The Tree of Life was the pillar of the heavens, connecting all nine realms and allowing passage between them. In the canopy of the tree lay the fae realms: the elves in Alfheim, the dwarves in Svartalfheim and the giants in Jotunheim. Under the fae realms stood Asgard, where the gods roamed and ruled. Beneath Asgard was Midgard, the mortal realm. And in the lowest realms, the tree extended its roots into Vanaheim, Helheim, Muspell, and Niflheim.
She had wanted to see the world, and now she was going to see all of them. The fates, for once, had shown her threadbare life a stitch of mercy. Never had she experienced a mercy so cruel.
The elfin paused and dangled his feet over the edge with only the rope as his lifeline. “You know, you’ve never asked me my name.”
This made her grin, even against the sorrow pushing past her eyes. “Don’t need it. I have plenty of names for you. Trust me when I say you do not want to hear them.”
“Are you always this unpleasant?”
“I could be much worse. Consider this a mercy you do not deserve.”
His sigh faded into a laugh, and the sound made her throat dry. Demon or fae, he should not be allowed to make such a beguiling sound. Not when he nearly killed her with those hands that snatched her gaze every time they smoothed nervously over his thighs.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
He shrugged and said, “It is my ship. I can go where I wish.”
Her brows narrowed. “Then start wishing to be far away from me.”
She shoved hard against his shoulder and pushed him off the edge of the nest. The elfin released a sharp cry of surprise as he fell back, regaining his orientation the next moment and swinging back to the main deck. His feet kissing the floorboards like he had meant to fall that way all along. His grace both a thing she admired and despised.
He looked up at her from below and threw her an obscene gesture with his fingers, and she stepped away from the half wall as a frown pulled her lips. He was not torturesome to look at—not even a little bit. And for that reason, she hated him even more.
Days had passed, and still they sailed on what seemed an endless stretch of ocean. She didn’t realize the sea was so vast, consuming the world with the extent of its unexplored reaches. Ailsa spent time sitting in the nest of the main mast, enjoying her time alone and watching the fae from an eagle’s perspective.
Their magic was different than what she had seen from their captain. It came in spurts for the sailors, exhaustible, utilized almost exclusively during the day. They could manipulate the breeze and the tide, sometimes entire groups of them working to influence a favorable combination, pushing them further toward an unforeseen destination.
She also watched the elfin. His name was Vali, as she heard his commander often speak so affectionately. She approached him often, and Ailsa wondered if they had somethingmoregoing on behind his captain’s cabin door.
Ailsa had not made a point of it, but she noticed the commander came and went from his quarters at her whim, never knocking or needing an invitation. A pang of jealousy gnawed at her heart, not because she envied themtogether, but what they seemingly had. A freedom with another person she had lost so many years ago. Her loneliness was like a brand, never letting her forget.
Their last night in Midgard was noted with a feast on the main deck. Fire pits encouraged drinking games around their blazes, musicians pulled out curious instruments Ailsa could only guess were created in the fae lands. Soon the night was filled with song and mead, making her feel at home for the first time since she left it.
But Ailsa kept her head around the elves. She didn’t trust the pointed eared creatures or their magic fingers. Instead, she watched them get drunk. The alcohol loosening their lips around her, their guard lowering significantly. She marked her first victim with the offer of a full tankard.
“Evening, Officer.” She approached Sorrin, who’s round face was already flushed and perspiring.
His throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “Evening, Miss Ailsa. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Do you need a reason to enjoy the pleasure of my company?” She gave him a coy smile. “I was hoping you would tell me a little bit about your homeland. I’m intensely curious about Alfheim. You must tell me everything.”
Sorrin’s eyes drifted off behind her, looking for a way out. “Oh, it’s a lovely place. Sunny, warm, once quite safe. I’m sure Captain would be a better source of information—”
“Who is Vali to you, Sorrin?” She stepped closer, sweat beaded across his lip. “Captains are not referred to as ‘my lord’ and no one here has the bollocks to look him directly in the eyes. No one besides you.”
A nervous laugh escaped him, and he sipped his mead at a stalling pace. “He’s our captain for now, and in other realms he is other things…titles.”
“Titles?” Ailsa inquired. Titles that only changed when they entered new realms, new jurisdictions. This Vali was a conundrum indeed.
“I… um… I need some water, I’m afraid. Let’s finish this conversation later.”
“No, wait!” she pleaded, but he was already halfway across the deck, disappearing into the crowd. Ailsa leaned against the edge of the boat, deflated from defeat. Ostman were much easier to get the drunken truth from than elves.
“There you are,” a voice purred behind her. Ailsa turned to find Seela stalking toward her spot in the corner, where Sorrin had abandoned her in a fevered sweat.
“Here I am,” she replied, waving her hands unenthusiastically. “Need something?”
“Rumor has it you’re good with a lyre.”