Page 3 of Between Broomsticks and Beating Wings (Love X Magic #3)

CHAPTER TWO

FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS LIVING

Rune

B oredom. Oftentimes, I wondered if it could ever be enough to kill a person.

Sure, my life was a beautiful symphony of clashing swords and golden goblets, but all blades eventually began to dull if not sharpened, and all cups were drained if not refilled.

My life was full of dull blades and empty cups, though the gods loved shoving new, shiny weapons into my hands and throwing feasts in my sister’s honor large enough to fill bellies for a century.

“Dragomir,” a voice boomed, pulling me out of my wandering mind. “It’s about time you showed up.”

The wood of my chair creaked under my weight as I leaned back in it to get a better look at the approaching man.

The man named Gro towered over me, his blond locks cascading down his left shoulder.

He wore a diagonal scar across one of his rosy cheeks from one of the many battles he’d fought in his mortal life.

Dragging my chin up to meet his eye, I grumbled, “Well, how could I miss tonight’s feast? It’s only the fifth one this week.”

A hearty chuckle filled the room, shaking the round belly of the bronze man who peered down at me.

I kicked my feet off the chair my boots had been resting on and lazily stood to greet him.

It didn’t suit my ego, having a warrior scrunch his neck to meet my eye.

My ass had grown sore from sitting anyway, so when I rose, I stretched my spine and tilted my chin toward the chandelier above.

“Ah, well, that’s the glory of Valhalla, isn’t it? Feasts every night, celebrations grand enough to fill these golden halls to the brim, you and your sisters at the center of it all.”

“You mean with Odin at the center?” I lightly corrected him, the corner of my mouth twitching.

The man chuffed, his bright blue eyes twinkling. “Would you have it any other way, Dragomir?”

My gaze darted around the feast and its guests, knowing the only appropriate thing to do was to say no, so that’s exactly what I did. I was too sober to cause a scene. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Ah!” The man scooped a goblet off the table and shoved it into my hand. He smashed it against his own, a smile cracking his perpetually merry face in two. “Isn’t that the truth.”

Gro stumbled away, and I watched him as he went. How many times would I have these same conversations, agreeing to unchanging sentiments posed by unchanging people?

The most exciting thing around these parts was death itself, and while I didn’t wield it, I did bless these very halls with its victims. The dead brought a new life to Valhalla, unfamiliar faces belonging to unfamiliar names.

It was never long before I memorized them too, even through drunken hazes and forgettable revelry.

Time would do that, and here, time never lacked.

I took a swig of the mead gifted so generously by Gro.

Mead. It was my cure to the bounty of years here on this plane of existence, a plane filled with bodies standing on golden floors, living for war.

Even in death, vikings fought battles in search of endless glory.

This place was glory personified. It lived within us all like a beating pulse.

Maybe I didn’t wish for war like the rest because I was the one who cleaned up the messes left behind by mortal battles.

In life, these viking men and women lifted swords and great axes, screaming out their gods’ names as they fought in their honor.

They ran into battle with banished fear, knowing they would live to see another day or earn a warrior’s death, either outcome just as welcome.

When their blood was shed, and the day’s battle had ended with another setting sun, I would be there, plucking souls from the slain.

Warriors rode pegasuses into the skies, awaiting the place boasted by all since the time they were babes.

My younger sisters were always caught up in the excitement of war and the newness of it all.

They saw nothing but heroes, and their chests were swollen with honor for carrying the souls of warriors to their next destination—their eternal reward.

But with many battles and many setting suns, their pride and excitement too would fade, and they may begin to look around at everything those heroes had left behind.

It was easy to ignore at first, the intoxication of removing a soul from its body.

You didn’t need a stomach of steel if your eyes were clouded by battle haze.

Every drug wore off eventually. Eyes would clear and minds would open.

It was nearly a hundred years ago I finally saw a battlefield for what it was.

I noticed every drop of blood, every torn family, every burning longhouse.

While we celebrated nightly with warriors in golden halls, I worshiped all those they left behind in thatch huts.

There would be another collection of souls tonight. I had a feeling I would be dragging my feet yet again, flying down to the mortal realm and allowing my younger sisters to have their fill. The faster they collected, the higher on battle haze they became, and the less they noticed I was missing.

Tonight, I would take my time. Tonight, I would press the limits of a mortal body, see how long I could let its soul linger within its confines. The longer the warrior souls could wait for their afterlife, the longer I had to explore the home they were to abandon—and the people they abandoned too.

Mead swished from one cheek to the next before I swallowed it down.

Elderberry tonight. At least some things changed.

I refilled my goblet, not meeting the eyes of the people sharing the long, wooden table with me.

They all knew I wasn’t much of a talker anyway, at least not before my tenth cup.

I didn’t mind reconfirming words and whispers spoken as I turned my back.

I pulled a turkey thigh from the silver tray in the center of the table and took it, and the goblet, with me. Right before I left, I tucked a bottle of mead under my arm. I’d shown my face for long enough tonight; there was always tomorrow night.

Ripping meat from bone, I ambled through the great hall doors and out into the breezeway.

I closed my eyes as the evening air ran over my flushed face and walked like that until I inevitably ran into someone.

I mumbled my apology and opened my eyes to see where my blinded stumbling had landed me.

I’d arrived just short of a balcony with strong stone pillars and a fountain carved of marble.

My eyes darted from the water spewing out through little faces, then back down to my turkey leg.

Shrugging, I set my goblet and bottle on the edge of the fountain and bit down on the turkey to free my hands.

I unleashed my feet from leather boots, curling my toes on cool stone.

Before I changed my mind, I climbed into the fountain, the water soaking my leathers.

My whole body squeaked in a ridiculous melody as I splashed about.

Once I found a nice spot where the stone dipped and cradled my ass perfectly, I reclaimed my goblet.

As I ate and drank, I stared off at the horizon lit only by flame and stars.

I’d never argue Valhalla wasn’t the most beautiful place I’d ever seen.

Its beauty was never my ailment, and I oftentimes couldn't put my finger on what exactly my ailment was.

Yet, I needed to medicate for it, nonetheless.

Truth be told, I’m not sure how long I stayed in the fountain, staring off at dark and hidden mountains. By the time my fingers had pruned and my leathers were ruined, the turkey leg was nothing but picked bone. Sadly, my goblet was emptied of mead, somewhere at the bottom of the fountain.

“I leave you for no more than a few moments, and you're already getting yourself into trouble?” a woman’s voice poured out into the night like spun silk.

“Rayna?” I swung my head to look behind me, but my eyes filled with fluid as the woman dumped a goblet of water onto my face.

The cool water upon my dry skin sent a shock of awareness through me, my heart thumping in my chest, bringing new life to my unmoving limbs.

I jerked up just as she grabbed my hands and yanked me clean out of the fountain, soaked clothing and all.

“Yes, it’s me, you idiot,” my younger sister said. “You’re lucky I found your drunk ass before one of Odin’s guards did.”

“Eh, wouldn’t be the first time.” I shrugged, pushing off her slightly to stand on my own, but she held me firm in her grasp.

As I wiped my eyes, Rayna came into focus as more than a simple, hazy figure.

Her pale blonde hair was tied neatly back into braids, still maintaining strands of color from her previous mortal life.

She looked as if she’d been distracted while in the middle of putting on her armor, her right breastplate strap hanging limply down her chest.

“Exactly my point. Gods, you reek of stale water. Let’s get you out of here and cleaned up, alright?”

“If you so wish,” I said through a string of hiccups. “I do have souls to collect.”

“Not in this state, you don’t.” Rayna dragged me along, though I insisted I could walk on my own.

“I am inebriated, yes, but not a drunken fool. My feet are simply…numb and uncooperative at the moment. But as soon as my blood comes rushing back, hear me, I’ll be flying to Midgard with the rest of you.”

“You’re no fool, but you are a drunken hazard, Rune,” Rayna said as we walked.

She gave me more leeway to make it down the corridor independently.

Even through hazy eyes, I didn’t miss the disapproving glares she shot me.

“I know you care little if your behavior gets you hurt, but don’t forget about the rest of us. ”