She’d known, though. It was the way it would always happen. Regardless if she made the choice herself, the spell required the thread of her magic. The only way to release it was to release herself. But how was she alive?
“The Yggdrasil restored you. I could only call to you and hope you found your way back.
Ingrid looked down at her hands. They seemed the same. She touched her arms, her legs, her face, and she could tell no difference. But inside, everything was new. No longer did she have a thread of magic that coiled in her belly, it flowed through her veins. A thought struck her, and she reached down and touched a blade of grass. Instantly, a stem grew, and a large purple flower blossomed. Ingrid smiled, then snapped her eyes to Eir.
“Can I go home?”
“You can go anywhere you want. You are no longer bound by the laws of a human body.”
“What am I now?”
“Partly the same as you’ve always been—Freya's descendant, only now you are as she is, a goddess immortal.”
How can that be? “Immortal? Like her—like you?”
“Yes, like us.”
“What happens now? Do I have to live here? I want to go home.” Panic filled her, and she laughed because she didn’t struggle to breathe or become nauseous as she’d always done before. She worried, but it didn’t affect her physically. Her heart beat normally, and her hands didn’t shake.
“You can live wherever you’d like, with whoever you like,” Eir answered.
Jorg! With all the changes, she’d not asked about the battle. “Is everyone alright? Did Jarrick surrender when I bound the spell?”
“Jarrick was a stubborn fool, but the battle is over.”
“I want to go back. Jorg and I can start a life now. We can deal with whatever changes have happened together. Will you take me?”
Eir sighed and hesitated before she spoke. “You can take yourself anywhere you want to go now. But are you sure that a life pretending to be a mortal is what you want?”
“I won’t pretend. Jorg will understand, and we can decide what to do together.”
Eir held her gaze and nodded. She took hold of Ingrid’s hand. “All you need to do is think about where you want to go. Be as specific as possible, then go there. I’ll take you this time—until you’ve had time to practice.”
There was a sadness in her tone and in her eyes that Ingrid didn’t understand. Perhaps because Ingrid wouldn’t be her pupil any longer. She’d give it more thought later. All she wanted was to hurry and get to Jorg and her friends. She wanted him to wrap her in his arms and celebrate with her that the task was complete. They were free and could start their lives together.
Eir squeezed her hands. “You’ll need to be strong. Are you ready?”
Ingrid flinched. Cocking her head to the side, she held her breath. Eir knew something she didn’t.
47
Ingrid
Ingrid and Eir arrived in the room's center with everyone’s backs to them like a wall.
It had been dark before when she’d walked through with Jarrick, but Ingrid recognized the arched walls and the expansive space well enough to know where she was. Last time she was there, however, the room hadn’t had dead ruvars scattered about.
She sensed various injuries in those still living, but she couldn’t sort them between individuals. It was a new sensation.
Ingrid heard a muffled gasp and met Selby’s stare. Instead of running to her as Ingrid expected, her friend stayed rooted where she was. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and Ingrid creased her brow.
Because of Selby’s reaction, everyone else noticed her as well. Ingrid saw they all held the same sad expressions as they spun and stared at her. Even Bremen had glistening lines etched down his face. Off to the side, she saw the prone form of Jarrick. Unmoving and alone, she could tell that he was dead.
What bothered her as she scanned the room, was that she saw everyone—Plintze, Galwain, Caelya, the king—everyone except Jorg. Where was he? While she’d remained calm when she stood next to the Yggdrasil tree, her heart now raced, and a realization she refused to accept tried to rip through her resolve.
“Where is Jorg?” her voice was commanding and solid.
Everyone but Selby looked to the ground. Galwain’s breath hitched, and tears streamed harder down her face. Why would they act like this? She trembled. Something was wrong. Horribly, terribly wrong.
Ingrid’s eyes settled on the dwarf. “Plintze?”
He had his hat in his hands and wrung the edge between his fingers. When she’d said his name, he closed his eyes and sank his chin deeper into his chest. It was when the sconce light sparkled on a tear dropping into his beard that Ingrid panicked.
Her chest heaved, and she couldn’t get enough air. A scream wanted to rip through her throat, but she forced it back. Her knees wobbled, and she swayed. Bremen rushed forward to steady her. In the process, he opened enough of a gap that she saw him. Lying on the floor. Still. Lifeless.
All the air sucked out of the room. Sound didn’t exist, and Ingrid’s vision caved in on itself until only Jorg was before her. With slow steps she dragged her feet forward, aware of Bremen’s arm around her shoulders that kept her upright. The crowd parted and let her pass.
Her eyes homed in on the ivy and leaf pattern of the bone-handled dagger protruding from his chest, sunk deep into his heart. It was the one he’d given to her before the other battle they’d fought. The battle Jarrick allowed her to believe he’d died in but hadn’t. He’d come for her, so they could be together. It wasn’t right.
When they were close enough, she flung herself forward, letting her knees crack against the stone as she slumped over Jorg’s unmoving form.
NO! I will not accept this. We have plans. Everything is in place now, and it’s time for us. You will not leave me!
A hand brushed her shoulder, and she yanked herself away from it. Leaning over Jorg’s chest, she lay her fingers on the side of his face. Sinking lower and lower until her forehead rested against his.
Ingrid didn’t have to call upon her magic. It was always aware, always available. Her fingers crackled with it as she let the ridges and valleys of the dagger etch into her palm before she yanked it out and threw it to the side. Her other hand covered the wound.
There wasn’t much blood. It had pooled under him on the ground. Jorg must have been lying like that for some time, long enough that only a trickle of crimson seeped between Ingrid’s fingers. She ignored everyone and let the world fade away.
The other times Ingrid had healed Jorg, the images she saw inside his body were hazy and distant. This time, she found the view accessible, yet faded. She didn’t see the bright reds and yellows of blood and muscle, but everything was light pink and ashen gray. His heart still pulsed, but barely. Far too much time stretched between each beat.
Ingrid concentrated on closing the puncture that ran deep into his heart. Then, she willed her anxiety to settle and her own heart to beat at a steady rhythm. When she had a regular cadence, she let it seep into Jorg’s, willing it to match.
Nothing happened.
So consumed with watching his heart, she almost missed the flash of light that sparked at the corner of her vision. A golden glow that hadn’t come from her flashed throughout his body, reforming shriveled veins and restoring lifeless organs. Not restoring—rebuilding. Elves could heal from most wounds, but even they had limits.
He was only half-elf. Did he have enough elven blood to heal himself? Ingrid added her own energy to help it, using a gentle push to blend it with his own.
She watched the sparks move through his body. Organs stretched and grew healthy, except for small sections in each one. It was the human part. As the elven blood revived, it replaced what had been in his dying human veins. The threads of gray absorbed into vibrant hues awash in life. Under her palm, she felt the thump of a beat, then another until Jorg’s heart kept time with hers.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared at his face. He didn’t
move or look different from when she’d fallen next to him, but then his skin brightened. A luminescence spread across his face.
Ingrid gasped, and her excitement grew. Jorg’s skin glowed with the vitality of life. She cupped his face as tears blurred her vision. A movement under her fingers made her brush Jorg’s hair away from his ears. They were growing, extending longer with the same pronounced points that the other elves had.
“Wake up, my love. Come back to me,” she whispered.
48
Jorg
Jarrick was dead. Ingrid would be safe. That’s all he’d wanted. Well, not all, but it was most important. He was tired, so tired. If he could rest, then he’d be better.
Why couldn’t he sleep? It was as if the battle continued, only it had moved inside of his body. His chest felt split open and seared with fire. Pain flared then ebbed through his back, his arms, and his legs.
In the part of his mind that still paid attention, he knew he was dying. He wanted to wait for Ingrid, but he didn’t think he could. It was like his insides were two armies in a melee, and both sides were losing.
Then, slowly, he felt the shift. The tide turned, and he knew he’d never see her sweet face again. All his strength drained until his mind fell silent.
The skies glowed in aubergine hues. A butterfly swirled through the air on a lazy wave, and in the distance, birds chirped in the trees. The scent of wildflowers and honey filled the air in a heady mixture that made his mind giddy.
Ingrid lay next to him, tucked under his arm with her head on his shoulder. He tipped his chin and kissed the top of her head. Inhaling, he realized it was her heavenly fragrance that filled his senses. He sighed, content to stay just like they were forever.
“Jorg.”
“Yes, Hjarta?” He waited for Ingrid to answer, but then he realized she hadn’t said anything. In fact, they’d been laying together for hours, and she hadn’t even moved. Perhaps she was asleep. But, how did he hear her?
He tipped his chin to look at her, but her hair was in the way to see her face. Should he disturb her? No, he’d let her rest.
“Please don’t leave me.”
Jorg pinched his brow at Ingrid’s words. Again, they didn’t come from her, yet it was her voice. She sounded different that time, too. Something in her tone, but he couldn’t place it. Sad? No, it was more . . . anguish. She was in pain!
Jorg sat up, and the surrounding scenery changed. Ingrid was no longer beside him, and the sky and peaceful meadow were gone. A murky gray fog pressed in on him.
What is happening?
Rising to his feet, Jorg peered around, trying to pierce the veil and understand where he was. Then he watched as everything changed again. He was a boy winning a foot race while his father collected bets. There was another shift, and he stood inside a circle of older boys who jumped him and left him huddled in the dirt. He chuffed at that memory. It was the last time he’d let anyone win a fight—he’d been twelve. His family had moved after that, and he’d met Hagen.
The world around him shifted several more times. Jorg watched as memories from his life surrounded him. It occurred to him that such changes should be disorienting, but they weren’t. Like a spectator, he witnessed events that had shaped him into the man he’d become.
The last few though, the times he’d shared with Ingrid, they made him ache. He’d wanted to reach out and touch her, but he couldn’t move. Suddenly, he stood over her as she cried against his chest.
That wasn’t a memory he could place.
“Wake up, my love. Come back to me,” she whispered.
I’m here, Hjarta. I won’t leave you.
Once again, Jorg was among the hazy grayness. It swirled around him, creating a roar of wind in his ears. He covered them and fell to his knees. Pain radiated in his chest, then throughout his body as the pressure built. Then, as if grabbed by an unseen force, he was plunged into the fog.
Golden light pulsed behind his closed eyelids. The pain subsided and so did the noise. He lay on his back, and something soft and warm rested on his chest.
With more effort than he knew it should take, he forced his eyes to open. He blinked, trying to get his bearings, but something caught in his lashes. It was blonde hair.
He swallowed, and she must have felt it because Ingrid sat up with a start. Her bright turquoise eyes, sparkling with tears as she gazed down on him.
She flung herself onto him, and he moaned, but when she tried to pull away, he wrapped his arms around her. Without letting go, he sat up and slid her into his lap. When he finally relaxed enough to lean back and look at her face again, she was glorious.
“You look different,” he said. His voice scratched against his throat.
“So, do you,” she answered with a smile.
Other sounds assaulted his hearing, but he ignored them for the moment. “You came back.” He ran his hand through her hair. While he couldn’t pinpoint it, she’d changed somehow. She was stronger. Vitality and power thrummed under his fingertips as he caressed her cheek.
He loved her so much it overpowered all his other senses. When she lay her hand against his face, he stopped breathing for a moment. Then her fingers trailed to his ear, and he felt her soft touch as she followed the outline. Her eyes never left his, as if she were watching, waiting, for his reaction.
Jorg gasped, and then he knew. Everything became clear. He’d not awoken from sleep—but from death. Somehow, he’d transformed. His human body changed, and he’d become a full elf. It bothered him a little, but he’d think about it later. At that moment, all he cared about was how Ingrid watched him.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. I love you.
I love you, too.
Jorg felt her smile against his mouth. I want to marry you and never leave each other’s sides again.
It’s about time you figured that out.
He nudged her playfully, and she giggled. When she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth like she always did, he thought his heart would explode.
Jorg finally allowed himself to pay attention to the muffled noises around him. He peeked out the side of his eye, to see a crowd of legs pointed toward him, just out of reach.
Will they go away if we keep ignoring them? he asked Ingrid and relished the ability to speak with her through his mind.
“No, especially when you leave your thoughts open for all to hear,” a voice from the crowd responded.
Both Jorg and Ingrid turned their faces toward everyone. Tears and smiles beamed from them. When Jorg moved to stand, he noticed the stickiness of his tunic and the surrounding tiles.
A large hand reached into view, offering to help him out of the muck. Bremen grinned as Jorg took hold. He pulled Jorg upright then wrapped him in a tight hug. It only lasted a moment before others interrupted for their own greeting.
Selby practically knocked him off his feet again. Plintze tried for a wordless handshake, but Jorg knelt and brought him close. When Galwain approached with red, puffy eyes, he pulled her tight into his arms. Even the king and the princess hugged him.
His family, those who mattered, had survived. Peace flowed through Jorg in a way he’d never known.
There was only one more matter to finish.
49
Ingrid
Ingrid stretched against the soft down of the mattress. She was in her rooms of the palace once more. It felt good to relax without fear of what the day would bring. She let her mind wander to everything that had happened over the last two days. After Jorg had revived, and they’d faced the carnage at Montibeo.
Thelonius performed a small funeral ceremony for Jarrick. They’d all attended and watched as the pyre flames rose into the sky. He’d been a prince of Alfheim with noble dreams once. It was the right thing to do, but none of them would ever forget who he’d become and what he’d done.
There was another combined funeral for the fallen elven soldiers. That didn’t include Kelvhan. When he’d been found alive, Caelya had
broken her stoic resolve and ran through the snow to him. She and Aguane had taken him right away to the palace to heal.
When Jarrick fell, so did Voxx. The other dragons carried her body away. Thelonius said they’d choose a new queen, and he’d negotiate a peace with them. Without Jarrick or Voxx, the connection that bound the ruvars also severed, and they’d fallen where they stood.
The giants had tried to force the king to honor Jarrick’s deal and let them cross through Alfheim into Midgard. They’d captured Plintze and used him for ransom, but faced with Eir’s power and Thelonius’ army, they’d surrendered and slunk back home, leaving the dwarf as a concession. They’d stopped an impending war, but the increased tension between the realms would continue.
It had been a long emotional experience. When they arrived back at the palace, everyone was tired and in need of rest. Despite protests, Bremen and Kelvhan had insisted that Jorg join them for some male only, pre-mating rituals. They’d each had a gleam in their eyes when they’d drug him off. Jorg grumbled and complained, but he had a grin on his face when he’d winked at Ingrid before disappearing around a corner.
The door to her room slammed open against the wall, startling Ingrid to jump to her feet atop the mattress. Selby bounded over and bounced onto the bed with her. Ingrid fell backward and giggled with her friend.
“You’re getting married today!”
“I know,” Ingrid bit her lip but couldn’t keep the smile from splitting her face. “I tried to wait another day and not interrupt the king’s birthday festival, but he insisted he’d rather not have the attention, anyway.”
“This place is amazing. Do your rooms have a bathing chamber like mine?” Selby asked.
“It does.” The backs of Ingrid’s eyes stung, but she fought the tears. She’d shed too many sad ones recently and didn’t want to taint her wedding day. Still, she couldn’t help thinking of everything Selby had suffered to find her. Ingrid reached over and gently touched the scar on her friend’s cheek. “I can help with this, you know.”
Realm of Fate Page 25
