Dead Embers (32 page)

The sword of Brunhilde.

The musical note rang around the hall, echoing repeatedly,
swallowed at last by the shadows in the furthest corners. Astrid remained
silent while my sword sang. If possible, her pale skin lost more color as the
sound enveloped her. Her cheekbones stuck out starkly and, for a few seconds,
she appeared a haggard, skeletal woman. I felt a little sorry for her. What
must it be like to hold hate so close to one's heart for centuries?

We hovered a few feet off the ground, circling each other
slowly, white and red wings fluttering, shedding a feather every so often. The
hall fell deathly quiet, except for the susurration of shivering feathers and
the thick malevolence of imminent battle.

Astrid struck first, and I would've thought she'd have
learned something from our last battle on the field with Fen, before Freya had
decided to use Aidan against me. She put her full fury behind the lunge,
screaming her rage with vicious ferocity. Her strike was filled more with anger
and passion than precision and intention, and it went wide. I ducked the blow
with ease, spinning around to meet Astrid head on, careful to position myself
between her and the goblet.

She struck again, this time breathing deeper, clearly calming
herself, her chest rising and falling. Learning from her mistakes. Her eyes
flashed blue fire, and she still gritted her teeth. Changing her tactic, she
used a series of short sharp stabs rather than long sweeping swipes.

Time seemed to slow down as I watched her sword pass me by.
I could almost trace the arc of the sword with my finger. Was I just imagining
this?

What's happening to me?

My ears rang, but it wasn't the ringing clang of our swords
as they crashed into each other. My senses seemed on fire; I could hear the
beat of her heart, the tiny soughing of her breath as she inhaled and exhaled.

I watched as she blinked, so slowly that I could see each
individual eyelash as her eyes closed.

Touch. Mesh. And pull apart again.

The thrall of the strange awareness pulled me off guard.
Astrid's next blow almost landed right between my ribs, and I had to force
myself to pay attention. Something extraordinary was happening to me, but I had
no time to figure it out. I deflected Astrid's last blow and floated away from
her. It gave me a chance to observe her.

My eyes fixed on Astrid's face again: her eyes, and even the
way her muscles twitched in anticipation of her intended move. She thrust and I
just knew where she aimed, parrying so easily it seemed like child's play.

All I did was stir Astrid's fury.

With a sudden surge, she spread her wings out to flap
upward. I followed, forcing myself not to admire the beauty of her pure, white,
silver-tipped wings.

I flapped hard and rose to meet her, and she took the challenge.
She dove, keeping her wings tight against her, heading straight for me. I
paused and waited for the very last second. I waited until she was almost upon
me—then twisted hard to move out of her way. Too late. I'd undercompensated
somehow. Or maybe Astrid was smarter than I'd given her credit. She slammed
into me and we tumbled.

Limbs and wings entangled, we fell to the ground, unable to
release each other to fly off safely. Astrid hit the ground first, uttering a
slightly comical
oomph!
on impact as the air slammed out of her lungs.
Luckily for her she fell on her wings, the soft feathers and pliable bone
taking her weight.

I shoved my way up, got back onto wobbly legs and brandished
my sword again, losing all patience with her. She seemed determined to stop me.
But the thought of Aidan, waiting patiently and unconsciously for me to save
him, spurred me on, giving me the strength and determination to challenge
Astrid again.

Time to get my Valkyrie on.

I took the lead, wasting no time in charging at her. Astrid
lunged with her sword, a flurry of stabs, a set of swipes. I parried, tried to
hold her off, but she advanced. Pushed me back against one of the gigantic
wooden pillars dotting the hall.

She brought her sword down on me. I ducked, the sword missing
my cheek by a mere inch, chopping off a hunk of hair and missing my ear by a
whisper of a prayer.

I shoved at her, pushing off the pillar, but she spun,
landing a solid back-fist to my face, strengthened by the heavy weight of the
hilt of her sword. My cheek exploded with agony, pain splintering my jaw. I
gasped, shuddering against the rising bile in my throat.

I fell to the ground, giving Astrid the upper hand. Although
I scrambled to get back on my feet, I was too late. She ran at me, sword in
hand, tip piercing my throat. I swallowed, despite my fear that the slightest
rise of my skin would slit my throat.

"I have you now, Brunhilde. All this while you thought
you could get away from me?" Astrid's voice shuddered, echoing strangely
around the empty hall. "It is time you paid for taking Gunther from
me."

I gasped, sucking in air even though the vicious point of
her sword pressed against my throat. "What are you talking about? Astrid!
You're not making sense." With each word I spoke, I could feel her blade
draw shallow notches in my skin.

"Sense!?" she screamed, bending low over me in a
pained crouch, her eyes rolling, shadowed now by an eerie darkness. "I do
not need to make sense. You took him away, and if I cannot have him back then I
will make you pay."

In her fury Astrid paid close attention only to my face and
neck.

She didn't see my leg.

I flung my foot out, connecting to the back of her knee,
throwing her off balance. At the same time, I sunk as far into the ground as I
could to get away from her sword, missing the point by a hairsbreadth as she
swept it around.

I gasped, sucking air back into my lungs, tenderly tracing
my throat.

Talk about a close shave. Too close for comfort.

I leapt back onto my feet, legs still unsteady, but my heart
and mind filled with purpose.

Astrid screamed her anger. She launched to her feet again
and meant to meet me head on. Only my instinct told me when to swing my sword
wide, when to kick her feet out from under her.

She fell again, her sword clattering on the light wood
floor. She grimaced; ruby splotches marring her serene beauty. Astrid rolled
away from me, barely getting to her feet in time before I lunged again.

She ducked, then ran for her sword. I didn't stop her.

I was no coward.

We fought, sweat pouring from my forehead, soaking through
chainmail and jacket. Astrid soon sported two flaming red cuts—I loved my
sword. As yet, I was free from injury, except for the little cuts at my throat.

I intended to stay that way.

I'd fought a dragon and a fire giant and a god with a split
personality, and defeated them all. One little Valkyrie was a piece of cake.

With my last thrust, I had her on the floor, my sword edge
glinting at her throat. Pretty much in the same position she'd ended up the
last time she'd challenged me to a sword fight, except without the mud.

"I don't know what your frickin' problem is, but stay
the Hel out of my way." I growled the words, my anger, frustration, and
weariness transmitting a wave of shudders through my muscles.

"This is not the end, Brunhilde," Astrid said, her
eyes wide but furious.

"When are you going to get it into that thick skull of
yours? I am not Brunhilde. I'm me. Take it or leave it. Just leave me alone.
And leave Aidan alone."

A new sound caught my attention. My senses, my very awareness
of my surroundings, were so incredibly amplified that even my hearing seemed on
overdrive.

Two hearts thundered.

Two breaths labored.

"You can go on denying who you are, but someday I will
get my revenge." Astrid glared at my blade so close to her, then sent me a
vicious stare. She struggled to lift her head, but stopped when the soft flesh
of her neck pressed against the fierce tip of my sword.

I didn't move my sword away.

Just watched as it pierced her skin and drew rich, red
blood.

Then I snorted. "You do realize there's no point. Your
anger, your need for vengeance—it's all lost on me. I had nothing to do with
your issues with Brunhilde. You really need to get over it." I sighed, a
wave of pity for Astrid washing over me. "Brunhilde died hundreds of years
ago. And even if you think I'm her, what difference does your vengeance make
when I can't recall this past life you all think I lived?"

Astrid didn't respond, just lay back staring at me as if she
wanted to wrap her hands around my neck and squeeze the life out of me one
breath at a time.

Given half a chance she bloody well would.

I left her there, flat on her back, and headed for the
goblet. A quick glance behind me confirmed she was still sprawled on the floor,
throwing venom at my back.

Let's hope Freya isn't too upset that I just whipped her
little dog into submission.

Goblet in hand, I hurried to the doors, which led to a
passage off the hall. At the threshold, I took one last look at the defeated
Valkyrie. She'd pushed herself up and now just sat there, fury giving her a bit
of color, although the rest of her face remained a pasty, bloodless pale.

A good match for her wings,
I thought.

I slipped into the passage and shut the heavy wooden door,
regretting that I couldn't lock her out. Surveying the corridor, I remembered
Aidan's room being one door down on the left. My fingers brushed cold wood and
I hesitated, my heart thudding in my chest. This was it.

I pushed and the door whispered open. Inside the room a
single torch flickered on the far wall. Aidan lay so still. A silent Sleeping
Handsome. My heart tripped. He would soon wake up.

I tiptoed to kneel beside Aidan's stone bed, holding the
ugly goblet between my hands with the most tender care. My eyes grazed his
deathly pale features, heart lurching in my chest. He didn't seem to be at all
alive. What if . . . ?

No—I refused to allow myself to think negative thoughts. Not
when we were so close. My fingers clutched at the cool glass of the goblet, and
I steeled myself against a desperate urge to burst into tears.

Cool air circulated in the room; no fire burned in the empty
grate, though someone had thrown a light fur over Aidan. I touched my
fingertips to his cheek, trailing my fingers over his cool skin. Did the fur
even make a difference to his body temperature? Seeing him lie there, so still
and silent in a room like a mausoleum, I thought about Siri. Was it possible
that they could still hear anything? Were they aware of their surroundings?

I left the glass on the floor beside the bed and trudged to
the fireplace, spending the next few minutes bringing a small fire to life. I'd
watched Turi enough to have learned the trick to it.

Woohoo, survivor Bryn.

With the fire blazing, I returned to Aidan and perched beside
his pillow, propping him up high enough so he wouldn't choke on the elixir. I
slipped my hand beneath his back and lifted him up, leaning his dead weight
against me. His head lolled forward and I tipped it back so he leaned into my
neck.

The whole business was way awkward.

Aidan lay within my arms, his position tickling a giggle
from me—a position that was as far from romantic as anyone could get, given his
unconscious state. I leaned sideways, reaching for the glass on the floor
beside the bed, grasped it by its knobbly stem and brought the roughly hewn
edge to Aidan's lips.

A puff of breath left his mouth, and warm air passed over my
fingers. My stomach did a little twist as the warmth traveled straight into my
blood. I heaved a sigh of relief, knowing that he was still very much alive and
still able make my heart race. Smiling to myself, I had to admit I was too
eager to see him pin me with those dark, oh-so-hot eyes of his.

Holding the glass firmly, I used my knuckle to place a
little pressure on Aidan's chin, opening his mouth slightly. A tilt of the cup
fed the bloody liquid into his mouth a droplet at a time.

A little shudder ran through him and he swallowed, a sudden
gulp that made his adam's apple flex. He sipped faster, and I had to stop him,
urge his head away from the goblet. He moaned, lifting his head, red-tinged
lips seeking more of the ruby liquid, but I set the glass on the floor again.

The other half of the elixir belonged to Siri.

Aidan fell back; his effort to drink had taken a toll on his
body. He'd probably expended more energy in the last few minutes than during
the entire time he'd been comatose. He shuddered, eyelids blinking rapidly, as
if plagued by unspeakably horrible dreams. At last, he stilled and fell into a
deep sleep, his breathing even, regular.

Although tempted to curl up on the narrow bed with him, I
really just wanted to be alone with my thoughts, so I slid onto the ground and
pulled a rug from a nearby chair across my knees. I sat there, a little forlorn
and feeling a little stupid too. I had no idea if this elixir would help him or
kill him. What if I'd just ended his life instead of saving it?

Tremors ran through me, but I shook my thoughts off and
rubbed my arms free from the rash of goose bumps that covered them. I settled
against the stone bed, angling toward the feeble warmth of the fire, keeping
the goblet a safe distance away. As I sat, I stared into the inky shadows
billowing from the corners of the room. Lethargy decided it was at last time to
attack. My utter weariness had no barriers; all my battles were fought, all
adrenalin had evaporated. Sleep took over and I fell into deep oblivion.

***

I woke to the sound of coughing. My heart cramped. No, it
wasn't coughing.

Aidan was choking.