She’d already endured so much suffering. I only wanted joy and peace to fill her heart. Not sorrow or dread, especially as the weight of her queendom began to materialize around her.
Power flowed through her like an endless wellspring. Even now, seated in her Yggdrasil throne, she seemed unaware of her might. I might be a stranger to her world, but I understood the crushing weight of power and responsibility. I would gladly take the weight from her shoulders, if she would allow me.
Though what she must endure as queen was beyond my capabilities and understanding.
“Come closer, Darkest. I need your courage at my side.”
I moved to her left and dropped to my knees at her side, reluctant to touch the throne in any way. Even though I was in the human form, I feared I might stain it with essence. She held out her hand, and I wrapped her fingers in both of my palms. She took a deep breath and then pressed her right thumb into the circular depression on the box.
Through her bond, I felt the small prick. The scent of her blood perfumed the air, even though it was but a single drop. My mouth watered, my heart thudding heavily against the cage ofmy chest. Her Blood drew near, drawn by the tantalizing scent of her blood. Even Gunnarr, though he held a piece of cake in each of his hands.
With a small pop, the top of the box lifted in a slight crack. Light glowed from inside, casting rainbow prisms around the darkened room.
She gave a small nod to Clara, who reverently stretched out her hands and lifted off the lid, setting it aside on the desk. Light spun around the room in an arc, so bright it made my eyes water. Blinking away the moisture I could finally begin to discern its contents.
A small wooden ship with curled ends filled the interior, almost like it was embedded in a block of ice. Though the front end reared back out of the ice with a monstrous face.
“It’s a longship,” Gunnarr said. “With the drekahöfuð, dragon head. Wicked cool. It doesn’t have sails, but they’d represent the dragon’s wings.”
I let out a soft sigh of relief, afraid the head was supposed to represent us, the dark alfar.
Helayna released my hand so she could lean forward to examine the contents of the ship. “Is it alright to touch them?”
“Of course,” Clara replied. “They’re yours, Your Majesty. The items themselves have no power. They’re merely symbolic of Hel’s powers She passes to Her daughters. You already carry Her gifts in your blood.”
One by one, she pulled out small items and set them in front of the box.
A piece of flat silver hammered into an oval with three connected spirals. A black bowl of some sort, small enough to sit in the palm of her hand. A white sphere threaded with silver the size of my thumb. A flat round stone with a hole in the center. Runes were carved around its edge.
“Does anyone know what they are?” Helayna asked.
“May we touch them, my queen?” Lokken asked.
“Yes, please. That one—” she said as he picked up the black bowl. “Is surprisingly heavy.”
“It feels like cast iron,” he replied. “My guess is it’s a cauldron. There’s something carved inside it…” He held it closer to the nearby lamp. “Laguz, water.”
“The wellspring! My gift of water!” She looked back up at Clara. “How many of these gifts will I receive, do you know?”
Clara shook her head. “The goddess decides. There are no other daughters of Hel still alive, so technically you could receive them all, but I’m not sure what powers Helle may have had.”
“You said my grandmother had the power of Odin’s ravens. Which symbol represents that power?”
Clara hesitated a moment and then pointed to the white sphere. “My guess is that one. She had a white eye, and when she called her power, lightning sparked from it.”
“Odin’s eye!” Gunnarr exclaimed. “There’s a story about him sacrificing his eye to Mimir’s Well at the base of Yggdrasil to gain wisdom. That would make his eye part of Hel’s domain.”
“The ravens.” Helayna’s voice caught, cracking a little with emotion, so I cupped her shoulder with my palm, steadying her. “Huginn and Muninn, Thought and Memory. I guess that’s why my memories are so convoluted. I thought the damage was done by Jörmungandr, but I’m beginning to suspect it was my mother’s power. But why, Clara? Why did she hide so much from me?”
“I don’t know, my queen. I’m so sorry.”
“She didn’t leave a letter for me? A diary? A history of our family?”
“There are some personal papers in the house in Reykjavík, but that was so long ago. I doubt it will be of much help.”
She sighed softly, her eyes fluttering closed, her head tipped slightly as if she saw something no one else could. “I vaguelyremember sitting at the table in the cabin, and her asking me to forgive her. She called me Lanie and prayed for the goddess to bring me home to safety one day. I wasn’t a child, though. So that wasn’t when she sent me to be fostered in Norway.”
“You came home once a year,” Clara said. “Always around Samhain before any storms would prevent the trip. You usually stayed a few days and then returned to House Fólkvangr. When you were younger, you often wept, begging to stay home, but she insisted it wasn’t safe and sent you back.”
