Between the Blade and the Heart

by Amanda Hocking

  “Marlow told me that Valkyries didn’t do well with long-lasting relationships,” I replied, and even as I was arguing against him, I knew there was truth in Asher’s words. Oona had been my best friend for years, and I’d always be able to count on her.

  But at the moment I didn’t feel like agreeing with him. I wanted to be isolated in my pain. That’s what Marlow would do.

  “I don’t know about all Valkyries, but that is true for some,” he admitted.

  I laughed hollowly. “Good to know Marlow wasn’t wrong about that.”

  “But you can make your life what you wish. My mom did.”

  Asher looked at me—really looked at me, for the first time since he’d come over today. Before, his eyes had been focusing just off to the side, as if looking at me directly would spur an awkward conversation about our kiss the other night and how that played into our relationship, which was now further complicated by my mother’s murder.

  He was now stuck in the terrible position of comforting me over the death of someone who had caused the death of his own mother. But when he looked at me, there was no anger, no sense of justice or retribution. Only compassion and hurt and warmth.

  His normally stormy eyes were like a calm sea, inviting me to join him in peace, where the two of us could cling to each other for comfort. So, when he reached over, taking my hand in his, I let him. It made me feel … safer and less alone.

  “Well, your mom sounds more progressive than mine,” I said.

  “Marlow seemed like a very complicated, strong-willed, independent woman.” He spoke slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.

  “She was. She was all those things and so much more,” I agreed. Then, rather abruptly, I said something that had been digging at me since she died, since before then, really, but since her death it had been a sharp dagger twisting inside my chest: “I don’t think she loved me.”

  The realization of that coupled with Asher here, attempting to comfort me and care for me, only compounded the brutal truth that I didn’t think anyone had ever really loved me. Maybe Oona had. Probably, actually. But sometimes I needed more than one solitary friend in the whole entire world who really and truly loved me.

  “I…” Asher took a deep breath. “I honestly didn’t know her. I want to tell you that she did love you, in her own way, and I think that’s probably true, but I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay,” I lied as tears welled in my eyes. “I think I always knew that she didn’t love me. And I was okay with it, because I thought, That’s normal. Valkyries can’t love. This is just what we are. But deep down, I always knew that was a lie. Because I loved her.”

  Asher put his arm around me, pulling me close to him and letting me cry into his shoulder. He held me fiercely in a way that I couldn’t remember anybody else ever holding me, and he kissed my hair.

  “I know nothing I can say will take your pain away,” he whispered. “But I promise you that I will do everything in my power to avenge Marlow and my mother. Tamerlane Fayette won’t escape death again.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  In the Rosehill Cemetery, bodies were piled on top of each other. The population explosion of the last few centuries had created the need for alternative burials, with cremation and shared graves becoming the top affordable options.

  Fortunately for me, that was one thing I didn’t have to worry about, thanks to my mother’s status as a Valkyrie. All Valkyries—whether they died in the line of duty, by accident, or simply from old age—were buried in the Mausoleum av Veteraner Från Kriget Mot Odödlighet.

  The crypt sat on a large hill in the center of the cemetery, surrounded by rosebushes, which had already begun to wither and die with winter around the corner. It was a large square building made of white marble, with the only decoration being the coat of arms above the door—a shield emblazoned with the three horns of Odin and nine swords fanned out behind it.

  Inside the mausoleum were hundreds of white marble drawers, all labeled with simple gold letters stating each name, year of birth, and year of death. Nothing more, nothing less. Near the end of the hall, in a spot four rows from the bottom, was my mother.

  MARLOW GRACE KRIGARE

  Her letters were brighter and shinier than the others’, since they were newer. Fresh flowers stood on a pedestal near her tomb, and an Eralim in a black uniform stood to the side, presiding over the funeral.

  It was a sparely attended funeral, the way many Valkryies’ funerals were, but Marlow had even fewer connections in life than most, I suspected. There might have been more mourners, but Samael was doing everything in his power to keep the news of her death from spreading.

  Valkyrie deaths could be rather public spectacles if allowed to be, but in Marlow’s case that would only lead to questions and suspicions and unwanted attention for myself and Asher. So Samael kept it quiet, and only eight people had shown up, including Samael and his two guards, Atlas and Godfrey.

  Oona had come with her mother, Rhona, and they stood on one side of me, while Asher and his grandmother Teodora stood on the other. Both Oona and Asher seemed ready to reach out and steady me, should I need it, but I held strong throughout the service, and never shed a tear.

  The Eralim presiding spoke of living a life of honor and virtue and dedication, and I wondered if any of those words even applied to Marlow. He finished up by talking about how Marlow was at peace now, and I hoped at least that part was true.

  “I’m so sorry about your mother,” Rhona said after the service had ended, and she squeezed my hand tightly. “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

  Atlas and Godfrey offered similar sentiments, giving me their sympathies for my loss, and I realized that nobody really had said anything about Marlow. I appreciated that. I didn’t need them lying to me about how kind or generous she was. She didn’t need her memory to be exalted higher than how she lived her life.

  Teodora smiled thinly at me, pulling her black cloak around her. “I know your mother and I had our differences, to put it lightly, but I would never wish this upon you. Losing a loved one is never easy.”

  “Thank you for coming,” I mumbled, because I didn’t know what else to say.

  Asher looked like he wanted to say something, but Samael stepped up, edging his way in.

  “Mind if I speak to Malin alone for a moment?” he asked.

  Asher looked to me, his gaze protective and warm, and I nodded to let him know it was okay to leave my side. “Sure, of course,” he said, squeezing my hand gently before turning to take a few steps away. The other guests had gone outside, leaving the three of us alone in the mausoleum, and Asher lingered nearby with just enough distance between us that he wouldn’t be eavesdropping.

  Samael’s eyes were red-rimmed and his umber skin was unusually pale, and though I don’t think he could ever really look bad per se, this was the worst I’d ever seen him. Even his lush curls seemed lifeless today. He fidgeted with his handkerchief and stared down at the floor, which was covered in petals from the dying flowers left on the doors of other tombs.

  “What do you want to do?” Samael asked finally.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  He lifted his aquamarine eyes to meet mine. “About Tamerlane.”

  “I plan to kill him,” I replied honestly.

  “You don’t have to,” Samael said, then he hurried to correct himself. “I mean, I can take care of him. I will, if that’s what you want.”

  “I appreciate that, but I think I would rather handle it myself,” I said.

  Samael nodded. “I thought that’s how you would feel. But I wanted to let you know that I’m here to help you as much or as little as you need. I want to end this bastard just as much as you do.”

  “I do need help finding him,” I admitted.

  I’d spent the twenty-four hours after Marlow died numb and unable to think of anything, really, and then Asher came over and woke up the pain inside me, and it all came tumbling out. Since then, I
’d only really been thinking of one thing—how to find Tamerlane and kill him.

  The only speed bump in that plan was that I had no idea where to look. Marlow was the one who had connections—she’d introduced us to Cecily Stavros, who was able to point us in the direction of Tamerlane.

  But without Marlow, I didn’t know where to start.

  “I’m already on it,” Samael assured me. “I have feelers going out as far and wide as I can, and as inconspicuously as possible, of course. And just so you know, I’m also having a few off-duty Vörðr keep an eye on you and Oona, in case Tamerlane comes looking for you.”

  “I don’t really think that’s necessary,” I objected.

  “I’m not doing it for you,” Samael said with a pained smile. “It’s what Marlow would’ve asked me to do. She wanted you safe.”

  I lowered my eyes, since I couldn’t argue with the wishes of a dead woman. “I’ll just keep a lookout for them, then.”

  The clacking of heels echoing through the mausoleum caused me to look up, and I saw Quinn Devane walking slowly toward us. She wore all black, and managed to somehow look beautiful, even on a day when I didn’t think I’d be capable of finding beauty in anything.

  “I’m not interrupting, am I?” Quinn asked, chewing her lip.

  “No.” Samael shook his head, then touched my arm gently. “I’ll let you know when I found out anything, Malin. Take care.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and I watched him walk away, disappearing outside into the overcast afternoon. Only then did I finally force myself to look back at Quinn.

  With her silver hair cascading around her shoulders, she had an extra ethereal quality to her to beauty, and I realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her in the daylight. So much of our relationship had been done clandestine, with stolen kisses in dark bedrooms, both of us with busy schedules and me afraid of what the higher-ups at Ravenswood would think.

  Seeing her here like this reminded me of seeing a teacher outside of class or an actor out of costume. It was disarming, and suddenly I felt uneasy. I looked over at Asher, who still lingered down the hall, reading the plaques on the wall, and just knowing he was nearby gave me the strength to face Quinn.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked finally.

  Her eyes were filled with sympathy as she softly said, “I heard about Marlow, and I wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Her shoulders sagged, and her lips twitched slightly. “Malin, I know you’re hurting. Why do you have to shut me out like this?”

  I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to think of all the things I wanted to say to her, all the emotions I couldn’t form the words for. The contradictions of missing her and being afraid of her. Wishing she hadn’t come here and also grateful that she still cared.

  Feeling edgy, I glanced from Quinn to Asher, and I realized the key difference between the two of them—Quinn left me breathless and invigorated and pushed me too far so that I never felt safe, and Asher left me breathless and exhilarated and made me feel … certain in a way that she never had.

  Quinn was always a question, and Asher was the answer.

  But right now I couldn’t deal with it, so I just looked up at her and asked, “Do you really think now is the best time to do this, Quinn?”

  “No, of course not. I’m sorry.” She lowered her eyes and shook her head, her fair cheeks reddening subtly with shame. “I only wanted to … I wanted to let you know that I’m here for you, if you need me. For anything at all.”

  “Thank you, but…” I began, but then I realized we weren’t alone. A man was wandering through the vast halls of the mausoleum, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. It was so big, it looked like he might nearly topple over.

  “Sorry,” he said as he approached us. “I have a delivery for the Krigare funeral?”

  “It’s over now,” I told him. “But I’ll take them.”

  He apologized profusely as he handed them to me. “Sorry about that. The order just came in, and we rushed as quickly as we could.”

  He left me, struggling with a heavy vase full of two dozen red roses, the exact same shade as the lipstick Marlow always wore. Hardly anyone had come to Marlow’s funeral, and as far as I knew, she didn’t have that many friends in the world, so I couldn’t imagine who would send them.

  “Who are they from?” I asked Quinn, since I was too busy trying to hold them to look at the card.

  Quinn moved around the roses and found a small card, matte-black with a message inscribed in gold ink. “It only says, With all my love, Tamerlane.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Dead mother or no, Oona had decided that I’d put off going to the doctor long enough, and I was inclined to agree with her. I’d woken up the day after Marlow’s funeral with a nasty infection brewing in my leg and all sorts of unpleasant sights and smells going on underneath my bandage.

  But after the taunting bouquet of flowers Tamerlane Fayette had sent to the funeral, I didn’t feel I could put off plotting to find him, either. Oona and I came to the agreement that while I was at the doctor’s, she would gather information and call people, so that when I was done we could have a discussion and figure out what to do about Tamerlane.

  A few hours later, I came back from the hospital with a freshly irrigated wound and a bottle of very strong antibiotics to find Asher and Quinn sitting on my couch. That was exactly what I wanted to deal with today. My ex-lover and my maybe-sorta-current-lover together. Discussing things about me. Without me.

  Oona had set out a vegetable tray on the coffee table, which Bowie was sneaking a carrot from. I must’ve looked as shocked as I felt, because Oona offered me a sheepish smile.

  “How’d it go?” Oona asked.

  “Great,” I said, feigning a smile.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” Quinn suggested, patting the spot between her and Asher. He actually scooted to the side a bit, to make room between the two of them, and the thought of that made me feel more claustrophobic than I ever had before.

  “Nah, I think I’ll be good over here.” I went into the kitchenette area of our apartment and dragged an old kitchen chair into the living room, so I could sit across from Quinn and Asher.

  “So, I was doing research about Tamerlane and how to handle draugrs, like we talked about,” Oona explained as she sat cross-legged on the floor beside me. “And I realized that this is such a vast undertaking, it might be helpful to have more people, so I called over Asher and Quinn.”

  I scratched the back of my head, doing my best not to look as annoyed as I felt. “Uh-huh. That makes sense.”

  “And Oona filled me in about everything that’s been going on,” Quinn said, but she didn’t need to. I could already tell by the worry in her eyes and the grim downturn of her mouth. “I really wish you would’ve come to me sooner. I could’ve helped.”

  “I didn’t want it getting out,” I said. “I was afraid about what would happen to Marlow, but … now that doesn’t really matter.”

  “Tamerlane is the one who sent the flowers yesterday?” Quinn asked.

  After I’d gotten the roses, I’d thrown them on the floor of the mausoleum. The vase shattered, and I stomped all over the flowers while Quinn kept asking me what was wrong. I was too irate to see straight, so I’d stormed off without explaining anything to her.

  Oona groaned in disgust. “I can’t believe he did that. That’s so messed up.”

  Angry bile rose in my throat, and I was barely able to swallow it down before muttering, “He did say he ought to thank her by sending her flowers.”

  “So does anybody know how to kill Tamerlane?” Asher asked, smartly changing the subject before I lost my shit again.

  “Back when I was going to Ravenswood, I took an elective on Mythology and Urban Legends,” Quinn said. “We briefly discussed zombies and the undead then, but it wasn’t anything too in-depth. The only thing I really remember is them saying that the Valkyri
e sword would no longer work on them.”

  “That seems to be as much as I’ve been able to find, as well,” Oona agreed. “Only information on what does not kill them, which isn’t helpful at all.”

  Asher leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “When we were talking with the gorgon the other day, it got me thinking about things in a way I hadn’t before, so I started going through my grandmother’s books. She has hundreds of these really old books from our homeland, and in a book filled with fables and stories I found a chapter on draugrs—”

  Quinn interjected, “You guys keep mentioning draugrs, but I haven’t heard anyone use that word before today. What does it mean, exactly?”

  “I just looked it up, actually, and learned it’s an old Norse word meaning ‘again-walker,’” Asher explained. “They were thought to be like zombies.”

  “But zombies don’t exist,” Quinn argued. “‘That which is dead cannot rise.’ That’s Supernatural 101.”

  She was right. That was one of the first things we were taught about the world we lived in. To maintain order in a world where immortals lived alongside humans, we were all only given one life—with humans lying in their tombs, while the immortals were shuttled down to the underworld.

  But both were given the same commandment: The dead must stay dead. That which is dead cannot rise.

  “They’re not exactly zombies,” Asher continued. “Just immortals that found a way around the Valkyrie loophole.”

  “But those are just old Scandinavian stories,” Quinn reminded us.

  “Well, me and Oona saw Tamerlane,” I pointed out. “He’s alive, when he should be dead, and he killed two Valkyries, which shouldn’t even be possible. We’re now in an uncharted world where the impossible has become possible.”

  Oona frowned as she considered this. Bowie had given up on stealing carrots and hopped over to sit on her lap, where she absently began to stroke his feathered wings.

  “Did the book say anything about how to stop them?” Quinn asked, resting her emerald gaze on Asher.