AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Fyrcat shrugged. “I warned you that there were risks. It was his decision to embark on a madman’s quest to rid himself of Freya.”
I tossed my hands into the air, exasperated by this so-called witch. “As if being my slave is any better! He’s a warrior. He shouldn’t bend the knee to anyone.” My feet tried to carry me across the room, intent on ripping the smug expression from her face with my nails, before I collided with a wall of muscle. Skarde stood between us, obviously sensing my urge to tear the woman’s head from her shoulders.
“Bad idea, sæta,” he said with a small shake of the head.
The word brought me up short. The rational forefront of my brain couldn’t decipher the word, but whatever small part of my mind housed my nebulous, so-called magic understood. Sæta. Sweetheart. Cutie. And oddly enough, he didn’t sound sarcastic. Had Skarde just given me a pet name?
I craned my neck, trying to glare past him. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, at least tell me how to get to Muspelheim. Now.”
“Your lover is right. It’s a bad idea.”
“He’s not my lover,” I snapped as Skarde chuckled.
“You won’t survive, you know,” she said blithely. “Untrained as you are, I doubt you’ll last more than a few minutes.”
“I don’t care,” I said, trying to wriggle past Skarde. He wouldn’t budge. “Send me after Torsten.”
Her smile was sharp and predatory, a cat relishing a chase. “So be it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, little girl.”
Fyrcat floated to her feet with a grace I envied. She grabbed my forearm and squeezed so hard, I heard her knuckles crack. I fought back a scream as her fingers sank into my arm, as hot as brands. The flesh beneath them seared, smoke curling up where they made contact. The smell of burnt hair curled in my nostrils. When Fyrcat pulled back, there was a throbbing red handprint emblazoned on my arm, singed black at the edges. Involuntary tears dripped down my eyes, to my cheeks, and I wrenched my hand away before they could drip into the open wound. Talk about adding insult to injury.
“There. It will take you back to Muspelheim.”
“Give Skarde one too,” I insisted.
“I cannot. I’ve used too much magic already. The berserker and I will stay here and await your return. Use the tapestry and speak to the roots of Yggdrasil. The world tree will answer.”
Skarde took a cautious step towards Fyrcat and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. He examined the hand that had grabbed me suspiciously. “How is it that you can travel between the realms without the bifrost? You are no god.”
It was like he hadn’t spoken. She tugged her hand away, and he let her, seeming unwilling to hurt her until he had an answer. It wasn’t forthcoming. She turned away from us, a clear dismissal.
“Answer me, witch!”
“Don’t fight while I’m gone,” I said as I tried to ease Skarde away. There were more important things to worry about than Fyrcat’s magic.
“If she behaves herself, I won’t be forced to kill her.”
“Ah, the game of ‘he/she started it’ I’m glad we can all act like mature adults,” I said.
“But—” Skarde started.
“No more arguments,” Fyrcat interrupted.
“We need to work quickly,” I added as I looked at the enormous Viking.
Skarde looked vaguely mutinous, but he still followed me back into the main room of Fyrcat’s home. We tried our hand at replicating the ritual that she’d used on Torsten, but nothing happened. When I laid on top of the tapestry with my arms flat to the floor and closed my eyes, I expected a tingle. But nothing. Skarde spoke the magical words that were supposed to spread along the roots of Yggdrasil but, again, nothing happened.
“Why isn’t this working?” I asked.
“Because I am not like you,” he said impatiently. “Only two people in this home can use seidr, and I’m not one of them. You’ll have to use your magic, Jovi.”
He stuttered over my name for a second, as though he wanted to say something else. Weird.
“I don’t know how. When I defended myself against the vargr… I didn’t know what I was doing then, either.” My mind still rebelled against the idea that I was a witch, a daughter of Freya, and a Valkyrie, a warrior of Odin. The blood of the gods supposedly flowed through my veins. It was like something out of a fairy tale. My world had always been a reasonable place. The strange premonitions I’d had could be chalked up to luck and good instincts. Until Torsten and Skarde, I couldn’t have dreamed my way into something this fantastical. That was part of the problem. I was just a garden-variety screw-up with no special abilities. How could I believe I was special when everyone in my life up to this point had tried to convince me otherwise?
Even so, I held my hand out with my palm facing the fire. There was a slight cramp in my middle finger before a small spark appeared. It died out instantly, dousing what little hope I had.
“This is useless,” I muttered under my breath, standing up long enough to roll up the tapestry before I clutched it against my chest and laid back down on the floor. Skarde knelt beside me. He brushed his hand across my forehead with a strangely tender look in his eyes.
