“When we spoke of how to accomplish our goals, he told me who he was. Up to that point, I knew his name but not who he was. Obviously, he’d been around during the war and knew Njord.” Jarrick interrupted himself to turn to Ingrid. “You know of Njord, correct?”
“The ruler of Vanaheim,” Ingrid answered with the tone of a bored child.
Jarrick ignored her attitude and continued his story. “When I found out Urkon was the original master of seiðr magic, I was in awe. He’d discovered the secrets of the magic and taught it to a handful of others—including Freya.”
Ingrid perked up.
“That much you know though, right?”
She did. Urkon had told her, but if Jarrick had more information, it was worth hearing. With as much casual indifference as she could muster, she shrugged. “Yes, and it seems you have other things to speak about.”
Jarrick laughed, but just once. It lashed out more like a whip than mirth. “Do you know why she did what she did? What made her strip Urkon of his powers and link his release to you?”
That wasn’t the way Ingrid had thought about it before. She knew the spell protecting Midgard from the other realms also sealed Urkon’s powers away from him, though she hadn’t connected that it linked him to her. She’d only focused on the rift it had caused between him and Freya. No wonder he wanted her dead. Ingrid shook her head, unable to answer Jarrick’s question, but needing to hear the answer.
“In truth, the Vanir won the war—they defeated Asgard. Njord, Freya, and Frey went to secure the surrender from Odin. Instead, they brokered a deal. Freya would teach Odin what she knew of the seiðr, Frey would work with Asgard to protect and provide for the human realm, and Njord would retire in peace to Alfheim.”
“Why?” Ingrid couldn’t help herself. She’d moved to the edge of her seat and stared raptly at Jarrick. This was new information. Never in any story was there a hint of an Asgardian defeat.
“Because Urkon is stronger than all of them combined.”
“And yet, you’re working with him. Helping him!” Ingrid slipped her hand to the edge of the chair, her breathing ragged. Should she attack Jarrick right then? He was the one who created an army spliced with magic.
“I made a bargain with Urkon, that day of our first meeting. It was impetuous and stupid. Now, I’m stuck with it. You are the only one that can free everyone, myself included, Ingrid.”
The low light that poured in from the open windows bounced off of Jarrick’s luminous features. This was the dark elf who’d sent his spirit to her twice through magic. Once in the body of his dragon, Voxx, and the other in a vision where he tried to pull her through, something—a portal most likely.
Now as she stared at him, his eyes implored her to believe him. She was unsure who the true enemy really was. Could Urkon trap Jarrick? Even bound as he was, the seiðr master wielded unnatural power, so it was possible. What capabilities would he have if released? It wasn’t an option. Regardless of Jarrick, Urkon could not go free. Not by her; not by anyone.
“I guess the question is, are you going to stab me with that knife you’ve made, or are you going to help me defeat Urkon?”
29
Ingrid
Ingrid’s newly carved knife pressed against her thigh where she sat on it. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Jarrick knew about it. He always seemed to know more about her than she did.
“I don’t think it’s fair that I’m unable to defend myself. Since coming here, I’ve needed a weapon twice.” With no reason to deny it, Ingrid pushed as much bravado into her words as she could. Then stood and held the makeshift knife in her hand. Not as a threat, but to display her talents.
Curling his lip into a wry grin, Jarrick reached out and wiggled his fingers for her to hand it over.
Instead, she raised her brows and moved it down to her side.
“I’ll give it back. Far be it from me to keep you unarmed,” Jarrick teased. “Though I don’t know why you need something so primitive when you have abilities more powerful than knives.”
Ingrid glared and stepped back. “As if you don’t know why I can’t access my magic.”
An uneasy silence filled the air while Jarrick stared, eyes narrowed and contemplative. “Surely, you don’t think I had something to do with it. At first, I believed it was because of the transition between realms or perhaps your human emotions, but this is interesting.”
“Interesting? You call locking me up, keeping me helpless, and destroying everyone I love—interesting? You are the only one to blame.”
Jarrick scoffed. “I believe you experienced some unfortunate circumstances, but you have never been helpless, nor was anyone you love destroyed . . . Were they?” Jarrick inched closer to Ingrid. The chair pressed against the back of her knees as she leaned away.
Has he known all along they were all alive? Of course, he did. “You let me believe they were dead.”
Since arriving in Alfheim, Ingrid had been powerless. Jarrick brought her there. Who else could have done anything to her? Urkon perhaps? How could he have done that? He didn’t meet me until the dinner.
“Has it occurred to you that perhaps the only person in your way, is you?” Jarrick said with a cocked brow.
Ingrid huffed. “It doesn’t matter if you tell me. Whatever you did, I’ll fight it. Some abilities have already returned. You can’t keep me imprisoned forever.”
Jarrick looked amused. “Perhaps not, but you’re here now. Keep your weapon; it matters not. What’s more important here is Urkon and how he’s affecting plans to bind the spell for Midgard. We need to stop him.”
It was hard for Ingrid to believe that Jarrick had nothing to do with her trapped magic. It was harder to believe that he was on her side instead of Urkon’s.
When she didn’t speak, Jarrick took her silence for acceptance and her approval.
“If I help, what do you want me to do?” An alliance with Jarrick would help stop Urkon, and that fit into Ingrid’s plan. It would also buy her more time to discover what Jarrick was up to. What else does he want?
“I don’t think we need to discuss all the details right now,” Jarrick stepped away from Ingrid and paced to the end of the bed. He ran a finger along the furs again before facing her once more. “I’m relieved he’s alive, too, you know. Voxx was careful . . . just like I asked.”
Jarrick said nothing more and left Ingrid stunned as he strode through the door.
What did he mean ‘like he asked’? He told Voxx to keep Jorg alive? Yet, he had no problem killing all the others.
Plopping into the chair, Ingrid let her hands fall into her lap while still holding the wooden knife. What was she to do now? First thing was to finish her weapons. Since Jarrick knew about them, she didn’t need to hide, but she certainly needed more than one.
The nights were darker in the mountains. Though the wards on the windows kept out the cold, Ingrid wrapped herself in a fur blanket. She stared at the swirling snow and pointed peaks. The memory of Jorg’s face, surprised and hopeful, filled her heart with joy. Before long, her thoughts would dash against the cold stones of Jarrick’s words.
How could she contemplate believing him about Urkon? She knew Urkon was terrible, but she had a hard time accepting that Jarrick could disagree with his mentor. Quarn had said it was the prince who’d overseen the ruvar army, not Urkon. The master hadn’t understood what Ingrid spoke of when she told him about it, but deception was what he was good at. That could have been an act. She’d proven herself naïve too many times to think they weren’t playing her for a fool again.
The truth was, she couldn’t trust either of them. The question remained who should die first. If Urkon had so much influence over Jarrick, perhaps he would be the wisest choice. If someone cuts off a snake’s head, the body still writhes, but it can’t bite anymore.
How? How could she do it?
Would it be as easy as catching him unaware with one of her newly shaped weapons?
She’d done
a good job with scrubbing the wooden knives against the stone fireplace until the tips were sharp and the handles were smooth. She now had four. One under the covers of the bed, another behind the basket of kindling, and two strapped to herself.
She’d torn a hole in the seam of her trousers and tied one to her thigh, letting her long tunic hide the opening. The one along her spine between her shoulder blades was trickier, but she fashioned a simple sheath inside her tunic.
Then there were also the spikes. She wore them in her hair as if they were decoration, like long tapered needles easy to access and plunge into vulnerable areas. Ingrid huffed a laugh. Without access to her magic, she’d become more resourceful than she might have been.
Now—when should I use them?
She sat in the chair near the fireplace again and stared into the dark space, playing absently with the rune pouch around her neck. She shivered from under the fur around her shoulders, even though the wind didn’t come through the windows. The chill could have possibly been from planning to kill someone, but she figured it was more than likely the cold. At least, that’s what she told herself. It was one thing to kill in the middle of battle when your life was in immediate danger, but it was another to plan someone’s death ahead of time.
She didn’t like it, but she wouldn’t shy away from what needed to be done either. Thinking of her family gave her courage. They were off to find somewhere new to settle and rebuild their lives. Jorg and Selby were alive, but what about Plintze? She longed to share the good news with Galwain, but then thought about her other son, Bremen. Had he escaped the courtyard inferno?
Ingrid shivered again. Could she handle a fire? She wondered if starting it herself would make a difference. Maybe it would help her put aside the reminder of dragon’s fire that came along with the smell and the flash of the flame.
Slipping to her knees, she pulled out some smaller pieces of kindling to lie over the shavings she’d thrown in there earlier. A flint starter sat on the mantle, and she held it in her hand for a few slow breaths before she sucked in deep and struck it. When the thin line of smoke curled from within the pile, she sat back on her heels and watched. Slowly, it grew thicker, and small crackles grumbled with pleasure as the shavings succumbed to the glowing embers. The scent reached Ingrid, and a light whimper escaped her throat.
Determined to watch as the flames popped into existence, she rubbed her temples to relieve the dizziness that made her sway. Before too long, she needed to add larger logs to the awakened firebox. Carefully, she set one and then another within the orange flicker.
Her stomach fluttered but didn’t rebel. The dizziness passed, and a single tear slipped down her cheek as she remembered all the men in the courtyard when she left. Men who fought from Bremen’s homeland and those who came to destroy them—his grandfather’s men. Jorg’s grandfather, too. None of them needed to die, and it was possible that not all of them had.
As the flames grew stronger, so did she.
The past was gone. It was time to move forward.
Ingrid released a slow exhale and hugged herself, rubbing her arms for warmth. The blanket had fallen from her shoulders, but the flames gave off plenty of heat.
Why am I still cold?
The surrounding air chilled further. Ingrid gasped and sprung to her feet, twisting to face the door. Standing inside her room was Aguane. The sylph’s jewel-like eyes sparkled, and she held a finger to her lips.
30
Jorg
Jorg followed the elf through several corridors and down two different stairways. They finally left the palace from a lower level and headed toward several long buildings. If they didn’t have flat rooftops, their size might have allowed them to be mistaken for longhouses. The smell of manure and hay increased as they neared the first set of dwellings.
“It’s back here beyond the stables,” the elf said.
Jorg didn’t answer but kept a wary eye out. Knowing he’d followed a stranger in a foreign land without question weighed heavy on his mind.
What am I doing? Getting to Ingrid while bringing no more harm to the others, that’s what. If this leads to a fight, I wouldn’t mind that either.
The duo rounded the stables and entered another long building. Inside, there were rows of beds stacked two high along the length of each wall. The center of the room was left open for a walkway.
Jorg had never seen such an arrangement. There wasn’t a hearth fire or tables, nor were there any places for lounging as there would be in a longhouse like he’d grown up in. This seemed to be a place meant only for sleeping, albeit for a lot of bodies. Jorg counted the beds; eighteen per side, doubled was seventy-two, yet the room was empty.
“Where is everyone?” he asked, slowing to allow more space between the elf and himself. The closed in space and the possibility of being outnumbered had him questioning his need of a fight.
“This unit is out on patrol. It’ll be empty until morning.” The elf stopped three bunks ahead at the end of the row and waited for Jorg.
Deciding it was better to hang back, Jorg stopped as well. “So now what? I thought you were showing me how to get to the pass.”
“I am, but you need to speak to someone first. It’s just through here.” The elf pointed with his chin toward a door in the building’s side, past where the elf leaned against the bed’s frame, waiting.
“I’ll follow you,” Jorg said.
There had been too many times in Jorg’s childhood that groups of bullies had ambushed him after someone had noticed his ears. He recognized the conditions, though this time, he wondered if it was because of his human side. With a deep breath, he prepared himself for what he knew was about to come, hoping it was a manageable number.
The door opened, and Jorg saw just the top of an elf’s head as he sauntered into the room followed by others. Jorg counted six before he focused on who came into view. Dúngarr smirked at Jorg.
“Congratulations. I wasn’t sure you’d have the smarts to figure it out. Since you followed this far, I expected you to come all the way,” Dúngarr said.
“Looks like I’m not the only fool here then.”
“Careful. You’re outnumbered, and you’ll only leave here if I allow it.” As Dúngarr spoke, Jorg heard footsteps behind him.
How could I be this stupid? He inhaled and stared at the floor for a heartbeat before squaring his shoulders and meeting Dúngarr’s stare. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“See, now that’s why you’re here,” Dúngarr said and stepped closer. The men behind him followed, and Jorg glanced over his shoulder. The gap front and back closed to two paces each way. “You’re a fighter. Ready to jump in and get a job done. That’s what I like about you. Because of that, I’m willing to make you a deal.”
“I want nothing from you.” What was his angle? What did Dúngarr have to gain by making any deals?
“Really?” Dúngarr lifted his brows to a high arch. “I’d have figured a chance to be with Ingrid would be worth more to you after all the effort you’ve put in to get here.”
“Where is she?” I should have known you’d use her. “Tell me where she is, and we won’t have a problem here.” I can at least make it worth their while.
Jorg didn’t believe they’d kill him. The king knew he was here, and that would cause too many problems for Jarrick. It also seemed unlikely that Dúngarr would make such a move against him if Jarrick knew he was here. He might not even know Jorg was alive.
“You can listen to what I have to say or not. Either way, whatever you decide works for me. I win no matter what.”
“So, tell me and let’s get on with it.”
“I see it like this: somehow, you survived after Voxx turned that little hovel you called a fortress into rubble. Anyone who can do that is interesting. More importantly, you might have value to Prince Jarrick and Master Urkon. If you will join their cause and come with me to the castle, then I’d be willing to take you under my wing, teach you what it means to be a real elf.�
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Jorg smiled with a huff. Apparently, his father hadn’t been that excited to meet his son. He expected that someone in Dúngarr’s position would have known of his relationship to Jarrick. “So, you want to earn favor by bringing me into Jarrick’s army?”
“Prince Jarrick, halfling,” the elf who had lured Jorg in said.
“That’s all right, Alof. He doesn’t understand our ways yet. You can teach him later,” Dúngarr said, and Alof’s face split into a wide grin.
Jorg shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, Dúngarr. I would have thought you held a higher position with the prince,” Jorg exaggerated Jarrick’s title with a mock bow. “I wouldn’t trust you either. Making a play to earn his confidence—that makes sense for someone like you. A simple henchman, doing all the dirty work, who wants to improve his position—I get it. But you’re missing important details.”
Dúngarr’s attitude made a swift turn. He clenched his fists at his side and curled his lip in a snarl. “Careful. You might be stronger and faster than those little humans in your realm, but you’ll find things different here.”
“I’ve been looking forward to a challenge, testing out the way things work. Seems like fun.” Jorg relaxed his shoulders and prepared himself. “Don’t you even want to find out what I might know that you don’t?”
There was a momentary flick of Dúngarr’s brows, and hesitation at the prospect of hearing what Jorg might say, but then it disappeared. Which was fine by Jorg. He looked forward to the chance to release his pent-up anger, especially on Dúngarr. It wasn’t a time for weapons. This was a test of strength and fortitude.
“What could you possibly think you know that I don’t? Nothing happens in this realm without my knowledge.” Dúngarr stepped forward out of the crowd to stand in front of Jorg. “Giants will be here soon—in the next couple days. Prince Jarrick has made a bargain with them for when Midgard opens. You’ll want to ally with the right side. Information is what I deal in, as Ingrid knows well. We had a nice chat about it in her room—just the two of us.”
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