Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
They take what they're shown at face value and don't look deeper.
Those who do see more are usually those who were compelled to come by some force they don't yet understand. The Blooded, we allow through the gates. The rest, we redirect away. They stumble on their way with nothing more than vague memories of a tiny town of secrets.
We don't guard Eitr so closely without reason. Every last Fae will fall before we willingly allow the Forsaken to get their hands on the Blooded who call this place home. They may not be the Valkyrie meant to fulfill the prophecy, but they're Valkyrie enough. We keep our oath, even now. Especially with Abigail here. She's the most powerful Blooded we've ever met. If the Forsaken were to get their hands on her… Well, Gods help us all if she were to fall into their hands.
"And the forest and the valley below and every road that leads anywhere close to here." Adriel stops shuffling, turning that one steely eye on me. "This isn't our first day in the Hall, Dax," he says, referring to the Hall of Warriors. It was a place of honor, and a training ground, the one place in the realms where every man—Fae or human—stood as an equal, ready to defend the Valkyrie.
With Valhalla gone, we've built our own training grounds in the heart of Eitr. It's a cold substitute for the Hall, but we've known three hundred years of peace. Three hundred years for our minds to grow dull and our skills to stagnate. We needed the practice to keep us sharp. The prophecy demands it.
"Never said it was. Where's Damrion?"
"Where else?" Adriel says, disapproval heavy in his tone.
With Abigail, then.
I sigh, biting back another reminder that the girl has no one else. It'll fall on deaf ears if I voice it. Besides, it's not Abigail that Adriel has an issue with. He likes the girl better than he likes most anyone else. He simply can't stand the fact that she idolizes Damrion.
Someday, the two of them will deal with their shit. But today isn't that day. I doubt it'll be tomorrow, either.
I glance toward the stairs, hesitant to leave Rissa here when I promised that I'd be downstairs. But cell service is nonexistent out here. Most of us don't even bother carrying phones because the damn things rarely work. It could be three days before a text goes through—if it goes through at all.
"Go," Adriel says. "I'll guard her."
I hesitate for a moment, not because I don't trust him. He may be a crabby bastard most of the time, but his loyalty is to Valhalla and the Valkyrie. I've never doubted that and never will. Adriel would lay down his life without hesitation to protect Rissa. Rather, I hesitate simply because I don't want to leave.
Already, I feel too far away from her. Already, the bond whispers, compelling me back to her side. Does she feel it too? Does her skin crawl now that I'm not at her side? Does she recognize it for what it is?
Nei. How could she? To her, soul-binding and ancient Fae warriors and Valhalla are simply stories, fairytales her mother filled her head with when she was a girl. They aren't real life. They aren't her life.
Already, I hate what we must ask her to do, the painful truths I've forced her to face over the last few days. She's young, innocent, her past littered with pain. But the Norns never cared about that. They weave as they see fit, never considering the cost to those called.
They never ask if we want to carry the burden they choose us to carry. They simply ensure we're strong enough to heft it. And forging the strength needed to carry those burdens is rarely anything short of painful. But no one ever said the Norns were kind and benevolent. They only promised that they would weave.
Gods know, they haven't been kind to the Fae.
"Guard her close," I growl, stomping toward the door.
"I'll go with you." Reaper rises to his feet, following behind me.
A blast of ice-cold air hits me in the face, bringing bits of ice and flakes of snow with it. I wave them out of my face with a flick of my wrist and step out. No matter how long we're here, the bitter cold is always a shock. It irritates the hell out of me.
"Eselballer," Reaper mutters. "It gets colder every day."
"Ja. It's winter."
"Smart ass."
I jog down the steps, cutting a path across the frozen grass to the small cabin in front of ours. Our workshops and meeting places and healing rooms and markets line the three blocks that make up the town square. Most of the warriors live in barracks like ours that circle the square in ever-widening rings. The Blooded live in smaller cabins in a tighter ring at the heart, where they're safest. Everything was designed with defense in mind, unlike human cities that sprawl this way and that, leaving the most vulnerable unprotected and at risk.