Javi’s words, the same question he’d ask every time I went into sensory overdrive and my brain went fuzzy and my world went black. Before my body had started adjusting to my angel senses, before he’d ended up in a coma, that phrase used to bring me back from just about anything. I thought I’d never hear them again. They hit me like a gut punch.
I didn’t have it in me to respond, so I nodded, even if the movement angrily zapped my nerves and Olivia had to steady me.
“We were just having the most interesting conversation,” Freyja said.
“Conversation or interrogation…” Olivia muttered so only I would hear.
“Oh yeah?” Gunnar shifted his shoulders, colorful patches on the fabric of his uniform rippling with the movement. “About what?”
Freyja jerked her head at me in a challenge. “Go on, River, tell him what you saw.”
I narrowed my eyes. Was she baiting me?
“Footprints, shadows,” she went on, her tone casual as if we were all out on a leisurely lunch date and a medic wasn’t blotting my temples and wiping away the dried blood. “But I don’t want to steal her thunder.”
Eva gnawed on her lip a safe distance away. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d blame this all on Grýla.”
The doctor stilled, gauze pressing against my cheek.
Freyja’s attention swiveled in her direction. “Oh please, that’s a folktale.”
“Yeah.” Eva’s boots scuffed the snow. “I’m just saying.”
A breeze tickled my skin, tossing my hair. If I listened closely, I swore a hint of that eerie laugh echoed across the ravine.
“Who’s Grýla?” Olivia asked, and I was glad I didn’t have to.
Relieving me of the pressure to my cheekbone, the medic dropped their hand and reached into their bag, pulling out an amber bottle full of sticky, yellow liquid.
“An evil witch who has a long-standing feud with the elves. Rumor has it that she used to be a queen, but now she’s an ogress.” Eva cleared her throat. “We used to dare each other to find her when we were little. No one did, of course?—”
“I wonder why,” Freyja cut in.
“Because she doesn’t want to be found,” Eva shot back.
“Because she’s not real,” Gunnar said, crossing his arms. The curve of his bicep brushed mine. “The Huldufólk have very creative ways to keep their elven children out of the caves. This is one of them.”
Olivia and I quickly glanced at each other, a spark of suspicion passing between us. They had all said something similar about Jarðarbæli. But every myth had a true source.
“Regardless,” Gunnar continued, “if River saw footprints, we should be investigating. No one said it had to be Grýla.”
“They were probably from the victims. Or the volunteers.” Freyja craned her neck in the direction where the wreckage once stood. “You saw the chaos this morning. Everyone was scrambling.” She barked out a hostile laugh. “Clearly I’m a nonbeliever.”
Gunnar shook his head. “Regardless of what you believe, we should still be suspicious.”
“Eyes. Nephilim.” A graceful purr silenced us. All faces snapped in its direction. The medic stumbled to their feet, ghost white. The queen picked an invisible string off her sleeve, even though the stitching looked perfect, intricate and shimmering. “Don’t we have things to do?”
“Yes, we do.” Bowing, Eva placed a hand over her heart. Her russet eyes darted to the other soldiers. “Excuse us, Your Highness.”
Freyja dropped into a dramatic curtsey, shooting us a lazy grin. She and Eva stalked towards the castle, the doctor scrambling to fill their leather satchel and follow, tripping over the slush.
Olivia dipped her chin in respect. Gathering her skirts, she slid past the queen. “Meet me in the archives,” she mouthed, before disappearing.
Hildur turned to Gunnar, raising a dark, arched brow. “Stelpths?”
“Your Highness.” Palm flat against his chest, he shifted on his feet. “With all due respect, I think this area needs to be investigated. River saw tracks in the snow.”
A thin line dimpled the space between her brows, the faintest crease of concern. “Oh?”
