They were given back their weapons at the entrance to the palace by a pair of dwarves. Gerard and Keith rearmed themselves, slinging the strap of their rifles over their shoulders.
“Interesting make, these are,” one of the dwarves said.
“Humans may not be good at a lot of things, but they excel in warfare. I am glad you kept these safe,” Gerard replied.
It wasn’t thanks of any sort, because the fae considered thanks an insult. That, at least, Jono remembered. The dwarves bowed their heads and stepped aside.
“Good hunting, my lord,” the other dwarf said.
They all stepped through the grand, carved wooden doors that were easily two stories high. In the garden courtyard outside, the fae astride giant stags who guarded the entrance hadn’t moved. The palace itself sat atop a large hill, the path back to the forest easy to follow. Thecawof birds in the sky above had Jono looking up, squinting against the bright sun. Two ravens glided through the air, circling them. Fenrir growled irritably in his mind.
Annoyances. Always, the god grumbled.
The names came to Jono through Fenrir, and he wondered what Huginn and Muninn were doing past the veil in a world that wasn’t their pantheon’s home. They belonged to Odin, after all.
“Does Patrick know what you carry in your soul?” Gerard asked, breaking the tense silence that had fallen upon them all after leaving the throne room of the Seelie Court.
“He knows,” Jono replied. “He’s going to be right pissed about you though.”
Gerard’s mouth twisted as he stared straight ahead as they walked. “It was never my intention to mislead anyone.”
“Yeah, fuck that. You misledallof us,” Keith said angrily from behind them. “I don’t even know what to call you.”
“I’ve always been Gerard to you. I gave you that name, Keith. We fae don’t give out names lightly.”
“Yeah, but you never gave us yourrealone. You’re supposed to be our captain, but apparently, you’re a god. What the fuck are we supposed to think about something like this?”
Gerard said nothing to that accusation, walking beside Jono with a forced-calm expression on his face.
“How long have you carried Fenrir in your soul, Jono?” Sage asked, her voice flat and nearly emotionless.
Jono could still smell her anger though, the scent of it sharp in his nose. She’d left her pendant back home before heading out with them, and her scent was a tangle of emotions between them. He knew this was an issue that was going to possibly strain some of his friendships.
“He’s always been there, ever since the accident,” Jono said slowly.
“Then why didn’t youtellus? Why didn’t you trust us?”
Jono made a face she couldn’t see, grinding his teeth together. The pressure did nothing for the headache that still hadn’t gone away. If this was how Marek felt every time the Norns spoke through him, no wonder he always wanted to lie down for a kip afterward.
“I do trust you, Sage.”
“Clearly you don’t if you and Patrick kept this a secret. You’ve had a god riding your soul for years. You could’ve challenged Estelle and Youssef well before now.”
“I was never in a position to do so, even with Fenrir. Even now, we aren’t there yet.”
“You think we aren’t? When is enough going to be enough? When do you get to decide that?”
“When it won’t get all of us killed.”
“Gods complicate things. They aren’t always the answer,” Gerard said.
“You’re one to talk, Mr. Oh By The Way I’m Immortal,” Keith said snidely.
Gerard sighed. “Technically, I’m half-mortal, Keith.”
“The myths don’t see it that way, and you’ve been worshipped as a god. You still have a godhead, like your fiancée,” Sage pointed out. “Maybe you shouldn’t be the one going after Ethan to get her back.”
“I’ll risk it.”
