AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My brows lower. “But that was two days ago. Why did it take you so long to return?” I ask curiously.
Selma and Thyra stand to clear the plates from the table. Once it’s clean, Merlin flicks his wrist, and the cake floats over to the table, settling down gently in the middle. Thyra hands out fresh plates and forks while Selma cuts everyone a slice.
Hilda catches my eye. “We went to Asgard to see our father, Thor. We have brought back gifts for you and Cassian.” She reaches under the table and brings up a satchel, then comes to her feet, stopping by Cassian. She lifts out two axes, intricately carved with runes. His eyes widen as he takes them reverently, turning them over to view the etchings.
“These are incredible,” he breathes, unable to take his eyes off them.
“They were made by Sindri, the dwarf that made Thor’s hammer, Mjolnir. Never throw them without the intent to kill, as they never miss their mark,” Selma says.
Reaching over Cass’s head, Hilda hands me a small wooden box. Like the axes, it is carved, not with runes, but with delicate flowers. I trace my finger over the carvings, then carefully lift the lid. Inside sits a silver necklace, the chain thin and dainty. Hanging from it are five disks, each engraved with hieroglyphs.
Linne stands and walks over to me, taking the box from my hands. She puts the necklace around my neck, and it settles between my breasts. “Never take it off. The day will come when you must rely on it.”
I glance up at her. “What do you mean?”
She places a hand on my head, her eyes beseeching. “I cannot tell you more, for that is all the seer Ulfhild told us.”
I let out a sigh. Why is everyone so cryptic? Once we finish the cake, Hilda informs us it’s time for them to depart. I square my shoulders, determined not to fall to pieces. Each of the Valkyries hugs me before collecting their weapons.
“Fear not, Snow, you will see us again. We go to spread the word that the Princess of Valderán is coming to claim her crown. We will speak to Thor and our uncles and brothers, to see who might come to your aid.”
“Thank you.” I do not trust myself to say anything further, for fear I may do something to humiliate myself, like attach myself to their legs and beg them to stay.
Cassian and I stand in the doorway, his hand on the small of my back as we watch them mount their horses and fly away. I do not turn my gaze away until the tree line blocks them from view. Letting out a weak breath, I allow Cass to lead me back inside, where we find Merlin standing in the middle of the miraculously clean and tidy kitchen.
“Tomorrow, we leave,” he informs us. “It will take time to reach the palace, and we’ll need to collect your army on the way.”
“I don’t have one yet.”
“You will,” he says with a wink.
Chapter 23
Morana
Blackcandlesgracethewindowsill and shelves in the bathing chamber, the flickering light bouncing off the stone walls and warm hardwood floors. Shadows drench the corners, concealing the bodies of the virgin boys who so generously donated their life force to ensure I remain young and beautiful. Warm, thick blood fills the large tub to the brim, coating my skin in its life-giving essence. I lift and twist my arms into the air, fingers dancing in the cool air, my gaze transfixed on the crimson drips sliding into the tub. Scooping some of the blood into my cupped hands, I slather it generously over my face, my tongue darting out to taste the coppery liquid running over my lips. The heady taste and scent awaken the hunger deep inside me, and I bring my hands to my mouth over and over, the rich blood sliding down my throat and quenching my thirst. When I have drank my fill, I breathe in deeply, then slowly slide under the surface, remaining under until I am forced to rise for more air.
Gentlepowerthrumsthroughmy veins, invigorating me. Sweeping through the castle, I smile and greet the servants. Change is afoot. I flick my wrist toward the doors leading to the courtyard. They fly open with a reverberating crash and the guards standing just outside jump at the sound, spinning around with their swords raised. My magic flicks out, tossing them to the ground like insignificant insects while I descend the steps, my burgundy dress swishing around my long legs.
As per usual, the servants scurry to hide when they clock my presence. One goes so far as to dive into a mountain of horse dung, much to the despair of the one that had just cleaned it up. He cries out in anger, the sound grating on my ears. The fool has not seen me yet, so busy is he berating the coward.
My eyes narrow dangerously. No one should ignore my presence. I curl my fingers and a wisp of magic solidifies before flying toward him. Blessed silence reins once more. The man spins around, stumbling on unsteady legs. I cackle at the terror in his widened eyes, watching in glee as his questing fingers tremble at his mouth, feeling the thick black thread that has sewn it shut.
His gaze meets mine, and my mouth stretches into a smirk. Another flick of magic takes out his kneecaps, his muffled screams caught in his throat as he crashes to the ground, writhing in agony.
Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I sweep out of the courtyard and head for the mausoleum. Dead grass crunches under my slippers, and barren shrubs huddle miserably in the once glorious flower beds, their wizened branches black and ugly.
A soft sobbing stops me in my tracks, my gaze bouncing from one bush to another, searching for the source. Ah. A tiny nature fairy the size of a butterfly weeps inconsolably under a rotting camellia. Their job is to keep nature balanced and can often be found in flower gardens. I lash out my foot, sending the fairy flying with a squeal. My shoulders quiver as a malicious grin stretches across my face.
The mausoleum is set in its own grounds to the side of the palace. The imposing structure was once as brilliantly white as the palace, but the poison in the ground has discolored it to a sickly gray. Four columns hold up the stone awning over the entrance which sports heavy wooden doors deeply engraved with various gods of death and the underworld. On the right-hand door, the Shinigami sit surrounded by cherry blossoms. Hel stands proud by her hellhound while Hades glares at any visitors from his throne. Anubis, Kali, and Pluto grace the left-hand door, decorated with skulls and scenes of the underworld.
My eyes roll to the heavens. They are nothing. The time of the gods has long since passed. My magic blows the doors open and I sweep inside, dismissing the insignificant figures. I am far more powerful anyway.
The inside of the mausoleum is cavernous, bigger than the building outside suggests. The ceiling reaches thirty feet high and is divided in half by a supportive stone beam. The right side is painted with the image of a glorious castle in the sky, surrounded by golden rays of the sun and puffy clouds. Tree branches in the foreground are covered with rose vines and house miniature Fae.
The left side is darker. Thick, gray clouds swirl in the background, showcasing a dead tree, its bare branches reaching into the sky like skeletal hands. Two sinister vultures peer down into the room, their eyes seeming to follow you if you dare look up at them.
But they are nothing I haven’t seen before. I have been here often, sometimes to vent, other times to gloat. My fingers drift over one coffin, then another, the dust and decay of dead royalty coating my hands. I come to a stop in front of a pair of coffins. Inside lie King Aramaus and Queen Bridgette, the great-grandparents of King Silas.
