I scowled at him, disgusted that despite my Valkyrie strength I was still huffing and puffing like the awful storybook wolf that had scared the living daylights out of three poor little piglets. And before me, the real wolf barely acknowledged the stress of the hike.
"Why are we stopping?" I tried to swallow my gasps for air, tried to put on a strong front. Fen’s lip curved in a dry smirk—he so wasn't buying it.
"I do not want to carry you up the mountain, Valkyrie," he replied, voice as cool as the mountain air, handsome face unaffected by the biting wind.
I opened my mouth to defend myself, then swallowed whatever I'd meant to say. My forehead scrunched as I pretended to seriously consider his option. "I'm thinking that may be a very good idea, Fen."
He just shook his head as if I were a silly child begging for a ride on his shoulders. "Not very likely, warrior maiden of Odin."
"Well fine, if you put it that way I guess I’ll have to walk, then." I bent over as air whistled through my lungs. A glance over my shoulder confirmed that Fen seemed in no hurry, so I shifted to admire the view while my breathing steadily began to resemble a human's more than a panting pack dog's.
Magnificent.
The beauty of the palace and the Valley of Asgard stole the breath from my lungs all over again.
We stood just above the tallest spire of the palace, and only now did I understand its size. I'd known Odin's abode, with its labyrinthine passages, housed his half of the Valkyrie recruits: a veritable army living within the palace, each Valkyrie with her own quarters. Not to mention rooms for the servants who brought our meals, who tended to our garments and our armor. And I was pretty sure there was a whole lot of the palace I hadn't even seen yet.
From our vantage point on this mountain of stone, the Valkyries' bathing pools on our left were tiny shimmering ponds, glistening like a multitude of mirrors in the pale morning sun.
Beyond the pools, further up the hill, sat Valhalla, guarded by the gleaming Glasir tree with its magnificent golden leaves, now dappled with snow. The sight of Valhalla brought Aidan to my mind, and with him came memories of Freya and her strange ways. A shadow crossed my thoughts, keeping the weak sunshine at bay. I shivered, and even that slight, jittery movement brought me back to awareness.
I stood at the edge of a deadly precipice.
Around me, angry shards of grey and black stone rose like hundreds of Gothic sentinels. Snow laced the jagged edges. High above, majestic mountain peaks towered, beckoning us with their vicious yet ethereal beauty.
"Enough rest, Valkyrie. Come," Fen snapped. Icy air twisted beside me as he swept toward the path again, cloak flying, boots crunching on the gravelly path. A clump of pebbles rattled and rolled down the slope, flying off the edge of the cliff. I waited to hear the sharp little cracks of rock against rock as they landed.
Nothing.
I stamped the warmth back into my booted feet and followed the wolf man, staring daggers at his back. He was in a strange mood today. He didn't seem to have much to say. Not that he was the most talkative Asgardian I’d ever met. As I pursued Fen's disappearing back, I pondered our tangled, complicated relationship. He was many things to me: friend, mentor, secret love of my best friend, Sigrun.
And son of Loki.
I gritted my teeth. To avoid thoughts of that treacherous excuse for a god, I surged on, concentrating on the hike.
We stopped only twice more, short snatches in time that barely allowed me to gulp down a breath and did nothing to ease the burning fire in my muscles, especially with the added burden of my wings.
Just when I was certain I could no longer endure the flames of exertion, we reached a large shelf of stone. I held onto the nearest rock wall and concentrated on catching my breath, straining, resisting my body's desire to faint. Blood pounded in my head, and my breath came in short, sharp bursts.
Not enough air.
My vision clouded, eyes filling with little dancing starbursts, and for a moment I was only vaguely aware of smoothed stone beneath my fingers—and, of course, the desperate icy coldness of the air.
The lightheadedness of high altitude held my attention until Fen grunted. Damn it, Fen. What's your all-fired rush, anyway? I guess Fen had missed the part where I wasn't a frickin' super-powered Ulfr like him.
I straightened, scowling as I asked, "How much farther do we—"
The rest of my question disappeared as my vision cleared, and I stiffened, forcing my gaping mouth shut.
We stood on a solid stone platform, carved out of the mountainside so skillfully that no climber would know it existed until he stepped right onto it. Solid rock hemmed the ledge in on both sides. A yard or two away, the ledge narrowed toward a shadowed entrance flanked by two gigantic statues sculpted straight out of the rock itself.
A gasp froze in my throat. Two perfectly carved Valkyries guarded the passage, wings outstretched above us, each feather so lifelike. Their wings beckoned, and promised safety. My feet moved, following Fen as he walked into the passage.
Into the mountain.
Inside the dark tunnel, I sensed the change in the air. With each reluctant step, my lightheadedness receded. The bite of the winter cold softened to a more bearable, breathable freshness.
We emerged on the other side, and I squinted against the brightness, shading my eyes against the glare. Fen moved aside, and this time I did gasp out loud.
The mountain housed an impossibly beautiful secret within its rocky face. Fenced in by the rising peaks, draped in an elegant filigree of snowflakes like a gleaming white pearl within a craggy oyster shell, lay a stunning hidden valley.
I gaped, entranced. Then Fen's voice broke the spell. "Welcome to the Hollow of the Valkyries!"
Chapter 4
"This is your training ground."
Fen's voice echoed around us, reverberating on my eardrums as I breathed the icy air deep into my lungs. The valley floor lay far, far below, almost as far down as Odin's castle on the other side of the mountain. At least the trip down would be easier than our muscle-burning hike up.
I hoped.
Fen folded his arms and faced me, his face as shadowed and unrelenting as the rock-faces hemming the valley in. "Are you ready, Valkyrie Brynhildr?"
I nodded, clenching my jaw and lifting my chin a fraction. He'd used my full given name, a name that reminded me of my one claim to fame—being a clone of the real Warrior Princess Brunhilde, who'd lived and died centuries before I'd even been a figment of my father's crazed imagination.
"You do have to remove your cloak, you know." Fen tempered his dry tone with a sudden cheeky grin, for a brief moment transforming his forbidding, hooded features into a genial, approachable face.
I threw him a reluctant, tight smile, undid the ornate clasp at my neck and dropped the dark, silky cloak over the nearest boulder.
"Very good. Now face the edge of the cliff. And jump." He spoke the words so matter-of-factly he might as well have invited me for a cappuccino.
"You're kidding, right?" I asked in horror, half believing he meant his words, half unable to think straight. The sober glance he threw me squashed my urge to burst into laughter.
I risked a peek over the edge.
No way in hell is he serious. No friggin' way.
I'd never been afraid of heights, but then again I'd never spent much time in skyscrapers or on mountaintops as high as Mt. Everest. But the height thing wasn't even the issue. It was the jumping-off-the-edge-of-a-cliff thing that really bugged me.
I shook my head, taking a good half-dozen steps away, my heart thundering against my ribs. When I glanced at Fen, I couldn't hide the sudden stab of fear that thrummed through me.
Fen must have recognized my terror—I hadn't bothered to hide it—but he just laughed, the sound hollow and brittle in the frigid air. Bitter, gravelly laughter edged with a sadness I couldn't explain.
Whoa, Fen. What's gotten into you?
The strange laughter stopped, and I met his eyes, scanning their depths, unsure of what I should do next. Had he really expected me to jump? The rock-hard grey of his eyes glittered, like chipped stones stolen from this hidden valley.
Hard and dead.
"Valkyrie, you look at me with fear in your eyes. As if I am truly my father's son."
His words hurt my heart, and confused me at the same time. But I remembered that his father was the reason I'd lost Aidan. I studied Fen for a moment. I hesitated, my head still hot with fear, then broke eye contact, fixating on the clear, pale blue sky, wanting to look anywhere but at his face. The silence between us was cold and hard, and many minutes passed before he spoke again.
"I am very sorry, Bryn." The ripple in his voice drew my gaze, but he just stared off into the valley, his soft words forming little puffy clouds that swirled and dissolved on the icy air.
I shook my head, even though his attention lay somewhere out in the stark white snow. "No. You don't need to apologize to me, Fenrir. Loki may have been your father, but you can't hold yourself responsible for his actions."
I wasn't sure anyone could be held responsible for the god Loki's notoriously deceitful actions. The blame lay solely in Loki's own traitorous hand. And the last person who should ever claim responsibility for the trickster's actions should be Fen. Fen had proven his loyalty to Odin many times over. Nobody could doubt Fenrir.
Except, apparently, Fenrir himself.
Fen cleared his throat, as if his words had dammed there, struggling for freedom. He avoided my eyes. "Even so, I am sorry."