Ingrid wanted to scream at him, to force him to understand he couldn’t treat her as a child and a fool. Then it sank in. She wasn’t the fool. He was. Jarrick had made an army that Urkon didn’t know about. A smile broke across her face.

  “Did you really think he’d follow your orders blindly? Jarrick loves power as much as you do.” This was perfect. She’d wiggle herself between them like water into a cracked stone and then let the pressure build until they broke.

  When Ingrid was young, she hated the way Selby and her sisters fought. It wasn’t the normal kind with fists and hair pulling. They would make up lies to manipulate trouble for the others. Selby wasn’t good at it and ended up causing herself more punishment than anyone else. But her younger sister, Brigid, was a master.