Page 114 of Veil of Blood and Bone

My mask remains seamlessly in place. “Enduring even the mention of his name isn’t worth it, my friend. What have you heard?”

Hríd shakes his head. “Only that the Dökkálfar are not behind the weakening veil. Despite their high-handed machinations, they’ve mostly kept to themselves over the last few centuries.”

“Horrible thought.”

“Scary,” Hríd agrees. “Although their plans span gods know how long. This might have been something the king’s Seers sensed in their future, and the court is content to let it happen. I only know they surely intend on using it to their advantage. And soon.”

I try my levelheaded best to block out another glimpse of Helene at the window, as if every glance reminds me of her taste on my shadows. Reminds me that what they sense, what they feel, I do, as well.

It’s my fucking job to keep her safe.

“The court is restless,” I mutter.

Which means everyone else should start panicking, too.

“They believe the mortals have spent too long under the control of the Asgardians.” Hríd sneers into the dark, peppered with snow. “They are biding their time and planning behind the scenes. I know nothing more than rumors.”

“You’ve heard enough,” I counter. “Overthrow the gods? Interesting thought.”

“Dangerous.”

Creatures like Hríd, hybrid spawn of my kind and those of Niflheim, postdate the gods of any pantheon. But there are others out there, like the jötun, like King Draven, who predate them.

Bitterness churns beneath my collarbone. “Rumors have been circulating for years. The pattern never changes, only the words. There’s no reason to believe it will be any different.”

Wind howls, and the reek of moisture in the air scalds the inside of my nostrils.

Hríd clasps my shoulder. “You’ve been gone too long. You’ve forgotten how much truth is hidden in suspicion.”

“It’s impossible to forget. You know my mother.”

“I know your family better than you know them in recent years, and I’m telling you, it’s getting bad.” He huffs out a silent beat of laughter laced with pity. “Rökkrheim is filled with rot.”

Court life is nothing but pretty clothes wrapped around cruelty. Everyone smiles while calculating where to best sink the knife.

“Are you suggesting I stage a break-out? Or a break-in?” I ask with a grin.

“As if you are worried for your sister’s life any more than your own.”

My silver tongue has carried me long and far. It’s a shame Lark hasn’t learned the same skills as me.

“You never listen, Wren. You act as though you are, but you don’t hear me.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to meet if I wasn’t paying attention,” I reply. “We’re talking about the stakes going high and the king’s catastrophic schemes, such as they might be.”

Hríd is correct about one thing—plans stretch past human comprehension. The denizens of Rökkrheim know better than most to bide their time, wait for the perfect moment, then snap.

“It doesn't matter how well you play the game when there are others using the same maneuvers as you, Wren,” Hríd reminds me. “With more accumulated power than you have at your disposal.”

I wave him away. “My power has been growing.”

“Not when you hold it up to the King’s true court.”

A burn in my chest proves him right again.

Hríd and the others, the ones I rely on, have no idea the depths of the situation with Helene. They only know I’ve given my heart away like a fool. Not Odin’s involvement.

Not the weight of my failure or how many have been damned because of it.