Realm of Fate

by Kelly N. Jane

  Ingrid peered over the rail at the duo. Jarrick kept his hands held behind his back and stayed behind Urkon’s shoulder as they walked. She’d seen many men show the same respect toward her father when they spoke with him.

  A shiver made gooseflesh rise against Ingrid’s tunic as she watched them. Where she stood seemed as high as the top of a dragon ship mast. She couldn’t hear their words from the distance, but she could feel the darkness radiating from Urkon. He was shorter than Jarrick by a head and wore a dark cloak that trailed behind him as he strolled along. The hood laid against his back, lined in a deep crimson, the color of spilled blood.

  As she watched, she wondered if Jarrick’s plans to restore Vanaheim by overthrowing Asgard might not be his own. He’d said he wanted to bring back the proper leadership, to allow the Vanir their rightful home, and allow beauty and art to flourish again instead of the war-hungry ways of the Aesir. The man he bowed to oozed wickedness.

  Ingrid reached out and gripped the rail as her magic shifted, coiling deeper and farther away from her. It was a stifling sensation that made it hard to breathe.

  “If all he needs is to kill me, then why am I here?” Perhaps you don’t know as much as you think you do.

  Ingrid did her best to let a cold indifference slide across her face. Inside, she was a trembling mass of fear. Binding the spell wasn’t just about protecting Midgard as she’d thought. It was a game between two of the most powerful beings in all the realms. Something about it made little sense.

  Why would Jarrick tell her he wanted her to be the queen? Why would he keep her alive if his master needed her dead?

  “Do you think I’m only the commander of Jarrick’s guard? Information is the most valuable currency there is, and I am very rich.”

  There was a twitch in Dúngarr’s cheek as he spoke. Ingrid stared at where it flashed. What did he gain by telling her so much? There was something else.

  You’re trying to get information from me. A slight grin tugged at Ingrid’s mouth.

  Fear slipped behind indignation as she stood tall. Robbed of her family, friends, and powers, she still had something Jarrick needed. Whatever it was, Dúngarr didn’t know either, and that made him less of a threat. Ingrid had nothing to lose. That started with pushing the vile being in front of her into his rightful place—beneath her feet.

  “You’ve delivered me to my rooms, now get out. In the future, don’t enter without permission.”

  The twitch surfaced again in Dúngarr’s cheek. It was all Ingrid could do to keep her features calm and neutral. After several long seconds, the elf flattened his lips to a thin line and spun away. His anger billowed more than the curtains he slapped aside.

  When the door slammed closed, Ingrid sighed and leaned against the railing. As she did, a lump in her pouch pressed against her hip and all her strength melted away. She slipped her fingers around the two rune stones and pulled them out to view.

  Both gray stones fit inside her palm though they were heavy for their size. The smooth ovals revealed the carved symbols on one side.

  Thurisaz and Othala. Protection and home.

  Ingrid slid down and pulled her knees to her chest. The smooth stones etched with her failed destiny broke her resolve. The weight of all that had happened and her grief overwhelmed her. Resting her head on her arms, tears flooded over her cheeks, and she did nothing to stop them.

  3

  Jorg

  The stench of sulfur lingered in the air for two days after the dragon attack. They’d dealt with most of the dead bodies and pushed the rubble to the sides, but Jorg’s patience had worn thin. He needed to get away from the mess. Most of the food stores had burned, and it was all the excuse necessary.

  He’d spent the day in the woods hunting with a handful of other warriors. It didn’t take away the gnawing emptiness in his mind from Ingrid’s absence, but it helped to calm his spirit.

  I need to find you, Ingrid. This silence is killing me.

  Bremen had stayed behind, busy organizing the departure of his people back to Ireland under Gavin’s leadership. He walked up to Jorg after the hunters deposited their game. A deer carcass hung from a charred crossbeam, and women had already started to dress out a large pile of rabbits.

  “It looks like you were successful,” Bremen said.

  “I don’t know if it’s enough for their journey across the sea. They’ll have to ration.” Jorg dipped his hands into a bucket of water and splashed it against his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. Slicking his hair back, exposing the pointed tips of his ears, he stood tall and faced Bremen.

  “They’ll be careful, and if they have favorable winds, they can make the journey in under ten days. There will be fish, too, and whatever dry goods we can send.” Bremen watched the people hurrying about and nodded his head. “They’ll be fine,” he said, more to himself than Jorg.

  “We’ll need supplies as well,” Jorg said. He wasn’t sure how far it was to Svartalfheim, and he wanted to be ready to go as soon as Plintze returned.

  “Of course. Gavin should have everyone on their way the morning after next. I’m eager to be on our way.” Neither man looked at one another, the silence thick with their fears for both Ingrid and Galwain.

  After Plintze had explained there might be a way into Alfheim through the dwarf realm, they’d all agreed to go there. Before they could leave, however, the dead needed to be cared for, which gave Plintze time to find and bury Lazuli. Somewhere in the forest, the little sprite’s body lay where it fell after the dragon had plucked her wings. The dwarf had not yet returned, and Jorg was eager to get going.

  Across the courtyard, Selby and Gavin’s laughing and talking drew Jorg and Bremen’s attention. The sound of joy was noticeable among the somber surroundings.

  Bremen stiffened as he stared, and it took a good deal of effort on Jorg’s part to keep a smile from forming. Selby had always been a shameless flirt around the village, and it amused him that she didn’t understand the havoc she caused to his brother.

  Brother, ha. We’ll see.

  The whirlwind of finding his mother and learning that the arrogant prince was his half-brother still hadn’t settled within him. It didn’t help that the dark elf who’d kidnapped Ingrid and his mother was also his father. Growing up not knowing his heritage, then having it all exposed at once, had been a lot to accept.

  “Maybe with the extra food, they’ll be on their way sooner,” Bremen mumbled as he walked off toward the narthex.

  While it might be a moment of amusement for Jorg, it quickly passed. The silence in his mind where he’d grown accustomed to hearing Ingrid’s voice echoed his loneliness. The hunting had helped keep him busy but being back with little to do made him irritable. Guilt rode his shoulders like a hawk, and every minute they wasted before getting her away from his father pained him.

  My father! What if that’s the reason I feel so angry all the time? What if I’m just like him?

  Jorg felt useless. They’d finished the hunting, there was no need to repair the damage to the palisade or buildings because no one would stay there, and his pack was ready to go. He kicked out a foot and mumbled to himself about wasting time, but in the dust that surrounded his toe, something else glistened in the afternoon light.

  Instantly, he bent down and wrapped his fingers around a smooth object. When he wiped off the dust and grime, he gasped. It was the stone from Ingrid’s necklace—her amber one. It must have fallen in the battle and gotten trampled into the dirt. This was the bead that glowed when she healed.

  Hjarta, you need this! Don’t you?

  Squeezing his fingers tight, he let the cool stone mold into his palm as he closed his eyes. If he could only hear her voice, he’d know she was okay. He’d be able to think rationally. But she wasn’t there. Only the dull, aching silence.

  Standing alone in the middle of the courtyard wasn’t the place for him to break down over missing Ingrid. He needed to go somewhere private. Space was at a premium now that m
ost of the buildings were in ruins, which forced everyone to gather into the remaining smaller spaces. The forest was his only option to be alone.

  As Jorg turned to head back into the cool shade of the trees beyond the broken gate, Selby’s voice rang out to him. Pretending he hadn’t heard her quickly crossed his mind, but that was easier said than done. Nearly everyone in the courtyard had heard her and turned their heads to the sound of her voice. Jorg sighed and waited for Ingrid’s best friend as she strode closer.

  “We need to talk,” she said by way of greeting and then gave him no option but to listen. “I’ve already told Bremen that he needs to take care of this, but you need to help, too. Three of Wilbert’s men have asked to speak with both of you. You should listen to what they have to say.”

  “Why?”

  Selby rolled her eyes and put a hand on her hip. “Because they probably have insight we need. Not all the men were in the courtyard when the dragon loosed its fire. Some fled back into the woods. We need to know how many and if they’ll continue looking for us. We certainly shouldn’t arrive at the doorway to Svartalfheim with a bunch of magic haters following us to their front door.”

  “That’s dramatic, even for you. Why would they bother with us? They fled because there was a dragon planning to char their hides. They have to believe that even if we are alive, it’s only because we can somehow command such a creature.”

  “That’s my point. If they’re out there and believe they should carry on Wilbert’s message, they could come back and outnumber us. We can’t risk them trying to fight with us when we need to get to Ingrid and Galwain.”

  Jorg rubbed his hand over his face and blew out a long sigh into the air. She had a point. He wanted to get on the road and leave all of this rubble behind. Nothing would be right again until Ingrid was back. The amber still clutched in his palm helped to calm his spirit.

  “What did Bremen say?” Maybe he could distract her and buy himself some time to get away.

  “Turns out the two of you might be brothers after all. He’s just as stubborn.”

  Jorg looked to the skies and tried to ignore her comment even though he wanted to grin. “Maybe he shouldn’t worry so much about getting these people on the road. Just make them leave already, and we can deal with how to handle Wilbert’s men.”

  “Yeah, well, some of them needed the extra time to heal.” Because Ingrid isn’t here to heal anyone, she’d left out, but they both knew what she meant. “There’s something else that still needs to be done as well, now that you’re back.” Selby fidgeted with her hands and drew a circle in the ash with her toe. “Wilbert hasn’t been buried. There’s been a disagreement about whether to bury his body or use a pyre. I used your absence to buy some time, but something needs to happen.”

  “Why would you wait for me? I have no concern for that man’s afterlife.”

  “I know, but he’s your grandfather, too. Bremen has so much to deal with, and I thought it would help him know that he can rely on others.”

  “I’m sure he has a plan. He seems to feel the need to involve himself with everything. Are you sure he hasn’t already taken care of the man?”

  “Actually, Gavin had to move the body because it was causing a smell in the nave. I don’t think Bremen wants to deal with it any more than you do.” She sighed and stared at Jorg. “I think he’s keeping so busy with the travel arrangements because he doesn’t have to think about that. Would you talk to him?”

  Jorg huffed and watched Bremen over Selby’s shoulder as he spoke with the cook. It seemed odd that the man who needed to personally assist in every small detail would ignore the burial of his own grandfather. With no more conversation, Jorg stomped off to deal with the uncomfortable family issue.

  4

  Ingrid

  Ingrid sat, wedged between the railing and the potted plant until she was numb. Her tears had long since drained away, leaving a burning grit behind her eyes. She wasn’t sure she could use her legs to stand if she wanted to.

  It didn’t matter. Whatever bravado she’d drudged up to use against Dúngarr disappeared. As she sat, her thoughts turned away from her family toward the origins of her pain. Freya had bound her family to a spell that had less to do with protecting Midgard than it did to prove herself the most powerful wielder of seiðr magic. It was nothing more than a game. A political move to establish herself over Urkon, maybe even Odin.

  The fact that Ingrid was still alive made little sense to her. If Urkon could defeat Freya by destroying her descendants, then why didn’t Jarrick kill her when he first found out who she was?

  Ingrid huffed a laugh and pulled up the edge of her sleeve to view the jagged pink scar that ran down her forearm. He did try.

  She’d survived a dragon attack—with the help of Plintze. The sticky essence Jarrick had shoved into her consciousness hadn’t made her bow to him. She hadn’t let him pull her away when he came to her in a vision. Maybe there was something she didn’t know yet. Something he still needed.

  The latch on the door to her rooms clicked open. Stiff and sore, she didn’t move. Maybe whoever it was wouldn’t see her and would leave.

  An elegant hand held back one of the curtains, and a stunning female elf stepped forward to stare at Ingrid. She wore a velveteen gown in a deep purple that gathered at the shoulders with no sleeves. A belt of gold cinched around her slender waist, and her exposed arms were thin but showed the lines of tight, strong muscles. Her hair hung loose, long and straight in the same light blonde color of Jarrick’s, and an air of dignity radiated as she approached.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice was light and airy but held a tinge of power.

  “Enjoying the hospitality of Alfheim.” Ingrid chuckled under her breath at how it sounded more like something Selby would say. Her best friend would have been proud.

  “Follow me,” the woman said before turning to leave. Apparently, she was used to giving orders and wasn’t someone sent to care for Ingrid.

  Another spy to be my jailor, no doubt.

  When Ingrid didn’t move, the she-elf peeked around the curtain with narrow eyes before she stepped back onto the balcony.

  “If you’d rather stay uncomfortable and hungry, that’s fine by me.”

  Ingrid rolled her eyes and sighed, saying nothing.

  “How long have you been sitting there?”

  “A while,” Ingrid answered with a small voice as she stared at her knees.

  With a heavy sigh, the elf fixed her face with the expression one wears after they’ve eaten something sour. “Grab my hand.”

  Ingrid gazed at the long, slender fingers and luminescent skin that reached toward her. Then stared at her own hands crusted with dirt, her broken fingernails lined in black.

  “Just take hold,” the female ordered. Though she sounded irritated, her tone had softened a touch.

  Ingrid clamped her jaw tight and latched onto the offered palm. She clenched her muscles, prepared for the effort it would take to stand after so long, but before she could do anything she was on her feet. Pain screamed through her legs. Unwilling to let the runes fall from her other hand, she fell onto her elbow against the railing with a muffled groan as her knees buckled.

  “You’re expected at dinner, but I think it might be best if you had a warm bath first. It will help your muscles return, and other . . . issues.” The last part was more mumbled than spoken.

  Ingrid only nodded as she accepted help to walk back inside. Little spikes jabbed into her legs as feeling returned to them. An exasperated groan made its way from her throat. Followed by an angry rumble from her stomach.

  Neither woman said anything further as they shuffled through a doorway connected to the main room.

  Walls washed in light blue surrounded a tiled floor in a mosaic pattern of white and blue swirls. In the center was a deep pool of steaming water. It was wide enough that Ingrid wouldn’t be able to touch both sides at the same time and at least two body-lengths long. The end closest to whe
re they stood had gradual steps leading down into the deep green water.

  “If I let go, can you stand on your own?” The elf’s voice snapped Ingrid’s attention away from the bath.

  Still mesmerized by the sights, she stared into the elf’s eyes for a couple of seconds to process her words. The shooting jabs in her legs had eased. Ingrid pushed her weight into her feet and released her grip.

  “Yes, I’m better now. What is your name?”

  “Caelya.” She turned away and removed items from a drawer across the room. “Your healing energies are suppressed. I can feel it though I don’t know why.”

  Stunned, yet not surprised, Ingrid shook her head. It made sense, and it made her angry. It also made her question how Caelya would know such a thing.

  “How do you know that I can heal?”

  Caelya straightened, her arms laden with fabric and toiletries. She arched a brow at Ingrid as if her question made no sense. “Everyone here knows who you are.”

  Somehow, Ingrid had thought her imprisonment was a secret. That only Jarrick or Urkon would do such a thing to someone. Did that mean the king approved of such treatment? Vimala said he didn’t wish her harm, but what did that mean? “How do I release my powers?” she asked between her teeth.

  “I don’t know, and I only offered the information so you’d understand why you might feel weaker. I haven’t spent a significant amount of time with humans. Not in a long time.”

  Anger welled up in Ingrid. Of course, Jarrick made her weaker. He had all but radiated jealousy over of her time with Eir. He’s afraid of what I know, of what I can do.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Caelya said as she set down some folded fabric near the edge of the pool. “You have some impressive mind barriers, but when you forget to uphold them, it’s as if you’re shouting into my head.”