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“I am so glad you’re okay!” she said. “Don’t go anywhere—and thanks for saving us.”
Us. She and Pixie. As it should’ve been from the beginning.
While Frankie’d been dispatching the straggler, Pixie’d taken care of another one in the main fray. There were three left. Seconds later, two more were gone.
The remaining one dropped his weapon and held up his hands in surrender. Pixie raised her stolen sword, but Frankie put a hand on her arm. “No. I want to question this one. Can you restrain him while I call in backup?”
Pixie smiled. “Of course, First. I will hold him until you say otherwise.”
Archibald didn’t wait to see what she did. The battle was over. Frankie and Pixie were safe and bonded. He’d promised to go face his fate in the Heart, but he didn’t have to wait for Pixie to do that. He knew the way.
There was no reason to say goodbye and every reason to disappear.
He trudged up the street, sparing only a single backward glance for the Valkyrie he’d come to love and her new Guide, who he’d loved for years.
Chapter Eleven
Archibald sat in the center of a large circular room with a spotlight trained on him. He couldn’t see much beyond the few illuminated feet around him, but he’d been here before and could picture it clearly in his mind.
It was a horseshoe-shaped theater. The center of the curve held two large chairs, each carved from a single tree with comfort in mind and decorated with fantastical and intricate animals. In the past, Odin and Frigg had occupied them. Now, with the gods exiled—at least for now—from Ásgarðr, Frigg claimed Odin’s seat and Freyja the other.
The rest of the seats were occupied. He could see faint movement, and whispers—both scornful and curious—reached him.
A bell sounded, deep, low, and vibratory, and the arena quieted so immediately it was eerie.
The lights brightened, and Archibald saw Frigg and Freyja standing in front of their thrones. The seats had changed since he’d last seen them. The ravens that’d decorated Odin’s throne had changed into Frigg’s owls, and Frigg’s former seat, which had only been adorned with flowers, was now decorated with cats in various states of rest and play.
Archibald stood and bowed his head towards the goddesses.
An olive-skinned young woman, tall, willowy, and with delicately pointed ears, stood and unrolled a scroll. Her low, musical voice filled the arena. “Archibald Maelstrom, you stand before us today accused of assault on a sacred messenger of the goddess Frigg, usurpation of the role and responsibilities of the Guide, and seven counts of murder. How do you plead?”
His tail switched. He didn’t have a lawyer—this wasn’t an American court, after all—and was expected to speak for himself. But it was difficult, despite his resolve, to admit to his wrongdoings.
Still…
“I assaulted the messenger to keep him from following me,” he admitted. “And I usurped the place of the true Guide in my haste to get to the First’s side. But the only creature I’ve ever killed was a monster who attacked Pixie Sunshine and Frances Ström five nights ago.”
Freyja leaned forward. She wore a simple white dress, and her flaxen hair was intricately braided and draped over her shoulders to pool in her lap. Two large cats sat to her left—her chariot cats, most likely. She placed her chin on her folded hands. “What was the message?”
Archibald spared a moment to be grateful for his inability to visibly sweat. “A minion of Loki’s had compromised the First.”
“And why did you decide to act on this information rather than bring it to one of us, or any of your instructors, immediately?” Frigg demanded. Even sitting, she was tall, and her dark skin was a stark contrast to Freyja’s pale complexion. She wore a brilliant yellow sheath-dress and an intricate golden crown perched on her curly black hair. A reindeer with two owls, one on each set of antlers, stood to her right. It might be his imagination, but it looked like the deer and both owls were glaring at him.
He’d dreaded this question, even as he’d known it was inevitable.
“He gloated.”
“Speak up,” Freyja demanded.
Archibald looked at the goddesses. He’d made a lot of mistakes, but he would not cower. “He gloated. I ran into him by chance. He shared the information as if it was gossip and said he was off to the pub. He sneered at me, and when I said he needed to accompany me to hand over the message, he burned the missive, told me no one would believe a failure like me, and challenged me to do something about it. So I did.” He stared defiantly. “I should’ve tried at least. I know that now. But I didn’t.”
“What happened next?” Frigg asked, her tone gentler than it’d been before.
“I went to Midgard, to Santa Fe in New Mexico, in America,” he clarified for those not familiar with the geography of Earth. “I followed her for a couple days, long enough to verify she was in trouble and in danger, then allowed myself to be apprehended and placed in the animal shelter where she worked. I confronted her the night her powers were close to the surface and accompanied her to the site of the fire where they woke, then stayed with her after. I encouraged her to abandon the man who claimed to be her friend, and had finally persuaded her to do so, but his trickery outmatched my determination.”
Freyja tapped her finger against her mouth. “Were you with her in the desert when I first met her?”
“Yes, lady,” Archibald said. “As was the trickster.”
