“Call upon the wellspring. Find your flame.”
The words became muffled, sounding as though they were spoken beneath swirling tides.
It didn’t take her long now to project her consciousness into the veil. Her magic—her seiðr—didn’t lash out on its own anymore. Elara had been able to control her thoughts, only slipping into the veil by chance, not by accident.
The sensation was odd. Her body still sat in Hlif’s home, warmed by the rosemary-scented fire. But her mind wandered, drifting through a grey, hazy plane that was neither warm nor cold—it simply existed.
Elara headed Hlif’s command, closing her eyes and manifesting a glorious, flickering flame in her palm, imbued with her inner golden light—her seiðr.
“Now, search it. See the fire, shimmering threads that weave together all things.”
A small V pinched between her brows, her mouth thin as Elara strained to find the threads in her manifested magic.
After twisting her hand this way and that, a sharp breath stabbed at her ribs. Elara found them.
Faint, iridescent lines of silver hidden within the blaze.
“These are destiny made flesh. They all run through the light. Find the strongest one. The thickest, warmest, most central one.”
Immediately, Elara was drawn to a dark, braided thread, thrumming with a warm, steady beat that reminded her of Njáll.
Carefully, she reached for it. The thread reacted to her presence and glowed hotter. She smiled, delicately tracing the intricate weave.
“Well done, Seiðkona. Now, find the thread of the dark beast that sleeps by your side.”
While it shouldn’t surprise her Hlif knew of Alruna, it still caused her to pause.
After a beat, Elara sifted through the glimmering threads until she found one that glittered like starlight glazed across an inky black sky.
“That is Alruna.” A sad smile plucked at the corners of her mouth before Hlif continued. “She is not a guardian gifted by Freyja. Rather, a protective manifestation of your own fierce instinct to survive. You have indeed shape-shifted, child. Just not how anyone ever has before.”
Her hands froze in midair, tracing the threads. Alruna had been a reflection of her own brutal will, not a being of divine grace, but of survival. The revelation startled her.
The dark, inky thread was not Alruna, but her.
A beautiful demon to be tamed and bound.
“Until now, Alruna appeared when your emotions spiraled out of control. Your seiðr reacted to the danger, and manifested itself into something to protect you. The stronger you become, the more you will be able to call upon the creature. Use it to shield yourself and the ones you love. Now, bind the threads together. Strengthen you and your Jarl.”
Huffing, Elara struggled, her mind aching with the effort of braiding the energy. The starry thread was wild and resistant, slipping from her mental grasp.
Sweat beaded on her brow, her hands shaking.
“Focus,” Hlif hissed. “Focus on your desire to protect the one who guards you. By protecting him, you protect us all. You heal the veil. Now, weave, little one.”
Warmth slithered through her limbs, a heavy, comforting weight draped over her abdomen. The scent of cedar and leather invaded her senses, grounding her in Njáll’s memory.
Without overthinking, she focused on the inky thread, twisting it with ease around the warm, braided one.
They snapped together, glowing hot.
A satisfied purr hummed in the darkness, light exploding in her chest.
“Open your eyes, Seiðkona.”
Twenty-Eight
Njáll
