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He growl-barks at me, a low rumbly sound with the edge of command. Dropping back down to all fours, he looks at me expectantly. “All right, all right. I’m coming,” I grumble, climbing back down the tree.
When I’m almost at the bottom, the alarm bells start blaring, and my heart leaps into my throat. Aren spins around, growling. Dropping from the last branch, I begin to run, but Aren leaps ahead of me, shaking his head. He lowers himself to the ground, his head jerking toward his back. I delicately step on his thigh, then swing my leg over until I’m straddling him, making sure to avoid his wings. I wrap my hands into his thick mane and tighten my legs when he stands.
We quickly head back toward the training grounds, the shrill shrieking of the alarm piercing my skull. Once we’re out of the trees, Aren makes a beeline for the weapons. As we near them, I lean over and, balancing precariously to the side, scoop up my bow and quiver. I pull myself up, notching an arrow after placing the quiver over my back. Aren’s haunches flex, his muscles rippling under me as his wings spread. I quickly hold on to his mane again, a thrill of excitement running through me. He surges into the air, and even though I’m worried about whatever has set the alarms off, I can’t stop my shout of joy as we fly upward, his magnificent wings flapping steadily as we climb higher.
In only seconds, we are above the tree line, and I look around in awe at the landscape before me. The Thogrun Mountains line the north, their craggy peaks forever covered in snow, no matter the season. There are rumors they are the home to an army of dwarfs who mine for precious jewels in the caverns hidden within. Monarch Glen stretches out to the east and west, a mixture of ancient forests, bubbling streams, verdant meadows, and brackish lakes. The air is crisper up here, the scent of pine heavy on the winds that snarl my hair and try to unseat me from my perch.
Aren roars a challenge, and my head snaps to the left when I hear horses neighing in return. My eyes fly wide in wonder as seven pure white horses with golden manes and tails race toward us, their hooves pounding against nothing but air currents.
They are as tall as Aren and just as majestic. One horse breaks off from the others, taking the lead while the rest fall back. My eyes mist with tears and I clutch tighter to Aren’s mane. Hilda sits tall on the back of her steed, no longer childlike in stature. Her icy-blonde hair whips around her in the wind, untamed by the golden circlet adorning her brow. She holds a mighty spear in one hand and clutches the reins in the other.
“Meet us in the training grounds,” she calls to me, and I nod.
Aren banks to the left when suddenly a movement to the right captures my attention. A raven rears backward, flapping its wings furiously, its beady gaze locked on mine. Recognition lights its eyes and it caws loudly.
A wave of ferocious anger rips through me, explosive and volcanic, heating me from the inside. Aren roars, swiping at the bird, but it easily dodges out of the way. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I lift my bow and aim, the arrow piercing its heart. Satisfaction replaces the anger as I watch it plummet to the earth.
One of the things that kept me going during my time in the dungeon was the thought of revenge. I wanted justice for my mother, for the life torn from my womb, for the beatings I took at the hands of the psychotic queen. I lost it for a while, becoming too complacent during my time with the Valkyries. I’ve needed my time here, to heal and gain strength, to recover from the depression that had its claws sunk so deeply in my psyche, and to train so I could become ready for the war that is coming. At the same time, being here has almost been like a dream, the outside world easily forgotten. But seeing Morana’s spy hit the ground in a shower of ebony feathers has rekindled the flame and reawakened the urgency to save my kingdom.
I hope the raven had time to relay my image to Morana. I hope she’s even now standing in front of her magic mirror, raging at the sight of me killing her raven. And I hope she realizes I’m coming for her.
Aren shakes his head, his muscles bunching under me. I hold on tight as his wings fold back and we descend toward the ground. When we land, I clamber gracelessly off his back, my legs like jelly. Aren lopes into the trees, and a few minutes later, Cassian comes out, buckling his belt around his waist. His eyes find mine, searching my face, and I offer a side smile back. He comes to a stop beside me, our fingers brushing together.
Large shadows glide over the grass, turning it from a shamrock green to pine. Placing a hand over my eyes, I squint against the sun and watch as the Valkyries land on the other side of the training ground. They dismount their horses and walk toward us, and I grab Cassian’s hand, entwining our fingers. Hilda, Kelda, Linne, Nissa, Runa, Selma, and Thyra fan out in a semi-circle, and my gaze passes from one to the other.
I’m by no means short at five feet eight inches, but they now tower over me. Each is dressed in intricate battle leathers adorned with gold accents. They all wear a circlet around their foreheads, with a different colored jewel mounted in the middle. Bracelets adorn their upper arms, inscribed with words written in a language I’m unfamiliar with. Some carry swords, others, spears.
Hilda steps forward, her mouth curled into a wide smile. I stare up at her with my lip trembling, blinking back tears. I can sense the farewell coming, and I’m not ready for it. The Valkyries have become my family, like the sisters I could have only dreamed of having. She wraps her arms around me and I swallow hard. She backs away, holding on to my shoulders. “Happy birthday, Snow.”
“Thank you.” I search her eyes. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
“Come into the house, we have much to discuss,” she answers, avoiding my question. All of us return to the cottage where we find Merlin in the kitchen. The good tablecloth has been placed on the table, along with a large vase overflowing with pale pink and mauve peonies. An intricately decorated, three-layer cake rests on the countertop, surrounded by platters of salamis and cheeses, crusty bread, and pots of butter and honey.
I stop and stare at the bounty, amazed at how quickly he has been able to put this together. Magic must be handy indeed. Cass draws out a chair for me, and I take my seat. He squeezes my shoulder gently before sitting next to me. The others take their seats, and after the food is passed around, talk turns to their trip to the Carrion River.
“Merlin transported us to the river,” Runa explains, slathering butter on a thick slice of bread. “When we arrived, the horses were nowhere to be seen.” She bites into the bread, effectively silencing herself.
Kelda picks up the story. “I don’t know about the rest of my sisters, but as soon as we stepped onto the sandy banks of the river, I had the most powerful sense of foreboding.” The others nod, concurring with her. “The clear skies quickly became dark, thick with heavy clouds. A conspiracy of ravens, many hundreds strong, swarmed around us, squawking. They tore at our hair and faces, determined to prevent us from reaching the edge of the water.”
I wrap a slice of salami around a piece of Rauchkäse cheese, the smoky flavor complimenting the salami perfectly. I barely notice what I’m doing as I listen raptly to their story.
Thyra sips her wine, then sits back, running the edge of her finger around the lip of the glass. “I’m not exactly sure what Merlin did, but he used his magic to freeze the birds. Silence descended over the immediate area. It was as if time itself stopped.”
The corner of Merlin’s lip lifts. “Only above the water. Beneath it carried on as normal.”
Nissa’s eyes light up. “It was an . . . interesting experience.” She tilts her head to the side. “Merlin gave each of us a bridle. They were unlike anything we’d ever seen. So delicate it looked like a strong wind would snap them, but strong enough to subdue the horses. We were afraid they wouldn’t remember us, or that the spell they were under would prevent them from coming to us.”
“So what did you do?” Cassian asks, refilling his glass with more wine.
“The simplest thing we could think of—call them,” Hilda replies. “Each of us was more than willing to jump into the water to find them. After so many years apart, we were anxious to see them once more.”
“But we didn’t see the point of getting soaked if we didn’t have to,” Linne interrupts.
Hilda huffs a laugh. “Indeed. I went first. Mine was trained to answer to my whistle. After releasing it, we waited, and moments later, the river became frothy, the ripples turning into waves as Torsten leaped from the dark water. He reared in front of us, forelegs lashing out. It was as if he didn’t know who I was, and I could feel my heart cracking.”
Kelda, sitting next to her, places her arm around her shoulders. “They’re like our family,” she explains. “Knowing they’ve been prisoners to the river all this time, forced away from us and their homes, and that they’ve been this close was difficult for us to bear.”
The others murmur their assent. Hilda threads her fingers through her cloth napkin and then continues, “Torsten wouldn’t allow me near him. He kept backing away or lashing out with his hooves. Eventually, Linne and Nissa distracted him, and I was able to throw the bridle over his head. Once on, it clipped into place, and he settled down. The fury and wariness left his eyes, and he came to me at once, nuzzling into my shoulder. We did the same for the rest of the horses, calling them out of the Carrion one by one until they were tamed.”
