“It’s an honor, Your Majesty.” His voice is deep, the accent richly Scandinavian.
His eyes hold my face and he brushes his thumb over the tops of my knuckles once more.
There it is—the mischief.
“That is enough,” Lachlan spits, standing abruptly and knocking his chair over with the movement. “Remove your hands from her.”
Tane and Mathilda quietly reach for their weapons under the table, but a small smile curves Mina’s and Luna’s lips.
Harald stands at his full height, his attention never leaving Lachlan. They stand toe-to-toe, a battle of wills blazes in their eyes. A current of power tenses the room. Mathilda’s eyes flick from Lachlan to me, a subtle warning I should end this, and now.
I stand between. “It’s fine Lach, he meant no harm.” I try my best to diffuse the situation, but Lachlan’s glower continues to burn through Harald.
Standing toe-to-toe like this, their opposite looks are made even more apparent. Harald is the day with his blonde hair and silver eyes while Lachlan is the night. His dark hair and black wings devour the fading sunlight and the flames that dance around the room in their sconces.
“Harald, we did not come here to start trouble,” Freya snaps. Her eyes bore onto the side of his face and he slowly turns while keeping Lachlan in his line of sight.
He cocks a smile before shrugging and walking around the table to take his seat. “Pity. Are all the pretty ones taken?” He eyes Mathilda as he sits, but then his gaze slides to Mina and lingers.
Freya heaves a sigh, annoyance still heavy in her gaze before she blinks and it’s gone. “And this is Piominko.” She waves to a tall male with long black hair braided down his back. The sides of his head are also shorn to the scalp.
He stands beside Evander with a silent, reverent expression, his gaze steady, despite the tension thrumming through the room. His name tickles something in my memory, a lesson my father once told me when we were traveling through Oklahoma.
My gaze roves over him. Swirling tattoos cover his bare chest, and a strand of intricately tied red and white beads hangs from his neck.
“Are you—from the Chickasaw tribe?”
Piominko turns to me and I see the eyes of a woodpecker tattooed upon his neck. “You know of the Chickasaw tribe?” He tilts his head, studying me.
“I do.” I smile, memories of my father sweep through me, easing some of my heartache. “My father taught me about the five nations when we traveled through their lands.”
Piominko smiles broadly and the pride in it springs forth my homesickness for Olundy. But there’s such rugged beauty in his smile, like the raw beauty of the very land he came from.
Freya watches the exchange with an unreadable expression before clearing her throat. “Now that introductions are complete, shall we proceed?”
I have no idea where to even begin. Might as well start with what they’ve seen.
“The asphidra you saw nailed to the wall was an imposter parading as Odessa. Who is also missing.”
Freya’s eyes flare. I hold up a hand, pausing the rush of questions that are about to spill from her lips.
“The asphidra was shifted thanks to one of our own, Julius. Which is why we had to check your blood. My apologies.” I look from Freya to Odr. “Together, they carried out a plan to rendermagic paralyzed in this realm. Cutting us off from the outside world. I arrived some months ago because of this.” I slip my mother’s necklace out from behind my leathers. “They convinced everyone magic was fading because of my mother’s absence, and that there wasn’t a need to train for the Great War anymore. Or to observe the olde ways. They stopped worshipping the Gods, as well.” The air in the room thickens as Freya’s otherworldly eyes glow. “I know you came for our help. But we don’t have enough weapons to arm our troops and we’re severely lacking in training. I established a rebellion to take my throne back and undo all the damage they had done. But we have only just begun.”
Lachlan clears his throat. “The invasion.” He grimaces, his clenched teeth flashing against his tan skin.
I slap my palms on the table and lean back in my chair, embarrassment flooding my cheeks. “Oh yeah! Demons invaded us and when I killed the asphidra, Julius escaped.”
Freya shifts in her chair before exchanging a silent understanding with Odr.
“Is that all?” Her voice is like quiet death.
Fear walks its way down my spine as I prepare for what I presume is going to be the ass-chewing of a lifetime.
“That about sums it up.” I grimace and scan my gathered friends. Guilt, in varying degrees, reflects on their faces. We were bested, in the worst of ways, and now our failures are being laid bare.
Freya slides her hands onto the table before heaving herself upright. Her cloak slips from her shoulders and, sure enough, the body of a goddess appears before us.
Golden skin and lean, toned muscles. She is a warrior and a powerful one at that.
