Page 10

FIRST, I SELECTED my target. The one they called my fiancé would do nicely; the one too cowardly to face me last night.

He would be my ticket back to the safety of Danmark.

With a tender plan hatched, I slept soundly that night back in my temple on the softest bed my body had ever known. The sun was already up by the time I stirred.

Today I’d leave.

Once more, I passed over the beautiful arrangement of weapons in the closet in favor of more subtle knives that would match my strength better and keep suspicion down. I strapped them to my thigh, to my back, and on my arms. Then, I placed a more obvious one around a belt at my waist. With the ludicrous amount of weapons the gods insisted on wearing, I could get away with one.

For good measure, I slipped another inside my boot.

A gold framed oval mirror sat between the closets, and I caught my reflection in it when I passed. I paused.

Frigg had found time to fill the second closet with clothes, and I’d chosen the simplest outfit. The tunic wasn’t made of silk, but it was finer cloth than any I’d ever owned, and clean like it’d never known a day of training. It was deep blue like my eyes, almost dark enough to be black, tight on the arms but loose around the midsection, with silvery strings at the front. A thin, black belt hugged the curve of my waist, and I’d found tight white pants to wear beneath the tunic.

The clothes were far less extravagant than the golds and metals the gods wore last night, yet something about me appeared different.

Perhaps the circles beneath my eyes weren’t as dark today. A full night’s sleep would do that. Or perhaps my hair held a proper wave instead of its usual mayhem. I peered closer. Freckles stood out against my light skin but while I’d usually found those to tarnish my looks, today they didn’t seem so bad. It wasn’t enough to call myself pretty, but when not put beside Tova’s face, I had a few decent features to be admired. Perhaps with work, I could have fit in with the gods.

My one braid was still a clear sign I was Viking. I twisted it around my fingers as I remembered how it was meant to go to Trig someday, as he would braid it into his hair and I would braid his into mine. I thought we’d be bound together forever.

Without thinking, I reached for the blade at my waist. Every time I saw this braid, I’d think of him, and he was not allowed to go any further with me.

I cut the braid at chin length and let the rest fall with a thud to the ground.

My next breath felt almost free.

I became drunk on that feeling and cut off another lock of hair. Then another. Bit by bit, I sliced through my thick hair, cutting it all just above the shoulder, and watching my reflection change with each chunk that fell.

When I was done, my hair no longer reached down my back. It barely reached my shoulders.

The result was a bit messy, borderline chaotic, and completely liberating.

There was a tiny dagger with the other weapons, about the size of my finger, adorned with blue gems along the side, and I picked it up. Carefully, I wound it around a small section of hair at the side of my head, pinning it back so you could see the shaved parts, and stepped back to admire the look.

Not quite a Viking, not quite a god. Definitely not Astrid, but not fully Rune either. At least, not who Rune used to be.

Behold—Ruin. The name was growing on me.

I took the stairs down from my room, leading into the grand foyer where I’d first been brought in. I seized the doorknob and pulled to let the morning air in as I plotted how to find this apparent fiancé of mine.

To my surprise, a chariot was at my door, pulled by two black horses, and built from dark iron.

A man stood in the chariot. He stepped down, and our eyes collided across the courtyard.

Dark hair covered most of his face until he swept it away to reveal oval eyes dark as olives and thick brows. The dew of the morning rested on the shoulders of his cloak, and his hand went back to the rail of his chariot like he might flee now that I’d opened the door.

His face was familiar, and I gasped when I recognized it. “You’re Loki.”

He frowned, but withdrew his hand from the chariot. “Loki brings a cold air that sends a noticeable shiver up your spine and every hair on your arms on edge. I’m not Loki.”

He took a timid step forward, licked his lips, and said, “I’m Ve, your fiancé.”

A surge of triumph ran through me. The very man I was looking for.

He looked different in the sunlight than he had when shrouded in shadows, his brown eyes kinder and less mischievous and his grin genuine instead of taunting. There was something in how he stepped from the chariot with swift and steady movements, like he could lead an army and write poetry both with equal attention.

He gave a little bow, showing the sword he’d left in the chariot behind him. Other than that, there were no weapons. All I had to do was get him further away from that sword then. “I hear I’m to call you Ruin now, and not Astrid.”

I plastered on the most hospitable smile I could find, one I’d seen Móoir use many times as neighbors came by who I knew she’d rather not visit. I tilted my head to the side and attempted a playful tone. “It’s the name I know. Care to come in?”

He hesitated. “There’s something I’d like to show you. Let’s go for a ride.”

My smile dipped as he stepped back on his chariot, close to his sword. But I had little option other than to agree, so I descended the marble steps and stepped on the chariot beside him. “Where to?”

“Somewhere you’re going to love.”

I almost laughed. “If you can list one thing I love right now, I’ll believe you.”

He grinned like he was glad I asked. “Knives. You’re wearing more today than you were last night.”

My cheeks flushed.

“Trust me. You’ll want to see this.”

The horses moved forward with the knock of their hooves and a puff from their muzzle, and I gripped the rail to keep upright. This one didn’t float like Balder’s had, and it made for a rough ride. In the small space, Ve stood close enough the hairs on his arm brushed mine, but I tried not to show how that unnerved me. My shoulder reached only a few inches above his elbow, but his frame was less intimidating than Balder’s or Odin’s. He held the reins of the chariot low, keeping a casual stance like this was a usual morning stroll for him, with his cloak flapping softly in the breeze as we rode.

The black horses stood out against the brighter colors of the morning, where shimmery light caught on their soft manes. They turned downward, treading carefully along a narrow path winding behind my temple and past fields of tall wildflowers. The rickety rumble of the chariot wheels filled the silence. After a minute, a stream came to view, sparkling light blue and wide enough to carry a shoal of silver, blue, and yellow fish. They flurried back and forth like a little dance only they knew, their scales sending vibrant shades through the water as the sun hit them. It was the first time I’d admired the small creatures instead of ensnaring them for dinner.

The stone of the mountain gave way to rich, alluvial grounds, and the turn of the wheels came surer.

“Where are we going?”

I asked Ve as we rode along the stream. The steady trickle of water soothed me, and when paired with the crisp air, it almost felt like home. Except home didn’t have chariots and sleek horses and tall gods who made me nervous.

“There.”

Ve pointed. The stream opened to a lake at the foot of the mountain, and a grassy path led to a tall cave supported with oak beams.

We came to a stop near the mouth of the cave. It faced north so the sun couldn’t shine within the dark opening, but as we drew nearer, little details came into view. Crates set up just inside. Small dolls. Woven baskets. Wooden trinkets. A child’s rattle.

I didn’t move further. “It looks like a grave. If this is what you think I love, I’m giving off a very different vibe than I intended.”

His laugh was rich. “You were glowering at everyone last night like some reaper of death.”

He stepped from the chariot.

“I was not. I was soaking it all in.”

“I see. You look very angry when you ‘soak.’”

I stepped off beside him. “Is that why you left early?”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t withdraw his gaze. Instead, he looked at me fully. “I only wanted to meet you on my terms. I wouldn’t have done it this way.”

He glanced to the cave. “But Balder made it clear if I didn’t make my introduction before midday, he’d strangle me. So here we are.”

“Here we are…where?”

Tall grasses bent beneath his foot as he crossed to the cave, where he knelt, dropping his knees into the soil. “It’s a shrine.”

He looked back. “For you.”

It took a moment to understand, but then the items began to make sense. The dolls, the rattle—all toys for the missing child. As Astrid grew older, the gifts matured into jewelry, wools, and dresses.

“These gifts were left by mortals at various altars across Earth, and we collected the offerings and brought them here. Most of them are useless to you now,”

he said as he picked up a carved, wooden sheep. Its leg dangled at the wrong angle before it fell off. Ve set it back down. “But it’s still beautiful.”

“Beautiful?”

I asked in a whisper. My throat was tight. That wasn’t the word I’d use for it.

A thick wool lay there, useless, instead of being used to keep someone warm through winter. Gold bands that would never be worn, children’s toys that never got played with, and carvings that must have taken someone hours to create—all wasted on a girl who was never coming home.

This wasn’t beautiful. “It’s sad.”

The wool might have been the saddest of all, and it carved me to the bone. I wanted to look away but my attention was trapped on it as I relived a memory from years ago. It was during those years when it was only me and Tova, before our younger sisters were born, but after my accident tore up my arm. We already knew of my breathing struggles, but that accident, it only proved what my parents had whispered about at night. I wasn’t strong enough to thrive.

Those words motivated me during trainings when I could hardly go on. I might not thrive, but I’d survive.

That winter proved hardest to survive.

We were especially poor then, as my parents had moved to the Fjord Clan from the Southern Clan that summer, and were starting a new life from nothing. We had what could hardly be called a home, and not much to keep warm inside of it. The days were spent by the fire to absorb what heat we could from the limited sticks Faoir allowed us to burn, and the nights were endless stretches of shivering until I was so numb I couldn’t feel a thing.

There was only one large wool. It went to Tova.

My parents would bundle me in layers of clothes at night with an undeniable look of pity in their eyes. It might be doing her a kindness, Faoir whispered to Móoir one night when they thought I was asleep. If she dies now, she’ll avoid a hard life.

I shoved the memory away. Tova hadn’t remembered having the only wool that winter, but I’d never forget. And all that time, this one was here, left for a girl who never claimed it while children were freezing each winter.

Ve stood with a confused look on his face. “You find this sad?”

He could never understand what it meant to be so cold you might freeze or so hungry you might starve. He’d never know how it felt to be an outcast or to not feel wanted. I didn’t have the heart to explain it to him. “Yes, I find it sad. This is a sign of people trapped in sadness. People go missing. People die. But this—it does nothing to fix that.”

He picked up the rattle. “This isn’t sad. It’s love. This is proof of how cherished you are, even by those you’ve never met. Your whole life you’ve had the full might of Asgard searching for you, entire clans mourning you, and altars built in your remembrance while we all prayed that one day you’d be returned to us. Odin is already planning a huge celebration for your name day in two months.”

He tossed me the rattle. “All this is proof you’re loved.”

The rough edge of the rattle scraped against my hand, and I twisted it to inspect all sides. A thin snake had been carved into the edge, tracing its narrow head up to the cusp of the rattle, where it nestled in as if sung to sleep with a lullaby and not waiting to strike. It’d been painted once, but the colors were faded now. “A child would have loved to play with this, but instead it was wasted.”

“It wasn’t wasted.”

He took a step toward me, and the intensity of his gaze was so great, it was hard to look away. “You were never a waste.”

I looked down, then had to turn my face away. “Gods,”

I whispered. The tender way he’d said that stirred up something deep in my chest, and each syllable was a crack against the stone. His words had found a crevice and hit hard enough, streams of unchecked emotion spilled out.

You were never a waste.

“Are you okay?”

Ve asked softly. I remembered that in his eyes, he was speaking to the girl he was pledged to marry. A girl he’d waited his entire life to meet.

I blinked hard. “I’m fine.”

But I lied. This missing child had been so fiercely loved, people gave up treasured items like this rattle, or the wools and gems, all for someone they never even knew. They loved her from the depths of their hearts, from the very first day they knew of her.

I’d seen a love like that. It wasn’t for me.

I longed to feel adored someday. Suddenly, the rattle in my hand wasn’t sorrowful, it was a bitter reminder of a love I didn’t have, and I might never experience.

Except last night, I got a taste of it. From the moment I walked in the room, the gods welcomed me with open arms and made me feel like I was something to be desired. The warm feeling was still there as a hum beneath my skin, tempting me with how addicting it was and reminding me, if I played my cards right, I could have that forever.

I tightened my grip on the rattle. This wasn’t mine, and this home wasn’t for me. That seemed to be a mantra I had to repeat to myself over and over.

This love would be nothing compared to their fury when they discovered I was lying about who I was.

Adoration was nice, but I’d lived without it. I must be willing to do so again.

Reignited with my plan, I wandered closer to Ve. I shoved the sorrow deep into my gut and filled my mind with thoughts of escape and freedom. “I suppose when you put it that way, it doesn’t seem so sad.”

He let me approach him with a tentative look in his eye, until our hands were close enough to touch. I watched him gulp. If he had spent his life waiting for his precious fiancée, he likely hadn’t experienced the advances of a woman. I only needed to stun him for a moment to get my blade out.

From the husk in his tone, I was doing my job correctly. “You might think you don’t belong here, but you do. You belong in Asgard as much as any of us do.”

“That’s really nice.”

I smiled softly, like the moment had been romantic somehow. He dropped his head to look at me, our lips coming close. Slowly, I reached to my waist and withdrew a blade.

With his gaze locked on mine, I took the opportunity.

Quickly as I could manage, I unsheathed my blade and held it up, using my other arm to push him backward against the stone wall of the cave, watching in triumph as his eyes widened.

“But I don’t belong here.”

I pushed the knife against his throat, feeling the stubble of his beard against the back of my hand and hearing how his breath caught. “And you’re going to return me to Danmark.”