Dead Embers (19 page)

Riding the Bifrost to Muspell was everything I'd remembered.
The colors—reds and yellows—swirled like fiery flames, and even the funny
feeling in my tummy wasn't as strong. We landed in a cavern, hitting the stone
floor in a crouch.

Both Steinn and I were prepared, but Mika wasn't. She
tumbled from the bridge, tripped over her feet and hit the ground hard. I
winced, but she recovered quickly enough to spring back onto her feet. She was,
of course, a well-trained Ulfr; her lupine genes and her eternal practice
routines provided good enough training, and it showed.

I didn't comment on her athleticism and neither did Steinn.
He led the way through the heated passage. Before long, we reached the real
entrance to the realm of Muspell. Strange. I'd made this trip with Aidan and
Hugin, and I could have sworn that time the journey had lasted a whole lot
longer.

A low growl up ahead interrupted my trip down memory lane. A
moment later we encountered the Surt—the fire giant. Damn. I'd forgotten I
would have to face him at some point. I hoped he wouldn't remember who I was. .
. . The last time we'd met, we'd had a little fight in which the giant had
ended up lights out and flat on his back, and I'd left with his ball-and-chain
weapon as my spoils of war.

The giant grimaced down at me, flames dancing in the
darkness of his pupils. His hands folded into fists.

Steinn strode past, unconcerned, hardly bothering to glance
at the giant. "Thank you, Bal," he said as we passed.

The giant bowed, but I felt his eyes on me, as if he
remembered our encounter and was considering the appropriate response. I walked
past very slowly. And only when I was forced to exhale did I even register that
I'd held my breath the entire time. Bal's glare burned a hole in my back.

We entered the passage and headed toward Steinn's realm. I
hurried to catch up with him. "I take it he's still a bit peeved."

"Bal is a Surt, and the Surt are a warrior race. He
knows both defeat and success. And you defeated him in a fair fight."

"If you can call a fight between a fire-breathing giant
and human a fair fight," I said, raising an eyebrow and shaking my head.

Steinn didn't see my reaction; he just strode ahead, forcing
me into a trot to keep up. "You are an ungracious victor, Valkyrie
Brynhildr."

I snorted.

"What is he going on about?" Mika thrust her
question at me through gritted teeth.

I gave her a quick rundown of my last encounter with Bal the
Surt back when Aidan and I had visited Muspell to obtain the missing pieces of
Brisingamen for Freya. When I finished, Mika raised an eyebrow. "A lot of
good that did you," she commented, the tone of her voice lost in the
darkness of the stone passageways.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you managed to retrieve the necklace, but Aidan
was still lost to you in the end. You may have won your skirmish with that
giant, but you lost a more important battle with Loki."

I bristled at the comment. Not because it was untrue, but
hearing it aloud forced me to accept that my escapade was very much public
knowledge in Asgard. And here was proof that the general perception was that
I'd failed Aidan.

Gritting my teeth, I kept my silence. She was entitled to
her opinion. We were only newly friends anyway. Besides, I could hardly expect
every one of my friends to agree with my choices.

I will get you back, Aidan, no matter what it takes.
I'd already sworn both to him and myself that I would. Brody's disappearance
would only delay the inevitable.

Steinn marched ahead, growing more silent the closer we got
to his home, while Mika and I tried to keep up. At last we arrived at Steinn's
cavern, and a twinge of guilt twisted in my gut. The last time I'd walked the
floor of Steinn's hall, I'd hurt him badly enough to draw blood. Thank goodness
he held no grudge, unlike the Surt.

Steinn walked us through the cavern, through a high
archway—high enough for a fully grown Steinn-sized dragon to pass through,
carved with a multitude of intricate carvings that looked very much liked they
belonged in Asgard.

We descended through the muggy, fire-lit passages, following
Steinn. As he went further, the silence became almost deafening, the
dragon-man's worry palpable. I couldn't even get him to tell us where we were
going.

We reached another small cavern with a half dozen passages
leading in a half dozen different directions. The dragon-man took the first
passage on the left, and I had to jog to keep up.

He stopped so abruptly I almost jogged right past him. Mika
came up behind us, annoyance clear in her scowl. But she didn't have a chance
to raise an eyebrow, her attention focused on the amazing door standing before
us.

Somehow I'd imagined most doors in this land of obsidian
rock and bubbling hot lava would be made of stone. I now stared straight at an
intricately carved wooden door made from the darkest of wood and polished to a
high reflective sheen.

The Nidhogg let out a sad, almost defeated sigh. "My
daughter is resting. Please do not raise your voices," Steinn said, his
voice cold. "The last thing we need is for her health to worsen."

He reached for the knob.

My heart thumped as a terrifying thought threatened to send
me into a blind panic.

Would Steinn's daughter still be okay?

Would she even be alive?

And what would Steinn do to me if she weren't?

The intricately carved door swung open, its hinges barely
whispering. Two people occupied the richly carpeted room. A young girl lay
supine on a four-poster, gilt-edged masterpiece that could hardly be called a
bed.

An older woman gazed out of a multi-paned window, engrossed
in either her thoughts or the view, her pale skin bathed in a golden light.

Steinn paused by the bed, staring down at the girl. Then he
cleared his throat. "Móðir, how is she?"

"The child is the same, my son. No better and no worse
than yesterday." She turned to face us.

Behind me, Mika gave a soft gasp, and I choked on my own.
The old woman's pale face was unlined except for a handful of wrinkles at the
outer corners of her eyes, which made me think that some time, a long while
ago, this woman had once been happy, had once smiled and laughed. Her leathery
skin had definitely seen better days. But her eyes made me sure she was very
much alive and alert, no matter how old she seemed.

The woman gazed at me with eyes that shimmered. A pair of
burning, flaming, golden eyes.

"Mother, this is Brynhildr."

"Ah yes, the reason my granddaughter is in this
condition." The woman's eyes flared brighter, and I almost cringed,
suddenly sure that the heat of her eyes would burn out her eyeballs.

"Now, Mother, you know that is not fair."

"I hardly think it matters what is or is not fair,
Steinn." She gestured toward the girl on the bed, the short, sharp
movement a strange mix of anger and sadness. "Our reality is that Siri
lies here in this strange sleep, worse since she drank the Mead. Mead, I might
add, brought to us by this Valkyrie." Steinn's mother glided toward me,
her floor-length coat swishing against the bronze silk of her skirts, her eyes
reflecting the disdain so clear in her tone.

As she moved away from the window, I was surprised to see
that the golden gleam did not leave her skin. I puzzled on the reason for her
golden hue. Until she stood before me, and I realized I'd totally missed what
had been staring me right in the face all along.

Hundreds of tiny butter-colored scales covered her pale
golden skin. She was a dragon, of course.

Too many moments passed while I remained entranced by the
beauty of the dragon-woman's skin. Only when she cleared her throat did I blink
and meet her fiery eyes. Wow.

"I'm sorry, I—"

The silence dragged as I gave up trying to find something to
say. I breathed a sigh of relief when Steinn broke the awkward silence.
"Forgive me, Brynhildr. Please meet my mother, the Grand Lady Tyra. She is
the Guardian of the Nidhogg and the Mother of All." Steinn ended his
introduction with a little bow, which I somehow felt I needed to emulate.

I offered a quick bend at the waist and rose with a placid
smile pasted on my face, still feeling slightly ridiculous, having only ever
bowed to Odin before. This woman, however high up in the dragon hierarchy, was
no god.

I must have done the right thing, because when I met her
gaze she nodded back, the wrinkles at her eyes smoothing somewhat.

A soft snore emanated from the bed, and four heads turned
toward the unconscious child. Steinn threw me a sad and weary grimace.
"Siri has always snored, although she would never admit to such a
thing."

"I have yet to meet a woman who approves of being
accused of snoring," Tyra responded, and a sense of warmth pervaded the
room. I had to squash a giggle. My heart swelled as I absorbed the affection
Steinn and his mother had for Siri.

I drew close and stared at the sleeping girl, who was
probably not much younger than me. Another soft snore erupted, and her eyeballs
danced beneath her gold-tinged lids. I tensed, hoping she'd open her eyes and
smile at her father, but they remained tightly shut.

"She dreams?" I asked, thinking of Aidan. Would he
dream of me at all? That, at least, would give him some form of company in the
barren land of his poisoned haze.

"I believe she does," Steinn said.

"She often speaks in her sleep, and sometimes she has
nightmares," Lady Tyra answered, her voice stiff, like hard gold molded to
rock-solid perfection. But when she spoke again her voice quivered; it was as
if that solid gold had melted, and whatever she feared most fell into it,
sending out ripples to mar its flawless surface. "Sometimes she
cries."

***

Mika shuffled from one foot to another behind me, and I
tried to find something else on which to focus my attention. Any other place
besides the huge four-poster bed, which seemed to swallow the young girl within
its carved stone maw. A blood-red blanket lay flat upon her body, outlining her
slim frame and long legs. So thin, so fragile.

Lady Tyra stared at me from the other side of the bed, as
tears gleamed in her eyes. The liquid proof of her ability to love deeply was
at odds with the cold, hard gaze she turned on me. A gaze that drew a rash of
goose bumps on the skin of my arms. At that moment, I wished I'd managed to
find another place to focus my attention on. Even the sight of the unconscious
girl was welcome compared to the stare of the dragon matriarch.

I guess I sought backup, because my eyes darted around the
room for Steinn, but he'd disappeared. Perhaps overcome by the weight of
emotion that still hung in the room—though now the nature of that emotion had
changed: cold, cynical and deadly.

Mika shuffled, her sword and armor clinking, and I began to
beckon her to my side.

"Leave us, Ulfr," Lady Tyra commanded, her voice
no softer or louder than before, and yet I could have sworn I felt it in my
bones, grittier than the howl of a hundred Ulfr at full moon. When Mika made no
move to obey, Tyra swept toward us, coming to an angry halt a foot before my
bristling friend. "I will not ask again."

Whatever passed between dragon queen and Ulfr warrior in
that moment felt very much like being within the eye of a storm. My blood
cooled when Mika backed down and retreated toward the doorway.

She curled her lip and looked away from Lady Tyra, the cold
disdain still strong in her eyes. "I will be right outside the door,
Bryn."

I nodded, somehow unable to find my vocal cords in this sea
of mutual contempt. She slammed the door shut. I swiveled back to Steinn's
mother, a slight quiver of fear running through me, as if invisible golden
talons raked their way across my skin.

"Be careful of that one," Tyra murmured, her eyes
impaling the solid wood of the closed door. "There is something about her.
. . ."

"She's a good friend, my lady." I defended the
absent Ulfr, despite the shiver of trepidation Lady Tyra's words caused me.

"People are not always what they seem. Sometimes we hurt
and betray without intention." Her voice softened as if she were speaking
to herself. Then her gaze locked onto mine, turning colder and more deliberate.
"But worse is when we intend to harm those who trust us."

I hesitated. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"It is your fault, Valkyrie Brynhildr. Your fault that
my granddaughter lies there, sleeping and dying slowly, minute by minute."
Tyra pointed at the bed, her head pitched forward, her entire posture laying
the blame at my feet. "My son helped you, and you betrayed his
graciousness by killing his only child."

I shook my head. "No . . . no, I had no idea the Mead
was poisoned."

"You expect me to believe that you were unaware that
the Mead was tainted by the most poisonous of viper venom?"

I gasped. "No. You have to believe me. If I'd known the
Mead was poisoned I wouldn't have given it to Aidan. I l—" I hesitated
"—care about him! And I sure wouldn't have drunk it myself."

"You drank the Mead as well?" She scowled, giving
her head the tiniest of shakes.

"I had to. I was shot in the abdomen." I placed my
hand over the wound, the memory of the agony so vivid I could almost taste it.

"Let me see."

"What?" I frowned at her, taking an automatic step
back only to be stopped by the bed. Had I heard wrong? Had she really asked me
to show her my scars?

"Show me the wound. I would like to see proof of this
injury you speak of." Flames flickered in her eyes as I stood stock still,
wondering if this was all a bloody joke.

But her eyes bore not one iota of amusement.

I sighed and unbuttoned my coat, lifting the silky chainmail
and exposing the wound to her inspection. My skin rippled with discomfort as
this strange, cold woman scanned the bare flesh above my hipbone.