Redeemer (Night War Saga Book 3)

by Leia Stone

  “What happens in Trondheim stays in Trondheim,” Johann chimed in. “Meaning we can keep whatever pets we want to and Midgard’s none the wiser.”

  That was great news. My reptilian warrior-life-partner and I had some catching up to do. “Wait, does that mean there are other dragons in Trondheim?”

  “Dragons. Trolls. Lots of non-native entities hang out around here,” Tore confirmed. “Want me to show you around?”

  Did I want to see dragons and trolls and a magical, Asgardian-shielded city? Oh yeah, I did. But Tore hadn’t seen his mom in years. Didn’t he want more time to catch up with her?

  “Allie?” Tore pressed. “Do you want a tour of Trondheim?”

  “I do, but we can always go tomorrow,” I hedged. “You probably want to hang out for a while . . .”

  Tore stood, walking our mugs to the sink and giving me my answer in his typical, wordless fashion. When he returned to the table, he placed a hand on his mom’s shoulder. His eyes misted over, and his jaw quivered. Oh, Tore.

  “Ophelia, let us know how we can make you more comfortable, especially once you get settled into the guest house. We’re—” He broke off, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re really happy you’re here.”

  The corners of Ophelia’s eyes crinkled. “I’m very glad to be here. I have to admit, I wasn’t sure what to think when I first met you in the field. But you’re lovely kids—all of you.” She reached up to place her hand atop Tore’s, and her eyes widened at the contact. “You feel familiar. Did I know you before . . . well, before whatever happened to me?”

  The mist in Tore’s eyes thickened, and a solitary tear rolled down his cheek. It caught in the thick fibers of his stubble before falling onto his shirt. With a shaky breath, he ran his hands over his long, blond hair that was a near perfect match to Ophelia’s. “Something like that,” he grunted. “You feel familiar to me, too.”

  In a sudden movement, Tore bent down to wrap his mom in a hug. She stiffened before slowly reaching up from her seat to pat Tore’s back. When Tore pulled away, Ophelia looked at him with a smile.

  “You really are a sweet boy,” she said. Then she shooed us out of the kitchen, promising to have a batch of lingonberry cookies waiting for us when we got home.

  When we reached the front door, Tore paused. “Wait here,” he ordered. “I’ll get your armor. Better safe than sorry.”

  “We’re just going for a walk. Isn’t that a little excessive?” But Tore was halfway up the stairs. He returned a moment later with the shiny, Asgardian metal. His hands were steady as he helped me into the shoulder piece, but I picked up on the irregular hitch in his breath. “You okay?”

  “A walk will be good,” he replied. And he didn’t need to say any more. My own nerves were shot, and I’d only watched Tore re-meet his mother. I could only imagine how intense this afternoon had been for him.

  With my armor in place, Tore grabbed our jackets from the hooks by the door. He helped me slip my coat over my armor before wrapping one protective hand around mine and guiding me through the front door with a steadying breath. My poor, sweet protector. Hopefully, one day soon, he’d have his mom fully returned to him. But for now, maybe knowing she was alive and safe would be enough.

  Until I figured out how to heal her memories, it would have to be.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TEN MINUTES LATER, TORE and I strolled hand in hand toward a small village. We’d passed several farms along our way, including the lingonberry farm Ophelia had worked at, and as we walked I’d filled Tore in on my talk with the Alfödr. He took the news of Nott’s past in his stride, agreeing with my assessment that while her experience had been tragic, her subsequent choices remained unconscionable. Unconscionable . . . but just the slightest bit more understandable. The slightest bit.

  After another few minutes, we stepped onto a cobblestone street lined with colorful shops. The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, creating a dappled shadowy effect on the two-story buildings along the road. Tore had explained that Trondheim proper was a bustling city, one with a substantial population and a thriving commercial market. It housed a university, multiple museums, and had once been the capital city of Norway. But the region also boasted rich farmland, and its residents had a long history of respecting both ancestral and mythological heritage. For this reason, the Alfödr and the Norns had seen fit to erect a Midgardian sanctuary just outside the city’s borders. One that, apparently, was cloaked by Asgardian magic, and sprinkled with a handful of to-die-for bakeries—if the storefronts on this particular street were any indication.

  “Jeez, your mom wasn’t kidding. The locals must be crazy into their pastries.” I tried not to drool as we walked by the third shop in a row featuring plates of heart-shaped waffles and hand-rolled lefse in their windows. “Any chance you want to get a snack? Waffles, maybe?”

  “Your wish is my command. Have a seat—I’ll be right back.” Tore pointed to one of the street-side tables beside a bakery’s flower-filled window box, and I planted myself into a chair. He winked before ducking into the vafler-boasting bakery, emerging moments later bearing two plates of treats. He handed one to me, and I tried not to moan as I sank my teeth into the savory goodness.

  “Oh, my God. This is amazing.” I took another bite. “Is this lingonberry jam on top?”

  Tore shot me a puzzled look. “What else would it be?”

  I didn’t have the heart to admit that Gran had let me put chocolate-hazelnut spread on top of her vafler back in the day. Tore’s raised brow gave me the distinct impression that one did not mess with lingonberry everything in these parts.

  “Just checking.” I hastily shoved another miniature heart-shaped waffle into my mouth, and chewed. “So good.”

  “I know.” Tore licked jam from his fingertips. The elderly couple at the table next to us passed him a napkin, and the three of them struck up a conversation while I downed the best waffles I’d tasted since Gran passed. I was so focused on trying not to make inappropriate food noises in front of strangers, that I missed most of what they said. When I was finished, Tore introduced me to his new friends. The Olssens were Asgardian transplants who’d come into town to pick up a dragon saddle—a dragon saddle—to send to their nephew in Asgard.

  “We’re going out to dinner after the Valkyrie picks up our parcel. You’re welcome to join us,” Mrs. Olssen offered kindly.

  “Thank you, but we need to get back to—wait. Did you say a Valkyrie is coming?” I’d never met one of those before—that I knew of, anyway.

  “Ah, there she is.” Mr. Olssen waved at the sky. I craned my neck until I saw a flying horse with an impossibly muscular, crimson-haired supermodel atop its back. The animal touched down on the cobblestone street, and the girl leapt off its back. Mr. Olssen gestured to an oversized bag sitting beside his chair, and the girl lifted it onto a hook attached to her Pegasus’ saddle.

  “Would you like this delivered to your residence here or sent back to Asgard?” she asked.

  “Back to Asgard, please—to Erik Olssen’s home.” Mr. Olssen thanked the Valkyrie as she climbed atop her ride. I tried not to gape as she nudged her horse with one boot-clad foot, and the creature stepped forward, flapping twice before launching itself into the sky. In no time, it was a tiny speck of white on the horizon.

  No freaking way.

  The Olssens excused themselves after that, and Tore and I rose from our table and made our way down the street.

  “So no taxis here, but flying horses take things to other realms?” I shook my head.

  “Ja. Entry-level Valkyries handle mundane transports.” Tore shrugged, like über-fit supermodels on flying horses were nothing out of the ordinary.

  Right.

  “I wonder why the Olssens left Asgard,” I mused. From the bits of conversation I’d picked up, the couple had traded Asgard for Midgard several decades back.

  “You didn’t hear their story?” Tore asked.

  “I was, uh, kind of focused on my
waffles,” I admitted.

  A hearty laugh burst from deep in Tore’s belly, earning glances from several nearby pedestrians. “Fair enough.” Tore chuckled. “Asgard is a very structured realm, and some prefer space from the pressures of titled life. Others want more diversity. The Olssens’ son fell in love with a rogue fire giant he met during a training mission. And though the girl wanted nothing to do with her own family’s military ties, the Alfödr couldn’t take her into Asgard without inciting a war. So, she and the Olsenns’ son sought sanctuary here, and the Olsenns followed. They’re having a Hel of a time trying to babysit their grandchildren. Apparently, infant fire giants shoot flames every time they hiccup.” Tore grinned, but I couldn’t help but wonder about a universe where species were divided by realm. When I voiced my concern to Tore, he sobered up quickly. “That’s a big part of the reason this city was created. It’s a sanctuary for those who have been granted safe harbor. Many beings can no longer live on their native realms, and the protections of this city allow them to live safely without fear of persecution for being who—or what—they are.”

  The sadness in Tore’s eyes let me know his heart ached as much as mine. It saddened me to know that more than just humans were judged for things they had no control over. I was thankful this pocket of Midgard was open to everyone—no matter where they came from or what they believed.

  We continued down the little street, passing locals out for a pre-dinner stroll. Some carried bags laden with groceries, but most walked hand in hand with a partner, or solo carrying a takeaway coffee cup. Mmm, coffee. I hadn’t had any today, and I made a note to pick some up on the way home.

  “Can you explain the whole Norns thing to me?” I asked Tore. “I thought there were only three Norns, but your mom made it sound like there were a bunch of them running around town. How does it work?”

  “Ah.” Tore laced his fingers through mine. “There are three primary Norns—Urd, Verdandi and Skuld. They tend to Yggdrasil, the world tree, and oversee major operations affecting the realms. But they have multiple divisions of subsidiary Norns working beneath them. Some prophesy the futures of children, some tend to soul matches, some have jobs so secret that even I don’t know about them. But the one thing they all have in common is a love of Midgard. The Norns have a special affinity for this realm, and ever since the primaries and the Alfödr approved this little sanctuary, they’ve flocked here to decompress when they get furlough. There are more immortal vacation homes in Trondheim than in any other region of any other realm.” Tore leaned down so his lips brushed against my ear as he spoke. “If you want to know your future, this is the place to find out.”

  The gulp of air I sucked in hit the back of my throat so hard, I coughed. “Wait. The Norns will read my future?”

  “They already did.” Tore paused outside a shop with a worn wooden sign that read Out-Of-This-World Treasures above its red door. Catchy. “They read it when you were born. But they’re not going to share it with you. That kind of information is locked away, accessible only by the Alfödr and a handful of titled gods on a need-to-know basis.” His hair fell over one shoulder as he tilted his head to study me. “Why? Do you want to know what’s coming, Allie?”

  I reached up to finger my necklace. Did I? The crystal pulsed against my fingertips, sending a surge of peace and light through my centers. “No,” I deduced. “I guess not. If I’m destined to die in a fiery, eternal flame-induced inferno, I’d rather not know. And as for the soul matching, well . . .” I shrugged. “You’re stuck with me now, Protector. No matter what the Norns have to say about it.”

  A low growl rumbled from deep within Tore’s chest. “You’re not going to die, Allie. I won’t allow it.”

  “Easy as that, huh?” I tilted my head up. The sun danced along the golden strands of Tore’s hair. It was low enough in the sky now that it created a kind of halo around Tore’s spectacularly beautiful face.

  “Easy as that,” he confirmed. He lowered his head to claim my mouth in a slow, toe-curling kiss. If we hadn’t been surrounded by dozens of passers-by, I would have jumped into his arms and demanded we hightail it back to the safe house right then for some alone time. But after our lazy morning, responsibility weighed heavily on my shoulders—we had three weapon pieces to hunt down, a psychopathic night goddess to stop, and no less than two moms to save. The delicate ‘ahem’ from behind me was all the urging I needed to unlock my lips from Tore’s. I nodded apologetically at the middle-aged woman trying to exit the Treasures shop.

  “Pardon me.” She smiled sweetly as she squeezed past us. Her arms were so laden with purchases that her legs buckled as she tottered through the neighboring shop’s glossy, blue door.

  “Was she carrying a dragon saddle too? They seriously make those?” I asked.

  One corner of Tore’s mouth tugged up in amusement, and he released his arm from my waist to sling it around my shoulder. “Come with me,” he said as he guided us away from the Treasures shop, past a store with a wooden sign reading Gems and Flora Essences, and down a narrow alley. “I’ve got another surprise for you.”

  Where I’d grown up, narrow alleys weren’t a great place for surprises. But Tore guided me to an ivy-covered section of wall, ran his hand vertically along the leaves, and turned to me. “Wait for it,” he advised.

  Wait for what? These leaves were nice and all, but ivy wasn’t exactly—oh. Oh! I gawked as the green vines shimmered, transformed into a mist of sparkles, and disappeared entirely. “Oh my God, the wall. There’s a hole in it.” Sure enough, a door-sized patch of both the ivy and the dark stones of the alley wall had given way to what appeared to be an entry into another pocket of the city. Silver and green-leaved trees bordered a park on the other side, the sounds of laughter and music filtering through to the alley. “Can we go in there?”

  “After you.” Tore held out one arm, and I tentatively pushed my hand through the gap in the stones. “Scared, Pepper?”

  “No,” I lied. A little.

  Tore chuckled. “I’ll go first.” Removing his arm from around my shoulder, he stepped through the gap, and into the secret world. He turned to study me with one quirked brow. “You coming?”

  “Yes.” Holy mother, this was insane. With a deep inhale, I stepped across the threshold. Tore’s hands wrapped around mine on the other side, and I breathed easier at the touch. I opened my eyes to find his warm, blue gaze studying me with barely contained amusement. “Made it,” I squeaked.

  Tore chuckled. “You’ll fight the night goddess, but visiting the Hage makes you nervous?”

  “The what?”

  “The Hage,” Tore repeated. “But seriously, nervous?”

  I placed my hands on my hips. “Yes. All of this makes me nervous. But it’s still really freaking cool.”

  My attention shifted from Tore’s endless eyes to the family-filled park, where enormous trees and a tapestry of flowers made up the landscape of the vast square. A narrow dirt road separated the greenery from a handful of shops. A group of pointy-eared men with long, white hair sat around a table outside one of the shops. They clinked frothy glasses together in a toast. A bulbous-nosed dwarf sat atop the building, amusement dancing across his face. Between the bow and arrow slung across his back, and the way his gaze roamed rhythmically, I guessed he was some kind of a sentry. So freaking cool. “So, this is your surprise? Not bad, Protector.”

  “Nope.” Tore guided me toward the park, and to the door of one of the shops. “This is my surprise.”

  He pointed to the wooden sign hanging over the cobalt door and grinned.

  “Dragonry,” I read aloud. “Wait. There’s a whole dragon store?” Bubbles of excitement danced up and down my centers, and I bounced lightly on my toes. “Oh, oh, can we go in?”

  “Of course.” Tore held out an arm, and I bounded forward. The shop’s window was a vision of leather saddles and golden harnesses and . . . were those peanut butter dragon treats? I was so going to spoil Scarlet rotten.

  Bu
t the minute I placed my hand on the doorknob, I felt a tingling at the back of my neck. We were being watched. I glanced up, but the sentry dwarf had his eyes locked on a young boy skipping across the park. “Careful, son,” the dwarf called as the boy paused in front of a tree. “You don’t want to startle him.”

  The child looked up at the dwarf, curiosity in his big green eyes. As he did, the tree moved—or more accurately, sneezed. The boy jumped, and his parents laughed from their spot atop a nearby picnic blanket.

  “It’s all right, love. It’s just a troll.” The boy’s mother stood and crossed to her son’s side, smiling as the branches of the tree spread open as if in greeting. Oh, my God. The branches weren’t branches at all—they were leaf-covered arms. The trunk shimmered just like the ivy had, releasing its tree-like appearance to reveal a set of eyes and a smiling, wood-toothed mouth. The boy clapped his hands in delight and threw his arms around the tree-troll.

  “Tore?” I whispered. “What is happening?”

  “Trolls don’t usually show themselves. That one must really like the kid.” Tore spoke as if random troll sightings were nothing to worry about. That was it. No other explanation.

  Just when I thought my new world couldn’t get any crazier.

  “Right.” The back of my neck prickled again, reminding me that someone—other than the dwarf sentry—was aware of our presence. I released my hold on the Dragonry doorknob to scan the park. “Hey, do you see anything weird? I mean, besides the tree-troll.”

  Tore drew his shoulders back as he turned a quick one-eighty to scan the area. “What do you mean?”

  “I feel like we’re being watched,” I said. The minute the words left my lips, I felt a pull from my left. I turned quickly, and a flutter of lavender fabric caught my eye. My gaze moved up from the pale purple dress to the kindly gaze of its elderly wearer. The woman’s stocky build and silver-grey bun triggered a somewhat-recent memory, and the back of my head tingled as my necklace gave a mighty surge. Holy mother. It’s her.