Soul Marked: After the Fire Book 1

by C. Gockel

  Lionel’s brow furrows. He’d heard that only Loki and Odin were capable of that. For Loki it was, according to his former mistress, “a natural extension of his destructive tendencies, but it weakens Odin terribly.”

  Lionel holds this thought as the All Father continues, “But as you so tragically saw in your city, Loki became … deranged. I no longer have him to help me close gates. I’m overstretched trying to put down a violent uprising among the dwarves. The Frost Giants and Fire Giants are always on the brink of war with themselves, and it is a constant challenge to keep the violence from spilling over into the other realms.” He raises an eyebrow imperiously at Tara. “Including yours.”

  Lionel hears Tara gulp and shifts on his feet. He’s heard that Odin deliberately destabilizes the Frost and Fire Giants to keep them from becoming too powerful. He’s not sure if that is a horrible thing; the giants are brutal and savage creatures. His jaw shifts … of course, he’s heard that of humans, too.

  “I’m not sure how I could be of service,” Tara says.

  Odin beams at her. “Why, by doing what you’ve been doing. Keeping the people of Earth informed of new World Gates through your com-pu-ters and technology.” He waves a hand. “But on a much larger scale. It’s not just Chicago that suffers. There was, ah, an event … that ruptured time and space. World Gates will continue to open up at an unprecedented rate for the next few centuries. If you had access to, say, a magic device designed to detect new gates, you could carry on as you’ve been doing. But you’d be helping many more people, and openly, with impunity.”

  Tara takes a step forward, and Lionel could see the excitement in her eyes. “I would love that …” Her lips purse, and her eyes drop to the floor. “Although, I think if I had a magical device on Earth, it would most likely be confiscated from me, Sir.”

  “Which is why you’d be stationed here,” says Odin.

  “My mother—”

  “Needs to know where you are,” Odin responds. “Of course, you’d be allowed to visit … regularly … but I’d need you here.”

  Lionel’s heart beats faster, with hope too fragile to voice. Odin doesn’t keep mortals in Asgard.

  Tara’s lips part as though she is about to speak.

  The All Father says, “I need to get a com-pu-ter, have my office wi-red and learn to use the internets … I’m sure you’d be just the sort to teach me.”

  Tara clasps her hands in front of her and rocks on her feet. “Sir, I do want to help you, but I don’t know if a Wi-Fi signal would carry through a World Gate, if sir, it’s access to Earth’s internet that you want.”

  Lionel blinks at the “gibberish” but Odin nods. “It is. We’d need to establish a permanently open World Gate, a tricky thing. How big do you think it would have to be?”

  Lionel sees Tara bouncing a little on her feet, her eyes shining. “I don’t know, sir, but I’d love to find out! We’d need a hot spot on Earth somewhere—”

  Waving a hand, Odin says, “I’ve been meaning to establish some embassies at various Earth capitals.”

  “Oh! Oh!” Tara actually hops, and Lionel has to stifle a laugh at her pure joy. “That would work on the Earth end. I have no idea about the rest, sir, but … I’m sure there must be a way. We’d need electricity here.”

  “A magical object could be devised to generate electricity,” Lionel interjects.

  Tara smiles at him. “I’ve got a lot of experience wiring buildings and dealing with generators. It might take a little time, but I’m sure I could put something together.”

  Lionel smiles back. “And I’m very good at opening up World Gates. I could help you—”

  “No,” Odin cuts him off.

  Lionel looks at the All Father. Odin is frowning at him. “This is women’s magic, Lionel. To be a prince in this realm, you need to become better acquainted with swords.”

  Lionel’s mouth suddenly feels very dry. Asgardians are dismissive of men who practice magic—although their king is more powerful than even Alfheim’s Queen. Lionel’s former mistress had said Odin kept the general populace magically ignorant to cement his power. He fights the frown tugging at his lips. Odin will be learning Midgard’s magics if Tara installs their com-pu-ters in his office. He’ll be even more powerful …

  “I’m very good with a bow and a knife,” he manages to say. All farmer Light Elves near the border have to be, but Odin doesn’t appear to have heard. Turning back to Tara, the All Father says, “You’d take the oath of service to be entitled to the Apples of Idunn.”

  Lionel’s reservations about the All Father’s consolidation of power evaporate in an instant. He looks to Tara. Her lips are parted, and there is a crease in between her brows.

  “You’d live forever,” Lionel explains in a whisper. “You’ll never grow old.”

  “You’ll be a goddess,” Odin adds, the side of his mouth curling in a smile. “The Goddess of Internets and Forewarning, perhaps.”

  Tara’s mouth drops. “Oh,” she whispers. She takes a step back. “Oh.”

  She curtsies deeply, and Odin chuckles. Rising, she says, “Your Majesty, Sire, this is a lot to take in.”

  “Well, you may think about it until this evening.” He smiles kindly. “I will be leaving for Muspelheim on the morrow, so I’ll need your answer then.”

  Tara’s brows rise.

  “Land of the Fire Giants,” Lionel whispers, wondering what business Odin has there that he’d have to see to it personally.

  “You’ll save thousands, Ms. Gibson,” Odin says. “Forewarned is forearmed, and your people are resourceful enough to manage once they have warning.”

  Tara rises from her curtsy and there are stars in her eyes. There may be some in Lionel’s, too.

  “Now, Ms. Gibson,” Odin says. “I wonder if you might give me a little time with my son.”

  “Oh, yes, of course, Your Majesty.” The doors open behind her, and with another curtsy, she leaves the room. Lionel follows her with his eyes.

  As the doors close, Odin says, “She’d make a fine princess.”

  Lionel turns to Odin and the doors shut with a thump and a click. His mind tumbles over the word, “princess.” The only way that would happen would be if she were to marry a prince.

  Looking like he wants to spit something foul from his mouth, Odin says, “We had a couple of other human visitors. They were very rude. But that one …” His eye narrows. “She’d be a deft hand at court politics in less than a decade.”

  Lionel stares speechless. Lionel hasn’t been officially declared a prince yet. If he means Tara and Thor. Magic so cold that it feels like heat jumps at his fingertips.

  “Well?” says Odin, single icy blue eye focused on Lionel. “You risked your neck to keep Rogier from fucking her—”

  Lionel rocks back on his feet, the crude language catching him off guard.

  “—you’d be able to tolerate her as your wife, wouldn’t you?” Odin rumbles.

  “The lady is more than tolerable,” Lionel says.

  With a soft huff, Odin looks heavenward. “Oh, they all are to start.” Canting his head, he meets Lionel’s gaze. “But I’m glad you’re amenable. Good. We need to build up our presence on Earth. They’ve got weapons that could turn Asgard and Alfheim to plains of glass.”

  Lionel swallows. He had heard of the human’s foray into “nuclear weapons,” but Tara was so kind and civilized. He hadn’t thought of it once in her company.

  “A diplomatic front is what we need,” Odin says. “While we work on our defenses … and our offenses.” His eye goes to the door as though looking through it. “The business in Eastern Europe has put some of their governments on edge …”

  Lionel blinks. He thinks he’d heard something about Odin sending Freyr and a contingent of Valkyries and Einherjar to Midgard’s Eastern Europe. Was that why they were too busy to handle the Dark Elves crossing over to Chicago?

  Odin continues. “A marriage between an Asgardian prince and a human would go far as a
distraction among the common folk, and make them less amenable to hostilities between our races.” The All Father snorts derisively. “They may be ‘democracies,’ but they love royal romance.”

  Hands clasped behind his back, Lionel bows his head, mind spinning and his heart beating fast. He knew that Asgardian marriage alliances were political; he hadn’t considered he’d be thrust into the game so quickly. Tara, his mother, and he are obviously pawns on Odin’s chessboard … Does he care? In Asgard, Tara can live forever, his mother can be safe, and Tara and he might be married, which makes him equally terrified and elated. There is, of course, a potential snag in the plan. “The lady might not be agreeable to the union.” He’d made a horrible bungle of his first advances.

  Odin snorts. “I’ll declare you a prince lad, officially, and she’ll be agreeable. Every woman wants a prince … or rather, to be a princess.”

  Lionel’s clasped hands squeeze so tight he thinks he might shatter bone. Did Odin miss the part of Tara helping Lionel defeat a prince whose attention she’d attracted? Tara isn’t like that. Does the All Father imagine all women’s minds are formed in a single mold?

  “Woo her … charm her,” Odin says. Unrolling a parchment, he adds distractedly, “That is my first order to you as my subject. You can take her to the gardens. I hear they’re lovely this time of year. Follow the Lake Trail. It will take you to your mother’s cottage.” The All Father looks up from the document, a slow smile spreading across his face. He licks his lips. “You know your mother best … see if there can be anything done to it that will make her more comfortable.”

  Lionel bows. “Of course.”

  Scanning the parchment again, Odin says, “You’re dismissed.”

  Lionel turns and the doors open by an unseen hand. Tara is in the foyer beyond.

  He walks toward her, his steps tentative, half expecting and hoping for another hallucination … surely, his visions have been premonitions of them being together?

  The vision doesn’t come.

  His lips form a hard line. Well … even if they won’t be together, she will at least be immortal. She won’t have to die. His steps become surer.

  Tara meets his gaze. She gives him an odd sort of timid smile.

  After Odin’s offer, does this place still scare her?

  Lionel draws to a halt, remembering Odin’s slow smile talking about his mother, and his tongue flicking across his lips.

  Maybe this place should scare them both.

  Traitors and Spies

  “She’d make a fine princess.” Tara hears Odin’s words just before the door closes behind her. She draws to a halt and looks around the foyer. None of the guards move and there is no one to greet her, so she thinks she is just supposed to wait. Clasping her hands, she tries to admire the decor. But she can’t.

  Princess.

  Did she really hear that? If you’re not born a princess, isn’t the only way to become one to marry a prince? Was it a joke? Or a suggestion? Her heart flutters. She doesn't think she's ready to marry Lionel at this very moment, and she doubts he's ready to marry her … but even to be considered. Butterflies flutter within her. She bites back a smile, and then from the hallway she hears footsteps and the echo of voices. “The humans must be brought to heel,” followed by, “Some of them are studying magic … they should be dealt with first. I know the All Father has a plan. I just wish I knew what it was.”

  Tara’s eyes go wide, and she looks toward the door. For the first time, one of the guards locks eyes with her. Tara hadn’t thought their eyeballs could even move, and she stands frozen in place, as though hypnotized by a snake.

  A third voice says, “But he lost the other two …” and then the voices fade to barely audible whispers. Tara really wants to slide over to the door and take a peek, but she doesn’t move. That could be just idle grumbling. She is pretty sure there are grumblings about the Kremlin in the White House all the time, and vice versa. Maybe that isn’t the best example. Russia isn’t really a friend, but Odin wouldn’t try to hire an enemy … Would he? There is a creak, and Tara jumps. The door from Odin’s office opens and Lionel steps out. He takes a step forward and then pauses. A frown is on his face.

  She gives him a timid smile, and his expression softens … but then his eyes dart around the foyer. A few of his bangs fall in front of his eyes, and he pushes them back, his eyes on the guards. “My father suggests I might go see the house he intends for my mother. Would you like to come?” He adds hastily, “He says the gardens are lovely.”

  She’d go with him even if they were going to walk through Hell. “Of course, I would. We’re in this together,” she says, and the conviction in her voice surprises her.

  His lips turn up a little, but Tara can’t tell if his smile is happy or sad. “I suppose we are.”

  The guards have all gone stone-faced again, and there is still no guide.

  “Where is this garden?” Tara asks in a slightly too-loud voice, hoping someone takes the hint and offers directions. None of the guards so much as blink at her words.

  Lionel huffs, and Tara looks up to see him smiling genuinely. “Finding it is not a problem.” He holds out his arm. Tara takes it and her heart races to be close to him again, to feel the camaraderie she’d felt in his village … and more … Together they step out of the foyer. In the hallway beyond, just to their right, are a small throng of people in brightly colored clothes. Tara surreptitiously studies them, wondering if they were the source of the voices she heard earlier. Some of the men are wearing swords, the hilts gleaming with jewels. If Tara’s fantasy reading has taught her anything, it’s that weapons with lots of bling are either magical, ceremonial, or just plain vanity. Are these Asgard’s idle rich? Does such a thing exist on Asgard?

  Lionel leans toward her, and she feels his breath against her ear. Her skin heats deliciously. “Don’t let me bump into a wall when I work my magic,” he whispers, giving her arm a squeeze.

  Before she can say a word, Lionel’s body becomes heavier, and she glances up to see his pupils dilated.

  One male member of the maybe nobility comes forward. “Lord Odinson,” he says and Lionel’s arm goes rigid in Tara’s. She looks up. His gaze is clear again, his focus on the speaker.

  The man bows. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cyo Tiewson, grandson of Tyr. Pardon the eavesdropping, but my companions and I couldn’t help but hear the lady say you’re looking for the gardens.”

  He bows once more to Tara, but not as deeply.

  “Thank you for your generous offer,” Lionel says, bowing, a little less deeply than Cyo had bowed to Tara. “But Lady Tara and I have some family business to attend to. I fear it would be most tiresome.”

  That was a particularly delicate, long-winded “no thank you.” Is that how things work here? Playing along, Tara gives a slight curtsy to Cyo.

  “We would not find it tiresome at all!” declares Cyo with a smile that shows all of his teeth. “Let us be your friends here, Lord!” His companions step forward, and Cyo casually drops his hand upon his sword’s pommel. One by one, his friends echo his move. “There are dangers in the gardens and Asgard for which friends would be useful. Unicorns, the site of Hoenir’s hut and all his abominations—spidermice, winged snakes, the occasional stray basilisk …” He rubs the pommel of his sword.

  Tara’s eyes narrow. Cyo and his friends are too close … their smiles too predatory. It’s obviously a threat half-disguised as friendship.

  “We’ll be fine,” Lionel says. At his words, Tara feels the tiniest frisson of electricity.

  “Really,” says Cyo, stepping into their space. “We mean only—” Cyo yelps and removes his hand from his sword. His friends do likewise. “It’s so cold it burns!” says one.

  “Thank you so much for your courtesy,” Lionel says. “But your concern is wholly unnecessary, as touching as it is. I’ll remember it.”

  Cyo scowls, but steps back. Frowning, he says to his companions, “Come on,” and his friends
follow him away. Lionel and Tara stand motionless as the group passes. From their departing backs Tara hears, “An elf bastard with airs,” and more confusingly, a word her ears hear as “argr,” but her mind wants to connect with “faggot.” It’s a word she’d never use in her life, and it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

  “That last word,” Lionel says. “I didn’t understand it. Did you catch it?”

  Tara blinks, and tries to think of the word in Elvish, and can’t find it. That derogatory slur for homosexuality doesn’t translate to Lionel’s mother tongue. There is a term for homosexual, however. When she says it, Lionel snorts. “Of course. They believe that magic is only for women and men who prefer other men.” He tilts his head. “I don’t understand Asgardians.”

  Down the hall, one of the women in the party looks over her shoulder, and then says in a stage whisper, “Those ears are hideous.”

  Lionel smiles ruefully, and Tara’s heart sinks. He doesn’t fit here, but he has to stay because he helped her.

  “I like your ears,” she whispers.

  Lionel’s eyes narrow, and for an instant Tara sees suspicion there. But then he laughs, turns to her, and touches an ear tip. “Yes, I think I remember that.”

  Tara’s face heats, remembering those points between her fingers. They’re almost as close now as they had been then …

  Lionel’s smile evaporates. He leans toward her. Tara’s breath catches, but then he lifts his chin and looks away. His eyes dart about nervously. “I should see the home Odin intends for my mother.”

  At his words, Tara has a sickening sensation in her stomach thinking of Tavende in the Dark Lands. She squeezes his arm and whispers, “I'm sure those ravens will find her soon—probably by evening.”

  Lionel's focus comes back to her. His eyes hold hers for too long, and Tara sees such warmth there. It feels like a kiss, like potential. She swallows … if they just get through this time, they have all the time in the world to find where that potential might lead.