Page 113 of Veil of Blood and Bone

I hold out a hand for him to take and chuckle when he envelops me in a hug. Elongated arms wrap around my body, thick enough to crush, though the exchange is gentle.

“This place...” he begins.

“You’re safe. The glamour’s built and stable. Anyone who sees you will think you’re a dashingly tall bodybuilder from Texas,” I tell him, expressionless.

Claws like icicles curl against a ribcage of a chest. “I’m a proud Hrimfey. Not a Texan.”

I yawn. “You want to blend, don’t you?”

He sneers, blue teeth glowing in the near dark, the snow capturing and holding any meager light. “We should have met in Niflheim.”

“You know as well as I do, I’m not welcome.”

Himfrey, frost-coded Fae, share one of King Draven’s borders. Court business is usually messy and never straightforward.

Some things are not forgiven no matter how many centuries pass.

My eyes stick instead of roll, something Hríd will have no gratitude for. “Thank you for meeting me.”

He takes a drawn-out deep breath. “Smells like home.”

“Which sends the wrong message. We don’t want Midgard to wreak like your world.”

Not in the least. The scent is proof of the leak between worlds.

Niflheim birthed ice, mist, and creatures with terrible tempers, older than most gods and twice as unpleasant. Which explains Hríd perfectly.

Of the creatures from both worlds, my people have more of an affinity to dark ice Fae like Hríd. Better temperaments.

Terribly long memories.

“We have to keep this brief, but I have news,” he says quickly, glancing left and right. “You sought information, yes? And you’re⁠—”

“Willing to pay,” I interrupt. “Always. There might be a tip in there since you’ve traveled such a long way.”

Hríd watches the space around us with care born of past mistakes. “It took effort to make the journey. Élivágar bleeds into this river but its waters were hungry tonight.”

“If someone tracked you here, I’m throwing you into the river,” I say.

“I took many precautions, but there is always the possibility of eyes on us.”

I slide my hands into my pockets. “And you wonder why my glamour wanted you to be Texas.”

Out of my network of informants across the worlds, ice Fae are the most loose-lipped. If anyone has any idea on what is happening, Hríd will.

“And we both know my glamours are impeccable. Trust me, we’re two average males out for a stroll in subzero temperatures.” I shrug.

Another glance at the window shows it empty. My shadows purge, pouring free from my skin and seeking out Helene’s warmth. Traitors to the cause, one and all.

Soon.

“There are worse things than eyes on us,” Hríd growls. “And even spells like yours fail.”

“Mine? Rude.” Magic cloaks my features, twining over bone, chastised.

“You know who I’m speaking of, Wren.” He seems surprised I haven’t caught his drift.

But this gods-cursed gift of mine, foresight, doesn't miss a thing. Or much. Not anymore.