Dead Embers (4 page)

I hit the snow-covered ground and tumbled, head over heels,
in an inelegant knot of feathers, arms and legs.

At last I came to a stop, face down in a thick bed of fresh
snow. I didn't dare move a muscle.

I'm alive? I have to be alive. I doubt dead people feel
this much pain.

Unrelenting fists of wind eagerly pummeled my limbs where
bone had hit the rocks, hidden beneath the benign softness of the carpet of
snow. My breath came in short, furious bursts as I shoved myself up into a
sitting position, anger warming my limbs as I scanned the outcroppings above
for Fen's betraying face. I sucked in icy air, scrambling to my feet.

Is this it? Are you going to come down and challenge me?
Are you going to come up behind me and stab me in the back?

No sign of Fen on the ledge far above. Where was he? Fear
mingled with anger, both as frigid as the other. I spun about, eager to protect
my back in case Fen came racing at me, all wolf power and wolf speed, ready to
pounce and finish me off.

The valley gleamed, pristine, a white so bright I had to
squint against the glare. Nothing moved for as far as the eye could see.

My breath clouded in front of my face as the silence
burrowed into my ears. I wasn't all that confident I could defend myself
against the powerful General of the Ulfr Army.

If he caught me, I was dead meat.

A tiny avalanche erupted to my right. I squinted again,
keeping my eyes on the tumbling ball of white dust as it descended the face of
the mountain. My heart thudded faster and faster, so quick I felt lightheaded.
I'd turned around and over so many times as I fell that my dizziness brought
with it a touch of nausea. I knew I had no defense against this powerful
wolf-man. But it didn't mean I would go down without a fight.

The tiny avalanche darkened as it reached the valley floor.
It picked up speed and flew toward me.

I drew my sword.

My mouth dried as the blur closed the distance. Fen's
viciously lupine face and jaws came into view with terrifying speed. My knees
softened and my fingers squeezed around the hilt of my sword, tense and tight as
I readied myself to take on the challenge when he reached me—to fight back,
slice his flesh open, to hurt him as much as his betrayal had hurt me. I'd
never made friends easily. Which made it way harder to accept his betrayal now.

Time stuttered.

Fen's face flew toward me, larger and closer with every
blink.

He drew near enough for me to see the rigid expression in
his eyes, to note that the color of his irises matched the bright amber of the
piece of Freya's necklace that had once been mine—a pendant whose absence at my
neck often made me feel self-conscious and naked. I stiffened, resolving to
meet him head on.

He rushed me, a blur of powerful Ulfr, face transformed,
body still muscle-bound and strong and human. I swallowed hard, my knees
jittery, wanting to get me the hell away. I did the only thing I could to
prevent myself from running.

I jumped upward, instinct driving the muscles in my
shoulders, forcing my wings to flare out behind me. I thrust up into the air,
pushing off the ground with my foot, avoiding Fen at the very last second as he
skidded through the spot I’d so recently occupied. My heart thundered, and a
hollow pain flared there as I ached with his betrayal.

He slid to a halt and wheeled about, gazing up at me as I
flapped away frantically. A rumble echoed around the valley, the last sound I'd
ever expected to hear in the middle of deadly combat.

Fen was laughing.

Full, robust laughter burst from him, an expression of
happiness lighting his dark, usually stern face. He stared up at me, eyes
alight, hands on his hips.

"Well, Bryn, you have managed to succeed in less than
an hour, when most Valkyries have taken days."

I scowled down at him. "When most Valkyries have taken
days for what?" I snapped at his upturned face, allowing my anger to filter
through, not caring if my words lacked the required amount of respect for my
superior. I couldn't scrape up a jot of that respect considering he'd just
tried to end my life.

"To fly!" Fen laughed harder, delighted at his
success. "You are flying, Bryn!"

I was, too.

I stared at him, processing the strange and slightly
unbelievable fact—I now hovered some thirty feet off the ground, the smooth
flutter of my wings keeping me suspended in the air above Fen; the snow around
him covered in tracks, no longer pristine.

A thrill of excitement zinged through me, but as I regarded
Fen, my face remained bland and expressionless, my eyes colder than the snow on
the hillside. "You tried to kill me." I bit out the accusation, each
word as frigid as the snow around us.

"Not really." He shrugged. "It was the only
way I knew to put you in a situation where you would provide the appropriate
reaction."

"And what if I didn't react correctly? What then,
Fenrir?" I kept my voice low, although every fiber in my body urged me to scream
my fury. "Would you be scraping pieces of my body off the rocks?"

"Do not be silly, Bryn. I knew you would be perfectly
safe."

"How?" I met his gaze, challenging him, angry
flames simmering in my irises. "How did you know?"

I glared at him, spearing him with my anger. How dare he do
such a thing to me?

"Because I have faith in you."

His words pissed me off.
Faith in me?
I opened my
mouth to tell him where he could put his damned faith, but the flutter of my
wings distracted me. I blinked, slowly absorbing where I was and what I was
doing. A little bubble of laughter swelled deep inside me, a tiny, traitorous
acceptance of Fen's point, and of his humor, too. But I squashed it down,
refusing to laugh. He'd just royally manipulated me! Even though he'd succeeded
in getting me to fly, I didn't feel grateful. Not by a long shot. What if his
stupid tactics had failed?

As I hovered above him, cold fingers of air slid between the
feathers of my wings. The muscles in my back tightened, released and tightened
again, straining to keep me in the air for the very first time. I acknowledged
every pull and twist, reveling in the way my body worked to encompass my wings.

The agony of receiving them now paled in comparison to the
beauty of flight. Thrusting upward, I tested the wingspan, spreading them out,
pushing down on the air and lifting myself higher.

"Don't overdo it, Bryn. It is your first time!"
Fen called.

I ignored him and clicked my tongue. Moments ago he'd
tricked me into using my wings, coerced me to save my life by flying. Now he
wanted to stop me from enjoying my first flight. I wished he'd make up his
mind.

I flapped my wings, urging my body higher, soaring above him
until he was just a dark blotch on the powdered valley floor.

Icy air gusted around me, spiking my lungs and bringing with
it tiny flecks of snow. I lifted my face to the pale sky as snow drifted onto
my cheeks. I felt the cool kiss of each flake as it landed. Some melted on my
warm skin; others gathered in my hair and on my shoulders. I reveled in the
purity of the emotions I experienced. I wanted to stay aloft forever.

A shout echoed below me. Fen called for me, an agitated edge
to his voice, but I paid no attention. Anger stirred again in my gut, anger at
him for his trickery. I stared at the speck that was Fen and steeled myself.
Even though each flap of my wings ate at my strength, I had no intention of
going back down just because he called me. My back cramped as overtired muscles
rebelled. But I refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing
me
better than me. I knew my own limits.

What I hadn't bargained on was the fact that all that white,
fluffy snow gathered in one spot would be heavy. A whole lot of wet snow was
piling on my wings.

I flew around the perimeter of the valley, my breath coming
in short gasps as I grew more and more tired. The snow fell faster now,
drifting onto the back of my neck, seeping into the metal of my chainmail.
Weighing me down.

A ripple of fear swam through me. I considered going back
down, but then I remembered Fen's laughter. I relented only so far as to
descend lower into the valley.

Good thing I did get closer to the ground. A spasm of
searing pain pierced my shoulder as my long-unused wing muscle protested
violently. As the rippling pain receded, the muscle shut down on me, and I
began to spin in an odd, shaky pattern as only one wing flapped morosely above
me. I tried to right myself so I could consider my options for landing. Too
late.

Snow and black, angry rocks raced up at me as I fell.

Damn it, Bryn. Now you've gone and done it. So much for a
soft landing.

I hit the ground, and everything went black.

I woke to warmth and pain, groaning as I tried to turn and
stretch out my tight muscles.

A spike of pure agony shot through my shoulder.
"Shit!" I swore, officially angry with myself. I had no trouble
accepting the truth—my stupid, stubborn reaction to Fen had gotten me in
trouble. The last thing I remembered was watching the ground come racing up at
me and wondering what would happen when I smashed into the snow-covered rocks.

Now I knew.

I stopped stretching as another shaft of agony ripped right
through my shoulder blade and into my wing. My breath came in short pants. One
thing was pretty clear—my muscles were no longer my friends.

What had I been thinking? Getting myself killed would
certainly make it difficult to save Aidan's life. And visions of Aidan, eyes
closed and deathly white in Hel, were never far from my mind. Good thing he
wasn't here to see me make a fool of myself.

A strange noise, which sounded suspiciously like a muffled
giggle, broke my concentrated self-pity, and I whipped my aching head to the
fire, gritting my teeth against a burst of agony from the sudden movement.

"You are such a numskull, Bryn!" Sigrun grinned,
perched on the wooden stool by the fire, her lips pursed, trying to control
another bout of giggles.

"Shuddup!" I replied, trying to pull the furs over
my head and failing, to Sigrun's delight. I peered over the edge of the furs,
wishing she'd wipe that silly grin off her face.

"It is your own fault, you silly goose. Now get your
silly self up and let us get you to the Baths." Sigrun rose and grabbed my
cloak and a clean dress from the shelf beside the fire and strode toward me.
Her smile thinned a little, and the no-nonsense set to her jaw meant I pretty
much had no choice.

I winced a little as I threw the furs aside and struggled
back onto my feet, ignoring all my complaining muscles. Sigrun wasn't one to
take no for an answer. Besides, the heated waters of Asgard's bathing pools
were beginning to sound too attractive to me. My aching muscles agreed that I'd
be crazy to decline. I slid my feet into my sandals, barely winding the straps
around my calves before hobbling after her out into the passage.

She didn't wait for me. Strange. I found myself following my
now-silent friend, struggling against sore muscles to keep up. I couldn't see
her face, what with trying to catch up and all, but I was pretty sure she was
no longer smiling. Sigrun's uncharacteristic silence bugged me, but not as much
as her speed as she strode ahead, yellow torchlight flickering against her dark
hair.

Hold up Sigrun. What's the big rush?

Her metal-grey wings lay stiff and so tight to her back that
I knew something was up.

"What's wrong?" I sped up despite the pain of
walking so fast.

"Why would you think anything is wrong, Bryn?" she
asked, keeping up her pace, without a backward glance.

I reached for her arm, determined to stop her. I didn't
enjoy talking to a set of rigid wings, any more than the next Valkyrie.
"Because you just answered a question with a question," I said.
"Dead giveaway for you, Sigrun. And because I know you well enough by now
to tell when something is bothering you."

She stopped, then made a quick sidestep to avoid a passing
Ulfr. He nodded a greeting at us and walked off toward the gigantic carved
doors of the palace.

Sigrun sighed and said, "Well, if you must know, I have
been waiting for you to transition from your grief to accepting how much we have
to do." She flicked me a cross look and narrowed her eyes. Yup, she wasn't
happy at all. Guess she'd gotten over her amusement at my predicament fast
enough. "And when you finally do let yourself free from your grief,
instead of doing something meaningful, you do something stupid and stubborn
like this? We need you, Bryn. You have to remind yourself of that!" She
flicked me another irritated glance, then walked off, pushing open the doors to
the paths outside.

I wanted to answer, to deny her words, but she was right.
I'd been so absorbed with my grief. Losing Aidan for the second time had
knocked me flat. Odin's words should have reminded me that I had more of a
purpose here in Asgard than just saving Aidan.

I hurried after Sigrun, thinking silence was better than
voicing my opinions, which would no doubt get me in trouble. I tried to hold my
tongue. And failed miserably. I had to know.

"Is he angry?"

"Fenrir? No. He is amused." Sigrun gifted me with
a tentative smile, her wings relaxing a fraction. "He said it was
amusing."

"Yeah, real funny to see me crash land and go lights
out!"

"Well . . ."

"Yeah, I know, it's my own fault. I should have
listened to him." I exhaled, my breath cooling into a fine cloud before
me.

"Why did you not listen and come back down?"

"Didn't he tell you how he got me to fly?"

Sigrun tilted her head and frowned.

I threw up my hands, gesturing toward the towering mountain
in the distance. "He pushed me off the edge of a cliff! I thought I was
going to die. Only panic made me react and flap my wings just enough to save
me."