by S. T. Bende
Seriously, what was wrong with me?
With a shaky breath, I unwrapped my arms from my knees, tried to forget about the fluttering appendages at my back, and reached up to take Viggo’s hand. A fresh wave of heat shot from my palm up my arm, sending a jolt to my heart. Knock it off, heart. In typical fashion, my body ignored me.
“Now stand back.” Viggo helped me up before releasing my hand. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t hurt me.”
Viggo chuckled. “Just watch.”
In one swift movement Viggo pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a lightly tanned chest filled from shoulder to waist with muscles. Holy. Freaking. Helheim. Thick pecs gave way to six distinctly defined abdominal muscles, which narrowed to a slim V at his waist. His biceps flexed as he tucked his shirt into his back pocket, and the thick muscles along his shoulders popped when he pulled one arm in front of the other in a stretch.
Not that I noticed.
Viggo’s biceps flexed again as he made fists at his sides. With a wink, he did something that sent me into such a state of shock, I took a step back.
“Shut up,” I whispered. My training partner stood over me, as irritatingly handsome as he’d always been. Only now he was framed by an enormous pair of sheer, silver wings.
Viggo Sörensson was a winged freak, just like me.
“You have them, too?” My chest shuddered with a shaky inhale.
“We’re two of a kind, Glitre.” Viggo offered his hand again. This time when I took it, he pulled me in with enough force to draw me against him. My breath caught as we stood chest to chest. Viggo’s eyes lightened to a mint green. He took a slow breath, and his torso expanded against mine. Oh. My. Gods. My heart pounded so forcefully, I was sure he could hear it. This was wrong. My jerk-face training partner was sneaking around the forest, sprouting wings, and, worst of all, being nice to me. And my stupid heart was acting like a total stereotype.
“I need to deal with this whole wing thing,” I declared. Among other things.
“Want to take a walk?” Viggo tilted his head toward a thicket of trees.
“I guess.”
“Try not to sound too excited.” Viggo’s dimple popped again. Stupid dimple.
Viggo walked away and I followed, only because I’d never been in this part of the forest before. We traveled in silence for a good minute, keeping a careful space between us. My traitorous heart kept pulling me toward Viggo, a ping of electricity shooting through me with each accidental brush of my shimmering wings against his silver ones.
Viggo walked us to a moss-covered wall, then turned the dimple in my direction. “After you,” he offered.
“You want me to climb that wall? Or am I supposed to fly up it? Because obviously, I don’t know how to use the wings.”
“Walk through it, Aura.” Viggo pulled the ivy to the side, revealing a small cave. I raised an eyebrow. “Fine.” Viggo sighed. “I’ll go first.”
I followed him into the dark space. “Hey, I hear . . . a river?”
“Not quite. Keep walking.” The voice came from somewhere in front of me.
“Oof!” I stumbled on what I hoped was a rock, and my face planted into Viggo’s wings. Double ping. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
“You need me to carry you?”
“No.” I quickly straightened up. Thank the gods it was dark in that cave. If the heat on the back of my neck was any indication, I was ten different shades of red.
“We’re almost there, anyway. Look.” Viggo kept moving toward a sliver of light. It grew as we walked, and by the time we emerged from the cave, I understood what he’d meant.
“It’s not a river. It’s a waterfall!” I gaped at the thick watery wall cascading in front of me. That thing was huge.
“Ever seen the back side of water?”
“Nope.”
“Looks like this is a big day for you, then.” Viggo’s dimple popped again. This time, I couldn’t help but smile back. “Hold on to me on the hike down. The path is pretty slick, and you’re not wearing any shoes. You know, because you threw them at me.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Ignoring the protest in my brain, I reached out to grip Viggo’s hand. A fresh surge of heat shot straight to my stupid heart, but I ignored it in the name of safety and kept my eyes on the ground. Viggo’s boots made sure-footed steps along the moss-covered rocks, and my shoeless feet only slipped once as we scaled down the mountain. I silently cursed myself for chucking my footwear—though I doubted the academy-issued heels would have been much help climbing slippery stones—and sent gratitude to the rocks for only cutting my toes once. When we reached the bottom, I pulled my hand away from Viggo’s and looked up.
What I saw took my breath away.
The waterfall was easily a hundred feet tall, cascading down a lush, flower-dusted rock formation. Soft white clouds of mist billowed where the falls hit a pristine blue pond. The pond was moderately sized, maybe two hundred feet in diameter, and it was surrounded by every conceivable kind of tree—towering red-barked giants nestled behind white-trunked behemoths, with silver-leaved weeping willows claiming the spots near the water. Tropical plants bordered the pond, their brightly colored flowers waving in the slight breeze. The whole thing was an ecological anomaly—there was no way species this divergent would live in one climate back on Midgard. And yet here they fit together, a beautifully unexpected scene inside a forest full of surprises.
Alfheim was gorgeous. Unpredictably, heart-stoppingly, unpretentiously gorgeous. Sure, intolerance was choking the light from vast parts of the realm. But this piece of landscape, and, gods willing, more like it, had survived. An untouched piece of beauty that escaped the fighting, the bigotry, the contention of Alfheim’s political upheaval. It was proof that, when left to itself, our realm could not only persevere, but thrive.
For the first time since I’d landed here, I felt like things might actually be okay.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Viggo looked down at me. “Aura, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I wiped the moisture under my nose.
Seriously, what is wrong with me?
“Let’s talk.” Viggo crossed to one of the willows. He sat in its shade, patting the ground beside him. I blinked. “I’m not going to bite.”
“I know that.” I rolled my eyes and stomped bare-footed across the grass. When I reached Viggo, I tilted my torso from side to side, trying to figure out how to sit with three-foot-high anomalies protruding from my back.
“Raise your shoulders,” Viggo advised. “The teachers say energy follows intention, right? Your wings are no different. They’ll read your intention and lift themselves out of the way. But if you do sit on them, it won’t hurt. They’re just cartilage and tissue; they’re pretty malleable. And when you want to retract them, pull your shoulders forward and intend they disappear. They’ll fold right up and settle against your shoulder blades.”
“You know an awful lot about wings,” I said as I raised my shoulders. Sure enough, my unwanted appendages rose enough to let me sit cross-legged in the flowers.
“I’ve had mine longer than you.” Viggo leaned back on his elbows, and his wings adjusted neatly.
Show-off.
“When did you get them?” I wasn’t nearly coordinated enough to try the lean-back thing. Instead, I pressed my fingers against the grass and dug into the soft earth.
“About a year before I left Svartalfheim. My parents had already been assassinated when the army took down my Protektor. The soldiers deduced he’d have been protecting one of Alfheim’s Keys, so they began hunting me. One of them got close to the cave I was hiding in, so I took off. I ran all the way to the top of one of the volcanoes, but one soldier stuck to my trail. He closed in, and my choices were to let him capture me or jump into the crater.”
“That’s awful.”
“It sucked,” Viggo agreed. “Jumping was suicide, but I’d have rather died than give myself over to the dark elves. I’d heard rumors about wha
t they did to prisoners, and I figured Valhalla would take me if I died protecting Alfheim’s secrets—or what little I knew of them, anyway. So, I jumped.”
“But you’re not dead.”
Viggo shrugged. “My wings popped mid-air and carried me to a cave on the far side of the realm. It took me a while to figure out how to use them, but at that point I had nothing but time. I thought I’d need my Protektor to get back into Alfheim, and since he was dead I assumed I’d be stranded on Svartalfheim for life. Then Ondyr found me and things changed.”
“Who’s that?” I reached out to touch a flower that looked like a glowing, purple daisy. It coated my fingertips in a shimmering plum-hued dust.
“Ondyr is a dark elf who’s about our age. We became friends when he helped me fake my death.” Viggo sounded so casual, I thought I’d misheard him.
“He did what?”
Viggo tipped his face to the sun. Beams filtered through the palm-sized leaves on the willow, dappling his face in pale yellow light. “He found me when I was scavenging for water. I thought I was as good as dead—at that point, all of Svartalfheim knew there was a light elf hiding in the realm, and there was a pretty hefty reward for anyone who turned me in. But Ondyr didn’t tell anyone he’d seen me. He went home and came back with some food. I really appreciated it. All the protein sources had migrated to the northern region for the dry season, and I’d been hungry for a while.”
“But how did he help you fake your death?” I pressed.
“When Ondyr caught word of scouts doing a sweep of the caves near mine, he got hold of a bipedal carcass that was about my build, stripped it, and left the bones in the desert so it appeared it had been picked off by pterafugls.”
“By what?”
“Pterafugls—Svartish birds. They’re scavengers. And before you ask, no, I did not ask where Ondyr got a hold of the carcass.”
I shuddered. “Why would he help you? Why didn’t he turn you in for the reward?”
Viggo lowered his chin. “Because he wanted out. His life was a nightmare—still is. His mom checked out years ago, and his dad’s a tyrant who’s obsessed with destroying Alfheim. His grandparents didn’t exactly get the nurturing gene, and he doesn’t have any siblings. He’s a good guy in a lousy situation, and he wants something better.” Viggo tilted his head back to the sun and closed his eyes. “Too bad the barrier would shoot him straight back to Svartalfheim, even if he could find a way to get here.”
The spark of understanding flared. “That’s who you’re talking to in the hologram. Ondyr.”
“Beautiful and smart. You’re the whole package, aren’t you, Glitre?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re trying to help him get into Alfheim?”
“I am.” Viggo opened his eyes. He shifted so his weight was on one elbow. “Are you going to stop me?”
“With everything that’s going on, looking for a way past the barrier is the last thing you should be doing,” I said.
“But?” One corner of Viggo’s mouth quirked up.
“Signy says we have warriors stationed around the realm who could stop legitimate hostiles from entering. And the Empati could discern ill-intentions in potential newcomers if we asked them to. We don’t need a stupid blockade to keep out everyone who wasn’t born here.”
“Why, Princess, I do believe you’re smarter than the queen.” Viggo chuckled.
“Don’t call me that,” I warned. “And that’s not saying much. That barrier only exists because my mom fell in love with a dark elf. From the little I know about him, he was like Ondyr—a good guy in a bad situation. He loved my mom and wanted to build a life with her away from his family, and the darkness of his birth realm. But my grandmother made sure that never happened.”
Viggo’s wings stilled behind him. “So, your dad’s from Svartalfheim.”
Oh, crêpes.
I gripped the daisy so hard, my fingertips crushed its petals. R.I.P., daisy. Tossing the deceased flower aside, I drew a shaky breath and met Viggo’s eyes. “Yeah. Or he was, before his family had him killed. I’m not a full-blooded light elf. I’m half dark elf, too.”
My chest hitched with the effort of breath. It was the first time I’d admitted what I was out loud, to anyone but Signy.
Viggo and I locked eyes, each waiting for the other to make the next move. When it became apparent no action was forthcoming from his end, I feigned nonchalance. “If you want a new training partner, that’s okay.”
Viggo’s eyebrows knitted together. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I’m, well . . .” My gaze dropped to the broken daisy in the grass.
Warm fingers pressed gently beneath my chin. “You’re you, Aura. Don’t ever apologize for being who you are.”
My heart thumped violently as I exhaled in relief. Viggo and I weren’t besties, or even friends, really. But he was my primary contact in the Verge program. I’d spent more one-on-one hours with him in the training center than I had with any other classmate. We might not have been close, but it would have sucked if my family tree had sent him packing.
“I’m not sorry for who I am,” I corrected. “I’m just . . . I’m scared.”
Viggo’s eyes narrowed in concern. “Of what?”
Of everything. I wrapped my arms around my knees. “I’m the granddaughter of a bigot. I recently acquired an unwanted set of wings that I don’t know how to use. My best friend’s mom—who’s one of the few people I consider to be real family—is trapped on Midgard with the rest of her Protektor team, because of the severed tree branch. My parents are dead, my dad’s talking to me from beyond, and my dark elf uncle who tried to kill me once now wants to get his hands on the Sterkvart crystal so he can kill me for good and take over the realms. Oh, and my training partner’s been a real jerk up until today.”
“Good gods.”
“Yeah.” I blew out a breath.
“Well . . .” Viggo paused. “I’ll have a word with your training partner about the jerk thing. Sorry about him.”
“Thanks.”
“Seriously. I’m sorry you’ve been going through all of this.” Viggo released my chin. He slid his fingers along my cheek, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away a tear I hadn’t realized was there. A fresh surge of heat hit my heart. Hard.
“It’s okay.” I ignored the inferno. “Honestly, this is just . . . a lot.”
Viggo removed his hand from my face. My heart took its tap-dancing show on the road, morphing into a series of belly flutters.
Seriously, knock it off!
“I can’t help much with the family stuff, but I might be able to do something about the crystal . . . and that might help with some of your other, uh, concerns. I’ve been looking for it, too. In addition to preventing realm-wide destruction, and getting your friend’s mom home, returning the crystal to the tree will help me get Ondyr into Alfheim.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Well, the barrier prevents us from opening a portal between Svartalfheim and Alfheim, but we did work out a way to get him to Midgard. So, if we re-connect the crystal, then find a way to isolate and de-activate a spot in the barrier—which is easier with a Midgard transfer than a Svartalfheim one—then we can use the tree to bring Ondyr here. Which solves my Ondyr problem. It also solves your uncle problem, because if we get our hands on the crystal before he does, he won’t be able to get into Alfheim to kill you. Right?” Viggo spoke as if he was planning a trip to the market, not the extradition of a dark elf refugee and the subversion of a theft and attempted murder.
No biggie.
“Right.”
“Okay.” Viggo’s biceps popped as he talked through his plan—not that I noticed. “Obviously Svartalfheim knows all about our tree problem. Ondyr’s been keeping me apprised of the rumors through this.” He tapped the watch-like device on his wrist.
“Your com,” I confirmed.
“Correct. He’s heard that the dark elves are attempting to gain access to the crystal by u
sing someone on the inside—someone who convinced one of the tree’s caretakers to abandon her post long enough to steal the crystal. The dark elves have a Huldra.”
I tried to remember what Finna had said about those on my first day. They were Styra who’d chosen the darkness and . . . uh . . .
“What’s a Huldra again?”
Viggo let out a low whistle. “They’re some scary skit. They’re forest elves who are hot as Helheim, but twice as manipulative. And they’re realm jumpers. They can open portals and go wherever they want. Usually they’re only out for themselves, but the rumor going around Svartalfheim is that the Huldra who stole the crystal is a mercenary. And apparently, someone wanted the crystal enough to pay her fee.”
The hairs at the back of my neck prickled. “Do you think it was my uncle?”
“I hope not.” Viggo ran his fingertips along his jaw, massaging the muscle. I ignored my nonsensical urge to reach out and do it for him. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, especially with what you just told me about the guy. This could be really bad for you.”
“You can’t make things any worse than they already are.”
Viggo moved closer, so his knee brushed against mine. He took both of my hands in his and stared into my eyes. Breathe, Aura. In through the nose, out through the . . . gods, he smells good.
No, he doesn’t. Stop it.
“Huldras are soul suckers. It’s how they keep their immortality. They take whatever they need from their victims, then drain their bodies of energy. Their lifespan extends by the number of years they manage to leech out of their prey.”
What. The. Actual. Helheim?
“So, if this Huldra is working for my uncle, that means . . .”
Viggo squeezed my hands. “That means that your uncle doesn’t want to kill you himself. He’s going to trade you for the crystal . . . and the soul sucker will finish you off.”
Chapter 18
I WITHDREW ONE HAND from Viggo’s and held it up. “That doesn’t make sense. If the Huldra already stole the crystal, why hasn’t she given it to my uncle yet?”