Realm of Fate

by Kelly N. Jane

  Ingrid gasped. She’d let herself fall apart so completely that she’d forgotten about the barriers. Seconds later, using the skills Eir taught her, she formed the mental walls to block her thoughts.

  “There is a cloth to scrub yourself with and one to dry when you finish. I’ve also laid out a shift on the bench. You’ll find combs and other items to care for your hair and skin on the table.”

  Before Ingrid could ask questions, Caelya left the room. The hallway door clicked as it closed, and silence descended once more.

  Another growl from Ingrid’s stomach encouraged her to hurry out of her clothes and step into the fervid pool. She hissed between her teeth at first as she adjusted to the heat. Soon, she relaxed and melted against the side as she sat on an underwater ledge, letting the water lap at her chin.

  Steam rose around Ingrid and melted away the tension in her shoulders. While she used the cloth to wash away the layers of dirt from her skin, she contemplated the reasons her magic might be subdued.

  When she was in the courtyard battle, she’d unleashed a force against Jarrick that had brought him to his knees. It had been the strongest she’d felt yet. Unlike other times, she hadn’t weakened with fatigue either. It was also the blow that destroyed Plintze. The image of his prone, motionless body laying in the dirt filled her mind.

  No, I won’t think of that. I need to concentrate. Their sacrifices will be in vain if I can’t access my power.

  Alfheim itself was a magical realm. The elves radiated with power, and it skittered through the air. Ingrid could feel it but couldn’t catch it. Why? What was holding her back? She didn’t think it was because she was human. Magic responded to magic, not race.

  How was Jarrick able to control her? She was already weak from the transition to the new realm, but he had to have done something more. But what?

  Reluctantly, she crawled out of the soothing water. Using the larger cloth, she dried herself and slipped into a shift made of a fabric Ingrid didn’t recognize. It was softer than a lamb’s ear and silky between her fingers. When she slipped it over her head, it hugged her body in a way that made her feel older—feminine.

  After the bath, Ingrid realized how content she felt. How could she forget about everything because of a few comforts? What honor did it give to the memory of her loved ones by enjoying the hospitality of her enemy?

  Ingrid paced around the room. Caelya had begrudgingly treated her with kindness, but maybe she could befriend her. What am I thinking? No one is going to help me.

  She needed to find out what Jarrick had done to suppress her magic, but more than that, she needed to get away. If she was far away from Jarrick, perhaps it would break whatever connection he had on her.

  The palace grounds were warded, but not beyond the walls. The skies had darkened somewhat. It seemed like as good a time as any to test those guards at the gates.

  She had no clothes other than the crusty ones lying on the tiled floor next to the bath. To replace the light, silky underdress with those made her cringe. Perhaps she’d just take the runes and her boots. She’d leave her filthy leathers behind.

  Rummaging through the items on the table in the bathing room, she found a small satchel with a long string containing herbs. Lavender, thyme, and one she couldn’t determine wafted into the air when she opened it. After dumping the contents, she dropped in the runes and fastened the strings around her neck. The small pouch slid under the dress and warmed against her heart.

  Boots tied, she stood in front of the door. Ingrid’s heartbeat thrummed in her ears, and she took several deep breaths. Slowly, she opened the latch and the door swung open.

  Ha! It’s open! Did they really expect I would stay in here?

  It was too easy, but she thought no more on it. She’d come from the right, so she sprinted in that direction as hard as she could. After several turns, there was no way to tell where she was. There had been no other corridors so she must be going the right way.

  When she’d followed Dúngarr, she’d felt as though she was walking in circles, so perhaps she wasn’t lost. It was the way the hallways worked—or so she hoped.

  Stopping every so often to listen, she paused as she had several times but heard nothing. Inhaling deeply, she took off again and rounded a corner, smacking directly into the body of an elf. He was dressed in dark brown pants with a matching vest worn over a soft, flowing cream-colored tunic and a royal blue cloak fixed to the shoulders with jeweled epaulets. Darker hair, much the same color as Jorg’s Ingrid noticed with a pinch to her heart, accentuated a clean jawline. Ears, tall and pointed, jutted out from his hair the same as all those Ingrid had met so far in Alfheim.

  Strong and steady hands wrapped around Ingrid’s shoulders and a pair of bright, light-green eyes stared down at her.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked with a hint of a grin.

  “I don’t believe she has anywhere to be.” Caelya stepped out from behind the tall elf’s shoulder and stared at Ingrid with an arched brow. She smirked as she roved over the nightdress and boots.

  No words came when Ingrid tried to speak. Her heart raced faster than a rabbit, and she couldn’t think.

  “Does she speak?”

  Ingrid wasn’t sure who the elf was, perhaps a guard or commander, but it didn’t matter. She nodded even though she knew he hadn’t spoken to her.

  Caelya huffed. “Apparently, not at the moment. Let’s get her back to her rooms.”

  “No!” Ingrid finally found her voice. “I . . . just want to look around.”

  The two elves shared a look, then stared at Ingrid again. After several heartbeats, Ingrid slumped into the grip still on her shoulders. She knew her escape was once again thwarted.

  The trio walked back the way Ingrid had come with no further comment. The halls blurred as she fought to keep the tears from falling, but she noticed they stood in front of her door after only two turns. She was positive she’d run much farther than that.

  “Thank you for your kind escort, Kelvhan. I’ll take her inside,” Caelya said, breaking the silence and snapping Ingrid back to the moment.

  “Are you sure you can handle this little wildcat all by yourself? She seems wily,” Kelvhan said. The jest at her expense cleared Ingrid’s questions about the corridors. She glared up at him.

  Caelya opened the door with a roll of her eyes and tipped her head, gesturing Ingrid inside. “We’ll talk more after my duties at court,” she said to Kelvhan.

  “Until then.” Kelvhan bowed from the shoulders and strode away with a smile.

  Once inside, Ingrid spun to face Caelya. “Why do you have duties at court?”

  “It’s my responsibility to be at Thelonius’s side during certain times.”

  Thelonius was the king. Ingrid remembered Jarrick saying his name when he’d stolen Galwain. Was Caelya his wife?

  “Why would you come to help me earlier? If you’re the queen, don’t you have slaves who do those duties for you?”

  Caelya’s eyes glittered as she glared at Ingrid. “First, we do not enslave others on Alfheim. That is a primitive and despicable practice.”

  They stared at each other. Within only a few short moments, Caelya appeared to get her flash of anger under control, and Ingrid absorbed the information.

  Ingrid felt conflicted. She agreed with what Caelya had said. As chieftain of their village, her father had ruled against the practice of slavery. How was it that they could keep her against her will then?

  “Second, Thelonius is my brother, not my mate. Why were you running? There is no way for you to get to your family.”

  Caelya’s words brought reality crashing into Ingrid like a hammer. All fight left her, and she melted to the floor.

  “I had to try.” Her voice sounded small and defeated, even to her own ears.

  Then Caelya’s words echoed in her mind. Ingrid stared up at the elegant figure towering over her. The king was her brother, which made her Jarrick’s sister as well—royalty still, yet a princess, not
a queen.

  But what had she meant? Of course, she couldn’t get to her family. She shook her head as she tried to puzzle out why Caelya would have said it. “My family is dead. I just needed to get away.”

  “The village was empty when Dúngarr arrived. He razed it to the ground in anger, but he found no one.” Caelya seemed to find that information amusing.

  All air left the room. Sound ceased. A vision of her family, followed by a long line of others from her village, opened before her. They walked over the ridge of a mountain, and everyone carried heavy packs. Children and goats bounced alongside as they all trekked along the path. They had escaped. They were safe!

  Ingrid smiled and rose to her feet. She was not alone. More than ever, she needed to bind the spell and protect Midgard. Not the way Jarrick intended, but how Eir had taught her. Nothing but death would stop her.

  5

  Jorg

  Bremen was in a conversation over the amount of salvageable dry goods available when Jorg walked up. Jorg remembered how angry the cook had been when Lazuli disrupted her very organized, well-run kitchen. Vevina didn’t need Bremen’s involvement—he was distracting himself.

  “I’m sure the woman knows her business. There are other important matters to attend to that you’re ignoring, or so I’ve been told,” Jorg said by way of greeting.

  Midway into his next sentence with Vevina, Bremen glared at Jorg. “There are many details to take care of. Each is important.”

  “I understand that you can’t figure out how to dispose of that piece of trash we’re both related to.”

  Bremen glanced at Jorg and then turned his attention back to the flustered looking woman before laying his hand on her shoulder. “Please do as much as you can and come to me if you need anything.”

  The woman nodded, visibly calmed, though she cast a disapproving glance at Jorg before she scurried away.

  What is his problem? He tries to be so nice. It’s ridiculous. Just get the work done and move on.

  Bremen turned, his jaw set as if carved from stone, his eyes like daggers as he stared at Jorg. With slow steps, he closed the gap between himself and Jorg, who didn’t move as he approached.

  Standing within each other’s personal space, they locked glares.

  Each man stood a little over six feet tall, and both were broad-shouldered and determined. Unrelenting. Each was a warrior. They’d fought, they’d led men, they’d lost women they loved. Neither was willing to give an inch.

  The air in the courtyard grew thick as silence crept over those standing around, and workers noticed the confrontation near the center of the courtyard. They were Bremen’s people, and they watched their leader, wanting to see how he would handle the challenge by the foreigner.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jorg saw Selby looking around. She stepped closer to Bremen.

  “Bremen, your people need to see you lead. You need to bury your grandfather, and we need to leave. Get everyone on their way and show them you’re in charge.” Bremen didn’t listen as he continued to stare at Jorg. “Bremen.” Selby’s voice was more insistent this time, and she touched his arm.

  “Selby, step back and mind your place,” Bremen said.

  Jorg noticed a distinct shift in the air, like a pebble dropped into a calm lake. Anger rippled from Selby.

  If someone hadn’t muffled a chuckle behind Jorg’s shoulder, he’d have thought a bubble had been created around the three of them. Clearly, his brother had no idea what he’d just done. Bremen had said before that Irish women didn’t fight alongside their men very often, and he obviously had no understanding of Norse women.

  “Mind my place?” Selby said the words slowly as if confused at first. Then her eyes narrowed, and all her muscles tensed.

  Bremen rolled his tongue over his bottom lip before he closed his eyes and slowly turned toward Selby. “Step aside. We’ll talk later.”

  As Bremen started to turn and face Jorg once more, his head snapped to the side. His eyes flew open, and he roared as he spun to face Selby. She was massaging the knuckles of her right hand, the one that had just connected with Bremen’s jaw.

  Jorg had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at Bremen. “I can wait to see what’s left of you when she’s finished.”

  Jorg slid his feet back three large steps, giving room for the new battle brewing in front of him. A second later, he caught a glimpse of Gavin sidling up next to him, the slight grin on his face matched Jorg’s.

  Bremen rubbed his jaw and stared at Selby.

  “Don’t you ever, ever speak to me like that again,” Selby said. “I’m every bit a warrior as you, and I’ll not be dismissed like a child.”

  “Never strike me,” Bremen snapped back. He stepped closer to her, his fists bunched at his side.

  No one worked anymore in the courtyard. In fact, they had crept closer, creating a circle around the two. Everyone wanted to watch the challenge.

  It looks like they think this is a better show than the one with me would have been. They’re smarter than I thought.

  Selby didn’t look like she had a care in the world. She didn’t mind if everybody watched. Jorg let a chuckle escape even though he tried to stop it. Despite the circumstances, he would enjoy watching Selby defeat his newly met younger sibling.

  “Are we taking bets,” Gavin asked while keeping focused on the duo.

  “Only a fool would bet against Selby.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with you. I think I’ll just watch,” Gavin said with a chuck to Jorg’s shoulder.

  In the center, Bremen and Selby still sized each other up. It looked as though Bremen expected her to back down, but Selby stood taller, settling herself into a wide stance. Her fists clenched and her shoulders back, yet relaxed. There was a reason she hadn’t lost many fights when she trained. Only her sister could regularly best her, making them the two finest young shieldmaidens in the village. Jorg doubted that Bremen had ever been challenged by a woman before. This is going to be fun.

  “My argument is not with you, Selby,” Bremen said in a low rumble that carried through the air.

  “No? That’s interesting because I thought you were struggling to remember how to lead and needed someone to teach you. I’m confident I heard you ask me.”

  Bremen rubbed his hand over his face and sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry if you didn’t like the way I spoke. Just stand back, and we can discuss the situation later.”

  Jorg flicked his eyebrows while he glanced to the sky, stifling a laugh. He remembered how he and Ingrid had bantered once when they were training. She’d almost killed him, but he only thought of her fingers touching him when she healed his wounds. Choking his feelings before they overpowered him, he returned his focus to the present.

  A few muffled chuckles came from a group of younger men across the circle from Selby. She kept her eyes trained on Bremen, but Jorg could see the white lining her knuckles and knew she was about to unleash her anger.

  A shriek rang through the air, and Selby barreled her shoulder into Bremen, shoving him back into the waiting circle. Eager for the entertainment, the crowd bounced Bremen once again into the open area.

  Hollers and cheers, some in support and some in jest, came from voices all around the circle. After the intensity of fighting dragons and dealing with so much death, it seemed that the men and women needed a diversion.

  Bremen tried to sweep Selby’s legs out from her, but she jumped into the air just in time. As she landed, she darted forward and struck a blow to the back of Bremen’s shoulder. He spun and lashed out with his arm, connecting to Selby’s side and caused her to stumble backward.

  Neither of them had weapons, which gave Jorg a surge of relief. He didn’t mind letting Selby beat up the smug mongrel, but he didn’t want anyone to get killed either. There had been enough death to those he loved lately.

  Not that I love him—or her, for that matter. What is wrong with me? Pay att
ention. Jorg didn’t know what came over him. There were too many emotions to process; that was all. It had to be.

  Bremen and Selby circled each other again. It was clear that Bremen didn’t intend to attack. He might defend himself and land a blow or two, but he had a look on his face that said he enjoyed the sparring.

  Several of the comments that came from the crowd seemed to indicate they thought it wasn’t going to end in bloodshed either. A woman yelled a particularly crude suggestion to Selby about how to distract Bremen that made Jorg snort and shake his head. Apparently, this fight had turned into a sporting event, at least to everyone except Selby. She was angry and getting more so the longer the battle went on.

  Lunging for an attack and then retreating, her form was excellent. She was a bit slow, Jorg thought, and he decided to work with her when they finally started on their journey to find Ingrid.

  Selby was plenty skilled in the straight forward tactics of brute force, but she could use a little finesse. That’s one of those things Jorg’s dad used to grumble about. How he could move so fast and slide in and around others, so they lost track of him. When he was growing up, he thought it was just because he was fast or too clever for his opponent. Now, he knew it was his elven blood.

  Selby tried to tackle Bremen once more, and he managed to sweep her over his shoulder so she landed on her back in the dirt behind him. Someone, a woman Jorg suspected, tossed a spear to the ground near Selby.

  That was not a good idea. She bounded to her feet and tossed the spear from hand to hand with a smile on her face. Evidently, she’d forgotten all about any feelings she might have had for Bremen. It was a fight, and she intended to win. The playful smirk Bremen had worn through most of their sparring disappeared.

  Bremen held up his hands. “Selby, this has been fun, but let’s not get out of hand. Put the spear down, and I’ll concede,” Bremen called out to her. His tone was such that he sounded as if he were speaking to a child, but partially to a wild animal—and that part was far more accurate.