Valkyrie's Conquest (8 page)

Bron roared, and the sound came from no human throat. One last thrust, and hot wetness flooded her. She was his, utterly dominated, entirely possessed, the crowning jewel of his dragon's hoard. Tyra came so hard lights flashed behind her closed lids. Every nerve fired until she thought she was in flight, with nothing but air beneath her. There was only that instant in time. Only him.

Only them. Bron collapsed to the blankets, pulling her down with him. He buried his face in her neck and hair, murmuring endearments in his dragon tongue. Tyra's muscles gave way to jelly and her effort to speak produced nothing more than a sigh. She sagged against him with boneless languor, spent, replete and delighted.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her face so that he could look into her eyes. His were soft, their fire banked to the soft glow of a summer sunrise.

“You have bewitched me,” he murmured.

Tyra savored the words and searched for an answer, but a sweet fatigue lapped against her mind. She had never been good with pretty words and now could only manage blunt truth. “I know it. I like it.”

Bron rumbled a laugh and tucked her beneath his arm, wrapping her in his comfortable warmth. He was other, so different and dangerous, but he was also part of her now.

Whatever soul she had, he was the other half.

Chapter Eight

The next morning, Tyra went to the home of the Norns to receive her next assignment. As she strode across the green meadows, the skies over Asgard were a map of shifting gray, but that did nothing to dampen the roaring laughter coming from Valhalla. It never ceased except in times of battle, when the numbers of the dead inevitably swelled. Oddly, the endless merriment left her melancholy. Not that she wished gloom upon the warriors—their endless bravery earned whatever comfort they could get—but they would never again feel the peace of sleeping in their lovers' arms. Not like the bliss she felt with Bron when they drowsed, tangled together on the shores of sleep. Perhaps they would have preferred true death to such loneliness.

A twist of guilt made Tyra's steps quicken.
I never gave them a choice when I brought them here. I never gave them a chance to do anything but fight
. Her actions suddenly seemed unthinkable. Stricken, she broke into a run to get away from the hall of warriors, her booted feet racing over the grass.

Now she understood why Odin wanted his reapers free of emotion. Her freshly-awakened conscience demanded change and choice, and that meant rebellion—and that was the thing Odin hated worst of all. But she had to do
something
. She could never be free as long as she forced other souls into service. But how could she, the youngest of Odin's daughters, overturn the Allfather's authority?

When the home of the Norns came into view, Tyra slowed. As if waiting for her, the old crones were gathered outside their door. Her father stood beside them, spear in hand and one of his ravens on his shoulder, the other in the branches above his head. They all watched her approach with an expectant look on their faces.

Something was wrong. Tyra hunted for an excuse to be somewhere else, but her mind went blank. All too soon, she reached them.

“Well met, daughter,” Odin said, his voice firm but stern. “We need your help to untangle the warp and weft of the future.”

She dropped to one knee before them, a habit of respect bred deep into her bones—however troubled her spirit. “Allfather and honored mothers, I am ever at your service.”

“You are my youngest, and my favorite, whether you know it or not.” Odin bent, placing his hands on her shoulders. It should have been a fatherly gesture, but the weight of them held Tyra down for a long moment, reminding her of his power. Those hands were strong and clever, capable of magic and war, trickery and judgment. They were the hands of a god, able to break her on a whim. Was this a warning? Had he somehow guessed her thoughts?

When Odin finally lifted her to her feet, Tyra felt unsteady as a toddler, in need of all the mercy the Allfather could give. “How may I be of service?” she asked.

“Come,” he said, pointing at the long tapestry the Norns wove. “Take a closer look.”

Tyra hesitated. She had never actually set foot in the Norns' dwelling and hung back until her father beckoned her forward again. Only then did she enter the tiny cramped space. There were spindles and combs for the fleece they spun, vats of dye and weights for the enormous loom. The tapestry itself seemed to take up most of the space. The pattern was hard to see—it seemed to shift constantly as she looked, growing blurrier the closer it got to the future. Odin pointed with the tip of his spear. The shining point touched the snarl of threads waiting to be worked into the design.

“You see how the weaving has grown difficult.” Odin's single blue eye glittered as he regarded her. “Perhaps you also know that there was a human thread that should have been cut but was not. I do not know how this could have happened. Surely it was an oversight.”

The spear tip caught at a dangling thread of azure blue, lifting it from among the rest with surprising delicacy. “Take it.”

Tyra obeyed, catching the strand from the spear point. Without warning, a vision flooded her inner sight, of a man in a small cramped living room speaking to others, sharing stories of two warriors battling monsters in a back alley. Tyra swallowed, knowing well it was the man that she and Bron had spared. Another man in the vision had been at the coffee shop, and had seen what had happened there. Humans were swapping information and, from the sound of the conversation, they were planning to take action. This would have been fine, except no human soul was safe from demon hunger. Not until a Valkyrie reaped it for Odin's army. Those brave humans were putting themselves in harm's way.

“Fighting demons is the work of gods and heroes,” Odin said quietly. “Not mere mortals.”

Tyra dropped the thread. She wanted to say something—defend herself, lie, anything but remain mute and blushing as a child—but this was her all-powerful father, and she had disobeyed.

Odin didn't waver as he went on, his words pitiless and chill. “I asked the Norns if they knew who had neglected their duty, and they would not say. I then asked them what must be done to repair the flaw in the pattern that this uncut thread produced.”

Tyra's gaze went to the silent crones. She felt like a mouse circled by hungry owls—or something worse. The three Norns were small, the hoods of their dark cloaks drawn up so that Tyra could not see their faces. She wasn't even sure they had any.

“They recommended an exchange, one thread for another,” Odin said. “And you are the one who will make it right.”

Tyra's skin went cold. The Norns had told her she had choices. That she had to understand her duty, and that her thread anchored whatever picture came next. She had made her decision, and now she would reap the consequences.

As if some part of her knew what was coming, she began to shake and clenched her fists to hide it. But she lifted her chin and turned to face the crones, determined not to cower. The nearest of the dark figures dropped a skein of scarlet yarn at her feet.

“This is the thread that must be cut,” said the Allfather.

Tyra dropped to her knees to pick it up. The fiber was as strong and hot and red as Bron's wings, filled with pulsing energy.
This is his life I hold
. Panic wrenched her, making her dig her fingers into the dirt. “I will not do it!”

Odin jerked in surprise, and no wonder. Tyra had never refused him. For a moment, she was stunned, expecting a bolt of lightning to strike her down for her insolence.

His voice was cold and even. “That is not your decision. You are my servant. Without me, you are powerless.”

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the world before her as an impossible pain dragged a cry from her lips. A small voice inside her thought,
This is what it means to break your heart!
“I will not do it. Take
my
life. Reap
me
. I will fight in your never-ending war.”

The answer was bitter. “You would need a proper soul for that.”

Tyra's breath rushed out as if he had struck her, but she rose to her feet, drawing her spine sword-straight. “Then let me die and cease to exist. End my thread if you must, for it was I who disobeyed you.”

Odin flinched again. Had he thought she was too much a coward to admit it? “Then you shall be punished.”

“I accept, but leave Bron in peace.” She clutched the scarlet thread tightly, shielding it against her breastplate, but it melted away to smoke. With a cry she saw it appear in the hand of a Norn, bright red as living blood. “Please! This is not his fault.”

The Norn simply nodded, mysterious as the future itself.

“He is a dragon,” Tyra protested. “He does not even belong to Asgard. His soul is not ours to take!”

“His thread has joined yours. Explain to me how that happened, if he is so separate and apart?” Odin tone was acid. “I say his connection to you made him vulnerable to your sword.”

The crone's voice whispered in her mind, as dry as winter leaves. “A judgment must be made, a price given. Pay if you would spare him.”

Tyra swallowed. Her mouth was suddenly parched. She whirled to face her father, almost wishing that she had her sword. “I will pay. Just name what you want.”

Odin's head bowed, his expression tight. “I grieve that you have grown willful. I created my daughters with care so that this would never happen, and yet you still betray me.”

You crippled me
. Tyra told herself to hold her tongue, but she had gone past the point of no return. “I might obey you out of love, but you never allowed me a soul to love you with.”

But she had her soul back. They both knew it, just as they both knew he had lost control over her. “I made a choice,” she said, looking her father in the eye for the first time in her immortal life.

Odin's face darkened with rage and he grasped her arm in an iron grip. “Do you want choice? Do you want your freedom? Then I will give you what you want, if you have the courage to take it.”

Magic crackled the sky. The ground shuddered, and suddenly they were someplace else. Tyra crouched in a fighting stance, her eyes wide. There was no sign of the meadow or the Norns or their tree. Now they stood in a barren landscape of black rock and a lowering sky pregnant with storms. Stunted trees clawed the heavy air, but even they were at a distance.

Foreboding plucked at her, mocking her courage. Odin always chose punishments with care, playing on his prisoners' deepest fears.

Odin struck the rock with his spear. A ring of flame sprang up around them, the flames snapping like sails in the wind. Tyra jerked back with a cry of terror.

“These are the bars of your prison,” he announced. “Fire is the one thing that will kill a Valkyrie.”

She summoned her pride, drawing herself up to face the Allfather. “You said there would be a choice!”

“Death is always a choice. It is the warrior's choice, and should you take it I will forgive all.”

“You want me to kill myself?” Tyra cried.

Odin's eyes flashed, and she saw his pain. Her defection was another sign of his failing command. Her love for a stranger was a knife in his heart. “I am your father and your king. You have destroyed my trust. But I am not without mercy. If you choose to live this new life apart from me, I will honor your decision. You saved the life of a human hero rather than reap his soul for my army. In return, a human hero willing to walk through the ring of fire can claim you for his own. At that moment, you shall be set free.”

“But what about…”

“Your dragon? He is the thief who stole you from me. These flames will destroy any dragon who tries to claim you. This is the curse and promise I lay upon you, daughter.”

Odin took a step back. A god's curse was law. He was condemning her to an inferno and to a life without Bron. Tyra's courage cracked and she lunged, grabbing his hand. “Father, don't do this. Doesn't it matter that I love you, too?”

He brought her hand to his lips, his face sad but cool. “Of course it does, but you have betrayed me, and that is what I must punish.” He dropped her hand and took another step away.

“No, Father!” She heard the frantic note in her voice.

But Odin was gone. He had abandoned her.

Tyra sank to the rocks, dazzled by the heat and colors of the roaring flames. She put her face in her hands, blocking out the feral glow. It wasn't enough. She could still hear its laugh and licking tongues. And she could smell it. The air was dry, even choking.

Sorrow and anger welled up in Tyra. There was no hope of rescue by the one person who might have braved the flames. She crawled away a few yards and slumped to the stone, her head cushioned on her arms. There was a human expression about the dangers of playing with fire. Too late, she understood what it meant.

She'd fallen in love with a dragon, and now she was all but burned alive.

Chapter Nine

For the third day, just as the light was wrung out from the sky, Bron stood on the cathedral roof looking for Tyra. Once again, she wasn't there. He had searched the whole city but found no information he could use.

Something had happened. He searched every word that had passed between them for clues.

Bron leaned against his old friend the gargoyle. “Have I been dumped? She's a soul-impaired reaper. Sometimes she's hard to read.”

Sensibly, the gargoyle said nothing. Bron scanned the sky, hoping against hope—and for once he was rewarded. A golden-haired woman flew toward him—just a speck in the distance, but his dragon sight could make her out. His heart leaped, but a moment later that spark was dimmed by caution. There was something wrong—the posture, the pace or the way she rode the air. This was a Valkyrie, but not the one who belonged to him. This was not Tyra.

As his visitor drew closer, he recognized Sigrid. Bron remembered the last time they had met. He had been naked. Perhaps that accounted for the disapproving set of her mouth.