Gisla stared between the two women as if they would pounce on one another at any moment.
Balin’s words rattled through Astrid’s head. You would have defeated me had you not been battling your thoughts as well.
And Astrid knew what she needed to do.
I can’t do this, she thought. Not here. Not now. Not like this.
Then Astrid turned, stalking off through the hall.
Ravenna screamed, "Come back here!" but the young woman continued toward her chamber without as much as a flinch.
Chapter 16
Are you there yet? asked Emma.
Whitefoot returned images of his whereabouts. The polecat scrambled down Glitner’s hallways, skittering along beside the waterways. He rounded a corner and spotted Hallad’s chamber.
I’m here! And all’s clear.
Be careful, Whitefoot. If you’re caught—
I am too crafty to be caught.
Emma’s shoulders slumped. I’ve heard that one before, my friend. Please, just be careful.
An image of the polecat hopping side to side as he skittered across the white stone filled her mind.
Lay low, Whitefoot! Please! Just in case someone’s there.
Emma shook her head at his antics, her heavy hair tickling her neck. The slight shift of her locks sent a shudder down her spine.
Whitefoot flattened against the ground and slunk toward a towering table. From the polecat’s vantage, everything looked enormous, and Emma wondered what it would be like to live an entire life in miniature.
A flash of gold glinted from the tabletop.
I think I see it.
How are you going to get up there?
Whitefoot wriggled his nose, examining his surroundings: an ornately crafted bed with a gigantic tree carving overhanging a massive mattress and a dozen down-filled pillows sprawled over the cool white floor.
Now, that’s a bed worth snoozing in!
Oh, Whitefoot, I beg of you, don’t dally! Please get it and get out of there before someone spots you!
Whitefoot huffed, sprung, and grabbed for the bed linen. He hung with his claws, then pulled himself up the side of the mattress.
Emma’s sight refocused as a figure coming down the hallway caught her eye.
Erik.
Her heart pattered. Her dress suddenly weighed her down. She lifted her skirts, fisting wads of the finely woven material in her hands. She pressed her back into the wall—shoulders meeting flader vines—and shimmied around a corner, ducking into a crevice between stone and bush.
Emma peeked back around the corner, careful to stay hidden in the shadows of her hideaway. Erik’s black hair glowed like raven’s wings in the yellow cast of the rune stones as he strutted and stopped, peering into each adjoining hallway. Searching for me, she assumed. He ran a hand through his hair, tugged, and kicked his foot. Then he repeated the process again and again until he finally turned down another corridor.
She chewed her lip at the sight of him. He looked upset. Frustrated. Worried. And she knew it was all her doing. Still, here she sat, hiding from him.
Did you get it? Emma asked the polecat.
Uh. Not quite. There’s a problem.
The bed table flashed in Emma’s mind. The golden glint they’d spied from the floor turned out to be nothing more than a goblet.
It’s not here.
"By the fury of Freyja!" Emma slapped her hand over her mouth. It wasn’t like her to curse, and she startled herself with the obscenity.
Wait…
What?
I hear voices.
I thought there wasn’t anyone there?
Don’t you know by now that polecats are half blind?
Who is it?
Whitefoot twitched his nose, testing the air.
Emma bounced a curved finger over her lip, waiting for Whitefoot’s answer.
It’s your brother and the First.
Ravenna? Are you sure?
Positive. The woman reeks of flader flowers as if she bathes in petals rather than water. She’s the only woman who smells so strong. Aside from Rota, but Rota smells like an animal hide.
Just get out of there then.
Whitefoot sent another image. Hallad sat on the bed with his backside pointing toward the polecat. His pocket bulged, and a gold medallion peered from the linen opening.
I spy a pretty.
Nei, Whitefoot! You’ll never sneak the dyrr out of his pocket without him noticing.
Watch me!
Emma sucked in a breath, holding it for what seemed like an endless season as she watched. She knew the polecat would do as he pleased once he zeroed in on a mission and any attempt to contain him would be a wasted effort. Whitefoot crept across the satiny bedclothes. Ravenna slid down next to Hallad and placed her smooth fingers on his thigh. Hallad’s eyelids slid downward at her touch, as if dazed by her presence.
What are they saying? Emma asked.
Something about gathering songvaris... About being prepared just in case… About gaining cooperation… Whitefoot snorted. Now quiet. I have to focus on nicking our prize, and I can’t snoop and pickpocket at the same time.
Of course. Emma inhaled again. Through Whitefoot’s eyes, she spied the edge of the polecat’s black, button nose twitching as he sidled near Hallad’s pocket. The medallion gleamed. Whitefoot’s already lively heart rate—for polecats had a disturbingly rapid pulse—beat in double-time. The speedy thrum sounded like a jackrabbit thumping a hind leg in an attempt to dislodge a persistent flea.
Then an arm wrapped around her from behind, jarring her attention back to the corridor, and Emma nearly shot out of her skin. She screamed as she turned—a panicked squeal, her breath coming in quick, short huffs. She knew she overreacted—who would harm her here?—but she couldn’t control the impulse.
Erik hopped backwards to get out of her way, holding his arms in the air.
"Erik!" she shouted. "You scared me! What are you doing?"
His feline-green eyes switched back and forth, studying her. "What’s wrong?"
Emma drew in a breath, trying to steady the flutter in her chest. "Nothing. You startled me; that's all."
He kept sizing her up as if he saw through her. Her chest seized another rung, clenching with guilt. She slicked her hand over the satiny material of her bodice as if she could stop her breath from shaking with the movement.
"Why are you so jumpy?" Erik’s eyes narrowed.
She shifted her head back and forth.
"What are you doing?"
Stealing. Running away. Lying to you about it. She swallowed, but her ribs compressed again, squeezing away her ability to tell him the truth.
He reached through the space between them, seeking a strand of her sun-colored hair, pushing it back from her face. He stepped into her, smothering the gap between them.
"I know the last few moons have been difficult for you, but I’ve been thinking. About us. About our future."
A flash in her mind revealed Whitefoot sinking his teeth into the rim of the dyrr. She barely contained her heart’s determination to thud clear through her skin.
Erik continued, "I want you to know, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what."
"I know that, Erik. I’ve just been—" Preoccupied. Scheming. Fibbing.
"I know your mind’s been on what happened to you before, but…"
He lifted her hand, laying it over his own. With his other hand, he pulled out a key, attached to a cord, from his trouser pocket. He lowered it into the palm of her hand.
Emma’s eyes grew wide. "Our betrothal key! I thought I’d lost it."
"I’ve had it ever since that night you disappeared into the Great Wood."
His lips twittered as he watched her, examining her every expression.
"It’s the thing that brought me hope that I’d find you again."
"You’ve had it all this time?"
Erik nodded.
The weight of the key seemed as heavy as a pile o
f gold in the palm of her hand.
"But now it’s time for me to return it to you and make good on my promise to make you mistress of my hearth."
She shook her head. "What are you saying?"
Erik pressed his fingers around hers, wrapping her palm around the key. He cradled her hand with both of his.
"Marry me, Emma."
"Of course, we’ll wed someday."
"Now, Emma. Marry me now."
"Now?"
"I’ve already spoken to the priestess. She can say the vows and tie the marriage ribbon. We can be husband and wife by nightfall."
Whitefoot, as he tugged the dyrr from Hallad’s pocket, flooded her mind. Her heart started to thunder—whether from the polecat’s precarious position, or from Erik’s proposal, or both, she wasn’t sure, but a convulsive thud, thud, thud knocked against her ribcage.
"Erik, I…" Emma swallowed.
His brows dipped downward, shadowing the intense green of his eyes. And those eyes—they pierced her, pleaded with her, waited for her to answer.
"I just need…" Some time to save the wolves.
Whitefoot crept backward, tugging the dyrr along the covers. Hallad shifted, and the polecat scampered.
"I will keep you safe, Emma. I promise you that."
The slack in her dress tightened as Emma’s spine straightened. The gown choked around her middle. "I don’t need you to keep me, Erik."
Every expectation playing across Erik’s face brusquely sagged at her tone. His lips tugged downward. A melancholy flooded his sea green eyes.
A flash of Hallad’s thick hand plunked backwards, nearly smashing the polecat. Whitefoot dodged, sliding underneath a plump pillow, jerking his prize along with him.
I need help, Emma! cried the polecat.
I told you to get out of there before you were caught!
"We don’t have to wed today." Erik’s voice sounded so unlike him—small, timid, hurt.
"Erik, I love you, but—"
"Tomorrow, or—"
Please, Emma! screamed Whitefoot. I need your help now!
Emma switched her head back and forth. The conversation was too important for her to leave, but Whitefoot’s voice inside her head was so insistent. She stepped away from Erik, gathering her skirts in her hand; the key still lodged in the wedge of her palm.
"Nei, wait, Emma." Erik grabbed her shoulders and peered into her eyes, holding her there for a moment.
Her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of his gaze.
"Take whatever time you need. Take a lifetime if you need to. I know you’ve been through a lot, and I meant it when I said I would always be here for you. Anything you want, I’ll provide. I am here, Emma. Always. Nei matter what."
She gulped. She thought for a moment he’d cry. Redness rimmed his lids, exaggerating the greenness. A part of her wanted to cave, sink into his arms and feel his warmth flood over her—take solace in his promise of safety—but the memory of Svol’s open flesh spurred her insides. I can’t. Not now.
"I’ve got to go."
Footsteps clanged down the corridor, startling them both.
"Emma! I’m glad I found you."
They turned. Daidu strutted toward them, like a buck herding does.
"The First has asked me to help you with your ability. We should start as soon as possible. Livli’s connection to you is strong and…"
Daidu flicked his gaze between Emma and Erik, his pale eyes slinking up and down their forms.
He reads us like Whitefoot reads people, thought Emma.
"Unless I’m interrupting something?"
I am not a doe to give over to the strongest male. And I am not a weakling who requires the aid of a man.
Erik’s jaw cinched at Daidu’s inspection. His fingers tightened over Emma’s shoulders.
The girl peeled Erik’s hands from her, staring at him to capture his attention. Then, flicking her head in Daidu's direction she said, "I can’t deal with him right now. Take care of it for me, will you?"
Then Emma turned and headed off to attempt to rescue Whitefoot before he got them both into a hot mess of trouble.
Chapter 17
Daidu infuriated Erik, with his long plaited hair, pale eyes, and complete and utter arrogance.
So what if he’s a caller like Emma. So what if he’s powerful. So what if he’s a leader of a clan. He struts like a cock in a hen house and has the cheekiness to approach us in a private moment.
A moment in which Emma turned me down.
After telling Daidu that Emma was too tired to speak to him and needed to rest, Erik stepped into the shadowwalk. Ever since the night he’d rescued Emma, the walk unfolded as effortlessly as strolling through a doorway. He commanded, and the shadowwalk unfolded.
Erik wandered in the gray shifting landscape, his feet sinking into a cloud of mist. The periphery always swiveled around him, changing, revealing glimpses of the different locations of the outer worlds. He steadied himself, gaining his bearings. The in-between world wasn't like the lands of Alvenheim or Scandia. It shifted as if it was never solid—more like a dream than a physical space. If he turned on his own axis, dizziness swamped his head, and nausea pushed up from his gut. But if he stood still and waited, the scenery shifted; he could see from that one spot, different lands revealing themselves—as if he rode the wind inside a cloud.
So Erik waited and watched. He had no idea how much time passed as he stood in the shadows. Images, some disturbing, others trivial, unfolded: that bright-eyed girl Rolf almost got himself harnessed to, Ginna, surrounded by robed women in a wintry forest, men hammering with picks at the frozen ground, and a camp of hungry men, women, and children. Then at last, he espied what he’d been searching for: Rolf.
The drag of Erik’s brow lifted at the sight of his brother. Rolf’s scarlet mantle flared in the wind, the embroidered god, Bragi, dancing over the fabric’s length as he guided Seretta over treacherous rocks that lined the edge of a lake. Steep walls shot up from all but one side, forming, what Erik suspected, was the nordr edge of Ginnungagap.
Erik propelled himself by focusing his thought, moving through the periphery of the walk where Rolf and Seretta were. He exited the in-between world through a shimmery mist of gray and rainbow-like colors but remained invisible to the two travelers, so he could watch them undetected.
"What now?" asked Rolf.
Seretta turned, smiling. Her blade-green eyes glimmered in the sunset. "We sing."
Rolf rubbed the thin hairs poking from his chin with his lank fingers.
He’s still attempting to grow a beard, thought Erik, and he looks like a half-bald Billy goat. He chuckled to himself.
"And here I thought we’d go skinny dipping." Rolf’s eyes glimmered mischievously.
Seretta’s smile evaporated. She smoothed her gown, fluffing the generous folds of material. "I’d hardly disrobe and swim across."
"It was a jest," complained Rolf, the gleam fading from his eyes.
She huffed.
"You know, like ha, ha, how funny?"
"I know what a jest is, and I’ll laugh when it’s amusing."
Rolf harrumphed like a scolded child, but a red blush crept over his neck.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
His gaze swept over Seretta's figure appreciatively. He pressed his lips together as if holding back a bawdy comment or imagining the woman naked. He shook his head to himself. Then sighed.
"What do we sing, then?"
"First, stand precisely on the stone." Seretta gestured downward.
They stepped forward, placing their feet over a peculiar rock. Its face possessed a whiteness, yet the surface shone as if made from glass. A complicated set of runes weaved over the top of the rock’s exterior.
"Now take my hand and perform the melody I taught you yesterday."
The two entangled their long fingers together. Strange words flew from their tongues. The runes beneath them glowed, sending a whiteness upwards lighting them like beaco
ns. Their sweet, bell-like duet hit the air, seeming to amplify above the water.
The lake quivered. Silver-fish shattered the surface as they splashed out and back into the lake. Rolf and Seretta continued, their bodies pulsing with what looked to be pure joy as they sang. Rolf’s tenor complimented her fine falsetto, and a tremor of sweetness ran through Erik as well. The sight of his brother’s joy made Erik’s heart both swell and ache for his companionship.
What first appeared to be ice, split the surface. Then Erik realized, Not ice, but crystal—translucent crystal.
The crystals rose in a wall formation, holding the water back on either side, creating a bridge across the surface. The two strolled toward the opposite wall, seeming to glide across the water, held up by a layer of crystal just beneath their feet, as Erik followed.
The couple paced hundreds of feet to span the loch’s breadth. When they reached the far side, Rolf stopped, both in song and in movement.
Without his voice, the wall receded, and their walkway flooded, leaving them stranded on the opposite ledge facing a sheer wall before them.
"What now?" asked Rolf.
"We enter," said Seretta as if their course of action was more than obvious.
She tugged Rolf, forcing him to move ahead, and the two disappeared through the wall.
***
Erik trailed them. He thought he needed to use the shadowwalk to penetrate the wall, but as he crossed, he realized the wall was not solid. In fact, the opening stood clear and a row of crystals beamed forth light that shone in the archway and created the illusion of stone where nothing stood.
How clever.
Once past the wall, a tunnel of the same crystal opened. The walls sparkled with an unknown light source as they moved through the space, until the passageway spread, opening into a mammoth cavern, or more like an underground city.
Rolf’s breathe clipped. The boy’s eyes widened as if they feasted on the Hall of the Gods from one of Rolf’s lays. Gleaming selenite formed not just the cavern, but buildings, homes, roadways, and open expanses.
Men, women, and children strolled around the space, some humming, others creating useful items with song—an entire underground city of songvaris.
Broken: Book 2 of the ShadowLight Saga Page 9