EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (99 page)

“I didn’t mean to spy. It’s just—” Rolf’s words evaporated on his tongue. He stared at the woman dumbfounded.
 

“You’re very beautiful,” Rolf stammered, his face blooming red. He bowed, bending to his knees.

The woman assessed the two brothers. “You are not from here,” she stated.

Since his little brother seemed stricken by the idiot stick, Erik answered, “Nei, we are not. We beg your pardon mistress. We have nei intention of causing insult.”

“None may carry weapons here.” She gestured toward Erik’s broadsword, strapped at his waist.
 

Rolf fumbled at his midriff, produced a knife and placed the blade upon the ground. A wide, white-tooth grin spread his lips, his eyes sparking at the songvari.

Amusement registered in the woman’s grass-green eyes at Rolf’s display. She addressed Erik directly, “The Palace prosecutes those who carry weapons. It is not wise to display them openly.”

When Erik didn’t comply or answer, the songvari asked, “Where are you from?”

“Far away,” said Erik. The woman seemed harmless enough, but Erik didn’t trust her . . . yet. “We are looking for a man named Lothar.”

The woman buckled at the name, her face breaking from smooth to troubled. “

Why?” she asked. “Do you seek his protection?”

Erik laughed, a hard sounding noise tainted with anger and sarcasm.
 

“Hardly.”

“Then why?” she pressed.

“He has something that does not belong to him.” Erik watched her face.
 

Lothar’s name incited fear within her. Her features twisted and her skin blanched when Erik spoke the name; he wondered what Lothar had done to her.

“How do you know of Lord Lothar?” she asked, eyes clouding with suspicion.

“I have seen him,” confessed Erik. “In my . . . ” He did not want to confide in the woman about his visions, but his tongue slipped and he did not know how to cover his own slack speech.

The songvari’s features drooped with worry. “In your dreams?”

Erik nodded.

“Then you have seen the Shadow?” she pressed.
 

The woman crossed the distance between them, reaching out to rest her hand on Erik’s forearm. Her touch sent a river of warmth up his arm; much like the song had calmed his thoughts—so did her caress. She searched his face, her eyes seeking his.

“You have great need. I can see it within you.” A sad sigh escaped her lips as she continued, “Lothar resides in a place called Holyfell, not a day’s ride from where we stand.”

“Can you direct us?” asked Erik.

The songvari tightened, her muscles going rigid, her gracefulness sucked away.
 

“It is the Mother’s command for one such as myself to serve those in need.”
 

She curtsied to the brothers, tipping her chin to her chest, her hand remaining on Erik.

Erik’s brow knitted in confusion.
 

“What does that mean?”

“It means, as a songvari, by the Mother’s will I am your servant.”

“Then you will show us the way,” Erik clarified.

“I will,” she replied. “Just know what you ask of me also endangers my life. I trust you to not take that life lightly.”

Chapter XXXVIII

E
MMA
LAY
ON
HER
BACK
on top of her downy bed covers, cringing as Lothar slithered down next to her. Her heart thumped erratically. Nausea flooded her stomach and she bit back the bile forming in her throat. The lord took her hand in his; the waxiness of his fingers intertwining with hers caused the sourness to revisit her mouth and she swallowed hard as she held back her tears.

Whitefoot had been removed from the room earlier, in the mouth of the silver wolf. The wolf assured Emma upon exiting that the polecat would not be harmed. The polecat did not take kindly to anyone near Emma, at least not anyone as threatening as Lothar, and had lunged at the lord’s throat. Lothar did not stand for mutiny on the part of his gift, threatening the creature with an instantaneous demise. When Emma had argued for the polecat’s life, rationalizing the creature only did the job he was given by protecting her, Lothar had conceded and promised Whitefoot would be returned, unharmed, after their business had concluded.

“Calm yourself.” Lothar squeezed Emma’s hand with too much pressure. “This is for the best. Remember, all you do now keeps Erik safe from harm.”

Though Emma was sure the lord tried to sound reassuring, his tone slithered, like the feel of his hand against hers. He was so close to her she smelled the hot, syrupy aroma of elderberry wine on his breath. Her stomach lurched once more as she fought away the rising sickness and prepared to tell her only love she did not want him anymore.

“You must relax. Sleep.”
 

The revilement of Lothar next to her caused a curious paradox of sensations. One, the sick that built in her stomach increased, and two, it affected her like a sedative causing her eyelids to droop. Emma’s mouth grew thick. She struggled to retain consciousness, objecting to the lord’s presence.
 

“Erik will not come with you here.”

“I have explained this. You need me here and we need to be connected in order for me to be inside the dream with you. If I am here, Erik will not protest when he sees we are united.”

When he sees I am your prisoner
, she thought, and the tears threatened again.

Lothar slunk closer, his shoulder pressing against hers. Numbness spread through her arm, into her chest and throughout her body. Her mind relaxed, not in a peaceful manner, but in an incapable of fighting back, inebriated manner.

And she slept.

Emma found herself in a dull landscape, rolling mist quashing in on all sides. Lothar appeared in the distance, standing back from her, giving her space.

“Erik,” she called.

“Nei,” commanded Lothar. “Do not call him. Let him come to you.”

Emma obeyed, waiting as the ashen landscape whirled about her, casting blackness over Lothar’s waxy features.

“He’s not coming,” said Emma, hoping beyond reason they could quit this madness, but she knew doing so would only prolong the hurt.

“Patience. He will be here. I am sure of it.”

Lothar had no more than spoken the words when Erik appeared in the grayness, a transparent figure in the distance. His body blinked in and out of the background until he spotted Emma. When he looked at her a rush of desire flushed through her body. She wanted to run to him, hold him, and feel his strong arms safely around her.

“Emma!” Erik cried out and his body surged forward, turning opaque as he flew through the landscape to land directly in front of her.
 

Emma relished the moment, staring up into eyes that had felt like they were her destiny for so many moons. But a bittersweet ache shot through her, knowing this would be the last time she would look up at him and see his adoring face smile down at her. Her breath trembled inside her breast. Erik reached out to take her hands in his, but she jerked away. A pained confusion washed over his features, causing shadows to play in the depths of his angular face.

“Emma, I am close.”

“Nei. You must not come,” Emma said, shaking her head.

“You don’t understand. I am almost here. I can take you away from this place.” Erik’s face looked so expectant, so excited. As he said the words her chest seared with raw anguish, the beat of her heart quaking in misery.

“Nei,” Emma said more forcefully. “I do not want you to come, Erik. I am happy here.”

With outstretched arms, Erik tried to take her hands in his again. As his warm fingertips brushed hers a rush of all that was Erik swept through her, heating her insides. She forced his hands away and the absence of them sent a chill straight into her chest.

Erik shook his head, unbelieving, taking a weighted step backward. The silence between them swelled. Emma’s heartbeat thumped against her breast.

Then Erik noticed Lothar through the haze. His eyes narrowed at the man.
 

“What have you done to her? You hold her against her will!”

Lothar smiled and shrugged, waiting for Emma.

“Nei, Erik.” Emma stepped away from Erik, her heart ripping at the disconnection.
 

She joined Lothar, though she could not bear to seek the lord’s hand. Lothar sensed the hesitation and completed the action for her and the sick sensation of their joining caused the vomit to return to her mouth. She swallowed against it, hardening herself against both Lothar and Erik.

“You lie.” Erik’s voice flattened.
 

He sought Emma’s gaze from across the distance. His turbulent green eyes seized her, holding her. For an instant she almost burst, confessing the deception, but Lothar yanked on her hand, reminding her of her cause.

“Lothar and I are to be wed. I do not wish to see you again.”

“You lie,” Erik said again, but this time his tone deflated into a desperate whisper.

Lothar squeezed her hand harder and sickness lurched into her throat. She thought she’d turn and empty the contents of her belly but pushed her speech out instead.
 

“I do not want to see you again, Erik Sigtrigson. Do you understand me? Ever! Now go away!”

Emma whirled from them both, unable to view the damage she had just delivered. Wetness spilled from her eyes, streaking her cheeks, and within a breath she was returned to her room with the lord pressing against her side.

“You should not have cried. I almost didn’t get the ward up in time.” Lothar’s voice jabbed at her fresh wounds.
 

Emma turned on her side, scrunching her knees up to her chest to control the wave of nausea sweeping over her.

The lord slid from her bed, placing his slipper covered feet on the floor, and got up to exit.
 

Before he disappeared into the hallway he added, “It is for the best, Emma. You’ll see that in time. And in time you’ll come to love me for it.”

Chapter XXXIX

B
LACKNESS
WAYLAID
E
RIK
,
SMOTHERING
HIM
.
 

“Emma!” he cried out, but only the slick sinking of darkness surrounded him, forcing him downward.
 

“Please, Emma. Come back.”

The air caught in Erik’s throat as he gagged back emotions. His shoulders quaked. Raw, burning betrayal ate away at his belly, ripping open wounds inside his soul. The look she wore on her face—determined—as she stood by that man’s side. Erik thought Emma would always be at his side, regardless of the complications of their parentage, but she had stood with her face hardened against him and told him to go away. Forever.

It doesn’t have to be this way.
The man’s insufferably pleasing voice crooned in the back of Erik’s head.

“Shut up!” Erik screeched.
 

He swiveled to seek the source of the words but saw nothing except blackness.

She can love you again.

“Leave me!” Erik worked to find his body within the dull swirl of the void. He fought against his transparent limbs, struggling to make fists out of his spectral hands.

You are more powerful than Lothar.

“I said shut up!” Erik quailed. “I don’t want you here. I don’t need your help!”

But you do. The sooner you see it, the easier it will be. You could have the world spread out before you on a platter. There are more beautiful women than Emma. You could have any one of them at your side.

“There is nei better woman!” Erik said, finding his body in the mist.

Such loyalty. I admire that.
The black-haired man appeared, entwining with the shadows of the landscape. His figure pooled, flowing back and forth until it settled into place. The blackness of his hair punctuated his stark-white tunic, trousers and skin. His eyes shifted along with the ever-changing landscape behind him.

“You wouldn’t understand.”
 

Erik averted the man’s fluctuating gaze, visions of Emma filling his memory—her face lighting like beams of sunshine when Erik had given her
their
key, a promise of their future home, in her fifteenth’s summer. His heart burned at the thought, betrayal tarnishing the once perfect moment.

But I do.
The man circled Erik, slowly, his eyes clouding into a far-off gaze.
I loved someone, once. Someone who did not love me back.

“What happened to her?” Erik asked, the hole widening within him.

I realized if she did not care for me, it did not matter. I could find a life for myself without her. I could help those who struggle, just as I had, because I understand their pain. I could be the one who shines for those in need.
The man snapped his attention back to Erik.
But that’s a long story for another time. For now, know that I am your friend. We share a common bond, and I will do whatever is within my power to help you.

“Who are you?” demanded Erik.

Call me Loki.
 

Then the man’s image blinked back into darkness.

Erik opened his eyes to find himself warmed by the glow of a stone—the same stone the songvari had sculpted with some sort of seidr-craft as Rolf and he had watched earlier in the evening. Andvarri walked without a limp, crossing behind Rolf and the woman—he remembered her name was Seretta—who sat on the ground. Seretta guided Rolf’s hands over the glowing rock, instructing him in some manner. Erik glanced at Andvarri again, standing upright on both legs. The songvari, upon meeting the dwarf and learning of his injury, had sat down over him, placed her hands upon his leg and sang, while a white light glowed about her palms. When she had finished, Andvarri’s leg was as good as it had ever been, and the dwarf had jumped up and danced a little jig out of happiness and thanks.

Rolf glanced up to see Erik had awakened.
 

“Brother, are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”
 

The ache of Emma’s loss intensified. Erik wanted to tear open his skin and remove the memory of her from within him. He reached up under his tunic and wrapped his fingers around the key hanging from his neck.