Mason heard him swear in what she could only assume must be his ancient Egyptian tongue, and she was glad she couldn’t actually understand what he was saying. It sounded like curses—in the original sense. After his outburst, Rafe seemed to deflate a little, his shoulders sagging. He mumbled something about needing to perform a ritual of passage for the dead demigod Aken’s spirit, and began uttering a low, singsong incantation full of raw, welling emotion.
Fennrys and Mason moved off down the shore to give him privacy, both of them pretending not to notice the tracks of bloodred tears that marred the fur of his cheeks as he did. As they walked down the beach, Mason couldn’t help but notice that Fenn’s hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists. He glanced over and saw that she was staring at him.
“Random boating accident?” she asked, hearing the tightly controlled anger in her own voice.
“Yeah.” Fennrys snorted in disgust. “What are the odds?”
“I think it’s fairly clear that someone doesn’t want us getting off this island,” Mason said quietly.
She sat down on a moss-covered rock at the edge of the trees, and her gaze drifted across the East River, toward the dark, glittering shapes of the towers in the city. Her father had offices in one. And a palatial penthouse apartment in another.
And what else?
There was a whole, hidden side to Gunnar Starling that Mason had never known about. Or maybe she’d always suspected it was there and she’d never been able to bring herself to wonder further… .
“Looks like there’s a fog rolling in,” she said, nodding toward where the lights of the skyscrapers were starting to shimmer with distortion, haloed in the evening light. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to broach the subject. But of course she would have to eventually. It seemed there were a lot of unpleasant truths she was having to face up to all of a sudden. She wasn’t sure just how much more she could handle. But she had to know.
Fennrys sat down beside her and waited.
“So tell me. As a … a Valkyrie, I would …” She hesitated, trying to frame the question in a way she could understand as she asked it. “I mean … what, exactly, was it my father wanted from me? What was I supposed to do?”
For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. But then he did. And she almost wished he hadn’t.
“There’s Valkyries and then there’s Valkyries, Mase,” he said. “Just like everything else, it’s a matter of degrees. The Valkyrie that your dad was trying to make out of you was to be the one who would choose a third Odin son to lead the Einherjar out of Valhalla.”
“A third.”
“Rory, Roth …” Fennrys ticked them off on his fingers. “You were, it seems, supposed to be the third. A son. And when you turned out otherwise, it seems Gunnar just assumed that the prophecy was flawed. Unattainable. According to Rafe, he was on the verge of letting it go for good. But then, thanks in large part to my dumb ass, the rift between the worlds opened. And I could walk between them. That’s when Gunnar’s plans got dusted off and adjusted. If I could fetch the Odin spear for him, Gunnar could make a Valkyrie. A Valkyrie can make an Odin son.” Fennrys glanced sideways at Mason from under his brows. “That’s what your dad wants.”
“Because, according to this prophecy, these Odin sons are needed to lead the Einherjar,” Mason said, struggling to understand, even though she strongly suspected that she already did. “Lead them to what?”
“Ragnarok.”
Mason closed her eyes, and all she saw was red.
Ragnarok. She had always feared that word. Harsh and guttural, it was made of sounds that stuck in the throat like a death rattle. Which, she supposed, it was. Death. Ending. Mason had never understood the myths of her forefathers. She hadn’t embraced them the way Rory had—with his gruesome enthusiasm and sneering disdain for humanity—nor had she ever emulated them the way Roth had, with his silent, stoic, fatalistic approach to life. And she certainly hadn’t aspired to manifest them, as it appeared now her father always secretly had.
“Ragnarok. The end of the world.” Her voice echoed hollowly in her ears.
“Yeah,” Fennrys said quietly. “That certainly seems to be the direction your father’s pointing toward.”
My father …
He’d promised Mason, after that time with the game—the hide-and-seek game when she’d been lost, locked in the abandoned shed for three days—that he’d keep her safe. For what? So he could sacrifice her humanity later in life to fulfill some kind of twisted global death wish? She could barely believe it. And at the same time, something about it made absolutely perfect sense.
Bastard.
For the second time in less than an hour, Mason felt as if she might actually faint. Her vision was starting to tunnel, even in the darkness, but there was no way she was going to give in to the despair that washed over her at the news of this … this …
Betrayal.
That was the only word that seemed to fit at the moment. Suddenly, Mason saw everything with a startling clarity. And she knew somehow that her mother—her real mother, wherever she was—had known. About the prophecy, about the fact that Mason was supposed to be born a boy. She must have. And she’d … she’d done something. Made some kind of bargain or willed Mason to be a girl or sacrificed herself somehow to alter that doomed outcome.
No wonder Loki had granted Yelena Starling the power of a goddess. Her mother must have had extraordinary strength of character. Or maybe Mason was just deluding herself in order to feel better. Certainly, it was only a guess, but she felt sure that in life, Yelena had done everything she could to save Mason from her prophesied fate. Because, in death, her mother had sent her Fennrys. For that alone, Mason would be forever grateful.
“There’s irony for you,” she murmured softly.
“What’s that?”
“You told me that Hel—the real Hel—sent you to me. My mom sent you to me so that you could help keep me from becoming an instrument shaped for ending the world. You.” She smiled wanly at him. “A guy who was so eager for his own ending. And now? You’re back, fighting to keep me from fulfilling the most sought-after destiny of Vikings everywhere. I find that ironic.”
“I probably would, too.” Fennrys shrugged. “If I hadn’t gotten the chance to get to know you, Mase. Some things are worth dying for. Some are worth living for. And some are both. I suspect your mom had a suspicion I might think that way about you. She struck me as pretty insightful.”
Mason blinked against the sudden sting of tears that threatened. “I wish I’d met her—the real her—while I was in Asgard. She sounds cool.”
“I can vouch for that. And I kind of got the impression that you mean everything to her, Mase,” Fennrys said gently. “Stopping the end of the world notwithstanding.”
“I wonder if she even knew I was there. I wonder …”
“Look.” Fennrys reached over and took her hand in his. “If we can—I mean, when all of this weirdness has settled itself out—I promise we’ll go back and look for your mom. Okay?”
Mason smiled at him, but she shook her head sadly. “I know that’s never going to happen,” she said. “It’s okay. Thank you for saying so anyway.”
Fennrys squeezed her hand tightly and said, “Never going to happen? I don’t know if you noticed, but Asgard is in real danger of becoming my local hangout. I spend more time there than I do at my apartment. If we live through this—whatever this turns out to be—we’ll go. And if we don’t … well … hell.” He shrugged. “We’ll probably just wind up back there anyway.”
Mason actually found herself laughing at that.
With the toe of her boot, she kicked idly at a small rock. The thin line of foam that marked the water’s edge was only a few feet away, gleaming bone white in the darkness, and Mason got to wondering exactly what had happened to Rafe’s ferryman. She frowned and reached down with her free hand to pluck up the stone and then heaved it out into the river.
There was a moment of st
illness as rings of ripples flowed outward and faded. And then, suddenly, the whole surface of the river erupted.
Only nine or ten feet from the shoreline, the lithe, shimmering figure of a gorgeous girl suddenly breached the surface of the water like a dolphin, followed by another and another. The first one’s head whipped around toward them, spinning her iridescent green hair out like streamers, and Mason saw that, beautiful as she was, the sea maid’s eyes blazed with a cold fire and her open mouth was full of serrated teeth. She bared them at Mason in a terrifying grimace before she dropped back into the water and disappeared beneath the surface.
“Whoa … ,” Mason murmured, shocked to stillness by the sight of a whole school of what were clearly some kind of mermaids or sea nymphs or something. “I guess that explains what happened to Aken.”
“What, yeah,” Fennrys agreed, trying to look casual as he drew his feet back from the edge of the water. “But why is another matter.”
“I wonder if those are Calum’s psycho playmates,” Mason mused tartly. “Funny … Cal talked about them being gorgeous, but he never mentioned the teeth.”
At her side, Fennrys suddenly went rigid with silent tension.
Mason turned to look at him, but he sat there, silent, his lips pressed together in a white line. It looked as if he was about to say something, but he didn’t. Mason decided not to push him. Whatever it was, he’d tell her if it was important. She turned back to where the frenzied, boiling surface of the water had turned still and calm once again.
“Cal’s gonna freak when I tell him one of his new girlfriends ate poor Aken,” she said.
“I … no,” Fenn said. “He’s not.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Mason shrugged. “I can’t honestly predict how he’ll react to things these days. It’s like I don’t even know him anymore. And anyway, I don’t even know if I’ll get the opportunity to tell him. I don’t actually think we’re speaking at the moment.”
“Mason …”
She kicked a smaller rock, which rolled to a stop just before the water’s edge. “We had this huge argument right before the competition,” she said, “and I really let him rattle me. It’s a big part of why I lost. And … Fenn … I’m so sorry for taking it out on you afterward.”
“Mase …”
“I know, I know …” She pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. “It’s just that it all seems so stupid now with everything else that’s happening. But at the same time, I knew Calum was upset, and I didn’t do anything to make it any better for him. I mean, maybe I really am partly to blame for what happened. I just—”
“Mase—” Fenn’s grip on her hand tightened spasmodically.
She winced as the bones of her fingers ground together. “What is it?”
He loosened his grip, grimacing as he looked down at their clasped hands. “Cal’s … gone,” he said finally.
Mason looked at him, blinking in confusion for a moment. She saw something in his expression that might have been guilt and thought she knew what he was talking about. He must have run into Cal at the gym after the competition. She could only imagine how that little conversation had gone… .
“It’s okay,” she said.
“It is?” Fennrys frowned at her.
“Fenn … Whatever Cal might have said to you—or you to him—I don’t care. He hates me? He never wants to see me again? It doesn’t matter.” She smiled at him and shook her head. “I’ll always consider him a friend, but it’s probably for the best anyway if he wants to distance himself from me. I just seemed to keep pushing all the wrong buttons with him. And anyway, I … I don’t feel like that,” she said. “Like I feel about you.”
A whispered groan of anguish escaped from Fennrys’s lips as Mason looked up at him, her eyes shining, full to the brim with exactly how she felt about him in that moment. A moment that should have been perfect. She was so beautiful, her hair a gleaming dark curtain lifting on the breeze, her pale skin washed with moonlight, lips curved in the hint of a smile… .
She was perfect. She was his.
And Fennrys knew she was on the verge of saying she loved him.
All he had to do was nothing. Let her say those words that no one else had ever said to him. Take her in his arms and kiss her and forget all about telling her how brave, handsome, stupid Calum Aristarchos had died helping Fennrys as he tried to rescue Mason on the Hell Gate.
You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to tell her.
No, he didn’t. He could just keep his mouth shut.
“Mason. I have to tell you something else.” There had already been so many awful revelations for her to absorb, he thought. And yet, this one might be the worst. One of the beautiful things he’d discovered about Mason was that she cared more about other people than she did about herself. And she’d cared deeply for Cal.
The smile in her eyes wavered the longer he stayed silent, trying to figure out what he could say that would soften the blow. To the south, a cascade of lightning flashes illuminated the distant twisted wreckage of the Hell Gate where it clawed at the sky with broken iron fingers. Fennrys couldn’t even look at it. And he couldn’t bring himself to look at Mason, either.
“What is it, Fenn?” Mason asked quietly.
Fennrys took a deep breath.
“On the bridge,” he said, nodding downriver. “When I got to you on the bridge, it’s because Cal was the one who got me there. When Roth came to tell us what was happening, Cal insisted on coming along… .”
You don’t have to tell her that he was a hero and got you to the train on time—and then you didn’t do much of anything particularly useful. You don’t have to tell her the details.
Except, yeah. He did. Cal deserved that much.
“He was driving the bike that we were both on. It was rough on the bridge, but he managed to keep it steady long enough for me to jump the train and then …”
“Then what?” The muscles in Mason’s throat jumped as she swallowed convulsively.
“Then something happened. I didn’t see it—Rafe told me about it afterward—but there was an accident. Cal lost control of his bike and drove off the bridge into the river. Rafe said he hit one of the girders and—”
“Where is he?” Mason interrupted. “Is he okay?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“What do you mean no?” She grabbed him hard by the arm. Hard enough to bruise. “Who found him? Where is he?”
“Mason—the bridge blew up. We didn’t have time to even look.”
He didn’t bother reminding her that he’d also been shot and fallen off a train and that Rafe almost had to carry him out of there, because in light of what had happened to Cal, that just seemed like, so what? Fennrys should have stayed. He should have been able to do something for the kid.
“But even if we had … Mase … I’m so sorry. I saw the cracks on his helmet—it must have come off in the crash—but even if he’d still been wearing it when he went over the side of the bridge … it wasn’t a survivable fall.”
“But … we died,” Mason said, a desperate hope in her eyes. “And we’re here. What if—”
“I don’t think it’s the same thing.” Fennrys’s heart felt like something was squeezing it. He would have rather punched himself in the mouth than have to say these words that made Mason look like she did in that moment. “Cal was in an accident, Mase. That’s all it was.”
Mason bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes closed. Twin teardrops spilled over her lids, leaving tracks that gleamed in the moonlight. Fennrys reached out and pulled her into his lap, enfolding her in an embrace. She sagged against his chest, her knotted fists pressed against him, and he held her, smoothing her dark hair while tears ran silently down her cheeks.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, Rafe appeared, walking toward them out of what was now full dark. He was back in his human form, his suit immaculate, not a dreadlock out of place. He seemed composed and calm, but his dark e
yes held a weight of regret that hadn’t been there before. And a dangerously simmering fury.
Mason lifted her head off Fennrys’s chest and brushed the side of her hand across her cheeks. Rafe frowned when he saw that she’d been crying. He glanced at Fennrys.
“You told her?”
“Everything. Ragnarok, her death … Cal. I think that’s everything.”
Rafe shook his head. “It’s enough. How’re you holding up, Mason?”
She lifted her chin and said, “I’ll live. I mean …”
The ancient death god held up a hand. “I know what you mean. Good.”
“I’m sorry about your friend,” she offered.
Rafe nodded tightly. “I’m sorry about your ride.” Looking back over his shoulder toward the black expanse of the river, he sighed. “I wanted to get you off this rock, but for the time being, I think we’d best head back to shelter.”
“Couldn’t we wait here for a passing boat?” Fennrys asked. “Maybe flag a coast guard vessel—”
“No … ,” Rafe said, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the wispy, blurred blanket of silvery mist stretching out over the water. “It’s not safe to be out in the open. Especially with that fog rolling in. I don’t trust fog.”
Mason suddenly paused and took a step toward the water. “Guys, I think that fog just called my name.”
XVI
Heather lay sprawled on the bed in her dorm room, weighing the two crossbow bolts that Valen had given her on the subway, one in each hand. The golden one was featherlight, slender, and the metal grew instantly warm to the touch. It almost seemed to writhe against her skin, tingling with energy. The little leaden bolt, in contrast, was shockingly cold and heavy, and made her fingers ache. Heather slotted that one into the tiny crossbow and cocked the trigger. In the back of her mind, she suspected that she might have already figured out what the weird little weapon was for—especially if the guy who’d given it to her was who she thought he was—but she still had no idea under what circumstances she would ever actually use it.
But Heather was bored. Bored with being cooped up, bored with studying. Not that she’d been studying for school—she hadn’t been to class since she’d gotten back to the academy—more like she’d been trying to find out as much as she could about the differences between the Greek and Roman gods … while trying to decide whether she believed she’d actually met one of them three days earlier on a subway ride from Queens to Manhattan.
Descendant s-2 Page 17