Then silence. Until now.
“You did not die in battle, it is true, but the afterlife of a warrior is still within reach, Brynhildr. There is much for you to see. Much for you to learn.”
They traveled over vibrant meadows and rushing rivers feeding into tranquil lakes spreading for miles before a palace came into view, its many stories hewn from stone gleaming under the sun. It was both impenetrable and magnificent, a marvel of beauty and strength.
Odin lives there. I will walk the same halls as Odin.
It shouldn’t have been possible. She’d died by poison or some other foul deed, she knew as much. That was not the death of an einherjar, a warrior who fought to the bitter end without fear of defeat, then was embraced within Odin’s halls to enjoy an eternity of merriment.
They touched down in the courtyard in front of Glasir where the tree’s glorious branches stretched toward the sky, leaves shining golden-red. The otherworldly beauty took Bryn’s breath away. She stood there, hand over her heart, staring with tears in her eyes.
“I cannot believe I am here. This honor—it was not meant for me. I don’t understand why you chose me.”
“I chose you for many reasons, Brynhildr, daughter of Brynjar. Had your king not been a coward, you would have surely come here in time. Had honorable death come for you, you would have earned your place. But most of all, I have brought you here because I love you.”
“Love me? I don’t—”
The Valkyrie removed her helmet, revealing the face of a beloved woman from Bryn’s past. Her mother, Lady Astrid of Koldgrun, had died in battle long ago while fighting the king’s wars. Bryn blinked a few times, fighting the burning beneath her eyelids, treacherous tears on her lashes.
“Mother? You are a Valkyrie?”
“I am. Honorable death was stolen from you, Brynhildr. It was the wish of the gods that I retrieve your soul, and now there are things you must see—events that have happened, acts that occur now, and the future that will be if the gods do not intervene. They have chosen to act now and save the Ridaeron Dynasty.”
For a moment, none of it mattered, only that her mother was before her, solid and real to her touch. She threw herself forward, welcomed in a familiar embrace, and wept joyful tears against her mother’s shoulder.
“Oh, my sweet lamb. You have followed a long and difficult path; one you should never have had to tread.”
“I missed you,” she whispered when she finally reined in her tears and pulled away.
“And I have missed you more than words could ever convey. But now is not the time. Now, there is much work to be done. Come.”
“Where are we going?”
Her mother’s path led her into the palace, where the boisterous sound of merrymaking warriors echoed against the walls. They passed a hall filled with cheering and paused to spectate a sparring match between two men she had known in life, fellows who had perished during the high-risk flight of the mages from the repository. Her stomach twisted with remorse, and she lingered, watching them.
Those men were dead because of her. They’d died due to her actions. And they had been good men, merely doing their job—
“It is not your fault,” her mother said, words slicing through her guilt. “They chose the life of guardsmen. They died with honor against worthy foes with a great desire to escape confinement. A great desire to live and thrive. Do not blame yourself for this, my love.”
Their path continued, away from the sound of celebration and clashing swords, toward a quiet room with three solid doors on the distant wall. Runes glimmered against the framework of each. She stared, awestruck, as her mother opened the first of them and gestured to the vast space beyond, occupied by little more than swirls of silver smoke and a star-filled sky.
“Step through and witness the past that shaped the Ridaeron Dynasty as you know it today.”
“I cannot see anything.” Whispers reached her ears, but the harder she squinted at the nebulous whorls, unable to see the source of the voices, the murkier it became.
“You will once you are inside.” The Valkyrie’s warm hand pressed between her shoulder blades, urging her forward through the open door into a world of mist and fog.
“Mother? Are you—?”
The door had shut behind her, the rectangle of light from the hall gone, leaving nothing but darkness and shadow, swirling mists. She moved through the dark toward the sound of voices, as shapes coalesced around her.
First, a man with a great blond beard emerged from the fog. His features were hard as granite, his body powerful and muscular. He wore the regalia of a royal bridegroom with thick black pelts over his shoulders and a crown atop his head. He was, by every definition of the word, gorgeous to behold. His wife-to-be struck Bryn as even more breathtaking, a truly magnificent woman with coal-black hair sliding over her shoulders.
Little by little, more of the room came into focus. There were pews of onlookers and witnesses to the event. The drottin and high society of the kingdom filled the seats, watching with indrawn breath as the new queen received her crown.
As the priest of Odin lowered the gilded crown to her raven hair, the doors burst open. A jotun of intimidating breadth and size entered, and no guard could stop his advance. He swept them aside as if they were mere flies.
“Traitor!” he roared to the king.
“To me, shield maidens!” the new queen cried. One rushed close, delivering the bride’s sword and shield, and the rest of her warriors surrounded them.
The unimpressed jotun’s stride did not slow. His steps quaked the room. “I have no quarrel with you, little girl. My dissatisfaction lies with your new husband.”
“What troubles you have with my husband are also mine,” she said between her teeth.
The king shook his head and urged her aside.
“Ah,” the jotun said, a cold smile on his blue-tinged lips. Bryn noticed the sparkle of white metal around his head. A king’s crown with tall spikes. “You may not keep your word like a man, but you at least will face me as one.”
“I will repay the debt another way, Thrym. My heart has changed—”
The smile faded. “How will you repay the debt? How will you make this right, human? A year ago you pledged to wed my youngest daughter in exchange for our alliance. For our land. And now I arrive to find this farce.”
“I could not in good faith—”
“Where was your good faith when you laid with my daughter and left her with child?”
“I…”
The room fell silent, onlookers staring at their king, staring at the giant. Bryn’s heart sped as the scene played out before her and anguish filled the giant’s face.
“I trusted you with what mattered most to me,” the defeated jotun finally said. “I trusted you to be a man of your word, a noble man. You have stolen from me and dishonored her. You have taken from our lands without remuneration. We name you Oathbreaker. The lowest of low.”
“How can you accuse my husband of stealing what was freely given?” the new queen asked.
Thrym’s dark eyes narrowed. “You will stand by him, even now?”
The queen raised her chin. “I will. Your daughter chose to dishonor herself—”
“Silence, woman,” the deceitful king shouted, clearly panicked by the rage transforming Thrym’s face. “Thrym, I didn’t know—I can—”