Destined (Desolation #3) (27 page)

This time, I won’t die alone. This time I will die with Michael’s memory, his love, filling every part of me, every thought. I’ll let his love consume me, let it warm my cold veins, let it fill my Halo, my Shadow, let it cleanse every part of me with its purity. 

I reach for that love, try to be the person Michael says I am. Because if it’s the last thing I do, if it’s what takes my very last breath, I want to be the person he believes me to be. For him and for Aaron, for Lucy, for Miri and for James. For everyone who loved me, I owe this small measure of my love. 

When I Become, sparks of gold and silver shoot up my arms, through my wings and outward in ever-widening arcs. The throne room trembles around me, stones fall and the ground shakes. I scream with every ounce of strength I have left. I scream for love—for Michael, and his belief in me. 

I face death, finally embracing all that I was, all that I am, because I am loved and finally, at the end of it all, that counts for something.

“Shh, baby, shh.”

Lucy wrapped her arms around me, her hand on the back of my head, and held me to her, like a mother cradles her child. Lucy had always known how to make me feel safe. There was a time when she’d been the only one I let into my heart. Before Aaron, before James, before Miri, before Michael. Before I had Become. And I’d never been sorry.

“You’re all right now, baby.”

I’m all right.

I let the words sink deep into my consciousness. They filled every part of me like soft butter seeping into warm bread. I felt myself relax. Exhale.
I’m all right.

And then I Remember.

I jerked back from Lucy’s arms, jumped to my feet and took three long steps away, my eyes searching wildly. I glanced at my chest, where blood darkened the crimson tunic. At Lucy whose white shift was marred by blood—my blood, and Father’s.

Father
.

But he was not here.

Lucy and I were in a garden, all green grass and fragrant blossoms. Lucy sat on a wooden bench, carved with flowers and trees. It struck me then, how this place suited her and how glorious she looked—even more beautiful than she’d been in life. Even more beautiful than in her Ascension. 

“Where am I?” I said aloud, though I didn’t exactly mean to. 

Lucy laughed, a sound like low wind chimes in the breeze. “Come sit, baby. I’ll tell ya all about it.”

I crossed the grass and sat beside her, angling myself so I could face her. “I thought you were dead.”

She shrugged. “So did I. And I think maybe I kind of was when Freyja found me and brought me here.”

I let that name sink in, trying to find a home for it. I came up with nothing. “Freyja?”

Lucy smiled into her lap, her thick black lashes brushing her dark cheeks. “I know. It’s crazy. I didn’t know a thing about these people when I lived on Earth—what I did hear I thought was a fairy tale. Ya know?” She glanced at me and I smiled, but I didn’t really know. To me, humans were the myth, the fairy tale.

“I guess we all have somethin’ to learn though, ya know?” She smoothed the soft dress she wore and I noticed it was no longer stained with blood. “Take you, for instance. It took you a mighty long time to figure out who you are, baby. A mighty long time.”

Lucy reached over and took my hand in hers. “But I knew you’d make it. And here you are.”

I still didn’t know where I was. I might have thought it was Asgard, but the trees here were not leaved in gold but in varying shades of green. It seemed like Earth but . . . not.

“No, baby. It isn’t Earth. You’re in Vanaheim, the home of the Vanir gods—the creators of all the worlds.”

“So, am I dead? Fahria told me the Valkyrie come here when they die. And Father? What about him?”

“Oh, you’re not dead,” she said with a laugh and small shake of her head that made my heart ache with how much I had missed her. “Though you aren’t quite the same, either.”

“I don’t understand.” My mind reeled with possibilities and the sudden and fervent need to see Michael. Right away. “I have to go.” I jumped to my feet again and paced the garden. “How do I get outta here?”

“I know you have to go, baby. But first, you need you to do something for me. And there are people you need to meet before you leave.”

“Anything.” Anything for Lucy.

“Take a look at yourself.”

“What?” I saw my hands, my clothes. “What do you mean?”

A standing mirror appeared before me, and Lucy got up and placed her hands on my shoulders. “Take a look. Really look.”

I stepped up to the mirror. “I look the same.”

“Look closer.”

I started at my knees and went up the left side of my body. When I got to my left hand, my breath caught in my throat. It no longer swirled with the black ice of my father’s heritage, but was now streaked with silver. I hurried to look at my right arm, afraid I’d sacrificed my goodness, only to find it still traced with the gold of my mother’s gift.

“Become, baby. I want you to see.” She took a step back, giving me room to spread my wings.

It took me a minute to ground myself. I still wasn’t used to Becoming on command, but I knew when Lucy got an idea in her head, there was no getting it out until she’d seen it through. Still, I twisted around. “And when I do, you’ll tell me what’s going on?” She nodded.

Facing myself again, I thought about how different everything was. From the clothes I wore, to this place, to all that had happened the past year. It hadn’t been that long ago I’d refused to Become at all, certain it would mean submitting to Father’s plans for me—or execution for harboring the golden spark. I feared it would be revealed if I Became, and Father would not tolerate its existence inside me.

Now though, it was as easy as thought. I was already dead—or something. And Father no longer owned me. I owned myself.

And so I Became.

I expected to see the yin-yang of black and gold I’d grown accustomed to—one golden wing, one dark. I expected to see the golden ribbon light up my right arm and upward onto my neck, never quite reaching the black swirls that darkened my left side.

I expected to see something ugly and freakish—because in my half-breed state I was neither truly lovely nor truly glorious, no matter what Michael said. 

But I wasn’t what I expected at all.

I wasn’t ugly. I wasn’t a bizarre freak show that should have never happened. I looked . . . glorious. Truly, honestly, glorious.

Ribbons of silver and gold snaked up both my arms, forming complicated knots that reminded me of Aaron’s protections. And my wings—I gasped as I took them in.

They were Gardian wings—beautiful feathers in gold with silver sprinkled throughout. My spirit radiated outward, gold and silver.

Lucy stepped in front of me and the mirror disappeared. “Now do you understand? Can you comprehend everything you were meant to Become?” I stared at her, dumbfounded, unable to find the words to express how little I knew and how much I hoped.

“Ah, baby.” She pulled me to her and rocked a little while she held me. I let my— Halo? Shadow?— recede as I sank into her arms. “You can call it whatever you like, though I think it’s your Halo—don’t you think? It’s your spirit baby. Yours. Unlike any other in all the weavings of time. But—in many ways you are not so different from any of us.”

She took my hand and walked with me back to the bench where we sat, my hand still in hers. Until Miri, Lucy had been the only one who’d ever touched me like this—the undemanding touch of friendship, a very specific kind of love. No expectations. Just the gentle exchange between two souls who cared for one another. 

“None of us are perfect. And none of us are completely evil. There is good and bad in each of us—you should know this better than anyone.”

I nodded, thinking of Father and what he’d said before Hel stabbed him—that he knew what love was, that everything he had done had been for love. It wasn’t the kind of love I knew from Lucy and Michael, but to him, it was love. Didn’t that mean something? In the grand scheme of things? 

“You know, it’s precisely because of this disparity that Odin created Midgard and the quest for Ascension. Oh, don’t look at me like that—I’ve learned a few big words since I’ve been hangin’ around people a lot smarter than me.”

She laughed then, and oh, she was beautiful. I leaned against her shoulder and we laughed and laughed and it felt so good. It felt perfect.

“Come on,” she said, standing and drawing me to my feet. “Let’s meet one of those smart people, okay sugar?”

We walked down a stone path with soft green moss growing in the cracks, and past a field of pale blue flowers where white unicorns grazed. While I watched, one raised its head, its gaze meeting mine. Its long silver mane fell into its eyes and it nickered. I felt a connection then, a greeting inside my soul. We passed through a copse of oak-like trees and stepped out onto a cobblestone street. Facing the right, I saw a castle standing at the end of the road—a castle with scorch marks at its windows and doors.

As we drew nearer it became obvious the castle was not in use. While its grounds were well kept, there were neither doors in the doorframes nor shutters on the glassless windows. “What happened?” I asked, surprised that such a beautiful world could house something so dark and dreary.

Lucy took the path to a cheery stone cottage adjacent to the castle grounds. “That is a story for Freyja to tell. This is her home.” She smiled before knocking on the door, then stepped in without waiting for an invitation.

“Freyja?” she called, beckoning for me to follow.

Light streamed inside the cottage, adding to the bright and homey feel of the place. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla hung in the air, making me take a deep breath and sigh in response. Embarrassed, I glanced at Lucy, but she only smiled and gestured to a room with a fluffy couch and two armchairs flanking an imposing stone fireplace. A bouquet of hundreds of yellow and pink blossoms decorated the cold hearth. And tucked here and there were the tiny nodding bells of Lily of the Valley. Seeing them caused a sense of peace to settle over me, a feeling of belonging.

“Coming!” a sing-song voice replied. A moment later a woman appeared in a shower of silver sparks. For a second, she wore her Halo around her like a glorious cape—the impression of silver wings shining behind her.

She let her Halo fade away as she stepped forward, reaching out for me. “Desolation,” she said, her hands cool on my own. “Granddaughter.”

My throat dried up and words failed me.

“There is another.” She kept a hand on my arm while she angled her body away, gesturing to someone who stood in the adjacent room. 

A woman stepped into view. Tall, with golden skin and chestnut hair twisted into a knot at her neck. She wore a long, crimson dress and carried herself like a warrior. I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped my lips.

“Come, come,” Freyja said, pulling me toward the woman.

“Mother?” And I didn’t even begrudge the child-like tone of my voice.

Mahria stepped past my grandmother, who passed my hands to her, adding a gentle squeeze.

“Daughter,” Mahria said. Her voice was low and musical like the winds rushing over hills of tall grass. She placed a hand on my cheek and leaned into me, resting her forehead on mine. “Well met, precious one.”

And oh, my heart was full.

“Come, sit. We have much to talk about—so much to learn,” Freyja said.

With Freyja to my left, and Mahria on my right, we sat on the couch that sank beneath my weight like a favorite blanket, like Lucy’s comforter. Like home. Freyja tucked her feet beneath her and pulled her simple white-flecked-with-silver dress over her legs. 

“I am so happy you have finally embraced your true nature, my dear. I can see it in your face, in your skin.” She reached out and traced one of the swirls on my left arm that used to be dark but now shone silver—like the designs on her own arms.

“Yes,” she said, holding out her hands and examining the patterns there. “They are very much the same, aren’t they? And do you know why that is?” Her sky-blue eyes were edged with silver and I felt I could lose myself in them. I glanced at Lucy in the chair opposite us, but she was busy cooing to a large tabby cat that had invaded her lap.

To Freyja, I shook my head.

“It is a very long story, and a rather tragic one, I’m afraid. But the short of it is, you are my granddaughter—for Loki is my son.”

“But he—but Odin . . .”

Freyja shook her head. “It was a very long time ago, and Odin only did what he thought was best—indeed, he did exactly as I hoped he might. It was Loki who did not . . . grow up . . . the way I wished. 

“You see, the gods are not meant to have children of their own—our powers are too great to be unleashed in the universe. We tried once, long ago, but only found ourselves fraught with war and mutiny. We were able to come to a consensus of sorts with the Æsir gods, a precarious peace that, over time, grew into true brotherhood. To seal our commitment to one another, we created the nine worlds and appointed the gods who would rule them.”

Freyja sighed, a musical sound to which the cat replied with a sorrowful meow.