A kaleidoscope of colors dances in waves down the hall as we walk to the throne room. When we breach the room, a golden beam of light engulfs the rainbow, spearing from the center of the rune.
I swallow down the acid bubbling up in my throat. It’s always fucking something.What is it now that I can’t have a single day to grieve?
A soft wind sweeps in, erupting my exposedskin into goosebumps.
The clinking of armor and marching sounds from the terrace as Ramses and several guards emerge flanking the two guards already standing at the rune. Their weapons unsheathed, a look of determination carved into the lines of each of their faces.
“Who is coming?” Mathilda whispers, her eyes never leaving the rune.
The light grows brighter with each passing second, becoming so blindingly bright. I move a hand to shield the light from my eyes while still keeping an eye on the rune.
“Whoever it is, we are ready,” I grit out, pulling my axe from my back and disappearing my wings.
The anxiety of a looming battle overtakes that of the mind-numbing grief.
There’s a sudden flash of a brilliant rainbow absorbing the golden light—and then it’s gone.
My breath catches in my chest as I hold myself together, willing myself to face this next challenge.
The silence is deafening.
Piercing green eyes meet my own from a lovely feminine face. White blond hair tied neatly into braids that rest onto her leather-clad chest. Wings the color of the puffy clouds on a summer’s day frame her tall body. A cloak of brown and white falcon feathers conceals what I can only imagine is the body of a goddess. A helm of gold rests upon her brow.
A queen.
But of which realm?
I grip my axe tighter, my feet sliding into position. But she doesn’t look like an enemy.
My heart stutters in my chest as she places a hand on her own. The leathers she wears beneath her feathered cloak are the same rich, chocolate brown as mine.
“Greetings,” she breathes, her gaze keen as she studies us. “I am Freya. Queen of Vanaheim.” She gestures to the people Ihadn’t noticed around her, as my eyes have had a hard time leaving her face. “And we’ve come for your help.”
Her words hang in the air.Vanaheim?So these are our allies.
Lachlan tenses on my right and Freya’s gaze flicks to him, widening slightly as she takes in the man beside me. His sword is drawn, the tip of the blade leveled at the man beside her.
If these are our allies, should we have our weapons drawn?
Before I can even formulate a response, Torin’s voice rings out.
“Freya?”
Her head swivels, trying to get a look at the man hidden behind us who called her name. Torin approaches and steps between us. He slips off his flat cap and squeezes it between his hands.
“Torin?” Her attention darts from his saddened face to his human clothes. “What are you doing here?”
He clears his throat and his chin quivers. “Bringing Skadi back for her sailing.”
Shock twists Freya’s face into something terrifying. The men beside her slide into defensive stances as she stumbles back a step.
And we do the same, priming for a fight.
“What has happened?” she chokes out.
Torin shakes his head, the weight of his grief lowering his shoulders. “It was her time.”
Freya’s face relaxes, the horror slipping away into—grief. She must have known Gran well then.
