LEAP OF FAITH
“Treig, lower your weapon,” I ordered. “Don’t give them an excuse to kill you.”
I could hear the elves calling to each other in their own tongue. Koli stepped away from me, retrieving the bow I had given her from its resting place beside the door. Ulf’s weapon lay on the floor beside it.
“Do you think that’s wise?” I asked her. There was no point shouting at her again—it was clear she’d made some kind of decision. Besides that I had agreed to trust her—I was doing my level best.
“It’s necessary, husband.” She nocked an arrow, pulled back the string, and swung the bow so it pointed at me.
She was not the first woman to do such a thing to me after a truce that involved lovemaking, though she was unquestionably the most lethal. She was also the first to sink my heart by doing it.
Ulf strode through the door, taking stock of the situation. He spoke to Koli in Elvish, she replied, and they began an animated dialogue. Elves moved to seize Treig, but Koli gave an order and they let her go. Then Koli and Ulf resumed their heated exchange.
I hoped, and almost believed, that it was a trick to get Ulf to trust her. Yet why had she refused to tell me who had offered to help her? I couldn’t help feeling it had to be Doro. What could have induced her to trust him again?
If I die, the throne is hers.
I squeezed my eyes closed against the unwelcome doubts, and when the warriors came to bind my wrists, I threw one punch to live up to my hot-headed reputation before I let them take me. They used a fragile looking chain to bind me, but I could feel its magic—forged into the metal itself. I would have bet my ship that its purpose was to block its captive from using magic. I tested it anyway.
Wisp’s light, burn bright, elfin charm against the night. Nothing happened.
Ulf and Koli had finished their conversation, and the elf warrior came over to me. He looked me up and down, smirked, and then swung his massive fist. My bride’s velvety voice was the last thing I heard.
I woke shivering, and everything hurt. Not just my jaw, which had a lump the size of a lemon, but my back, my neck, and most of my joints. Surveying the hard lines and shadows of my surroundings, I surmised that I’d been dragged down the stairs to the dungeon and left for dead.
But they haven’t killed me, and I likely have Koli to thank for that.
Groaning, I pushed myself up with my bound hands and took inventory. I’d been locked in a cell, and in the open area out front, I could see the pile of “little machines.”
I closed my eyes, and the specters of doubt rose again in my mind.
Somewhere close by, there was a steady drip, drip, drip, and I realized I was parched. I looked around to see if water had been left for me. Suddenly the door to the tower swung open and I heard feet descending the stairs. Whoever it was carried a wisp light—a green flame danced above an open palm—and I couldn’t make out a face until the visitor reached the bottom of the stairs.
Koli.
She smiled at me, which caused a wave of relief to wash through me—but it was not a smile I had seen before. It was cool and brittle.
“Husband,” she said, and I didn’t like her tone any more than her smile.
“Are you all right?” I asked, moving closer to the bars of my cage.
Her dark eyes moved over my face, lingering on my swollen jaw. I noticed that she was freshly washed and finely dressed. She wore a wine-colored backless gown with bell sleeves—the laces at the neck of the bodice were loose, and I found my gaze settling on the curves of her breasts. Her hair had been elaborately plaited and wound atop her head. With her glossy wings and other finery, she looked like a dark angel. My dark angel.
“I am well,” she said.
“You are exquisite,” I corrected.
Her expression didn’t change as she came a few steps closer. I noticed that she carried the mechanical raven under one arm. Stopping beside the heap of oddities, she set it on top.
“I’m sorry,” she continued, her gaze resting on the bird, “I know this place is not comfortable.”
At first I wasn’t sure she was speaking to me. I glanced again at the stairs, checking whether anyone had followed her down. It looked like we were alone.
“What is happening?” I asked in a low voice. “Does your father—”
She faced me, her wisp light throwing a green cast over her features. “You will be allowed to live.”
This was delivered in a dry and even tone, like a pronouncement, and I searched her face for any accompanying emotion.
“That is good news,” I said tentatively.
“I persuaded Alfakonung that you are far more valuable alive.”
Alfakonung. Her father. Something unpleasant rolled in my belly. “Aye?”
She nodded. “I will rule in your place. Alfakonung need not grant any terms or honor any alliance. He may simply command me, and I will command Doro.”
“The druid has come out of hiding, then?” My voice had gone flat. They had let me live, yet I had begun to feel that stones were being piled on my grave.
She offered another glacial smile. “He knows he can’t stay in the tower forever. We’ll coax him out soon enough.”
I began to fret in earnest. If this was an act, could she not give me some sign? Show some hint of emotion?
It’s not her nature, I reminded myself. She has always been guarded.
And yet my heart sank further. She was among her own people again. She had fresh reminders of age-old bonds and loyalties. What was I to her in that long history but the fascination of a few moments? A fool who laughed and trusted too easily.
I looked to the top of the stairs, where the door stood open. Night had fallen, but I was pretty sure no one else was waiting there.
Koli turned then and walked back toward the stairway. Either she was playing her part to perfection, or she had checkmated both Doro and me in one fell swoop. I had scorned her, and he had tried to use her. She had been brought up in the court of the Elf King, and we were but a pair of Irishmen with a few tricks up our sleeves.
She raised her foot to the first step and hesitated. “I wanted you to know that you won’t be harmed. Although you will have to remain here for the time being.”
She continued up the stairs, and I called to her softly. “Koli.”
She stopped at the sound of my voice.
“I’m relieved that you are safe,” I said.
I held my breath—she did not turn. I watched her continue to climb, and when she reached the top, an immense silhouette moved into the light.
Ulf, the hairy bastard. He said something in Elvish, and there was no mistaking the affection in his tone. She replied in a voice so different from the one she’d just used—so similar to the one I had been graced with perhaps only hours ago—that I felt seasick, and had I anything in my stomach, it would have come up.
She stepped out of the doorway without once looking back. The door swung closed with a heavy thud.
Koli
“Are you ready, hrafn?” asked Ulf.
My heart pounded as we made our way toward the keep, where my father waited. He and his attendants were conducting their business from the smaller of the two halls.
“Does it matter?” I replied.
Ulf didn’t answer. Both of us knew there was no point.
We reached the closed door and stopped for a moment outside. It was a trick worthy of Loki that I would face my judgment in the same chamber where I had first dined with the king.
I had convinced Ulf that I’d turned on Finvara, and he had made my father believe it too. I’d told Ulf it had been my plan all along—to outmaneuver Doro and take the crown for myself. Moreover, my apparent affection for Finvara had been a ruse, one that I’d dropped as soon as I’d ensured the legitimacy of our marriage could not be questioned. I was not proud of myself for taking advantage of the fact Ulf wanted to believe all of this to be true.
My friend fixed his eyes on me. “I cannot say what he will do. Only that you need not fear for your life. You’re strong, remember that.”
The fact that he had to assure me that my father would not kill me only painted in stark contrast the difference between my new relation and the old ones.
I had never before defied my father. The mark on my back was intended to prevent me from doing so, yet its effectiveness had never been tested until I came to Ireland. After my mother was driven to her death—and before I suspected my father of letting it happen—I was grateful that the Elf King had sent Ulf to keep me safe. I was grateful to be given a home and shielded from the fear and hatred of the people in my village. I had determined to embrace my immortal relations, and I was relieved to finally learn how to use the gifts I had inherited from them—to grow strong, so that I’d never need fear my enemies. Obedience had seemed a small price to pay. I had given nearly two decades of obedience to the church, and its attempts to protect me from its flock had, in the end, proved feeble.
But my mother—she at least had loved me, despite the fact that my birth had taken everything from her. In my father’s house, I had been taught that she was weak. Had she been stronger, she could have survived. Why had she accepted the mantle of shame the villagers bestowed? She should have taught them to fear her, or let my father do it for her. Instead, she became a martyr.
My father possessed not a single tender feeling for her. He did not even pity her. If he knew the truth about Finvara and me, he would despise me for such weakness, and I would face worse than punishment. A crime of defiance was small in comparison.
I nodded at Ulf, and I raised my fist and rapped once on the door. It swung inward, and he stationed himself beside it as I went inside.
The room was lit by the blazing fire and the large, round bracket of candles that hung over the table, throwing long shadows along the walls. Incense smoked from the mantle and filled the room with the familiar scent of thyme, which I associated with the court of the Elf King—it had always made me feel safe.
My father stood at the casement that opened onto the conservatory. As the door swung closed behind me, he turned.
He was even larger than Ulf, the distance between his shoulders twice that of mine—he would not have easily passed through the door, or any door in this castle. He wore his dark hair close cropped, but his beard was long and thick and elaborately plaited. The top half of his face was masked by alternating stripes of black and rust-colored paint, which gave his eyes a feral glimmer. His most striking feature, however, was the set of great, black horns that curved up from either side of his head.
“Father,” I said, bowing deeply.
Though he made no sound, I felt him moving closer.
“Daughter.” His voice rumbled like thunder and I shuddered. The spells he uttered could rend the very ground and roil the surface of the ocean, crack boulders and the ice on frozen lakes.
“You’ve been to see him?” he asked.
“I have, my lord,” I replied. “The dwarf metal holds. He is no threat to us.”
My father gave a low grunt, and I glanced up. He motioned to someone behind me, and two attendants, silver masks covering their faces, moved forward out of the deep shadows of the room. My stomach knotted, and a chill rose along the back of my neck.
“I commend both your strategy and execution,” he said. “You have served me faithfully for most of your life. I’m gratified that you have avoided your mother’s weakness, and that Gunnhild’s ambition runs thicker in your blood than it did in hers. One day you may be strong enough to cross me—even to displace me—but that day has not yet come. And I’m afraid I cannot allow disobedience to go unanswered.”
“I understand, Father, and I submit.”
My eyes darted right and left as the attendants moved toward me. Two took hold of my arms, and another loosened the strings of my bodice, slipping my gown off my shoulders.
My father came closer. My heart thundered and my breaths shortened as he bent to examine my back. It was the closest scrutiny I’d received from him since the day my mother died, when I was brought to his court for the first time.
I jumped as I felt the hot pads of his fingers tracing around the base of my wings. “Yggdrasill no longer troubles you?”
“No, my lord,” I admitted, and I cursed the tremor in my voice.
He moved away again and I let the breath fill my lungs. A moment later he muttered a fire spell, and a searing lash whipped against the small of my back. The pain was equal to the worst of the punishment inflicted by yggdrasill in my chamber, and I cried out and doubled over—only the tight grip of the king’s attendants keeping me on my feet.
I was better prepared for the second lash and determined to make no noise, but it caught the sensitive flesh just above my hip and I uttered an even higher-pitched cry.
When the third lash landed above the other hip, I gritted my teeth and swallowed a moan. Tears squeezed from under both of my eyelids.
“Shall we say one for each decade you’ve served me?”
Five more, Freyja help me.
The attendants released me and I straightened, pulling my gown back over my shoulders and tightening the bodice strings. As I squared my shoulders and turned, the tender flesh of my lower back burned.
“You are forgiven,” said my father as I faced him. “We won’t speak of it again.”
He waved his hand, dismissing me, and turned his back before I’d made it out of the room.
I found Ulf waiting outside.
Searching my eyes, he glowered and said, “I’m sorry, hrafn. You’ve done well. They didn’t have to carry you out, and he won’t forget it.”
He offered his arm, and I shook my head. “I need air.”
“The stairs in the great hall go up to the roof of the keep,” he said. “Shall I take you?”
“I know the way,” I replied, laying a hand on his arm. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
He nodded and left me.
The great hall was dark and quiet, but tomorrow evening my father intended to show the subjects of Finvara who their new liege lord was. There would be a feast, and entertainment into the small hours. Had I intended to remain here that long, I would sit at my father’s right hand as Knock Ma’s new queen—though everyone in attendance would know that I too served Alfakonung.
I approached the stairway that provided access to the upper floors of the keep and the battlements—the same one I had climbed with Finvara on my first evening in the castle.
So many stairs. I took a deep breath and began ascending before I could change my mind.
By the time I reached the top, sweat had soaked my gown and my back was aflame. My breaths came so hard and heavy I had to grasp the stone wall for support.
When I’d recovered, I found another stairway that climbed to the top of the turret extending from the north side of my tower. It was an even higher vantage point, and unlike the towers themselves, it was not topped with battlements.
Here, I found no guards—they all watched from the parapet and towers below. Corvus still slumbered over the castle grounds, washed in moonlight. With the breeze, I could hear the occasional creaking of the rigging.
have you brought all your courage? The goddess’s voice, light with amusement, still hit me like a battering ram, knocking me against the low wall around the turret’s perimeter.
“All that I have left,” I muttered, panting.
Brushing tears from my cheeks, I straightened and gripped the edge of the stone wall. I raised one foot and placed it on the narrow ledge—it was about half the width of my foot. Closing my eyes, I whispered a prayer to Freyja, and I shifted my weight onto the foot resting on top of the wall, slowly lifting the other foot away from safety. If the Morrigan was wrong, I would fall probably a hundred feet to the moat below.
Before I could rise from my crouching position, I teetered, and I raised my wings on instinct to correct my balance. With my wings unfurled, I could feel the cool breeze against my back even through the fabric of my dress. I hovered there, letting it soothe my scored flesh while fear wrung my insides.
It was not the first time I had risked a fatal fall, but I had never before done so while in terrible physical pain, or while running away from my father. And I had certainly never done so while another’s fate rested in my hands.
Slowly I let go of the wall and stood up, raising my wings higher.
The breeze stiffened suddenly against my feathers, unbalancing me, and I half jumped, half fell, from the turret.