Stories about dragons.
Fairies.
About princesses saving poor, pathetic princes.
And about tiny princes who could slay the demons who were hunting the light.Sammy loved those best, since he’s still so small.It’s good to tell children that everything will be okay, especially when it might not be.
I lean over and stroke his face.
He stirs a little, then he opens his eyes.He does that a lot, when I come in to hug him after he’s gone to sleep.I’ve never seen another kid more pleasant when you wake him up.Coral would bite my head off if I could even wake her up, and Jade would sometimes fall into an epic tantrum.
Never Sammy.
“I want a story too,” he says.
He must have been half-awake before, probably from the sounds of Asteria leaving, even though it was on the other side of the wall.
“A quick story.”I yawn.“I’m exhausted.”
Instead of making one up, I tell them about the bonding of Plumeria, Agrippa, and Phileas.Real life’s at least as strange as any of the stories we used to make up.Unlike all the humans who just joined us voluntarily, I’m not sure what I’d say if you offered me the chance to go back to a time before the dragons.
I might lunge at a trip to Disney if I could avoid all the misery.
Let someone else fight the fight.
But even as I contemplate that, a life that’s so different than mine, I can’t help feeling that no matter how much I ran, the blessed would have found me.Once the kids are asleep, I change into pajamas and prepare to sleep on my stomach.Maybe one day I’ll learn to sleep on my wings, but for now, they’re so bulky and sensitive that I’m forced to lie facedown.As a back sleeper for almost twenty-three years, this feels horrible.
My boobs hate it, for one thing.
Eventually, though, I do fall asleep, hoping against hope that all the new brights we found are doing their best to locate others like them.I really hope there are more humans willing to try and help the blessed find what they need without destroying our little planet in the process.
9
Gullveig
Bedtime’s the best part of every day.
Every day I plan to do less, but every day I wind up working all day—training, teaching, cooking, and brawling—so every part of me aches.
But especially my shoulders.
After scrubbing with the warm water Freya’s servants brought, I finally feel clean.I’m about to sink down into my fluffy feathered bed when I hear them.
“Gullveig!”My brother’s children miss him.I know they do.Imiss him, too.Sometimes it’s a sharp kind of misery, like a knife dragged across my palm.Other times, it’s a quiet ache.
Being around his babies makes me feel better.
I think it might be the same for them—they need me when they’re hurting more than any other time.
“Tell us a story!”Like me, they’ve had trouble sleeping ever since he died, especially Brunhilda, his youngest.It helps to know that Gorm’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain, but even that isn’t enough.She’s not a warrior, not even close, and it’s still a scary world.
“Please, Gullveig!We’ve been asking and asking.”Brunhilda’s pleading tone tells me just how her sweet little face will look.
And I already know what story she wants.It’s her favorite—always has been, even before we had hope for a better outcome.Ireallywant to sleep, but I can’t deny them.
“Fine.”I chuck my coverlet back and try not to stomp into their adjoining room.It’s not their fault I’m so tired.
Gorm’s oldest child is a warrior through and through, but even Áki enjoys a good story.He sits up the second he sees me, his smile wide and open.At seventeen, his shoulders are broad, his jaw nearly bare of the baby fat that I loved so much.Whiskers have begun to sprout on his chin and lip.
