Mina smiles and says, “The Valkyries do. I can move things with my mind, Elowen can see visions, Odessa can create shields out of thin air, and—” she cuts off.
Mathilda jumps in. “And I’m very strong,” she says nonchalantly.
Tane rolls his eyes. “That is an understatement.”
Carlo drops off plates of pasta and bread.
My mouth waters from the smell of garlic, parmesan, and butter. Our conversation halts as we begin eating. The sounds of glasses clinking and forks scraping against the plates are the only sounds for several minutes while we inhale our food. Carlo comes back later with glasses of red wine that are promptly accepted and gulped down.
Mathilda offers me a glass with a warning, “This is really strong, so prepare yourself.” She winks as she hands it to me.
The dry, fruity flavor is the perfect companion to the buttery garlic of the pasta, and I savor every sip and bite.
Tane is the first to break the silence. “I don’t know how we’re gonna dance after this. I want to lie down.” He pats his stomach for emphasis.
Mathilda rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You say that every time, and every time we have to drag you off the dance floor.”
Evander tosses a few gold coins on the table when we leave, and we all wave goodbye to Carlo.
The night sky is now adorned with millions of sparkling stars, their brilliance outshining the flickering flames of the street lanterns. Music drifts from doors opening and closing, mingling with the sound of laughter that carries onto the street as we head out. The tavern we approach has its doors flung wide open, the music spilling onto the street in front of the blue building. The breeze causes the sign to sway, and “The Poppy,” painted in bright red, greets us as we walk beneath it and step inside.
There’s a band on stage playing lively tunes while people dance on the crowded dance floor. A bar runs the length of one of the sides, and the barstools are full of people drinking and talking.
“Let’s grab a table at the back,” Mina yells as she pulls me with her to the back table that’s surprisingly vacant. Evander offers to grab us drinks, and Tane stays to help him while Mathilda follows us to the table. The tavern is loud, the music melding with the conversations and laughter. I can’t help but absorb the happiness in the air on the way to the table, my grin stretching wide across my face.
The three of us pile into the corner booth in the back while we wait for the guys. The music slows to a halt, and the dancersflee the dance floor to find beverages to quench their thirst during the break.
The table next to us is full of hulking men in kilts, their melodic accents hinting at Scottish ancestry. My mind instantly drifts to Lachlan again. Everywhere I go, I’m reminded of him. Homesickness churns like acid in my stomach, threatening to ruin my good mood. I overhear part of their hushed conversation.
“She closed all the training grounds and most of the blacksmiths,” the larger one in the middle complains. The others nodding in agreement. The man who spoke makes eye contact with Mathilda. He freezes, but she gives him a slight nod, and he resumes his conversation.
I lean forward and whisper, “What was that about?” Mina shakes her head and scans the room.
But Mathilda leans closer to whisper back, “Do you remember the council meeting?” I nod. “Remember how Artemisia asked for the training grounds to be reopened, and Odessa said no?” she whispers, but there’s a glimmer of malice in her eyes.
“Yes. Is that what they’re talking about?”
“Idirhalla is a realm of warriors. Our purpose here was to fight for the Father in the Great War. We need the training grounds,” she replies, determination set in her jaw.
Odessa’s request from after the council meeting echoes in my ears: “Don’t undo all my plans.”
“But there’s not going to be a war. Why do you still have to train?”
“Is there not going to be a war?” she asks, her eyes beseeching mine.
“Odessa said that Odin left because there wasn’t going to be one …” Mathilda’s eyes begin blazing. “You think there is going to be war?”
“Have there not been signs that say war is coming?” she asks,studying me intently.
I realize I can’t answer that either, because I don’t know. My necklace turns cold against my skin. A warning. What do the signs of war even look like? I stare back into her eyes.
She continues scanning my face, looking for something, before she sighs. “Ask yourself this instead: if the warriors want to continue to train, why even stop them?”
I had asked the same thing once and was met with a non-answer.
The band on stage picks up their instruments when a tall, lanky man with long, curly hair walks through the crowd and hops onto the stage. Cheers erupt, and even Mathilda claps excitedly. “You’re in for a real treat, Lena!” she squeals.
The man is unassuming, his skin fair, hinting towards Irish ancestry, and his eyes are a striking blue. But as he lifts his hand, a hush falls over the entire place. The guitarist hands him his guitar, and the anticipation in the room pulses. Everyone is deathly quiet, straining to hear him. He clears his throat, and I scoot to the edge of the booth to get closer.
