“Who is in charge now?” Her eyes scan those of us gathered before her. There’s a weighted silence as she waits for an answer.
Waits for me.
I step forward, my shoulders squaring, even though the world around me is crumbling.
“I am.”
Freya and her entourage study me closely, and I stiffen under their gaze. Three powerful males, each one the size of Tane or larger, stand beside her.
Her eyes sweep along me, from my head to my toes. I can feel the pressure of it as she scrutinizes me. Weighing and measuring. Judging me not just as one female often does to another, but more.
A ruler to another ruler. Looking for weaknesses or faults. I level my chin, my axe still held in front of me.
“I am Lena. Granddaughter of Queen Skadi, daughter of Queen Bryn, and the current queen of Idirhalla.”
There’s a pause as my words settle. I hold my breath.
“Well met, Queen Lena.” She nods with respect.
My shoulders relax a fraction, relieved that I’ve survived her scrutiny. A slow breath slips through my lips.
Clearing my throat, I address Freya’s opening statement. “How can we help you?”
The warriors at her sides lower their weapons and shift into a less defensive position, no longer perceiving us as a threat. The man at her right with sharp blue eyes and black hair scans his surroundings, but his gaze snags on the asphidra remnants and the partially dissolved stones. His booted foot knocks against hers. When she turns to him, he nods his head to my trophy. I need to remove it.
Freya lets out a low chuckle. The sound crawls its way down my spine. This is a dangerous woman. A woman who has seen war and death and does not cower from it.
“Well, well. You are your mother’s daughter, after all.” She nods to the corpse before turning back to me with raised brows. “You must know why we’re here, then. Odin is missing and the whispers of war grow louder. We tried several times to reach you and have only now been able to step through the bridge.” She gestures to the rune at her feet, the gold of it now dim and ordinary.
The past few months flash through my mind. Demons, threats of war, and shapeshifters…
I nod. “We have much to discuss. But first, we need some insurance.”
“Insurance?” Freya’s face twists with confusion.
“I’ll show you mine,”—I prick my finger on the blade of my axe,—“but you must show me yours.”
Lachlan grimaces at the sight of my blood. Turning, I show it to them. Pure red. Her eyes narrow as she understands what I’m asking.
“We’re not shifters,” the man beside her growls.
My attention slides from her face to his. “I require proof.”
Freya sighs, reaching out to trace her thumb along the blade of my axe. Her blood beads on the pad of her thumb, scarlet red. Not a silver sheen in sight.
The men next to her reach out to do the same.
No silver among any of them.
I look to Lachlan and he nods, lowering his weapon, as do the others.
“Thank you,” I say to Freya and her men. “Let’s gather in the council room and we can discuss what’s been happening here.”
My stomach twists in knots. I am an imposter, a child compared to them.Who am I to lead these people in a meeting?
But Gran’s words echo through my mind. I was made for this world. I am meant to be here.
Even if I don’t want to be right now. With that thought, I lock my grief away. Gran would want me to forge ahead, to lead.
