“Among the most formidable entities in Chthonia, the jelmadag stands as a paragon of predator and prey. Manifesting with the majestic build of a lion, subtle marks of its inverse—the lamb—are scattered over its body, usually in the form of an extra leg, hoofs, ears, or snout.”
Palms clammy, I twisted my fingers together, the shadows seeming to listen and creep closer.
“This lesser demon comes from the same classification as a hellhound, riding into battle alongside the Scale of Six. Its mane burns with a hellfire that can never be extinguished, and its dozen eyes mimic the swirling depths of the Abyss. The jelmadag’s claws can pierce stone and bone. And its head swivels like a serpent, elongating as it hisses a cloud of steam so hot it can melt skin. It is the opposite of its Empyrean origin—a griffin—in every way, aside from its wings. The feathers slowly fall out over the course of eternity.”
Olivia blew air out of her lips, scanning the text, speaking quicker. “Okay, let’s see… Mortal weapons cannot breach its barbed fur…” Pointer skimming the page, she jumped to another section. “There are four in existence… Hold on, there’s an addendum. Huh.” She met my gaze. “One went missing during the Cross-Realm War.”
My hand flew to my chest, as if it could stop my heart from dropping. That sweeping rush of familiarity shot through me once again.
“Where would one of those be after all this time?” she wondered out loud.
“Olivia, what do you know about the ice dungeons?” The question burned in my throat.
She studied my face. “Not enough, it seems.”
I’d been holding back, but right there, I broke. The tavern, Flóki, the Coffin Seeker, Ryder, the fire nymph trapped in my hearth; every secret I’d been keeping close spilling out.
And as I spoke, Olivia listened—like we were back in her cozy office in Santa Cruz, me sprawled in that leather chair and her sitting across the room, cool and composed.
“First of all,” she began after my words ran their course like a rainstorm, “I will ship you back to California and deliver you to Corbin myself if you ever step foot in that dungeon again.”
Despite it all, a smile lifted the corners of my lips. Forget Kistuleitarinn, I knew the real reason behind her fiery order, and it had nothing to do with the demon—it was Ryder’s knuckles wrapped around the cold bars, strands of his dark hair iced against his forehead. It was his voice, a weaker, more desperate version of the real thing…
I could see it. Hear it. So, so vividly. If I went down there again, the worst monster of all might be let out. Him. Me. Us.
“Speaking of…” The lines furrowing Olivia’s forehead smoothed out. “How’s your dad?”
“He…” The question snapped me out of the dungeon, bringing me back to the archives. “Shanley’s been covering for me. He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“River.” Her face fell. “How’d you get to Iceland, then?”
“Savings and a cheap last-minute flight.”
“What about summer school?” Suspicion cast off her in waves. “The semester doesn’t end for another few weeks.”
“Failed.” That one stung. “Again.”
Tucking her lips inward, she shut her eyes, and I could almost see her arranging her thoughts. “When you get back to Santa Cruz,” she said finally, opening her lids, her gaze a burning midnight, “things are going to change.”
I nodded, picking at my cuticles, fixing my attention on the dried skin. Anywhere but her face, draped with disappointment.
“I’m serious, River.” Very much a look at me tone, so I did. “You know, at first…” She tapped her fingers against the table. “I was going to say this is an elven problem—that our focus should be on getting you to Jarðarbæli and being on our way.”
“And now?” My heart skipped.
“And now… If the Galdur fails completely—which, by the looks of these reports, it will—and this glacier melts and the things in that dungeon get loose…” She chewed on her bottom lip. “That spells trouble for all of us.”
“So, what do we do?” I pressed down on my knuckles, focused on the slight pressure.
“I think we need to confront the queen. But we need more evidence. In the meantime”—she whirled on me—“go to the pools, wash off and heal up, and maybe think about calling your dad?”
Horror seized my face; I could only imagine the look. Call him? I blinked.
“Text?” she amended. “Fine, I won’t push it.” Her cheeks tightened with the trace of a smile. “I’ll meet you for breakfast first thing tomorrow. Demons, ogresses, doppelgängers,” she tsked. “I’m about to pull an all-nighter.”
“I’ll bring you a midnight snack.” My stomach gurgled. “Milk and cookies?”
“Okay, sure, but in this case, self-care comes first.” She shooed me, flapping her hands until I hustled past her.
