Golden hooves flash through remaining storm clouds as Gullfax rockets upward from the abyss, his mane streaming like captured sunlight. Erik's silver hair whips in the wind, his arms locked around Bryn as they cling to the stallion's back.
Fuck, I love that damn horse.
Danica
67
Thegreat hall of Ásgard falls silent as the truth of Baldr's fate echoes off ancient walls. Frigg's fingers whiten against her throne's armrests, immortal face crumpling as each word strikes like physical blows. Beside her, Odin sits motionless, his remaining eye fixed on some distant point none of us can see.
Bryn kneels before Odin, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "AllFather, I am sorry…I Failed Ásgard." Her voice cracks. "I should have known sooner that Baldr—"
Odin leans forward, his single eye piercing through Bryn. "Já, Valkyrie. Was it not your sworn oath? To shield this realm and its prince?" Each word falls heavy as judgment.
I feel Bryn's pain radiating through the Faerite Stone, but seriously, this is getting old. It's like watching a tennis match of guilt and blame, and I'm about to grab the racket and whack them both over the head with it.
Bryn's head bows lower. "I failed to—"
"Oh my god, enough!" The words burst out of me, my patience snapping. "Bryn, you didn't kill Baldr. You didn't hand Loki a 'Go Fuck Shit Up' free pass. This pity party shit stops."
Erik's hand finds Bryn's shoulder, silver eyes fierce. "Dani is right, this ends now."
I get it—the AllDadddy just found out a wannabe snake whisperer murdered his kid. Grief makes people act like assholes, even divine ones. But watching Bryn beat herself up over Loki's epic betrayal is making my savior senses tingle, and not in the good way.
Odin's eye locks onto me, and my throat constricts. Shit. Did I just overstep my bounds? Mouth off to the God of Gods in his own hall while he's grieving his dead son?
Way to go, Dani. Real smooth.
But goddamn it, I'm sick and tired of watching Bryn flagellate herself for things beyond her control. She's been through enough already, what with the whole 'destined to be a savior's mate but psych, just kidding' thing. Losing everything she's known—she doesn't need to add 'failing to stop a god of lies and trickery' to her guilt resume.
So I lift my chin and meet Odin's stare head-on. Because if there's one thing I've learned in this whole 'prophesied savior' gig, it's that sometimes you have to stand your ground. Even if your knees are shaking and your palms are sweating and you're pretty sure you might puke on an ancient Norse god's boots.
The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. I can feel Bryn's tension, Erik's readiness to jump in front of me if Odin decides to go all 'wrath of the gods' on my ass. But Rhyland's reaction really sends a shiver down my spine. He's coiled tight, every muscle tensed, ready to tear Odin apart if he so much as twitches in my direction. The bond between us thrums with his barely restrained fury, a hurricane just waiting to be unleashed.
But I don't back down. I can't. Not when it comes to the people I love.
Finally, Odin's eye narrows. His lips twitch beneath his beard, and for a moment I'm sure he will smite me where I stand. But then he inclines his head, just a fraction. "Bold words, Lightborn." His voice is like gravel underfoot. "But perhaps not unwise."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Holy shit. I just faced down Odin and lived to tell the tale. Mark that one down in the record books, folks.
Rhyland's hand finds mine, his grip tight enough to border on painful. "You're going to be the death of me, woman."His mental voice is a growl, equal parts exasperation and fierce pride.
"Hey, you knew what you were signing up for when you mated me,"I shoot back, squeezing his hand. "Savior of the Realms, remember? Mouthing off to the gods kind of comes with the territory."
His answering snort echoes through my head, and for a moment, the weight of everything—Baldr's death, Loki's betrayal, the looming threat of Moretemis—feels just a little bit lighter. Because with Rhyland by my side? I can face anything—even the wrath of an AllFather.
Frigg's sob shatters the silence. Her shoulders shake as she presses trembling fingers to her lips, each tear crystallizing before hitting the ground.
My heart aches, knowing I'll never meet the real Baldr—the true prince of Ásgard, not the serpent who wore his face like a carnival mask. Another thing to add to Loki's tab of cosmic fuck-ups.
Heavy footsteps echo through the hall, and we turn to see Heimdall approaching. His golden armor catches the torchlight, making him look like a walking sun. His ancient eyes—those eyes that see everything—fix on Odin.
"AllFather." His voice resonates with the weight of eons. "The Liesmith has paid for his treachery with his life." His gaze shifts to Rhyland and me, and I resist squirming. "The Savior and her mate have proven themselves worthy. The Zephyrite stone now rests with its destined bearer."
"Nei." Odin's voice fills the hall, heavy with ages of grief. His eye finally focuses, finding Bryn's bowed head. "Even your sight was clouded, Heimdall. And my queen..." His words falter as Frigg's quiet sobs pierce the air.
Heimdall bows his head, acid-green eyes dimming. "The Liesmith's deception ran deeper than any could have foreseen. But now..." His gaze returns to me, intense enough to make my skin prickle. "Now the balance shifts. The prophecy moves forward."
I feel Rhyland tense beside me, his hand tightening around mine. Because yeah, no pressure or anything. Just the weight of multiple realms and a prophecy hanging over our heads. You know, typical Tuesday stuff.
