Wrinkled fingers reached out, taking Elara’s slender wrist in her steady hand. The pad of her thumb touched the faint blue veins visible beneath the thin skin there.
A stinging cold shot up Elara’s arm, followed by a rush of pure white heat. She gasped. Elara twitched, trying to wrench her arm free, surprised when the Völva’s frail hands held her with the strength of a warrior.
“You hold many gifts, child. It is unlike anything I have ever seen. Foresight. Mind-bending. Shape-shifting. Veil-walking. And at least three others. Thought they lay buried under your grief. It will take time to harness them all.”
Cold prickled her skin, the pale pink almost turning a shade of blue. Njáll’s arms banded around her waist, holding her snug. Each declaration from the Völva echoed like stones being dropped into still waters, thudding against the ground and forever changing the current.
“Wha… What do you mean?”
Long raven hair streaked with silver framed the Völva’s weathered face as her chin fell to her chest before those clear eyes locked with Elara’s once more.
“Foresight. Do you not see visions of what is to come, little one?”
Elara nodded, unable to speak around the rock lodged in her throat.
“Mind-bending. When mastered, you will be able to twist an enemy’s mind into madness, giving your warriors an advantage in battle. It is a rare gift, one that seeps from you even now, Seiðkona.”
A silver brow arched, and on cue, Elara felt the familiar hum in her fingers.
“Shape-shifting. The ability to project your consciousness into animals.”
“I’ve never done that,” Elara rushed to say, stumbling over the words.
“Because you don’t know how. It doesn’t mean the skill doesn’t slumber within you.”
A stuttered sound fell from Elara as she pressed further into Njáll’s embrace. It was the only thing keeping her tethered to the present.
“Veil-walking. A dangerous craft. You are able to weave this realm with Freyja’s. To move within the land between the dead and the living. With that, you can bind the dead to their shackles. If you master your emotions. If you master your seiðr, Freyja’s gift will link with you, allowing you to banish those who do not belong in this realm.”
“The draugar,” Elara mumbled, the words already defeated as they left her.
“You are the shield that protects Freyja’s children. Konungr is the sword that protects Odin’s.”
Elara refused to succumb to fear and the unknown. Resolve hardened like freshly spun steel in her chest, pushing aside the clawing panic.
The Völva rose, her knees cracking with the motion. She tossed a handful of dried herbs into the fire. The smoke turned an acrid copper color, hissing toward the sky. The woman straightened, her gaze landing on Njáll’s.
“The protection you offer is the strongest binding spell I have ever witnessed. Your love for her soothes her seiðr.” The Völva looked back at Elara. “You must become the guardian of the veil.”
Love.
Elara didn’t dare to look behind her to see if that claim struck Njáll as potently as it struck her. Instead, she focused on the last phrase.
The finality of the claim hung in the smoky air.
“How?” Elara whispered.
“I will teach you. But first you must rest, child. Draw strength from your mate.”
The odor from the smoke stuck to her lungs as Elara sucked in lungfuls of air once outside again. All she wanted was to sleep, to allow her body to recover from the storm surging to life, making her limbs feel heavy.
Njáll steered her toward a valley beneath a canopy of towering trees. Splintered sunlight twinkled through the thicket, illuminating his drawn face.
Eventually, his long legs stretched out as he sat in the dewy grass, pulling Elara into his lap.
A breathless giggle rolled off her tongue, and he smiled. Gazing into her eyes, he combed the errant strands of hair from her face, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. Elara sighed, her shoulders falling.
Birds chirped from their nests. Elara buried her face in the base of his throat, breathing in his uniquely musky scent.
