Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Torben looks drained, his breath coming in harsh puffs. The ice under us is stable for now, but I see hairline cracks forming as we walk. Oblivion resists being tamed. We must make haste.
Soon, the ground beneath us begins to slope upward. The ice gives way to actual ground—if you can call it that—where skeletal trees cluster, their branches rattling like old bones. I sigh with relief; the swamp is behind us now, a shimmering field of starlit blackness hidden under a thin shell of Torben’s magic. I feel a surge of gratitude for the shaman, my mortal father-in-law. Without his spell, we would have lost more troops, maybe even all of them.
The soldiers pause, waiting at the base of a rough, frozen hill. I nod at them, and they line up, disciplined and quiet. The palace is just ahead, rising from the snow like a gravestone. Once inside, we can take stock, search for what we need—weapons that bite deeper than mortal bullets, armor that can withstand curses and claws, clues as to Louhi’s fate and how we might stop her forces.
And I must hope Hanna, Lovia, Tuonen, and the rest of my family hold on, wherever they are. I’m no savior yet, but at least I have a path forward. I have men who will fight for me, even if coerced. I have a shaman who can bend magic to our needs. I have this dreadful land beneath my feet, reminding me that to rule death, one must face it down a thousand times.
With a silent command, I push the soldiers onward, toward Louhi’s lair and whatever comes next.
CHAPTER NINE
LOVIA
The forest feels different at night.
There’s a hush in the air, as if the trees lean in to listen to our footsteps. The five of us move through a realm of towering trunks and sweeping canopies, tangled vines and ferns brushing at our ankles. In the lead are Tapio and Tellervo, stepping lightly, the old forest father and his antler-crowned daughter. They move as if they belong here—because they do. The forest is part of them, and they are part of it, like limbs of the same ancient creature.
Rasmus, still bound though no longer gagged, trudges unhappily a short distance behind them. Somehow, he has managed to stay quiet, I guess because he knows how quickly the Forest Gods would turn on him. I watch him stumble, and though he has certainly earned no sympathy from me, I can’t help but sense an unease pulsing beneath his bravado. He’s rattled. He knows he’s alive only because we allow it, and he’s right not to trust us.
At the back of the line, I walk beside the Magician. Tellervo occasionally glances our way, ensuring we keep pace, and her father casts a stern eye over his shoulder now and then, as if worried we’ll vanish. Their worry and concern over their loved ones is palpable, lending tension to the air.
My leg feels surprisingly good, at least. Tellervo performed a miracle, and that I can walk without limping or feeling any pain is amazing. But still, there’s anxiety inside me that can’t be healed.
It’s because of the Magician. He is right beside me, silent yet not silent. Even when he isn’t speaking, the presence of those swirling galaxies under his hood is a language of its own. In the dark, the stars on his face glow, and I know his mood in the subtle shifts of constellations, the way colors bloom and fade. I’ve never met anyone like him—divine yet not a God, not a human or a creature. Something else entirely.
I can’t help but notice how the ferns brush against his robes, how leaves get caught and released, how carefully he avoids stepping on saplings. The forest here respects him as much as they do the Forest Gods, and he respects the forest. There’s an ease to his existence here, to everywhere, really.
I clear my throat quietly, choosing my moment. “We’ve never really talked, have we?” I say, keeping my voice low so it doesn’t carry to the others ahead.
The Magician’s head tilts slightly, galaxies swirling into a gentle lavender hue. “Not openly,” he agrees, his voice that curious blend of distant and intimate, like a whisper in a quiet hall. “You give orders, that’s for certain. But you’re right—we haven’t really talked.”
I smile at that as I pick my way over a root snaking across the path, Tapio and Tellervo guiding us deeper into denser forest. “Sorry. I guess I can be a little bossy.”
“No need to apologize to me,” he says. “I like to be bossed around from time to time.” He pauses. “What would you like to talk about?”
“I don’t know,” I say, feeling silly suddenly. This is not my usual territory. Emotions, confessions…these things come easily when I’m in the Upper World, seducing a mortal for a night or a week. I can play the part of the dark goddess, feed their fantasies, and leave without regret. But this? Sharing something genuine—or what I believe to be genuine—with someone from my own world? It’s strange. “Back there, with Yggthra,” I say, trying to find a good opening, “thank you for saving my life. Again.”