by Lucy Roy
The Valkyrie’s Bond
Halfblood Rising Book 1
Lucy Roy
The Valkyrie’s Bond
Halfblood Rising Book One
Copyright © 2020 Lucy Roy, all rights reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed without express written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotes for reviewing purposes.
ISBN 978-1-7353385-0-7 (Print)
ISBN 978-1-7353385-1-4 (e-book)
Map art: John R. Sackett
Cover art: Denise Worisch
Edited by: Jenifer Knox
Created with Vellum
To Mads and Boog
Pronunciation Guide
Freya – Fray-uh
Aerelius – Air-el-yus
Grevillea – Gruh-vil-ya
Lazarus - Laz-uh-rus
Collin – Col-lin
Byrric – Bir-ric
Salazar – Sal-uh-zar
Ordona – Or-doh-na
Myria – Meer-ya
Dystone – Dis-tone
Jotunheim – Yot-un-hime
Lindoroth – Lin-duh-roth
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
Freya swooped over the docked ships in the Bay of Brystone, deftly slipping between towering masts and furled sails as she approached the darkened bulkhead before her. A shadow moved, a thing slithering up the slick wood toward the dimly lit street that ran along the harbor. As the stench of decay stung her nostrils, she let out a muttered curse and closed in.
It had been a slow night so far. Her aerial patrols had yielded little more than a few angry tavern-goers who needed only to sleep off their inebriation at the marshal station before finding their way home in the morning.
When the scent of a Jotnar draug hit her, she couldn’t say she was disappointed that her night seemed to be picking up a bit. They always seemed to think coming into Lindorothian lands through the waterways was a surefire way to avoid being seen, yet the one and only reason Freya patroled the bay was because of the incessant stupidity of the creatures who thought they could pull one over on her.
She slipped on a glamour to conceal her presence, circling wide before setting her feet down in an alleyway facing the bay, then darted toward the bulkhead. As the creature neared street-level, the cloying scent of death became stronger, mixing unpleasantly with the briny odor of low tide and causing Freya’s nose to wrinkle.
Moments later, a set of clawed, bile-brown hands covered in pustules reached over the splintered wooden ledge, and a tall, black-haired draug appeared—a creature who’d managed to sneak from the northern lands of Jotunheim to hunt the citizens of Lindoroth.
If he was lucky enough to get past Freya, that was.
Cocking her hip against the stone building, Freya folded her arms across her chest, waiting until the creature found his footing on solid ground before announcing her presence. She forced back the desire to tug on the black vambraces protecting her forearms that itched thanks to the thin film of sweat that had formed underneath.
“Hello, there!” she said brightly, letting her glamour fall as she stepped forward, revealing broad, gray wings and sturdy armor made of thick, spelled leather.
The creature stopped, momentarily startled, then growled, low and guttural, when he took her in.
“You’re a Valkyrie,” he hissed, his gnarled hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“And you’ve got eyes,” Freya replied dryly. She gestured toward the bay. “You know these waters are infested with kraken, don’t you? They aren’t so particular about what they eat, so you really should take more care when sneaking about.”
“Kraken,” he scoffed, the sound a mix between a growl and a hacking cough. His nostrils flared and the thick tendons in his neck trembled with the anticipation of a fight. “I thought your kind kept to the north these days. I’d be rewarded well if I brought you and those fancy feathers of yours back to Jotunheim.”
Wrinkling her nose at the offensive odor that wafted toward her, she tightened the cord that fastened her long hair off her face and wordlessly curled her fingers in challenge.
The draug roared and lunged, his claws reaching for her neck. Just as he would’ve gotten his hands around her throat, Freya struck out, bringing the heel of her hand to his nose in a wet, satisfying crunch while the other fist found purchase in his gut. She spun, and the ridge of her wing sliced through the air and to his temple. Blood, black as pitch, spurted from his nostrils and ear as he roared in pain. Before he could regain his balance, she twisted his arm behind his back and pulled him hard against her chest. Plucking a single feather from her wing, she dragged the metallic, venomous tip across his neck, tearing his throat open from ear to ear, sending out a long arc of arterial spray. His gnarled hand flew up to grab her wrist, but he’d hardly gained purchase when he went slack against her. His entire body stiffened, and seconds later, he began foaming at the mouth as her venom made quick work of his insides.
Freya dropped the gurgling body to the ground, wincing as her feather regrew, the burn of venom filling the shaft. It was a sting she didn’t think she’d ever get used to. Shaking it off, she wiped her hands, now reeking with blood, on her leather pants, scowling at the scrubbing she—or more preferably, her aunt—would have to do when she got home.
“Gloves, Freya,” she muttered to herself. “Get yourself a damn pair of gloves.”
With a huff, she hefted the draug’s body over her shoulder and took to the skies once again, aiming this time for the wide, deep ravine that ran along the outskirts of Watoria, separating the small capital of Allanor from the dark expanse of evergreen forest that stretched for miles all around. The dark crevice worked well as a means of defense but was also the perfect dumping ground for pesky bodies that stunk to the heavens if burned.
Not wanting to waste time landing, Freya dropped the body into the black abyss, hovering above only long enough to hear the satisfying thunk when it landed on the rocky floor before changing her direction back toward the city.
A moment later, her feet came down quietly on the roof of the local town hall, a three-s
tory building that sat in a large public square in the center of town.
The square was a bustling area for shopping during the day, the small shops around it and down the sprawling side streets offering all manner of goods, from foods and freshly dyed fabrics, to talismans and potions imported from the other four realms of Lindoroth as well as the neighboring lands of Jotunheim and Dystone. Now, in the dead of night, it was silent, lit only by the few sparkling pixie lights that dotted the air along the stone sidewalks.
Crouching behind the building’s wide brick chimney, Freya watched the street below, the building giving her the advantage of height without revealing her position. A few marshals, oblivious to her presence above them, ambled through the streets, no doubt keeping an eye out for mischief makers. The marshals were in charge of roaming the city streets, but it was Freya’s job to climb and fly where no one else in Watoria would or could go.
Satisfied there were no immediate threats in the area, Freya scanned the city, assessing where she’d be most useful. The townhall’s rooftop was slick with rain, making any movement a bit cumbersome, so she waited, choosing her next location carefully. Settling on a brighter area toward the north, she took off toward the busy North Ward, a place rife with dancing, drinking, and debauchery. If she was going to find anything more to occupy her time tonight, it would be there.
For the next few hours, she flew low over the roofs, stopping here and there to avoid being seen by any ruffians or other such troublemakers in the darkened streets and alleyways. Despite the usefulness of a Valkyrie’s wings, they were, in fact, wings, which were pretty damn hard to miss in the sky, often making the element of surprise difficult to maintain unless she wanted to drain her power by wearing an invisibility glamour for every patrol.
After depositing two more brawling drunkards at the marshal station, she landed on the clock tower of Watoria’s secondary school—the school that had been her second home up until a few short months ago—and sat down on the edge, letting her legs dangle over the side. Leaning back on her hands, she looked around the city, watching as the last lights winked off in Watoria’s late-night establishments.
She closed her eyes in contentment and tilted her face toward the night sky. This was her favorite time of night—when she was on patrol but also able to take just a few moments to enjoy the silence that cloaked this part of the city. Even her home in her own neighborhood in the South Ward, posh as it was, didn’t hold the same level of tranquility she found sitting forty-feet above the rest of the world.
Casting her eyes toward the northern sky, she found the large grouping of stars that represented her namesake—Freyja, the goddess and progenitor of all Linds. The triangular shape was low to the horizon, telling her dawn would arrive in just a few hours. She pulled herself to a standing position and yawned, stretching her arms above her head as she took one last look around.
She saw nothing of import in the street, so she spread her wings, smiling to herself as the damp night wind rushed through her feathers. She shot forward, staying as low over the rooftops as was wise, for one final sweep over the city before returning to her quiet neighborhood.
Ana, her aunt and fellow Valkyrie, was waiting in the warm kitchen when she arrived wearing a green silk robe knotted tightly at the waist, a steaming cup of tea in front of her, her chin-length blond hair mussed from sleep. A flame, small and vibrant, floated inside a lantern in front of her, casting a soft glow over the room.
Freya paused at the sight when she stepped through the door.
Ana leaned back in her seat and arched a single, blonde brow as she walked in. “Busy night?”
With a sigh, Freya fully retracted her wings.
“Not so bad,” she hedged as she kicked off her shoes and began to divest herself of her leathers, dropping her pants, shin guards, jacket, and vambraces until she was left in her underthings and a thigh-length beige tunic. She dropped down into one of the chairs with a huff, gladly accepting the cup of peppermint tea her aunt offered.
Ana gave her an expectant look. “Well?”
Freya took the tea and sipped before answering. “There was a draug,” she said, setting the cup down. “I killed it. Aside from that, a few drunks got a bit rough with one another. They’re sleeping it off at the marshal station.” She jerked her chin toward her pile of leather. “One ripped a fastener off my jacket, the bastard.”
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing we’ve still got your mother’s sewing kit. Go get changed,” Ana said wearily, running a hand through her knotted hair. “Those clothes will start stinking if you’ve gotten any blood on them. I’ll start them soaking. Once they’re done, you can do the fastener repair.” She held up a long finger. “And don’t even think about asking me to do it, young lady. I told you ages ago you needed a new jacket.”
Freya made a face, knowing there was no point in arguing. “Can I at least finish my tea first?” she complained.
“No. Now, go. Your tea will be here when you get back.”
Grumbling, Freya made her way to the bathroom, stopping in her spacious bedroom to get a change of clothes on the way. She made a face in the mirror when she saw the messy state of her thick reddish-brown hair and the smudge of draug blood on the tip of one of her ears. Picking up a washrag, she scrubbed at it, wincing when she had to rub extra hard to get the blood off. After changing into a pair of soft silk pajamas, she pulled the tie out of her hair and ran her fingers through, then brushed out the tangles before wrapping it up into a high bun.
She cracked her neck, still a bit sore from carrying the weight of the draug across the city, and sighed.
Then, picking up her dirty shirt and underwear, she went back out to the kitchen to finish her tea.
Ana had just entered the kitchen when Freya returned. As Ana poured herself another cup of tea, Freya saw she wore a pursed expression.
“What is it?” Freya asked, sitting down and sliding her lukewarm tea toward her.
“I spoke with Nadya down the street, who heard from one of the marshals who heard from the commander. Aldridge is expected to send scouts out to gather up any remaining students who haven’t yet arrived on campus.” Turning, she took a slow sip of tea, her eyes narrowed at Freya over the rim. “Oddly enough, there seems to be just one who hasn’t made her way there.” When Freya merely stared back, Ana huffed out a sigh. “You were supposed to be on a ship four days ago! Now, Freya, I’ve been lenient with you, considering, but do you know how it looks—”
Freya rolled her eyes. “The first school term doesn’t begin for five days, and I’ve already booked passage for tomorrow afternoon. Most of my things are packed. The only thing I’m missing out on is—”
“Four days, and you’re missing out on getting to know people, reconnecting with people,” her aunt lamented. “Gods above, Freya! Training at Aldridge is a gift most can only dream of and it’s important you show your appreciation for it! I thought you’d be happy!”
Freya snorted and turned to gaze out the window. “I’m fairly certain my happiness is the last thing I need to worry about.” She smirked at her aunt and circled her finger in the air. “You, on the other hand…”
“I will be returning to Iston, where I plan to live out my last few centuries happily with the rest of our kind. As honored as I was when your father chose me to raise you in his absence…” She sighed and smiled at her niece. “I’m eager to return home, just as you should be eager to dive into this new phase of your life.”
“I’m going, aren’t I? I have no intention of shirking my duties, Aunt Ana.” And, as hard as it was for her to admit, she was excited to go back to Iladel, Lindoroth’s capital, so she could finally learn and train under experienced professors. The physical training she’d received from the marshals and her aunt, her father’s sister and a battle-tested Valkyrie, had been of the highest quality, but the education she would receive at Aldridge Academy, a small, elite university, would set her on another level.
“They won’t change you
as much as you fear,” Ana said quietly. “If that’s what’s worrying you.”
Freya was silent for a few moments, letting her mind wander over her future—one that had been laid out for her when she was just a child. Traveling several hundred miles to Iladel was something that had always loomed on her horizon, getting closer as each day, each year slipped past. It wasn’t something she feared, but lack of fear did little to quell her anxiety of returning to a place and people she hadn’t seen in years.
At the age of thirteen, her nineteenth year had seemed a million years away. Her mother, a general in the Allanorian army that helped protect the western lands of Lindoroth, had just been killed. Freya’s father had decided she’d no longer be summering with the royal family, who were long-time family friends. After that, she was sent on her way. She’d trained and fought in Watoria, the capital of the realm of Allanor, earning herself a reputation with the local marshals at the age of sixteen as an ally worth having, while also ensuring she excelled in academics.
Her graduation from secondary school had come and gone three months’ past, and since then, a clock had been ticking relentlessly in her mind, counting down the hours until she left her home for good. The obligations she’d made for herself here in Watoria would soon be replaced by those that had been set on her shoulders by others, that would recreate the female she’d grown into.