There were colonnades branching from the banquet hall, even as the one Cordelia had first entered with the World Serpent. Dark and quiet from the hall’s conversation, it made the perfect place to bargain with a demon. Cordelia and the raven, now in human form, were walking abreast.

The fey’s gait was light as though floating, and even in this form the silver glow from before was faintly present. Nor could she wholly tell the gender, for the face was androgynous and the tenor of his voice changed according to the mood. And there was no telling nor placing definite features upon this creature, sculpted almost to perfection and so without flaws - without even those little quirks by which one may set a face apart from another, but waxed like the worn marble of a sculpture, all that remained being an impression of ancient perfection, naught of the artist’s initial vision but those most dispassionate. It was an eerie thing to gaze long upon, and so Cordelia averted her eyes.

“Are you an einheri as I am?” she asked, “Or are you one of the gods, fey lords as they are called?”

“I am neither,” he said. “My existence is not so divine as to be called godly, nor is there a grain of mortality in my being.”

“Then you are only fey. And yet the mighty ones in the hall looked on you with apprehension.”

“It is not me they fear, but my possession.”

“Some power to slay even their evil gods?”

“That is a portrayal most base. Yet it is a thing close. And perhaps I should add my old prestige to the cause for their needless misgivings, my sometime office, though it is of little value nowadays, so your patron has aptly demonstrated. Natheless, Huginn I was called in the brighter days, and I go by that name even now.”

“Odin’s ravens,” Cordelia said automatically, “Thought and Memory, Huginn and Muninn”

The white-haired man smiled warmly, “I see you are wise to our ancient lore. Though our kind exerted some influence in your home world, I do not think many of you know us, besides some few with specialized interest.”

“You may call it that,” she shrugged, “I was taught of those things once by a friend. Though even she thought it fiction and man’s inventions.”

“You will soon come to learn how little man invents on his own, girl. But you speak of this friend with a rising warmth so unwonted. Is she a dear one?”

Cordelia frowned. “Once. But I don’t care to speak of it. Say, Huginn, what does the spy of Odin want of me?”

He tugged at a wavy lock of white, shaded blue by the portal lights. “I am spy of the All-father no more. These days I spy for a salary and negotiated pay, and sometimes I spy even ere the demand arises. I broker information, and all the dark gods rely on my service, which keeps me from their wrath even when my repertoire benefits a rival.”

“Knowledge is power, eh? Something like that?”

“Much depends, mind. It is power to those who can wield it wisely, useless to some with more urgent needs, and sometimes it is the undoing of those best left ignorant. For me it is a commodity, naught more.”

Cordelia stopped abruptly, forcing the raven to a halt also. “Then I tell you now,” she said, “there is nothing worth having in me. I think you want knowledge of the Maiden. Of which I will not tell, nor will I be able to soon enough. For I have a mind to leave her and live on my own, and live such a life as to be of little value to a scholar or broker of knowledge as you claim to be.”

Huginn watched her at length, and just before she shrunk at his scrutiny, he turned away and resumed his walk. Cordelia followed. “I see you need naught counsel but your own, yet I will say this: the path your conviction commands is a perilous one, if not foolish. You will not play into the World Serpent’s game and the Dark Master’s, but all the same the game will be brought to you. Were you not what you are, you would have won my admiration for so defying destiny.” He shook his head. “But not in this case, where too many things are at risk. What’s more, you are given to folly if you think the Serpent would have you roam freely from her precious ploy.”

“Don’t I know that?” she scoffed. “Yet am I to harm someone who has done me naught but good? Tell me your bargain, Huginn. I will hear you out since you saved my life, but no more. And after that, let me be gone.”

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This seemed to meet his satisfaction, for Huginn did not protest her obtuseness but slowed his strides. “Knowledge for knowledge, Cordelia, that is all I ask and ever need. Your Lord has pitched you against the majority of what could have been your allies. The einherjar will seek you out, a bounty will be set upon your head, and more are the unseen foe who will have you for other purposes. Against them, not for all the power allotted you by the Serpent shall you avail. The only way is to make several steps ahead of your enemy. And ever you must deceive your mortal friends to be in their grace while keeping the threats of knights at bay. Doubly is the difficulty of the latter do you elect to stay by the Maiden’s side. And against all this you must navigate and find the one path to safety, if there is such a one. No brutish might mortal or immortal may force this course, but all the cunning of the mind and insights of foes and friends are to be gathered if you are to survive. All this I may provide you and more. I only ask in return that you will tell me every detail of the Maiden’s journey to her destiny.”

“You presume I will stay with her. Why? I’m sure there are better spies to employ for this task.”

“No one as reliable, born and jealously guarded by a great fey lord for the very task.” Here he paused and appeared to study her a while, as though measuring, then, “The Serpent’s craftier than any of us dare think, Cordelia. Long has she dwelled near the unknown creatures of outer space, and perhaps some few of their forbidden wisdom she has absorbed. Or it could be something passed to her since the days of the All-father and her sire. I suspect she knows what we could only guess pertaining to the Holy Maiden. Whatever that be, I have invested a great interest in this unknighted mortal.”

Presently, they reached the black door to the hall. Huginn cracked it open, and the light within slipped outo the colonnade. But he halted and fell into a melancholy mood.

“Many feys are vain creatures, Cordelia. We treat humans as inferior things and ourselves the superior. Often this proves right, for far vaster is fey lore, more ancient our kind, and that which lurks in the dark is always at an advantage. And yet, it is the thoughtless course, which we are too often guilty of, to heed not the existence of greater things of still deeper lore than ours. It is as humans dismiss ghosts as superstition that we overlook the greater machinations of the world. Yet who can say that is not itself a fortune...” He went quiet, after this incoherent speech, but before the second passed was animated again. “But that is no matter. I am indeed with a mind to wield such knowledge, Cordelia. And so I entreat you to engage in this exchange of benefits. Here–” With a swift movement, Huginn reached to one of his wavy locks and plucked. When he unrolled his fist again before her, there was a silver feather within. “Should ever you find a need of my service, blow upon this feather thrice.”

Cordelia narrowed her eyes, “This is your...”

“It’s clean. As clean as an ancient thought may be,” he said with humor. “Think of it also as a charm. Should you find yourself enchanted as you were with my light last night, this will prove helpful. Lesser tokens I offer my other clients, but you alone are privileged: think of it as an express ticket to my attention.”

“I thank you, and will take this gift for use as a charm if that thing as you say happens again. But I will tell you again I have no need of your service.”

“You tempt fate too often with such talk, Cordelia. But the night nears its end. And I must bid you adieu.” And so the Thought swept an elaborate bow for farewell.

Clutching the feather in her hand, Cordelia was lost momentarily in thought. Then of a sudden, she jerked her head up.

“One last thing I...”

But already the raven’s voice echoed, overriding her question: “Farewell, Cordelia von Jormungandr...”

And she started awake.

As one after a queer and eventful dream, Cordelia lay at length to recollect and arrange the jumbled memories. Only these were no dreams. And once she opened her eyes, she saw that the tickle at her palm was indeed a silver feather.

But more real were the pains. The ache in her joints and stinging deep gashes on her arm protested as she rose. The bracelet lay still in the early morning light, the fire had long died, and Derrick sat some distance away in silent vigil.

The knight turned at the rustle. Cordelia bade him good-morning.

“How is she?” she asked.

“She will live,” he said grimly.

There was no great relief in her face in answer to this.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, “You look troubled, Cordelia. Have you a wound untended?”

“I will live.”

She went to check on Esme.

Of course Esme would live. All her troubles lay with this girl after all, she could not possibly die so easily.

And as Cordelia stared at the girl peacefully asleep, she wondered if the girl had aught idea how she had been the subject of tense debate between the evil gods through the night. That bets had been laid on her life, and plots woven tight to her fate. So many great things tethered to the string of a girl’s fate, and yet she was oblivious to it all. So innocent. So unconcerned. So privileged. And why not so freely at rest, when all the burden of worries and morality Cordelia would bear in place?

Cordelia started, as though from a half-sleep. For in that instant, the Holy Maiden’s childish face had incited in her, though she knew it to be unjust, bitter resentment and envy for the peace she had not.