by Evie Byrne
“No, no!” She blanched, understanding his fear. “That’s not what I mean.”
“That’s what it sounds like. Once Adad knows this, she will want to herd us up, lock us away, use us.”
“That’s—” She hesitated, on the edge of denial, and then raised her hands in resignation. She had no illusions about her boss. “Okay. That’s one scenario, I suppose. But that’s not the only way this can play out. If it goes the way I want, you’ll stay here. Brunnrheim will be safe. You’ll have everything you want. Do you trust me?”
Chapter Seventeen
Wat steered the snowmobile onto the road to Brunnrheim. The road had been plowed, and several sets of tire tracks headed toward the village. Wat didn’t say anything, but gunned it, taking advantage of the open road to make speed. Eva wished she could wrap her arms around him—whether to comfort him or herself, she wasn’t sure—but she kept her hands on the grab bar. He was already enduring enough pain. Wat wasn’t well enough to be out of bed, not healed enough even to be wearing clothing, but nothing could keep him from home. She told herself he could rest when they got there, and get the care he needed. From there on, it would be her show.
Suddenly, Wat stopped the machine. He eased himself out of the seat like an old man and hobbled into the road to examine the ground.
“Tracks.” He pointed up and down the road. “Three of my people—Bera is one of them, good—and some of our dogs. Two of your men. They’re searching for us.”
“That means they’re cooperating.”
Wat studied the tracks some more. Eva tried, but couldn't make out anything from the mess. Wat said, “Your men aren’t searching. They’re guarding. Trailing my people, watching. Probably have their guns drawn.”
“Not necessarily. They don’t have any tracking skills, so maybe they’re just along to observe and confirm what your people report.”
Wat didn’t look convinced. He also looked like crap—his face was reduced to gaunt hollows, the skin red and peeling. Deprived of sufficient food to rebuild, his body was devouring itself in order to heal. She said, “Let’s just get back.”
A fleet of parked SUVs blocked the road leading to the hidden gate. Ten more than her original caravan. They’d brought a small army.
All the vehicles were unattended, as was the gate, but there was no sign of fighting. No one came running at the sound of their engine. She and Wat exchanged a worried glance and abandoned the snowmobile in silent agreement. They’d walk in quietly, get a feel for the situation.
None of the houses or outbuildings burned lights. No smoke curled from the chimneys. There was no movement, no noise, no life at all. Even the dogs were gone. Wat stuck off straight toward the Grove, the place his people would gather in extremity.
Eva glanced at the stars for comfort—and stopped in her tracks. A lurid green curtain of light obscured a patch of stars in the northern sky. It seemed to wave in a cosmic breeze. “What in the hell is that?”
“The northern lights. Aurora borealis,” Wat said, distracted.
“That’s what they look like?” She never thought they would be fluorescent green--or that they would look like God’s shower curtain.
“Not much of a show, but then, it’s not really the right season.” He paused. “Come to think of it, maybe it’s a sign.”
“A good sign?”
Wat lifted a shoulder. “A sign of big doings, for good or ill.”
While they spoke, the curtain expanded, both in length and breadth, until it covered the entire northern horizon. Eva stood, spellbound, until Wat said. “Let’s keep walking.”
They continued on, their gloved hands swinging side by side, almost touching. She risked contact with him, just a light brush of his glove, because her heart was beating up her throat, and she was as frightened for him as she was nervous for herself. In response, he caught her hand and held it tight, even though it had to hurt like hell.
And it was that moment that she knew she loved him.
Fuck. What did she know about love? It was impossible to fall in love so fast, especially for a vamp with an atrophied heart, like hers. But in those long hours by his side, watching him suffer, she’d realized that he’d become important to her, that in some mysterious way, his pains had become hers—as well as his joys. She wanted to see his crooked half-smile again. She wanted to make him laugh. But there’d be no smiling for a long time—none at all if she failed.
Though he held her hand, he kept his gaze straight ahead, fixed and intent, as if he could visualize what was happening in the Grove by willpower alone. She reviewed her arguments, plans and contingencies, as if cramming for a final exam. It was the longest short walk she’d ever taken.
They passed the last house and the meadow opened up before them. A disciplined troop of about fifty foot soldiers from L.A. formed a half circle around the entrance to the Grove. Standing at the entrance—blocking it?—were Gunnar, Ivar, and Maren. No other Brunnrheimers were visible.
Wat hesitated for just second. She heard his deep inhale, and then he limped forward. Now would be the time to let him go, if she had any intention of playing the Hand, but she couldn’t do it. She wanted to hold on to him as long as she could. Someone noticed them. The alert spread, so that all heads turned to watch them cross the meadow toward the standoff. Her men parted, opening up the line to let them pass though, their faces confused and wary.
Eva could taste the hot tension in the air. Collins had taken command in her absence. He stood inside the line and seemed to have been addressing Gunnar. Now he watched her approach, his face a study in impassivity. Like her, like all of Eva’s troops, he hid his reactions behind what Wat called a stone face. By walking with her hand in Wat’s, she’d thrown her cards on the table. Collins would be scrambling to frame a response.
Gunnar did not smile to see Wat, did not run up to him, as he might have a few days ago. Instead, he looked very grave, very calm—and much taller than he’d been when she’d last seen him. She realized he’d stopped sulking and was standing up straight. The effect was remarkable. What a prince! I wonder what he’s been saying to Collins?
Ivar kept his attention on Gunnar and Collins with the fixed intensity of a shaggy, black birddog. Only Maren’s face softened a little. She gave them a sly wink. Wat released Eva’s hand. She missed his grip, but knew she had to do what came next alone.
Collins recovered from his shock. “Ma’am,” he said, but didn’t salute. “We feared you were dead.”
Eva gave him her most level stare, hiding her exhaustion and uncertainty. “We had an accident and were pinned down by the storm. Report, Collins.”
“With due respect, I’m in charge of this operation now.”
“You outrank a Hand?”
“I’ve been given command.”
“On the assumption of my death. Your orders are no longer valid.”
“My orders were to assume command if you were dead or otherwise unfit to command.” His eyes flicked to Wat and back. The thinnest of smiles tightened his lips. “You are unfit to command. You are obviously compromised.”
Eva’s upper lip twitched as her teeth extended. “Unfit?”
Striking fast, she grabbed his balls with her left hand. He doubled over in pain, giving her access to his neck. She pressed a sharp nail into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. A little more pressure, and the big vein there would split. She whispered in his ear, “Keep your pants on, you ambitious little fuck. I’ve got information for Eva that she would kill for. A game changer. So cut the attitude, and get behind me.” Saying this, she released him with a shove.
A safe distance from her, he straightened, licking his teeth to retract them. “I hope you’re right, Sosa, because Alya’s pissed, and she doesn’t like traitors.” He lifted his chin toward the southern horizon. “You can tell her all about it in person.”
Her attention directed, she could hear, very faintly, the distant chop-chop of a helicopter. She wanted to wail in despair. Not now! These asshole
s she could deal with, but she didn’t want to face Alya. Not yet.
Collins grinned. “This is going to be fun.”
Eva narrowed her eyes at him. “Watch and learn.” Prick.
Wat heard the helicopter, too. The thought of Alya Adad setting foot on Brunnrheim’s soil made his lip curl in disgust. This couldn’t be good. Eva, bristling with anger, reviewed her troops, reestablishing her authority one man at a time. He hoped she could pull off whatever she planned. He hoped he wouldn’t collapse before he saw her do it.
Striding up to the entrance of the Grove, she said, “Is everybody in there, Gun? The whole village?”
Gunnar gave a cautious nod. Wat looked past Gunnar’s shoulder and saw some of his people pressing forward to peek between Ivar and Maren.
Eva said, “They need to come out now. Unarmed. But not in surrender, I promise.”
“Laying down arms is the same thing as surrendering,” Gunnar said carefully, as if being tested.
“Not necessarily.” Eve rubbed her forehead. “Okay. I don’t have time to argue it. Will they come out with their weapons lowered, and keep them down?”
“Unless they’re drawn on?”
“Yes.”
“What do you need them out for?” Ivar asked.
Eva pointed skyward. “Alya Adad is coming. I need her to see how few of you there are, and what kind of people you are. Basically, she needs to see that you’re no big threat. Sorry, but that’s the truth. If you’re all holed up, she’ll suspect the worst.”
“That’s convenient for her, but we can defend ourselves in there,” Ivar gestured back to the Grove. “Hard to give that up, you understand.”
“Listen to me. There will be no fighting today. No fighting ever again. Not after I talk to her. I’m going to make a deal so you can stay here.”
Wat heard surprised murmuring within the Grove. The foot soldiers from L.A. remained impassive, but they’d heard, too. Eva had pitched her voice so that everyone could hear.
Gunnar frowned. “You’re going to speak on our behalf? By what right?”
Wat figured it was time he exerted himself. He lurched forward. “I recommend she speak for us.”
In a low voice, Ivar said, “And what the hell happened to you, anyway?”
Maren called back into the Grove. “Get Mathilde, quick. Wat’s burnt. Tell her to bring her kit.”
Wat said, “I’ll tell you what happened later. I hurt, but I’m right in my head. That’s all that matters. Listen to Eva.” He swayed on his feet. Ivar caught him by the elbow.
A voice in the Grove, too muffled for him to recognize, called out in their language, “Why should we let her speak for us?”
He couldn’t explain. Couldn’t think fast enough.
“Huh, Wat?” called another voice, also speaking the old tongue. “What did she do to you? You gone over to their side?”
Mathilde slid between Maren and Ivar, carrying her big box of medicines, took one look at him, and said, “You've got to sit down, Wat, before you fall.”
Wat shook his head. Eva was staring up at him, worried. They had to understand. He pointed at her and spoke in English. “This woman is of The Way. She is one of us.”
Voices murmured in the Grove, humming low, like an upset beehive. Gunnar looked incredulous. The underling who’d assumed command—Collins— looked pleased to hear this. Eva widened her eyes at Wat a little, pleading for explanation, and mouthed, “The Way?”
Before he could say anything, she turned, as if she’d heard her name called. For a moment she stared at the Spring, a few yards off, transfixed. But there was no one there, just the water splashing over the rocks, as always. Shivers ran down Wat’s spine. Eva jerked into motion, hurrying to the Spring.
Next to him, Mathilde froze with her fingers dipped in a jar of burn salve, her mouth agape. All the soldiers in the meadow rotated on their heels to watch Eva. Half of Brunnrheim pressed forward out of the Grove so they could see, too. They all watched as she held a discussion something unseen and unheard. They all watched as she knelt before the Spring and splashed her face three times with falling water—as the Brunnrheimers knew the ritual required. She spread her hands and raised her face skyward. Behind her, the wavering green aurora began to shift to a brilliant pink.
Collins laughed, holding his phone out in front of him. Wat frowned at him, wondering what he was doing. “I’m getting it all on night vision,” he said to one of the soldiers next to him. “Every bit of the crazy. She’s finished.”
At the same moment, Eva reached into the stone bowl and pulled out a small bright knife with a curved blade. Wat had returned that knife to his grandmother's dresser himself, just before he left with Eva.
“I am the Guardian of the Spring!” Eva shouted as she thrust the knife skyward. It caught the light of the aurora’s false dawn.
It was really happening. It didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be real. It was more like a dream, one of those dreams where he was performing in a play and forgot his lines.
No, I know my lines. I know what comes next. He turned to Gunnar, who had gone wide-eyed. Wat coughed, got his attention, and then nodded encouragingly. Say your part, boy. Ivar understood. He leaned forward and whispered in Gun’s ear.
Properly cued, Gunnar shouted for all to hear, “By what right does she claim to be Guardian of the Spring?”
Wat sighed in relief. “By right of marriage,” he responded, striding forward, pain and exhaustion forgotten.
Eva turned when she heard this, shocked, knife at the ready. His mouth quirked. Seemed she always had a knife in her hand.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“To be the Guardian you have to be married—to me.” He took hold of her free hand.
“But—that’s—Hetta told me I was Guardian. She didn’t say anything about getting married.”
As he’d suspected, his grandmother was there, guiding her. “You’re chosen, yes. But you have to marry me to seal the deal. Marry me now, Eva.”
Her mouth fell open. She shook her head in automatic denial. He’d never seen her so surprised, so disarmed.
“This is like ice skating,” he said, very low. “We can’t look down. If we hesitate, we fall.”
The helicopter was close now, a constant growl in the background.
“But it’s pretend, right? Right?”
His grandmother materialized, standing behind Eva’s shoulder, wearing the white apron of the Guardian. She gave him an acerbic, impatient smile and folded her hands, prepared to witness.
“This isn’t pretend.” All the events of the past days flooded his mind, and he saw how they’d led unerringly and unavoidably to this point, this perfect moment. He raised their linked hands and bit into the base of her thumb, piercing her sweet flesh, drinking the blood that rose to his lips. As before, the taste of her made him reel. “Do the same,” he gasped, pushing their clasped hands to her mouth.
She caught his hand and met his eyes. The certainty he felt was reflected in her face. Her beautiful face. It glowed in the aurora’s uncanny light. She made an identical wound on his palm and sipped, her eyelids fluttering with pleasure. His blood leapt in his veins. It wanted to flood into her. At the same time, he craved to taste her again. But she demurely flicked her tongue over the wound on his hand, stopping the flow, and he reciprocated.
His amma nodded in approval and made a sign of blessing. Eva looked between her and him, questioning.
“We’re wed, my love.”
“What? You mean—that’s it?”
He nodded. “All that’s needful.”
Hetta said, “Offer the Spring your blade. Now, girl. You can moon at him later.” Wat smiled at the familiar, beloved, cantankerous voice, even as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. After all, he’d lit her pyre.
The helicopter bobbed and hovered above the Grove now, the noise deafening. Despite that, his people jostled around the Spring—around him and Eva— ignoring the threat descen
ding on them.
Eva approached the waters. The wind from the helicopter whipped her hair around her head. It made the trees sway and creak and sent snow flying sideways in twisting flurries. The light from the north was now so strong that the soldiers squinted and shielded their faces with their arms, afraid it would burn them, like the sun. Eva plunged the knife into the crystal waters, and they turned to red, rich blood.
The people shouted with joy, and the boldest ran forward to drink.
His amma smiled at him, satisfied at last. “A warm hearth and many children,” her voice whispered in his ear as she faded away.
He sent a thought after her: I’m glad you could attend my wedding.
The helicopter was settling down on the far side of the meadow. Eva returned to his side.
“I am the Guardian of the Spring,” she said to him, her voice quiet with assurance, the power of the waters latent in her eyes.
“You’re the living embodiment of both the Spring and the Grove. You have the right to treat for our people. So go do it.”
She nodded, her expression somber, focused, and she headed toward the chopper.
Collins followed on her heels, waving at a group of men to follow him in turn. Whether they were escorting her or guarding her was unclear—they probably didn’t even know themselves.
Wat wanted to follow, but found his limbs weren’t listening to him anymore. He didn’t blame them. Ivar and Gunnar appeared on either side of him, got their shoulders under his arms, and stumped him across the meadow.
“You crazy son-of-a-bitch,” said Ivar. “Let’s hope you live to enjoy your wedding night.”
Gunnar said, “What’s going on?”
Wat laughed. Never had he been so full of hope and fear at once. “Destiny, she’s going on. That’s what.”
The remainder of the L.A. troops, lacking both orders and a clear leader, shrugged and headed toward the helicopter, the Brunnrheimers behind them. Northerner and Southerner mixed into one swarming crowd, forming a train behind Eva, a giant comma inscribed on the white field.