Destined (Desolation #3) (5 page)

The Hound’s voice hitched and he choked on the anger that tangled with the sorrow in his throat. His hands curled into fists until he had regained some of his composure.

“When she retired to her chamber that night, I escaped the palace and found the Door. I hoped it would only be a matter of time before the great god, Lord Heimdall, would find me waiting and I hoped he would deign to speak with me. This is all I dared hoped for, and yet you grant me so much more,” he added with a gesture to those sitting at the table.

“I am grateful for the chance to tell my story, if only to do my brother the honor of remembering him in such dignified company.”

Though he ended formally, Horonius fidgeted with the pleats of his shendyt and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Thank you, son,” Odin said kindly. “Now, won’t you please sit down?”

Horonius hesitated, looking at each of our faces to gauge, I guessed, whether this truly was allowed. When his eyes met mine, I tried to smile, tried to show him that I was sorry for his loss, but when he looked away I was unsure of what had passed between us. The Hound took a seat to the left of me, moving his chair so he would not accidentally brush his body against my own. I scooted away as well, wishing to accommodate him, to give him the space he seemed to need.

“Fascinating,” li’Morl said. He steepled his fingers against his lips and regarded Horonius as if Odin had just announced him to be the final course of our meal. I closed my eyes against the rising tide of hatred for the light elf. How could he be so . . . so cold and detached in the face of such agony? “I believe I shall retire to my chamber,” he said abruptly. After dabbing the corners of his lips with his napkin, he laid it on top of his plate and stood.

“If you will excuse me, Lord Odin, everyone.” He inclined his head in a sort of bow before turning smartly on his heel and striding away.

In the absence of the Alfahr, I felt a weight lift from my heart. Being in his presence reminded me of my time in Helheimer—a time I was most anxious to forget. But there I had experienced a similar sense of oppression and euphoria. A desire to be and do things that were completely unlike me when I was in my right mind. li’Morl was far too beautiful, his presence far too overwhelming, to ever feel like I was my own man while he was near. Judging by the looks on my companions’ faces, I was in good company. Fahria even exhaled loudly, then had to apologize when she realized what she had done.

Odin smiled indulgently at her and I wondered how the Alfahr affected him. He drank from his goblet, and with a wave of his hand he brought our attention back to him. My body tensed, my anticipation rising as I thought,
Now, we will talk of how to rescue Desi.
 

“Tell me, Horonius. What is your mistress’s purpose in allying with the kings of the other worlds?” By the tone of his voice, the steel in his eyes, I detected my king already had a motive in mind, but my impatience gripped me with a fist of steel. I could not bear these games, these pleasantries for much longer. I shifted in my chair, trying to focus on the Hound sitting next to me while my ears rushed with all the questions that weren’t being asked.
Tell me how to reach her. Tell me how to rescue her.

“My understanding is limited, great king,” Horonius said carefully. He examined his hands, his long, lean fingers, as he spread and then curled them on the tabletop in a rhythmic fashion. “I believe she is trying to rally an army—a host with which to come against Helheimer.” 

“An army—to raise against my son? To oust Loki from his throne—excuse me, from her throne?” Odin asked.

Horonius met Odin’s stare, his face and lips soft. The Hound seemed to be without guile, an innocent—a far cry from the fierce warrior-protector I’d thought him to be. But even my compassion for him was overshadowed by my need to find Desi.

“My mistress once ruled Helheimer as queen. She was already lord of that place when she spirited my brother and me from our home. At first we were adornments only, pets she took pleasure in shaping into the creatures she dreamed us to be.” He glanced at Fahria, for what purpose I did not know. “And we were glad of it—our mistress was beautiful, kind, and with her we were like sons of the court. 

“In those days Helheimer wasn’t the dark and evil place it is now. In those days, our lady delighted in a court of pleasure.”

Odin sighed. “Yes, I am aware of the type of world Helena created for herself. She always claimed she would create a world where everyone would be welcome, everyone would be loved, and everyone would be happy. I’m afraid, however, that she had much the same idea of happiness as my own son did—a commonality, I believe, that led to her dethronement.”

I shifted slightly in my chair. Fahria caught my eye with a stern expression and looked down at my hands with meaning. My hands were tied into tight fists, the cloth napkin starting to tear in their grip. I dropped my hands to my lap and tried to steady my breathing, to attain a state of peace and patience. But while I could muster peace, for the most part, I’d never been much of a patient man. Right now, it was all I could do not to jump up and shout for the Hound to tell me how to find Desi.

Horonius nodded. “Yes, my king, you are exactly right. Though I am not educated and wouldn’t dare speak to the righteous purposes of the gods, it did seem to me as though Loki and Helena shared a great many things in common before he rose up and imprisoned her—and my brother and I were tasked with waiting, then guarding, the young mistress when she arrived. My queen seemed to anticipate it all—though it did little to save her.”

“And now that she is free, she wishes to reclaim her throne? Her world?” Fahria asked.

“Yes, lady.”

“Are the Svartalheim and Muspelheim kings with her?” Odin asked, a hard edge to his voice.

“I believe so, my lord.”

Odin looked at Heimdall and for a moment the two of them considered one another without speaking. I couldn’t bear looking at them, listening to their intelligence-gathering when they were not revealing the only thing that mattered to me. Instead, I stared at the enormous tapestry on the wall across from me.

The weaving depicted the Vanir gods, Freyja, Freyr, Heimdall and others, reaching with outstretched arms. Floating in the starless sky all around their reaching hands were the eight Æsir gods, Odin and Helena among them. 

Heimdall startled me from my reverie when he scraped his enormous chair back and rose to his feet. He looked first to Fahria, and then to me. “I have seen the peoples of Svartalheim and Muspelheim rallying. They have gathered at the Doors, preparing to travel. It is not our concern, should their route take them directly to Helheimer—though I do not hold much faith that their warmongering will stop there.”

“Fahria.” Odin placed his hand on hers. “We will not follow them to Helheimer, but we must protect Midgard at all costs. Be ready. The Valkyrie may need to go to battle at a moment’s notice. If the Giants turn their gaze on Midgard, it could be the beginning of Ragnarok—my children are not ready for such a thing. And so we must be.”

Fahria slipped from her chair and knelt on one knee. She bowed her head as she placed her fist over her heart. “We will be ready, great king.”

She stood and whirled away, the polished metal strips on her kilt clinking.

“Wait,” I said, rising quickly to my feet. Fahria stopped and angled toward me, though I didn’t necessarily mean she should stop. Odin and Heimdall looked at me and I felt grateful for their friendship—my speaking out of turn would not be tolerated by most gods, but my question couldn’t wait any longer. I cleared my throat.

“Apologies, my lords.” I swallowed and attempted to choose my words carefully. “But . . . what of . . .” My words failed me. I dropped my head to my chest and cursed myself for loving someone as special as Desolation. I knew from the start her path would not be an easy one, that she had a journey far more perilous than I could guess. But from that first day, I had promised I would follow her anywhere. That I would always find her. If there was a chance she yet lived, I must find her.

“Great King.” I took five steps toward Odin, then dropped to my knee as Fahria had done only moments before. “Forgive me, but I would like your permission to slip into the throng and join them on their path to Helheimer. Perhaps I could . . .” Reason was not with me and my mind grappled to find some argument that would hold sway over my king. “Perhaps you would allow me to enter Helheimer and discover for myself if Desolation yet lives.”

Silence fell around me like a wet cape and my heart began to slow as sorrow took the place of the hope that had so recently swelled within me. When Odin’s hand fell gently onto my head, I knew. My request would be denied.

“Look at me, my son.” I did as Odin commanded.

“You may not go to that place if you ever hope to return. At least, as yourself. Go, and you sacrifice all that you are. Stay. Allow someone to go in your stead, and you may yet see Desolation again.”

“I don’t care for myself, Lord. It is I that caused her to be there—if that’s where she is. It’s the only place we haven’t searched and now with the forces . . . it would be a perfect opportunity to enter without notice. Great King,” I raised my gaze to his as I pressed all my hope, all my need into it. He had to let me go. Had to understand why it must be me. 

“It was my weapon that let Loki’s poison into her soul. My hand that drove it in. Whatever she has Become, whatever has happened to her since that night—it is my burden to bear. It is my responsibility to return her, to make things right, as best I can.”

Odin sighed, but then straightened, smoothing the folds of his tunic. He stood tall and when his gaze returned to mine, I knew it was my king who stood before me, King of Asgard and Regent of Midgard. “I am sorry Michael.” His voice held the resolute tone he always adopted when issuing orders or establishing law. “I cannot allow you to sacrifice yourself in this way. Rest assured, as soon as it is possible, an envoy will be sent and every attempt will be made to locate Desolation—but you will remain here.” He turned on his heel to leave. “We will find her. Until then, I have need of your expertise as my general while we formulate the best way to respond to Helena’s actions.” When he reached the doorway, he turned back. “All will be made clear very soon.” With that he strode from the room, leaving me reeling and utterly crushed.

Heimdall laid his large hand on my shoulder. Despite its great weight, his hand brought me comfort. “There may yet be a way.”

Horonius shook his head. “How can all of you not know? The young mistress is very much alive and I know exactly where she is.”

The little creature cocks its head, a sly grin snaking across its sharp features. 

“It’s okay. It’s all right,” I croon. 

It takes a hesitant step forward. Then another. All the while its black eyes stare, testing me, judging me. We have been getting to know one another for so long now, I’m surprised when it creeps forward and reaches below the ledge to touch the tip of one of my fingers. This is the first time. The first time any one of them has touched me.

And it is the first time I have felt any sensation beyond the metal at my wrists, my hair on my face, my tears on my cheeks. 

I laugh out loud and the creature jumps backward, startled. “No, no. It’s okay, it’s okay.” But the little one has dashed to the cairn of rocks that tumble down the side of the doorway on the ledge opposite me—rocks I assume are its family, because that’s the same pile the little genii always resolves from.

I am beyond sad that I scared the creature away. I wanted nothing more than to make a friend. To touch . . . anything. I am tired of the few sensations I have. Shedding another tear is as common to me now as the endlessness of the space around me. 

Unchanging and eternal.

I close my eyes, or they remain open.

I sleep or stay wide awake.

I dream or imagine I live a thousand lifetimes as someone else, as no one else, with Michael or without him. Without love. An eternity has passed. 

Or no time at all.

All or nothing I can’t be sure. 

But then there is something else.

A light.

And then two.