“Yes! I am. It’s just another shock, I guess,” I mumble, trying to work through the guilt.
Her eyes darken further. Is it the light in here? The candles are lit along the walls, and light streams through the ceiling opening. It’s the same light as yesterday, and I don’t remember her eyes looking so dark. Could it be the periwinkle dress that leans towards gray, bringing out the darker hues in her eyes?
She gently squeezes my arm, and I glance down to where her hand is gripping me before meeting her gaze. Exhaustion suddenly weighs heavily on me.
“You’ll love this, though. I promise it’s not a responsibility, but a gift.”
Before I can respond, a servant places my food in front of me with a small bow. “Thank you,” I reply, and a tentative smile blooms on the girl’s face.
Odessa notices the exchange and looks down her nose at it. “You know you don’t have to thank them every time, right? It’s a highly coveted position to serve in the Great Hall.”
I shrug, but her words have me bristling. “It’s just polite. They’re doing something nice for me. The least I can do is acknowledge it.”
Odessa’s brows raise at my response, clearly assuming I would agree.
She clears her throat and swirls the juice in her glass. “Helena, before your training today, you are to join me for a council meeting.”
That certainly sounds like something I have no business partaking in, but I nod while I begin devouring my breakfast. The edge of hunger ebbs away.
When Julius joins us for breakfast, my window for bringing up his abuse slams shut. He slumps into his usual carved fox chair and leans over to place a kiss on Odessa’s temple.
My stomach roils at the gesture. I couldn’t stand having him that close to me, but he is her mate. Julius doesn’t acknowledge my presence, and I don’t say a word to him either. A servant quickly deposits his plate and scurries away, leaving us alone.
“Where is everyone else?” I ask. There are rows and rows of empty tables.
Odessa’s brow lowers. “Usually, the other Valkyries have breakfast elsewhere. Their schedules are quite full with their continued training, checking on their districts for complaints, meetings, and various other activities.”
“Oh,” I murmur. I miss breakfast at the Hall.
Odessa interrupts my thoughts. “Speaking of training, I’ve changed the schedule for the use of the grounds. Julius said they were a bit crowded yesterday, and that he was worried you’d be embarrassed by your lack of skill in front of the others,” she adds, looking over at him adoringly.
I purse my lips and study the food on my plate. I weigh the merits of correcting that statement. But I have no rapport with her. Yes, she’s my aunt, but we’ve only recently met, and this isher mate. Unfortunately, I don’t think she would ever believe me over him.
I mumble, “That’s so considerate of him.”
My tone is not as convincing as I would have liked it to be, and she studies my profile for a moment. I meet her eyes and plaster on my best smile.
Odessa and Julius spend the rest of our breakfast chatting between themselves, and I do my best to ignore them. My thoughts flip between my new wings and home. Such a strange set of events, and if it wasn’t for the pain I was subjected to yesterday and its aftermath today, I’d think it was still a dream.
After breakfast is finished, I dutifully follow behind them to the council room.
It’s exactly what I expected after touring the rest of the Great Hall. White marble constructs the walls and floor, the marble shimmering from the light streaming in from the skylight above the room. The marble floor is covered by several large, rectangular rugs, each with hand-woven patterns.
One entire wall is painted as a map of the realm. Idirhalla is an archipelago spanning four islands: the Capital Island, Ishtar, Olundy, and Scota.
Another wall is covered in several gorgeous oil paintings of battles and colorful lakes, with elegant swans and Valkyries in flight. But the one in the middle, the largest, immediately demands my attention.
The artwork is a depiction of a story my mother used to tell me as we snuggled around a campfire in the winter:The Wild Hunt.
I study it closer, noting how the artist perfectly captured the tumultuous procession of Odin astride Sleipnir, his eight-legged stallion with glowing eyes. They fly along the storm winds and through the lands with his wolves, Geri and Freki. Her words echo in my mind: “The hunt begins with a howl cleaving the silence of the land.”
I examine the rest of the hunting party: spectral hunters, warriors, Valkyries, and many other mythical creatures. All so vividly rendered, it makes my skin pebble in goosebumps as if I can hear the howl now.
My mom’s tale plays through my mind, and the meaning behind the folklore is a reminder of the cycles of life and death. Her final words of the story ring in my mind.“To see the Wild Hunt is a harbinger of war.”
I shake off the sense of dread and turn away from the painting.
A massive round table sits in the center of the spacious stone room, taking up a good portion of the space. It’s large enough for at least twenty people, the top lined with black rings swirling around and around. Admiring it closer, I realize the entire tabletop is made up of a single cutting from the trunk of an enormous tree.
