Chapter Eleven

Peyton and Desmond looked around frantically for a moment, then back at each other.

“Ya heard that, right? I’m not—I’m not goin’ insane or anythin’?” Peyton asked.

“It was Vi,” Dezzy agreed, casting a dubious look toward the hospital room in which his sister lay.

A couple nurses and a doctor left the room and walked down the hall together. One of the aides came out and joined the two men, a soft smile gracing her lips,

“She’s stable and calm again,” the aide said.

“What happened?” Desmond asked.

“I’m not supposed to say—you can go talk to her doctors though. The attending is there right now.”

Dezzy and Peyton both abruptly stood and strode together into Violet’s room. A nurse stood at Violet’s head, attentively watching a couple of the monitors. A man in black scrubs and a white coat stood over Violet, who lay on her side facing the door, and held a stethoscope to her back. He straightened and covered Violet’s exposed back with the sheet, then joined them on the other side of the small room.

“What happened?” Desmond repeated his query to the doctor.

“We’re not quite sure, but she’s been stabilized and is resting comfortably now,” the doctor replied. “She had an odd spike in brain activity and started seizing. We’ll be doing some bloodwork and running some tests to see if we can identify the cause.”

“Could this mean she’s tryin’ ta wake up?” Peyton asked.

The doctor looked back at Violet’s comatose form before returning his gaze to Peyton.

“I’m not sure what it means, but it’s a possibility. She’s healing well. It’s hard to understand why she isn’t awake already,” the doctor said. “We’ll continue to monitor her, but for now—she’s stable.”

Peyton and Desmond nodded in unison and the rest of the staff left the room with the doctor. Desmond sat next to the bed on the side that Violet faced and he gently brushed her hair away from her face. The bruising was nearly healed. The tubing that went through her nose and mouth looked incredibly uncomfortable but he knew it was necessary.

She looked so small and frail. It was jarring for him. She’d always been his tough big sister. It was impossible to imagine her as anything else. But there, hovering somewhere between life and death, she looked like a shell. Like something vital was just… Gone from her.

“I don’t think it was Intimidation Factor that did this,” Peyton spoke up, startling Dezzy from his study of her.

Desmond turned in his seat to look over at Peyton, who sat on the small, uncomfortable sofa at the foot of the bed. Peyton looked like hell. Dark circles had become a permanent fixture under his eyes and his hair was messy, unkempt, and he looked like overall, he needed a shower and a week’s worth of sleep.

“Go home, Pey,” Dezzy quietly said.

“I can’t—”

“I’ll stay with her. Go home. Get some food. Take a shower and get some sleep.”

Peyton sighed and reluctantly stood, saying, “Call me if anything happens.”

“I will,” Dezzy murmured, turning his attention back to his sister. “Go home.”

Desmond didn’t watch the other man leave but was satisfied when he looked up again a few minutes later and found himself alone. He sat back in the small, uncomfortable chair and studied Violet’s face once more.

There was a small scar on her cheek from a bicycle accident when they were kids. Another one that nearly cut her eyebrow in half above her left eye. It was barely visible unless one knew where to look. That one had come from a car accident she’d been in as a teenager. Her hair was a mess and no one had taken the care to fix it after her brief, violent seizure episode.

Sighing, he rummaged through the items on the bedside table and found a wide-toothed comb. He set about the task of removing the tangles from her long, dark, slightly curling hair. It was limp and dull in has hands and sparked his ire.

Weren’t they taking care of her? Why hadn’t Peyton at least done it? Wouldn’t they let him?

As he combed through her hair, he let his mind wander. He was angry with Peyton. He had entrusted the man with his sister’s safety and he had failed. He hadn’t been at first, but the more he thought about it the madder he became. Violet had been through enough. She was strong, but everyone’s strength had its limits.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” Desmond found himself saying. “I swear, I heard you earlier. I’m not quite sure what you said, but I know it was your voice. Crazy huh?”

He carefully watched her closed eyes for any indication that she could hear him. She was still, save for the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He decided to continue talking.

“I know I pushed this whole thing with Peyton and I can’t help feeling that some of this is my fault. I wanted you to be happy. When you lost Tommy and the baby, I was scared we’d eventually lose you, too. You’re still young yet, Vi. You’ve got a whole life ahead of you,” Desmond said, tugging the comb gently through a particularly nasty set of knots. “Why won’t you wake up?”

He continued working on her hair until it was free from tangles and hung over her back and shoulders. A nurse aide knocked and came in to check on her and to turn her on her back. Desmond noted that they turned her often and was grateful. She’d told him about bedsores before and he wasn’t going to let her incur them.

“Do you know how to do hair?” Desmond asked the young woman as she arranged the wedge pillow under Violet’s hip.

“I’m no professional but I can hold my own,” the aide responded. “I see you combed hers out.”

“It was a mess after…”

“Yeah, that can happen. I think I might have some extra hair ties at the nurse’s station. I can check for you if you’d like?”

“I’d appreciate that. I don’t know how to use them, but I can learn.”

“I’ll be right back,” the aide said, offering him a kind smile before she left the room.

Desmond looked around the room and started organizing things. Her clothes, her phone, her purse, the bouquets of flowers sent to her by well-wishers. He picked up her phone again and placed it on the charger, noting that she didn’t have a lock on the screen.

Curiosity won out over propriety and he opened it. She had over a hundred unread text messages and several dozen missed calls. He scrolled through the missed calls list. Most of them were numbers not stored in her phone and there were half again as many voicemails that had gone unanswered. He idly scrolled through the texts, careful not to click on any of them.

He set the phone down as the aide appeared again, a couple of hair ties and a soft bristled brush in her hands.

“Will these do?” she cheerfully asked.

“I have no idea, but it’s a start at least,” Desmond good-naturedly replied.

“What were you planning to do with her hair?” the aide queried, stepping up to Violet’s sleeping form.

“She usually wears it in a ponytail or a bun. High up. She doesn’t like her hair in her face or on her neck,” Dezzy said.

“Easy enough,” the aide said, gently rolling Violet onto her side again. “I’m Astrid, by the way.”

“Astrid. That’s different. I’m Desmond, but you can call me Dezzy,” Dezzy replied, holding out his hand.

Astrid shook it, smiling, and went back to pulling Violet’s hair away from her face and off her neck. He watched as the aide’s hands deftly scooped at his sister’s hair and eventually tugged it all up to the back of Violet’s crown. He watched as Astrid swiftly and nimbly pulled the hair through the small elastic loops until she’d managed to put it all up in a cute, if messy, bun.

“There,” Astrid said when finished. “What do we think?”

Dezzy offered her a smile and said, “Perfect. Just how she used to do it.”

“She’s been here a long time, huh?” Astrid commented, looking down at Violet’s still form.

“It’s not in her to give up,” Desmond replied.

“Well, I hope she breaks out of it soon,” the aide kindly said before making her exit.

“You and me both,” he whispered after she’d gone.

*****

Violet swiped at her brow, whisking the sweat away from her eyes. She hefted the shield on her left arm, her shoulder trembling in protest. They’d been sparring with the shield and sword for nearly an hour.

“Up!” Gondul snapped. “Get that shield up, Valkyrie!”

Violet failed to raise it high enough to block the blow from the blunted short sword. It impacted her collarbone from over her shoulder and sent her crashing to her knees. Violet ground her teeth and swiped futilely at her attacker with the sword in her right hand.

“On your feet,” Gondul barked. “Again!”

Violet struggled to get up and fought to raise the shield. Her shoulder went limp and the shield fell from her numbed grasp. She lifted her head as the blunted edge of Gondul’s sword slapped against the side of her neck.

“And you’re dead,” the raven woman softly said, glaring at Violet with contempt.

Violet let go of the shield and sword, stumbling back and landing on her ass in the grass, which was still covered in early morning dew. She laid back and glared at the deep purple, pre-dawn sky, cursing her own weakness.

“Sif! Get your worthless charge some water,” Gondul snarled and stalked away.

Sif appeared a heartbeat later with a cannister of water. Violet grunted as she sat up and took a deep draught. She coughed after swallowing and rubbed at her shoulder. Sif regarded her with an odd mix of compassion and disgust.

“Yeah, yeah,” Violet groaned. “Useless charge. I know.”

Sif sighed and said, “You need to get stronger. Faster.”

“Building muscle takes time! It’s only been two weeks!” Violet replied, managing to climb to her feet.

“You are Valkyrie. Your weakness isn’t in your body, it’s in your mind,” Sif curtly stated, kicking the shield so that it skidded into Violet’s foot.

“I fail to see how my mind can lift my shield,” Violet retorted, rolling her shoulder before reaching for the shield again.

She slipped her forearm through the grip and hefted it, grimacing as the shoulder tightened uncomfortably and began trembling again. She looked helplessly at Sif, who watched her with her strange, feline-like sapphire blue eyes. Sif studied her intently.

“What now?” Violet asked, annoyed.

“You did much better at this yesterday.”

“So?”

“So why is today such a problem?”

“Maybe because my shoulder is strained and needs rest, not merciless beatings,” Violet quipped.

“Valkyries don’t need rest,” Gondul said, returning to them.

Violet stood straighter and met the raven woman’s gaze. They studied each other in tense silence.

“Get off my battlefield,” Gondul bitterly snapped a few seconds later. “Report to the infirmary. Freyja will continue your lessons in your study.”

Violet rolled her eyes and went over to the weapon racks in the courtyard. She deposited the practice shield and practice sword in their proper places, then stalked across the training yard to the portcullis. Sif followed, skipping lightly.

The sadistic fairy loved watching Gondul mercilessly beat Violet to a pulp.

They went to the infirmary and met one of the healers. To Violet’s frustrated disbelief, the healer on duty declared there was nothing wrong with her shoulder and suggested that she just toughen up. Dismissed from the infirmary, Violet made her way to her chambers.

A breakfast tray waited in her study and Violet ignored it. She was too angry to be hungry. In the back of her mind, she lamented each passing hour. The more time that passed in Asgard, four times that amount passed at home.

“You’re miles away and it shows,” Sif said.

Violet sat down at her desk and shoved the tray to the other end of it, well away from her.

“What am I even doing here, Sif?” Violet quietly asked, glaring out the window that overlooked the courtyard below.

“Messing it all up, evidently,” Sif chortled.

“It’s unsettling how much you enjoy watching me get my ass kicked by Gondul.”

“Oh, it’s nothing against you. But watching Gersemi’s proxy get destroyed? It’s highly satisfying,” the waif cheerily replied.

“Sif!”

Both Sif and Violet winced at the sudden intrusion.

“Yes, my Queen?” Sif immediately responded, turning to face the woman.

“Leave us,” Freyja quietly commanded.

Sif cast an apologetic glance at Violet as she departed. Violet stood and crossed her arm over her chest in greeting. Freyja sat in the chair across from her and motioned for her to sit as well. The queen was silent for a moment and the time seemed to stretch on forever.

“Is your breakfast not to your liking?” Freyja finally asked, noting the untouched food on the tray.

“I’m not hungry,” Violet quietly replied, refusing to meet the Queen’s eyes with her own.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“You are unhappy,” Freyja said.

It was not a question.

Violet lifted her head and met Freyja’s eyes. It was mindblowing to her that Freyja and the raven woman who’d just spent the last two hours mercilessly bashing her shield arm were the same person. Freyja was nearly the polar opposite of the sadist Gondul.

“You have always been the most stubborn child,” Freyja gently continued. “Ever independent, ever contrary, ever closed. You cannot reach your full potential if you do not open your mind.”

“I don’t understand. I can’t open my mind when I have no idea what that even means,” Violet said.

Freyja sighed, a rare sign of frustration, saying, “I had hoped to avoid this, but I can see no other way.”

The cold grip of dread closed around Violet’s spine and she regarded the woman with wide, frightened eyes.

“What?” Violet whispered, hoping she had heard the woman incorrectly.

Freyja stood and walked around the desk so that she stood next to Violet. She held out her hand and Violet took it, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. She led Violet out to the patio balcony and looked out over the busy harbor.

She didn’t let go of Violet’s hand and silently watched the ships moving through the sea and air. Circling around the steepest peak in the distance was a large wyvern. Violet hadn’t gotten to wyvern lore yet in her studies with Sif, but the fact they even had dragons made her giddy.

A moment later, two great winged horses descended from above, landing with the clatter of rigid hooves on stone. They were chargers from the special Valkyrie stable and were only available for the Valkyries’ use.

Freyja vaulted easily onto the back of the white horse closest to her. She looked expectantly at Violet, who moved to mount the pinkish dappled gray mare that stood next to Freyja’s mount. The horses alighted the balcony of their own accord, without any apparent input from Freyja or Violet.

They flew in silence to the far edge of the city, where a vast, grassy expanse stretched to the mountains along a wide, deep stream. Wildflowers of a strange, silvery blue interspersed the meadow at heavily frequent intervals.

As Violet dismounted, she realized the air felt different. Her skin tingled, like a strange current washed over them. A solemn atmosphere hung over that place, the gravitas huge and unmistakable.

“What is this place?” Violet asked as the horses moved toward the stream, their riders forgotten for the moment.

“Do you feel it?”

Violet nodded, accustomed to her questions going largely unanswered or countered with another question. It didn’t frustrate her as much as it had a couple weeks ago.

“It’s a heaviness,” Violet replied, attempting to put the feeling into words. “Like something… Important.”

“Yes,” Freyja said, smiling. “This is the resting place for Valkyries that have fallen.”

“But I thought Valkyries can never die?” Violet asked, confused.

It had been a fact that Sif had drilled into her head.

“Dying and being killed are two different things,” Freyja said.

“So the graves here—these are Valkyries who were killed,” Violet mused, looking around.

“Executed,” Freyja gently corrected, elevating Violet’s comprehension of the sacredness of that place.

Violet turned to look at her and felt the familiar breath of fear cold on the back of her neck.

“Executed?” Violet repeated questioningly.

Freyja nodded and continued, “This is the final resting place of what you would call their souls. Every flower represents a fallen sister.”

“Who executed them?”

“Various gods, men, and creatures throughout the ages. Enemies of Odin. Enemies of women. Enemies,” Freyja said, motioning for Violet to follow her.

They walked along a blue stone path toward a high, rocky knoll. A beautiful archway served as a door inside the mound of earth and as she took the first few steps inside, Violet froze.

“I can’t go down there,” Violet suddenly said, removing her hand from Freyja’s and stumbling backward.

She began trembling violently and the vivid memory of a grating, deep voice, as if a mountain had spoken, flooded her mind.

“Ah,” Freyja breathed, understanding evident in her voice.

Violet couldn’t see her face as the woman turned toward her in the dark.

“Have you met the wolf before?”

“I don’t know about the wolf but I know that whatever is down there, I want no part of it,” Violet answered.

Deep, sinister laughter emanated from the darkness below. Violet stumbled backward farther until she reached the archway. She recognized it from the dream from which Odin had pulled her a week ago when the strange wound had opened on her back. She fell forward onto the blue pathway, catching herself on her hands and knees.

“Tell me,” said Freyja from next to her a breath later, “Tell me what the wolf said to you. Tell me when you first saw him.”

Violet crawled up the path a few more feet and turned to look back at the archway, her breath coming in frantic, ragged gasps.

“Gersemi!”

“That’s not my name!” Violet shouted back, struggling to rein in the terror she felt.

She thought it had just been a fever dream. That it was nothing. That it wasn’t real. Learning that whatever monster lurked in the dark there actually existed? It sent her into a terrified mental tailspin.

“Violet,” Freyja gently amended. “I can’t help you until I know how far the sickness has spread.”

“Sickness?!” Violet exasperatedly exclaimed.

“This is why,” Freyja said, more to herself than anything else. “This is why you haven’t fledged.”

That was a new term. Violet was able to swallow her fear long enough to ask, “Fledged?”

Freyja heaved a deep breath and noisily exhaled. She turned toward the winged horses and whistled shrilly. The noble beasts trotted immediately over and Freyja whispered into the white mare’s ear. Violet was happy to mount and get the hell out of there.

“We’ll talk at the castle. Come,” Freyja said as they mounted.

They silently flew back to the patio outside Violet’s chambers and watched as the winged horses departed. Freyja motioned for Violet to follow her. Together, they went back into Violet’s study.

“Fenrir once brought about Ragnarok,” Freyja began once they’d settled.

From her studies with Sif, Violet knew that Fenrir was the great wolf whom Odin imprisoned a second time following Ragnarok. The victory paved the way for the current state of peace that Asgard enjoyed. Loki, god of mischief, had helped free the destructive god Fenrir from his first time in bondage and was reportedly eaten in the process, but in her conversations with Thor, she learned that the trickster god was known for shapeshifting and could never really die.

“I remember the story,” Violet said.

“Do you remember it as Violet or do you remember it as Gersemi?”

“Would Gersemi’s version be somehow different?” Violet asked.

“In essence, no. But it was how she found herself sundered from Asgard and eventually born again on Earth,” Freyja replied, watching for the effect the words had on Violet. She continued when Violet said nothing, “Tell me about your encounter with the wolf.”

“I went to take a bath before bed. I started bleeding. I passed out from the blood loss and suddenly was in the cave,” Violet replied after a moment of silent contemplation.

“What did Fenrir say? What did he sound like?” Freyja prodded.

“He sounded… Foreign. Alien, even. Like nothing I’ve ever heard. He said that I should feel lucky he couldn’t reach me, called me Odin-child and otherworlder, said I’d be dead if he could reach me. He said that I am not here or there, that I didn’t exist anywhere,” Violet relayed, not quite sure if she remembered everything the creature in the dark had said.

“Did you look into his eyes?”

“I don’t think so. It was dark, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I ran for it. As soon as I reached the light, I woke up and was staring at Odin,” Violet said.

“He is the one who banished you from Asgard,” Freyja quietly said. “He tore you in half, on the battlefield, right in front of Gondul. But a goddess can never truly die, only change form and be reborn. We searched for nearly six hundred years for you.”

Violet silently considered the new information. It was all so impossible wasn’t it? Nothing she believed, nothing she thought was real seemed to matter anymore. Like everything she’d ever experienced up to that point in her life actually existed. It was a sudden departure from reality and she fought the encroaching sense of panic that threatened to undo her.

“You should have fledged by now,” Freyja continued, her voice soft, fettered at the edges with notes of pain and regret. “Within a day or two, you should have fledged. You’re picking up all of your old skills with remarkable speed but it would go much faster if we could just break through.”

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Violet quietly said, throwing her hands into the air. “I’m me. I’m not Gersemi.”

“The two identities are not separate. I am both Freyja and Gondul.”

“But you are separate. Gondul wouldn’t take the time to explain things or show empathy,” Violet countered.

“Is that what you think? That Gondul feels nothing?” Freyja asked, incredulous.

“Oh, I didn’t say she doesn’t feel anything, she just doesn’t give a damn what others feel. She wants results, not understanding,” Violet said.

Freyja sat in silence, her eyes wide. She stayed that way for several uncomfortable moments, studying Violet’s eyes.

“Gondul watched as you were mutilated by that beast and there was nothing she could do. She watched her—our—child fall,” Freyja finally said in a whisper that spoke of the acutest agony. “She blames herself for your loss. She’s hard on you so that it won’t happen again. She failed you. Gondul is loath to make a mistake more than once.”

Violet considered the statement, trying to put herself in Gondul’s position. She just didn’t have the memory, didn’t have a parallel experience from which to draw insight. All she could do was imagine how it would feel.

And then she realized that she did in fact have a parallel. She… Had once lost a child herself.

“A few years ago,” Violet began in a soft tone, “I was a physical therapist for professional athletes. My husband, Tommy, was a biomedical engineer. One morning, as I was getting ready for work, my phone rang. It was the local police department, so I answered.”

Freyja leaned forward in her seat and rested her elbows on the desk, her chin settling into her palms. She listened intently as Violet continued.

“They told me Tommy had been in an accident. It wasn’t far from our house so I ran down there, as fast as I could. He’d just left for work less than an hour before, as he always did,” Violet said, her voice little louder than a whisper. “He had this little black sportscar that he always drove. He loved that damn thing. Almost more than he loved me,” a hint of laughter found it’s way through the pain.

Freyja listened, fully invested in what Violet was saying.

“When I saw what was left of the car…” she swallowed hard, “Two road ragers were racing down the street and one of them hit Tommy head on, driving a full-size SUV. Tommy had swerved to try and avoid the collision but was hit in the rear wheel, which spun his car into oncoming traffic.”

Freyja reached forward and gently took Violet’s hand, tears shining unshed in her kind eyes.

Violet continued, her words rapid fire fast, as though she just wanted to get the story out and be free of it.

“They had to identify his remains by the cards in his wallet. They didn’t let me see. They said it was too terrible. I confirmed that it was his car, that it was his wallet, and they said they’d check DNA and dental records to finish confirming that it was him but I knew. I knew,” Violet said, choking on a sob. “They drove me home and I called off work and just sat there in the living room, looking around at everything we’d built together and then I just… I couldn’t stop crying. I started smashing everything in sight. We were supposed to grow old together, have kids, have grand kids, leave a legacy…”

Violet stopped talking to angrily swipe at her eyes and she looked out the study’s window at the deep blue, cloudless sky. Her voice was soft again when she spoke.

“I was four months pregnant with his son but in the wake of the anger, the grief, the rage… I forgot. Until the pain, like someone was breaking my back, hit me. I started bleeding heavily. I went to the hospital and…” she stopped to wipe her eyes again, still angry with herself, “I lost my son and my husband both that day. And I lost myself, too.”

They were silent for a good long while. Violet continued staring out the window at the empty, foreign sky, unable to meet the other woman’s eyes for fear of what she’d see there. Pity. Pity was the last thing she wanted anyone to feel for her.

“What was he like?” Freyja asked, shattering the silence.

Violet finally met her gaze and couldn’t restrain the ear-to-ear smile as she recalled her husband.

“He was my everything,” Violet laughed. “He was fun, he was so clever, so funny, witty, charming, strong. He was the biggest nerd about technology and application. He loved to fight. He would spar with my little brother, Dezzy. I used to get so mad at them because they’d give each other black eyes and bruised ribs.”

Freyja laughed a little, then said, “He was a fighter. A warrior.”

“Yes, he was. At heart, anyway.”

“He’s here. In Asgard. In Valhalla,” Freyja added.

“I know. Sif—took me to see him. He didn’t remember me. He’s one of the warriors, but not one of Odin’s inner circle.”

“When they choose to heed the call, the warriors remember nothing of their former lives and their service is only to Odin. Only those in the inner circle keep their memories.”

“That’s what kind of hurts me,” Violet admitted. “He chose that service over the possibility of an eternity, eventually, with me.”

“He loved you. That much is evident,” Freyja said. “Eternity is a long time.”

“And yet never enough,” Violet sadly replied.

“Truer words were never spoken,” Freyja agreed, sitting back in her seat.

She regarded Violet with a soft look, one of compassion and pride. She stood and went to one of the bookcases, then pulled out a thin tome with a scarlet leather cover and a rigid spine. She handed it to Violet and Violet accepted it.

“What’s this?” Violet asked, noting that the book had a lock on it.

“Your diary.”

“My—it’s not very big. Did I ever write in it?”

“You don’t write in it.”

Perplexed, Violet turned the strange little book over in her hands, looking for a way to open it. It had a lock, but the keyhole was perfectly round. Like the auxiliary jack on an electronic device. Freyja pointed to one of the pens that stood in the receptacle at the corner of the desk. Violet obeyed, plucking it out, and she realized it wasn’t a pen at all.

She plugged the key into the lock and the book fell open, revealing a screen of some sort. Images and videos floated on its surface in random flashes, like when one’s computer screensaver activates and randomizes photos from a specific folder.

Violet set the contraption down and closed the lid. She heard the click of its lock engaging. Those were someone else’s memories. Someone else’s story. She may have been Gersemi before, but Gersemi had died—killed by Fenrir in the battle of Ragnarok. She was Violet Jorgensen. Not Gersemi, daughter of Freyja and Odin.

Freyja sighed, a sound of frustration, and sat back in the seat across from Violet.

“Fledging is what occurs when a spirit of Asgard returns to Valhalla as a Valkyrie. They receive the basics of their Valkyrian abilities and remember their past lives. We call it fledging because that’s when your spirit wings emerge,” Freyja said.

“You haven’t let me meet the other Valkyries outside the meal service,” Violet replied. “Is it because I haven’t fledged?”

“Yes. They will not accept you until you’ve opened your wings.”

“That’s kind of silly though, isn’t it?”

“You wouldn’t accept a fighter into your cage if they didn’t have the right equipment, right? The Valkyries don’t want you in theirs for the same reasons,” Freyja explained.

Violet reluctantly had to agree with that assessment. She didn’t know what she didn’t know and that could place the Valkyries in danger. Frustrated, she turned her gaze back out the window.

“Fenrir wouldn’t have been able to access your mind on his own,” Freyja said, drawing Violet’s attention back.

“I didn’t have contact with him until I passed out from blood loss.”

“The injury was a symptom, not the cause,” Freyja mused. “Let’s think back to when you first arrived. What do you remember?”

Violet sat back in the chair and rubbed the back of her neck, then her shoulder. It was still sore and tender from being mercilessly whacked that morning by Gondul’s blunted practice sword.

“I woke up in the infirmary. Odin was there and handed me a drink of water,” Violet replied.

“What did Odin say to you?” Freja pressed.

“Just welcomed me here, asked what I remembered, showed me a portal to Earth so I could see Peyton,” Violet relayed, struggling to remember the details.

“He showed you a portal?”

“He used his cane, its eyes glowed, and it showed me… Well, me, in the hospital, with Peyton at my side. He looked a mess. I looked a mess.”

Freyja considered the new information and then asked, “What color were the eyes in the wolf-head cane?”

“Which time?” Violet asked.

“He used it more than once?”

“Yeah,” Violet replied. “The first time it glowed… I don’t know. All colors in the prism. It opened the portal. When I fell in the hall, because my legs wouldn’t work, they were green.”

“When you fell in the hall?” Freyja repeated, perplexed.

“When you and Sif left me the clothes—I couldn’t walk without heavy assistance from both Sif and Sten. Odin said my spirit was damaged because my body was damaged and he did something with the cane to my back. I could walk on my own after that.”

Freyja stood so abruptly that the chair fell backwards and clattered to the floor.

“Come with me. Now,” Freyja said, stalking towards the door.

Violet quickly stood and did as Freyja commanded, following her out into the main hall of the castle’s family wing and across its expanse to Odin and Freyja’s apartments. They entered and found Odin sitting in his own study. The hale old man sat reading something on a screen built into the desk. He looked up as they entered, clearly surprised.

“Freyja! Violet! Come in, come in,” he jovially called, motioning for them to sit.

“We have a problem,” Freyja said, refusing to sit. “You’ve been impersonated by that conniving monster.”

“What’s this?” he asked, standing and walking up to them.

“Do you remember healing Violet in the hall before she joined us for dinner that first evening?” Freyja asked.

“No, I went straight to the Great Hall from the infirmary—I didn’t go back,” Odin said, his eye widening.

“She’s been cursed,” Freyja hissed, pointing at Violet.

“The wound,” Odin breathed, comprehension bloomed behind his eyes.

“Yes,” Freyja agreed.

“Cursed?” Violet squeaked, rubbing at her lower back where the injury had been.

Odin and Freyja circled her, looking at her like she was some sort of offensive, invading insect they were afraid to touch yet desired its demise. They both studied her, the worry and anger on their faces distinctly concerning. Violet shuddered, fearful of what they would do to her.

“It’s why she hasn’t fledged,” Freyja said after several tense moments.

“What manner of curse, though?” Odin queried, holding out his hand to Violet.

She reluctantly took it and allowed him to pull her close. He looked deeply into her eyes, then spun her and lifted the tunic she wore. She felt his fingers prodding her spine until he cried out and flinched away from her, as though he’d received a shock.

“That scoundrel,” Odin snarled, shaking his hand in the air.

“Who?” Violet asked, feeling very much like an exasperated owl.

“Loki,” Odin and Freyja said in unison.

“Meddling, irksome, traitorous bastard,” Odin snarled, going to his desk. “Have you taken her to the cave?”

“We were there this morning, but they’ve already met,” Freyja replied.

“You’ve met Fenrir?” Odin asked, the question directed at Violet that time.

“Only in passing. When I passed out, he was in my head,” Violet answered him.

“What did he say?” Odin pressed.

Violet waited as Freyja relayed the story from earlier and Odin sat back at the desk, tapping on several of the screens that adorned the shining ebony surface. Violet sat in one of the chairs and waited as they discussed solutions—none of which made a lick of sense to her, until one comment in particular struck a chord of fear within her.

“Her soul will be lost forever.”

“Uh, that’s the souldeath, right? Nope, definitely not cool with that,” Violet interjected.

“We must get it out of you. Whatever… Fell magic he imbued you with,” Odin sternly replied.

“And how do we do that?” Violet asked.

“I don’t know. Yet. You are to remain in your quarters under guard. Sif will remain with you at all times,” Odin said, dismissively waving her out.

Freyja escorted Violet back to her own apartments and informed Sif of the situation, then left them alone together.

“I should have known better,” Sif grumbled, glaring at Violet. “Odin doesn’t have healing magic. Not with the staff anyway. You are more trouble than you are worth.”

“How is this my fault?” Violet retorted.

Sif ignored her and made an agitated noise in the back of her throat. She dejectedly sat down on the foot of Violet’s bed. The movement was so abrupt that she bounced a couple times. She buried her face in her hands and was silent.

Violet went back into her study, looking for something to occupy the time while they waited for whatever solution Odin and Freyja could conjure. Magic. Curses. Spells. Illnesses. None of it made any damn sense to her and she was tired of being ignorant to the complexities of the new world.

She decided to see what she could find in Gersemi’s diary. Maybe she could learn something of value? It was her diary after all. She grabbed the little red book-like thing and unlocked it, setting to work.