Bjorn had kept his own axe honed to a killing edge. Memories of what it had done to the muscled, leathery body of Shadowlings surfaced . . .
Not for the first time, she cursed her mortal flesh and bones. If one thing was certain about this whole prophecy, it was that being called the descendant of a Goddess while being caged in a frail mortal body was cruel.
The air whined, and she pivoted sideways as the axe blade flashed beside her cheek, severing a long strand of rose-gold hair. A second later and her head would have been rolling over the sand instead.
Pushing the grim thought away, she danced out of their reach, laughing, drawing them closer. The waves crashed at their back. A timid rain fell, wetting their armor and hair and making a soft pattering song in the sand.
Satisfied that without the element of surprise, she no longer posed a threat, the Asgardians lowered their brutish weapons to their waist.
After all, she was worth more to them alive than dead.
That was Archeron’s first mistake. She would never let herself become a slave again. Never.
2
Her nostrils flared as she quickly studied the males. They were towering, beyond seven feet in height, and most certainly Death Raiders turned cutthroats for hire. Tongues of their famed green light magick licked and crackled around them, scenting the stormy air with roses and myrrh.
Her sword hand spasmed tighter. Like Bjorn, both were handsome, almost God-like. Their flesh the color of dark Ashari pearls. Their light magick bursting from their mythical forms and dancing over their alluring visages as they closed in.
Just like she wanted them too.
That was Archeron’s second mistake. Using battle-hardened Asgardians whose huge egos made them easy to lull into a false sense of power.
Her mortality meant they would never see her as a true threat.
“So this is the Shadeling’s bastard,” the tallest Asgardian said. There was no malice in his voice. No hatred. Only a cold, disdainful curiosity as his peridot green eyes, the same color as his magick, raked over her. “You’re no descendant of the Goddess. I can sense your ruinous aura from here, infected with Odin’s darkness.”
The words scraped open an old wound. Haven fought against the rush of pain as Archeron’s words whispered across the storm-winds. Killing you is an act of mercy. I am saving you from what you would become.
“You might be right.” A taunting smile played over her face as she twirled her sword in a circle, her chest bubbling with anticipation. The edges of her cloak curled around her legs, buffeted by the wind. Strips of her rose-gold hair clawed across her cheeks and forehead, painted ashen-pink by the portal’s light. “But if you call off your riders and leave now, that darkness will stay locked away, and that’s a mercy you do not deserve.”
The greedy thing inside her raged at the thought of letting them escape. She could feel it swelling against her breastbone, tapping and clawing and begging for release.
Every ounce of her power was used to keep it chained. If she spared them, if she could convince them somehow to join her and the others against Archeron and the Shadeling . . .
“And why would you offer such generous terms?” A taunting humor dripped from the closest Death Raider’s words.
“Because the Shadeling is coming. And when he reaches your kingdom, it won’t matter how many runestones and gold line your pockets.” The tendons of his thick neck corded at the mention of the Shadeling, and she allowed herself a whisper of hope as she added, “We need allies to fight against him. Together, our nations could stand a chance against the invasion.”
“Children of Freya and Odin and man together? Under your poisonous rule?” The Asgardian’s laugh boomed across the beach, the axe blade reflecting the green flames circling him as he twirled it. “Even if the Sun Sovereign wasn’t offering a hundred powerrunes for your capture, you would still be my enemy, you blasphemous bitch.”
Anger coiled inside her. She expected the Solis resistance. The hostility and distrust. But not to this degree. Archeron was spreading tales of her trickery, claiming she was involved in the attack on Solethenia. That she did it all to steal the Godkiller.
No wonder they despised her.
Biting back a frustrated growl, she ground out, “Enemy or not, I offer more mercy than the Shadeling will.”
“Every word you spew reeks of treachery. You claim to be descended from the Goddess, but your flesh is mortal and your magick twisted by your dark Noctis lover. The Sun Sovereign is right; you’re an abomination and the deceiver’s weapon. If the Sun King did not want to wield you himself, I would kill you where you stand.”
The word Archeron used against her awoke the near-constant thorn of agony buried deep in her heart. Abomination.
She flexed her shoulders to hide the discomfort, forcing out a calming breath. “He’s offering one hundred powerrunes now? He must be getting desperate.”
She shifted her gaze to the other Asgardian. Perhaps he would think differently . . . his sneer shattered the last remnants of hope she had for an alliance.
A cold, vengeful part of her was glad.
There would be no talk of alliance tonight.
No mercy.
Only death.
The screams from earlier eddied around her mind. Innocent people slain. Her people terrified and slaughtered, and for what?
She could feel herself changing. Feel her light magick smoldering. She met the Asgardian’s haughty stare, taking satisfaction in the flicker of fear that sparked behind his peridot eyes.
They both felt the darkness inside her awaken, stretching out its tendrils of power as she loosened her hold over it.
Her lips tipped up in a grin.
“Why are you smiling?” Sand crunched as the nearest male slowly drew closer. Centuries of defending the floating city of Tyr, of being heralded as legendary warriors who fought against the Noctis in the Shadow Wars, made him foolishly disregard the power he’d sensed. “Or are you enjoying the thought of what the Sun Sovereign is going to do to you?”
“Mortal whore,” the other one spat. “No daughter of the Goddess would be in league with the Lord of the Netherworld, nor be foolish enough to stumble right into Death Raiders’ arms.”
Warmth kissed her palm, sending golden light dancing over the sloping steel of his breastplate. His eyes flicked lazily down to the magick dancing just above her fingers as he slid to the left, the fluid stealth with which he moved driving home these were Sun Lords, powerful ones. Used to killing monsters bigger and scarier than her with ease.
Well, if that’s what they were used to . . .
Distracted by her light magick, both males missed the faint flicker of fiery blue twining between her fingertips. And when they did see it, see what it was becoming . . . when their eyes stretched into all white orbs of surprise and then filled with fear—it was too late.
Serpentine shadows writhed and churned around the Asgardians, a cruel cage greedily devouring their light magick. Sucking it from them with startling efficiency.
The portal guttered and then died, its magick feeding her monster.
Their skin turned ashen and sickly as they swung their weapons. Over and over and over. Slicing uselessly at the dark magick that was slowly, methodically killing them.
She could see it in their desperate faces: they knew their fate was sealed. They would die on this rocky coast for the promise of powerrunes and greed.