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I watch him from the corner of my eye as we walk, curious about him. He's quiet compared to the other Fae—at least compared to Reaper and Malachi. He seems more…reserved, less as if his emotions rule him.
"What are you thinking, Valkyrie?" Dax murmurs, his lips close to my ear.
"About Damrion."
Dax growls, pulling me to a stop. His green eyes narrow on me, strong emotion swirling through them. "Do you want to try that again,bittesmå ljós?"
I gape at him, caught off guard. Is hejealous? Oh, my goodness. He is jealous!
"I didn't mean it like that, Dax." I roll my eyes at him even as my heart flutters. He's an ancient Fae warrior, more fierce and beautiful than anyone I've ever met in my life. But he's jealous over me. I shouldn't encourage that. I shouldn't like it. Yet, I do.
I felt his emotions for me in the bedroom today. They rolled over me like a heatwave, branding him on my soul. This Fae is going to change my life. He's going to change everything.
"Explain," he rumbles, still not appeased.
"He seems different than your brothers," I explain. "More reserved. There's almost something…calming about him. I'm not sure I'm explaining it right."
Dax's expression clears. "He'skonunga-kyn, royal kin."
"Royal kin? You mean he's royalty?"
"Ja. Hislangamma, grandmother, was Fjölnir's daughter."
"I don't know the name," I admit.
"Fjölnir was Freyr and Gerðr's son. Freyr was one of the Vanir who rules overÁlfheimr."
"Oh." I glance at Damrion, who has continued down the path with Abigail. He looks the same as he did two minutes ago. "It's hard to wrap my mind around the fact that you walked with Gods," I admit. "To me, they're just stories everyone knows. But you really knew them. Damrion is related to one of them."
"Come." He tugs gently on my hand to get me moving again. "Humans have an odd way of looking at Gods," he says as we walk, snow crunching beneath our feet. "To you, they're beings who can do no wrong. You revere and fear them, placing them on pedestals. It wasn't always that way. In most of the realms, Gods were just the race that ruled over us. They weren't without faults and flaws. They weren't all good or all bad. They just were."
"I know," I admit. "Those stories survived. But trying to reconcile the fact that the stories were real is still a lot. Like alot." I risk a glance up at him. "Religion is a touchy subject for humans. It's the one thing I think we're still willing to die for. If the world knew we got it wrong…"
"Who says you're wrong?" He cocks a brow at me. "The Æsir died two thousand years ago,elskan-ljós. No one knows who took their place. Maybe your Christian God. Maybe the Muslims' Allah. Maybe some God no one has yet named."
"You believe there's still a God out there somewhere?" I ask, shocked.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. But many of your people believe, and that belief holds them to the Light." He smiles at me, a charming, crooked smile. "It provides hope. That's a powerful thing, Valkyrie."
I nod my agreement as we pass beyond the final cabin, stepping out onto the town square. The Hall looms up ahead, standing higher than any other building in town. It's beautiful, a true work of art, like the cathedrals of old. Only this one is carved entirely of wood, each ornate design painstakingly crafted by hand.
"It's beautiful," I whisper.
"We lost sixty-nine Fae when the portal collapsed. And hundreds more on the other side," he says softly, leading me toward the steps. "This is a place of honor for our dead."
Damrion and Abigail wait for us outside the doors.
"We should wait out here," Abigail announces when we reach them. "They need to go in alone."
Damrion frowns, but he doesn't gainsay her. I don't think the kindhearted Fae has it in him to tell the little human girl no.
Dax reaches for an ornately carved handle, pulling open the door.
I step through with him following behind.
I feel him calling his power to him. It washes over me as his lyststål appears in his hands, acting like a light to guide our way. I gasp when he holds it aloft and my gaze falls on the walls. An entire history spills across the wood in vivid color, painstakingly painted across every inch of space. Yggdrasil stands at the center, its branches burning.
"Dax," I whisper. "What is this?"
