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)
“There she is,” I say under my breath. Before us is a frozen wasteland, a bog pockmarked with black holes. Usually, you can see the stars shining in them, similar to the Magician’s face, but they’ve been covered with snow. The only way you know the pools are there is because of the way they indent the landscape.
“Strange,” Vellamo says. “I’ve never seen them frozen over.”
She’s right. I haven’t seen them like this before either.
Rasmus sniffs the air. “There’s magic being used. I can smell it. There’s a spell keeping the pools frozen.”
“But why?” Tellervo asks.
“So we can cross safely,” the Magician tells us. “So others can’t fall into Oblivion.”
I glance at him, feeling hope for the first time. “You mean to tell me someone is trying to protect us?”
“Us, or perhaps just themselves,” he says with a shrug. “Either way, this is a good sign. Maybe we’ll find our allies at Castle Synti in the end.”
I stare at him for a moment, wishing I could read him better. There’s something about his way that makes me think there’s something wonderful ahead. I guess I’m just too cynical at this point to believe him.
I keep my hope in check. “Well, let’s hurry then before the magic gives out. Everyone, stay away from the pools, just in case. I don’t want to test the theory if we don’t have to.”
We hurry down the slope and then walk single file, picking our way between the pools, the bog mercifully hard beneath our feet. All of us feel the urgency now, the need to keep going as fast as we can, until, eventually, the icy façade of Castle Synti rises into view atop a small crest.
At first, I think the place is completely abandoned, but as we get closer, I see movement in the snow. As my eyes adjust, I realize I’m looking at people—hundreds of people, humans, dressed in puffy white-and-black uniforms.
With guns.
“What the fuck?” Rasmus says. “Who the hell are they?”
And that’s when I see someone march out of the front doors and stop at the end of the platform, an extremely tall, commanding figure dressed all in black.
My father.
The God of Death.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DEATH
I follow the general who called me and hurry out of the front doors and under the raised portcullis, heading straight to the end of the barbican where a few troops have gathered.
They’re pointing in the distance, in the middle of the Star Swamp, their rifles raised and ready.
There’s a small, ragtag group of six people coming toward us single file, and at the very front of them stands my daughter.
Loviatar.
My heart soars, a gasp escaping my lips.
“Should we fire?” General Pekka asks, appearing beside me.
“No,” I growl. “Hold your fire! Lower your weapons! That’s my daughter!”
I push into their minds briefly for extra measure, and they all lower their guns in unison. At least I know they were more than ready to defend this place. That counts for something.
Lovia waves her sword at me in greeting and then starts running, her blonde braid whipping behind her. As she gets closer, I see the rest of her ragtag crew.
Vellamo, Tapio, Tellervo, the Magician, and…
Rasmus.
I let out another growl just as Torben comes to stand next to me.
“Oh my Gods,” he mutters under his breath. “What is Rasmus doing here?”
I give him a sharp look. “I don’t know, but if you let your fatherly instincts get in the way…”
He shakes his head. “I know he’s a traitor to his mother,” he says. “Even though that’s as much my fault as anyone else’s.”
I grunt. “Sort your family trauma out some other day. Keep that boy in check, or I’ll do it for you.” I wriggle my fingers at him, implying I’ll take off the gloves. “Lovia better have a damn good reason for bringing him along.”
Soon, she’s climbing up the stairs to the platform and running toward me, troops parting on either side of her to let her through.
“Father!” she cries out. She drops her sword with a clatter and runs straight into my arms. I envelop her, holding tight, as if loosening my grip for a moment might see her slipping out of my arms, never to be seen again.
“Lovia,” I manage to say, her name stuck in my throat. I never let myself really think about her much—too afraid, I suppose, of coming across an answer that would devastate me. But now that she’s here, in my arms, my only daughter, I realize just how much she means to me. All this time, I think I’ve been a good enough father, but I’ve been keeping my children at arm’s length, too worried about their duties or their roles to let myself be as involved as I should be.
All of that will change going forward.
Hanna was right. I owe them so much more than what I’ve given.