"Now," the priest continued, "there's obviously not a heimdyrr to get into Asgard. They're technically always at war with the jötnar—the giants—and don't want to be besieged. We'll have to go as close as we can to the edge of Midgard to cross over."
Cal huffed. "I didn't know you were a flat-earther, Father."
"Shut up. Once we're there, we'll have to call messengers to let us across Bifrost."
"What's Bifrost?" Edie asked.
"It's when Mercy gets a brain freeze," Cal replied helpfully.
Basile rubbed his brow. "All right. You guys have lost your Latinization privileges. In Old Norse it's pronounced more like 'beef-roast.' So now we're calling the gods' interdimensional bridge of pure light Beef-roast, because you couldn't behave, Cal."
"Way to go, Cal," Edie mumbled. "And I guess that answers my question."
"You've probably even seen it before. You might know it as the rainbow."
Cal spread his arms to shrug innocently. "See, that doesn't sound very straight to me."
"What do we use to call the messengers?" Marius cut in. "To make the bridge appear?"
Basile looked at Satara. "Astrid should have a horn. Runed, bronze, probably kept in a place of honor. Do you know of anything like that?"
Her face shifted, undeniable realization filling her eyes as she straightened from her weary posture. "That ... that's what the horn is for? Why didn't she—" She stopped and held her head.
"What happened?" Edie pressed.
"Someone tried to steal it." Satara glanced between them all. "Just before her death. A ljósálfr thief—a light elf—part of an organization called the Shadowborne. She and I were able to take it back, but she never looked into the matter, and when I did, I couldn't find much information. I still have no idea why they wanted it." She paused and said more quietly, "She said she would tell me what the horn was for some other time."
Images of Astrid's torture and death flashed through Edie's mind, and she had to blink hard to make them go away. Astrid had never gotten the chance—and she never would. She didn't exist anymore, anywhere, in any world.
"So the thing is safe." Basile's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Where is it?"
"It's safe so far as I know. It's in Shipshaven. I didn't bring any of her things with me." Satara looked down at her hands. "I knew there was a reason the thief wanted it, even if I didn't know its significance. So I hid it."
"Well, then, that's easy," Cal said, beginning to pace. "We just go there and we get it and then head on over to Beef-roast."
"I doubt it will be that easy. I'm sure the Gloaming are watching the shop. It's entirely possible that the second we teleport in, they'll know and come after us." She sighed. "But if this is what I need to do, then it's got to be done."
Cal had already gone to the coat rack and was donning his denim shearling jacket. "I'm in. Let's leave."
"Not now," Satara said, shuddering. "Basile needs to replace our souls. I need to eat. And rest. So does Edie." She glanced toward the frost-edged window. "But first thing tomorrow morning, you two can come with me.”
Marius stood and added, "I'll come, too."
Satara shook her head. "I don't want to bring a large force. We'll just be in and out, and fewer people will raise less alarm."
The vivid didn't look thrilled. In fact, he looked almost devastated, though he usually took rejection quietly. For a moment, it seemed as though he might argue. Then, his expression closed, and he nodded. "Fine."
If Edie was honest, she wouldn't have minded Marius taking her place. There was no question there would be danger, and at the end of it all, they'd be summoning a celestial bridge and going to the city of the gods. The literal gods. She'd been way more comfortable as a nobody in a go-nowhere band, working then sleeping, barely able to live off her wages just like everybody else. She wasn't cut out for a life like this.
She wasn't cut out for anything. Not to wield her magic, not to navigate the world around her ... and certainly not to be the Reacher.
What had Astrid been thinking?
Chapter Twenty-Four
The night stretched on and on without mercy. Pain seared through Satara's body with every small movement, but her half-awake restlessness never let her lie in one position for very long. When sleep came to take the pain away, it was only for twenty minutes at a time at most, her rest inevitably broken by her aching body. It felt almost like she was in purgatory—like her afterlife of punishment had come early.
Punishment. What a farce.
She had done a respectable job of holding together for the afternoon, but now, after hours of relentless agony, her resolve was rapidly crumbling. She sat up in bed abruptly, and a sob escaped her lips.
Why couldn't she just go to sleep?
Satara knew, though, that all the hoping and begging in the world wouldn't bring sleep to her. The suffering was in more than just her body; thoughts and memories whirled in her head like a viscous slurry that stuck to the inside of her skull.
Hopeless. Broken and hopeless.
It all led back to Astrid, and then further to Darras. It always did. If Satara could have seen ... if she could have been big enough or strong enough to save them...
But look at her now. She couldn't even save herself.
She choked on her remaining sobs, standing from the bed. There was no use sitting and waiting for sleep to come when all that would come were those memories, those thoughts of all the things she had to do, all the obligations she still needed to fulfill. That was an exercise in self-harm, and she didn't have the strength for it tonight.
Wrapping her robe around herself, she headed instead for the living room, sinking into a cozy chair near the window. With two fingers she drew the curtains back a little, enough to see the night—so much brighter than any she had ever seen, between the snow and the city lights. It was as bright as an overcast afternoon in Shipshaven.
Shipshaven. In just a handful of hours, she would be back in her seaside town, her home for over a decade. She wasn't sure she had the strength for that either.
Satara pushed the thought from her mind and reached for the book she had left on the coffee table. If she was honest, she’d been putting off finishing Aevana and Commander Coldheart's story. The author had stopped publishing a century ago, so there would be no follow-up, just a cliffhanger and disappointment. And at the moment, Throne of Ice was the one bright spot in her life; she didn't want it to end.
She supposed there was no point in putting it off now, though. After all, there was a chance she could die in a matter of a week, if not quicker. She might as well finish her book.
With a yawn, she rubbed her tired eyes and flipped to her bookmarked page.
Coldheart watched from the wings as the Crown Prince whisked Aevana around the dance floor. His hand rested just below her waist, cradling her hips to his as they spun in time to the delicate music. Her dress trailed behind her like a river of stars, white and sheer but for the blanket of crystals encrusting it. She glowed in the ballroom like a beacon.
Coldheart could almost swear he felt his dead heart beat at the sight of her.
But the hollow in his chest yawned, empty as a chasm. She was smiling, her dark eyes twinkling. Though it had been long since he had felt warmth, it was almost as though fire surged through his veins. He had crossed oceans to reunite with her. He had given up everything for her. And in the end, just like all the others, she had forsaken him.
He couldn't look any longer. He should have known. She would be so much happier without him. Why would she risk everything to be with a monster?
Splitting from the crowd, he stepped out onto one of the many balconies lining the ballroom. Just over the horizon, he could see them: a sea of tiny, tiny blue lights blending together to form a hazy rivulet down the mountainside. The army of undeath. It seemed the Dark Lord had finally given the orders to march on the Court of Stars.
Something in him ached. When they came, everything would be swept up in their ti
de. Including Aevana.
He could return to the army, could be their commander as before. His master had said as much. When you are done with the girl, you will come back, and you will take your place at my right hand once again. No worry, no conscience, no love.
Love. What a terrible, painful mistake.
Satara sat with her face almost fully in the book, scanning the paragraphs frantically. No. Coldheart had come to warn Aevana and the others about the encroaching undead army, and now he wouldn't just because she was dancing with the Crown Prince? She didn't even want to be dancing with the Crown Prince; she was only trying to forget Coldheart. Surely he couldn't do this. He'd changed! She'd changed him!
She was so consumed in the tense scene that when someone cleared their throat in the living room archway, she nearly jumped from her chair. She looked up to see Marius leaned against the door frame, watching her with a strange mix of amusement and concern.
"Something troubling?" he asked, nodding to the book as he came closer.
Satara hesitated before quickly marking her page and snapping the book shut. "No ... just thinking."
Marius stopped by the end of the couch and craned his neck slightly to read the book's title. "Throne of Ice, a Court of Stars series." He peered at her, smirking. "You never struck me as a lover of pulp romance."
She splayed a hand over the cover, hiding the name, and pulled the book to her chest protectively. "And you never struck me as one to follow a woman around like a lovesick puppy, but people surprise you." When he seemed confused, she added, "I've seen the way you look at Edie."
That shut him up. He shuttered his expression and sighed, then sat down on the couch. She relaxed in turn, feeling a little guilty, and for a moment, it seemed like he would change the subject.
"What makes you say that?" he asked carefully.
"It's obvious." Satara shrugged. "You hang on her every word, watch her wherever we go ... when we came back, you hugged her so tight you could have broken her spine."
Marius's expression darkened. "You were gone for three weeks. I thought that you had all died. That you had left us behind, here, in this mess..."
Satara looked at him, knitting her brow. The way his eyes ghosted over her, not really seeing her, she could tell that he was thinking of it. Whatever had happened, whatever doubts he had, haunted him.
"But I still waited," he continued more softly. "I waited for you—for all of you. I couldn't move on until I knew what had happened." A pause. "I kept thinking ... I should have gone, I should have gone with them. Given the priest my soul, whatever I needed to do." Marius shook his head. "Or maybe I was meant to stay here and bear witness to everything that happened while you were gone."
Dread licked the shieldmaiden's back. Neither Marius nor Basile had said a word about what had happened during those three weeks. None of them had even thought to ask, as tired and frantic to help both her and Elle as they had been.
Now, Satara burned with an immediate need to know. So much could happen in three weeks, and from the look on his face, none of it had been for the better.
"What happened, exactly?" she asked gently.
Marius looked past her and inclined his chin at the drawn curtains. "You've seen the streets. The snow falls often since you left. It comes every few days, the rain washes it away, the sun comes out ... but it returns soon after, heavier than before."
"A fluke of the weather?" Satara concluded hopefully, nervously. But too much was happening at once for it to be a coincidence.
Marius knew this; she knew he did. Still, kindly, he said, "Perhaps."
"What else?"
He paused in thought. "The Blood Eagles hold their rallies in the morning, nearly every morning now. When they were met with protesters originally, things were tense, but ... it's escalated. The protesters disrupt, the police move forward and crush the protesters, the protesters fight back ... the Blood Eagles are escorted out and get to go home freely. There have been a few riots. One per week, more or less, when the sun sets. No one's sure who's actually starting them, but Basile thinks it's undercover Blood Eagles."
Satara fiddled with the collar of her robe, goosebumps raising on her skin. "Has anyone been killed?"
"One or two people, in the chaos. Some hospitalized. None by the Blood Eagles, yet. Usually, once the Eagles disperse, the police come out in force. They have tear gas, rubber bullets ... whatever." Marius sighed and glared at his feet. "It was just mindless retaliation at first. Now any gathering is seen as a protest and dealt with accordingly. Not the Blood Eagles' gatherings, though," he added quietly.
Satara pinched the bridge of her nose. "What else?"
"Anster..." He paused, running a hand over his hair, and pain bloomed on his face. "It's fallen. The local government, the Aurora"—his voice became weaker—"have fled. It's in complete chaos."
Satara's heart nearly stopped. She stuttered for a second before managing, "No one is there to stop it? To at least protect people? Is the rest of the Reach okay?"
"As far as anyone knows, the Anster Police Department has been entirely disbanded. It started with a strike over their safety, and now they're gone. And no Aurora." Marius stopped for a moment to hold his head in one hand, and Satara said nothing, simply letting him breathe. Eventually, "Word from Mercy and Matilda is that our safe houses are doing fine. The Reach is taking in anyone they can find; they’re getting by. And small militias are beginning to form, Reach and unattuned alike. But the New Gloaming and whoever else takes advantage of the chaos are a constant threat."
"I'm so sorry," Satara whispered, without further explanation.
No explanation was required. The vivid simply closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again to continue. "Things have started to get restless southward, too. Philadelphia, D.C. Basile believes the Gloaming’s on a route, that they're trying to take the entire East Coast. That the same thing is going to happen in New York that happened in Anster, and so on."
"And how long do we have until New York falls, too?"
Marius sighed, his face growing ashen. "In Anster, it began with riots—not protesters but Gloaming. They spread closer to the West End, toward City Hall and the Statehouse. Everything was shut down. The National Guard never came; the people governing the city simply ... left. There were raids on the municipal buildings, empty and otherwise.” He paused at length. “The Temple of the Rising Divine was hollowed out. Anster is still on fire."
Satara slipped from her seat and went to his side. She wasn't usually an overly touchy person—she was private, enjoyed her personal space—but she placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. Her next question would not be an easy one for him. "And what about the Aurora here? What are they doing?"
"Nothing," he ground out, flexing his fist open and closed. "Nothing. They're retreating into their shells just like the Rising Divine did. Protecting themselves."
The words that first came to Satara’s mind weren't exactly kind, but Marius didn't need to be told her opinion of the Aurora. Judging from the way he was grinding his teeth, he probably shared it. "Is it possible this Radiant is being blackmailed like your father was?"
"I don't know. Radiant Oddfreyr isn't ... like my father. His pride is tempered by nothing." Marius's eyes flickered, light swelling in them, but he closed his lids against it. "Someone should ask him. Someone should—"
He cut himself off, and silence stood between them for a while. Satara let her hand fall from his shoulder and twine anxiously in her lap.
At length, he raised his head again, brows drawn in pain. "Thank Odin and Tyr and all the gods that you all came back. I wondered many times if that thing in the subway had taken me and I was living in some sort of nightmare."
"We came back," Satara affirmed with a nod, then tilted her head. She chose her next words carefully. "I would've expected you to be ... angrier at Basile, not knowing what had happened to us … not knowing that it wasn't his fault. But you spoke to each other like equals yesterday
."
"He's a good man. For a Christian." A grim smile graced Marius's face for a moment before his usual earnestness returned. "The first day, he was flippant as ever. But as the days came and went and you never returned, he ... changed. Odin wouldn't answer his calls. I could see the way he worked trying to understand what had gone wrong. He tried to follow you in once or twice, but nothing came of it—he couldn’t." Marius sighed. "In the middle of the second week, he told me I could kill him, that it would be restitution."
Satara's brows rose. "Was he just calling your bluff?"
"No ... I think he meant it. But by then, I had no desire to. Besides..." Marius looked at her. "If there was a chance you would come back, he was the only one who would know how to help you to your investiture."
The investiture. Satara looked away as an intense mixture of emotions warred within her: relief that she would transition soon, that she wouldn't go to Náströnd; anger that she was going through this at all, and that Astrid had left her with no recourse; sorrow and grief at the loss of her battlemother; fear of the ritual itself, not knowing what to expect…
She said nothing in response to Marius. The silence felt like a thousand eyes on her, watching for her next move. Idly, she wondered if Coldheart and Aevana felt this scrutinized when she read their story.
Finally, Marius spoke. "Do you have any idea what it might entail, even if Astrid didn't prepare you?"
"I know a bit. Astrid told me once that it was a relatively short ritual for something so important. This life will end. I'm ... not sure if you could call what will happen dying, but I will change. The valkyir will give me a piece of their consciousness; I'll become a spirit of Odin and Freyja."
The vivid looked at her seriously. "Do you think you're ready for that? If you are to become less of an individual and more a part of one whole..."
Fear gripped Satara, but she swallowed it down. "I'll still be myself, just as Astrid was. I'll have free will like any other valkyrie."
Unholy Spirit (The Necromancer's Daughter Book 3) Page 25