Page 16 of Polestar (The Global Paranormal Security Agency #3)

FIFTEEN

D uring the long walk, Magnus ruminated over what the village elder had told him.

Everything about Barentia looked the same.

Everything about Barentia felt different.

Subtle differences that would be a trickle-down effect from their leader.

Why would his father change his stance on outsiders, especially after he’d done the extreme act of banishing his only son and direct heir?

“They don’t look it, Magnus, but I could feel that many of them are pleased to see you.” Ana had said to him as they left the village boundary behind them.

Her words should have made him feel better.

They didn’t.

He noted how quiet the road was between the coastal village and his father’s stronghold.

A stronghold that didn’t seem necessary to a culture of polar bear shifters that had rejected most outsiders for the last few centuries.

Mostly human outsiders, of course. And most other paranormals that weren’t polar bear shifters like themselves, which were usually vetted before setting foot in the territory.

Like his former wife, Ulla, and her younger brother, Aksel; children of the ruler of the Novaya Zemlya clan that occupied the Matochkin strait, whom it was named for.

A political alliance.

Although they deterred most outsiders, there were still rival clans that would seek to conquer and control Barentia for their own gain.

Hence, the massive stone stronghold that housed Magnus’ forebears.

Other clans had tried and failed to take it over. Barentia had always been too strong.

They’d been strong because they’d kept their borders tight. Easier to do when you occupied a frozen archipelago in a northern ocean.

Unease slithered at Magnus’ nape.

The elder had said Bjorn Thornsson was different. He didn’t look out for his people as he once had. They hadn’t seen him in a long time because there hadn’t been a gathering or festival in years.

Magnus had been gone for a decade.

Barentia, like a glacier, was slow to change. Annual gatherings and festivals were a vital activity in their way of life.

What other changes would he see when they reached his former home?

He glanced at Ana, walking alongside him, bundled in borrowed cold-weather gear. With her face framed in a faux-fur trim, the tip of her nose was pink, and her cheeks bloomed under the pale blue sky.

Magnus wore his usual clothes, with the addition of an extra layer under his leather jacket.

They both bore backpacks with more clothing and supplies.

He frowned, recalling the elder’s cryptic words to Ana. She clearly sensed there was more to her.

But then, she’d been cryptic about everything she’d said.

At first, Magnus attributed it to the fact that he was a returned banished, and he should have been shunned by all he met.

It was the way.

He had expected resistance at their arrival, and had been surprised they’d allowed him off the dock, let alone parted for him to enter the village and their most sacred space.

They had all remained silent.

The elder had chosen her words carefully.

Like someone could be listening.

I t was long dark by the time they reached the foot of the fortress built into the base of the island’s weathered mountain.

They had exchanged few words, preferring to focus energy on the journey.

“Cozy,” Ana muttered, “Don’t suppose it has indoor plumbing and a reliable heating system?”

“If they don’t send us away immediately, they’ll probably relegate us to a hut outside the town’s boundary. If we’re lucky. More likely, we’ll be sleeping in the tent that I have bundled in my pack.”

Ana groaned, her expression pleading that it wasn’t the case.

“Don’t worry, I know many ways to keep you warm.” He winked and saw that she couldn’t help but smile.

“Shall we get this over with?”

Magnus nodded. The smile dropped from his face as he stepped forward.

Toward his past.

Toward the father that banished him from his world.

The ex-wife that had undermined him.

The son that no longer knew him.

The rest of his friends and family that had all turned their backs on him.

None had protested the banishment. None had come forward for him. He’d been alone. Until he joined Kane’s Organization. What else was there for him?

He’d questioned everything in those days; Kane, her motives, her sanity. Others that worked for her. In time, he’d learned to trust her, as his instinct had urged him to do, but he still questioned her regularly. As he’d done with his father. It was in his nature.

Unlike his father, Joey Kane respected him for it.

When did it all go wrong?

He sighed, staring up at the familiar stone walls built into the mountainside.

As far as he could recall, everything changed after the birth of his son, Elias.

It should have been a happy time, full of wonder and rightness—and it was, for a little while. His world revolved around his brand-new little cub. He’d never experienced pride and love like that before. Magnus held those memories deeply buried under the permafrost, protecting his heart.

Everyone changed.

While at the time it was difficult to discern what was happening and who was instigating the direction of things, time and distance had since made it easier to see what was happening.

Ulla.

Still, Magnus was cautious where to lay the blame, despite how contentious their separation had been.

Family break-ups were messy, and everyone had some responsibility to claim.

A decade was a long time.

A s Ana passed through the smaller door set into the massive iron-banded wooden gates, she remembered to keep her mouth closed as she took in her surroundings—she was so in awe of the place.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the high walls blocked the arctic wind from freezing her through to her bones. She didn’t care that Magnus insisted it wasn’t winter. She’d already decided she’d never, ever, be in the arctic during that particular season. The current climate was bad enough.

They stood between two stone walls, lined with snow and ice in every crevice and cranny. The ground, clear of either, was surfaced with a stone road and a cobbled foot path.

She gave a little laugh. “This place is incredible. It reminds me of a dwarven mountain castle from the movies.”

“That’s because we worked together to build the place.”

Ana stumbled on the cobbles. “Wait-what? Dwarves are real? You’re joking, right? This place has to have been built centuries ago. Where are they now?”

“Yes. No. It was. No idea.”

“Huh.” She considered this as they moved toward the next reinforced door. “Where is everyone?”

“Ordered to remain out of sight. Banished are to be considered among the dead and treated thus. The land of the dead is a barren landscape, devoid of the living. The two worlds never cross. Mine is an exceptional circumstance.”

“I’d argue against the ‘never cross’ part,” Ana murmured. “But, yeah, I think I get it. So, the villagers we met before…”

“Caught off-guard, I suppose. If they knew it was me coming to their dock, they likely would have disappeared, too. Except for the temple priestess.”

“The convener for the two worlds.”

Magnus smiled as he turned to look at her before passing through the next reinforced door. “Were you Barentian, you’d have been given to the temple because of your ability.”

“Lucky for both of us, I’m not.”

Ana’s heart panged when Magnus’ smile left.

“I suppose it is. Otherwise, neither of us would be here now.”

They approached the final heavy door that would lead them inside. Her gaze traveled up the face of the fortress nestled into the foot of the mountain.

It was no wonder the Barentians were an unconquered people.

She caught sight of a young Barentian with the same wild hair that Magnus had, peering down at them from a gap in the rock that she guessed was a balcony or large window of some kind.

His son?

Or just another curious youth, defying the rules?

Inside, the reception hall was cavernous, but they continued past it. Magnus led Ana down a stone-lined corridor to another room that showed the first hints of warmth.

It looked like a small clerks’ office, with a large desk and a wall of fitted shelves supporting scrolls, books and other miscellany that Ana itched to explore. A lit fireplace provided heat.

Electric lighting suspended above the main desk and other work benches illuminated documents and manuscripts strewn across their surfaces.

A stout woman with graying auburn hair, carrying a heavy leather-bound book, approached from a doorway tucked into the back of the room. She stopped on the opposite side of the large desk, placing the open volume with care on its surface.

There were pens and pencils of varying types and inks. The woman ignored those in favor of a quill and inkwell that she withdrew from somewhere behind the desk. She set them near the book and adjusted her glasses.

“Registrar Maerie Gailensdotter,” Magnus greeted her.

Peering over the top rim of her lenses at Magnus and Ana, nose twitching as she scented them, she spoke in English. “Prince Magnus Bjornson, I presume we are recording a union. Are there any offspring to account for?”

“Shouldn’t the clan shaman be here to witness the record?”

“He will not be.”

Magnus grunted. “I thought my father—the king,” he corrected himself, “was determined to uphold all the values and traditions that Barentia has observed for centuries?”

“Millenia,” the woman corrected. “It would seem our esteemed king is allowing some changes to our traditions.”

“I’m standing here, a banished man, because he refused to change anything,” Magnus ground through his teeth.

The woman’s gaze flicked to the open door behind them before she removed her glasses, set them next to the open inkwell, and strode toward the door. With a quick peek into the hall, she closed it and returned to her post.

Retrieving the glasses, she tapped them against her palm, regarding Magnus across the desk, then turned her inspection on Ana, nose twitching again.

The woman’s frustrated indecision rippled through Ana. A psychic wasn’t needed to see the unspoken words in her expression.