“Who is this person?” Émilien asked.
“That’s part of the problem. All I have is ‘J’. I don’t know if that’s a first name, last name, or something completely different. All I do know is he or she must be found before it is too late.”
Émilien rolled his eyes. “That’s it? I’m supposed to figure out who this person is, where he or she is, and then convince said chosen one to do what you want?” He raised one brow. “You want the impossible.”
Fer-Diorich’s face flushed, and his silver eyes began to glow. “I am trying to save my people! Would you do any less?” He stood. “You can think about my offer, guardian,” he all but spit out the words and turned toward the door, which swung open on his silent command. Stopping in the center of the doorway, he turned his head just enough for Hel to see his dark profile. “But you will do so alone.”
Hel turned to Émilien, her denial forming, but the words were snatched from her as the room blinked out, as if a light had been turned off, then found herself standing in the middle of an empty room. The only thing in the small space besides her was a cot and a small table. In the center of the table stood a wrought iron candle holder with a white tapered candle. The wick flickered as a small flame appeared. Somehow, it only made the space more dismal instead of cheerier.
Furious, she willed herself back to Helheimr, but nothing happened. Moving toward the door, she grabbed the knob and turned, but the door remained closed. She was locked inside the room. “You aren’t going to keep me a prisoner for long, Fae,” she said, spitting out each word into the empty room.
She glared at the cracked plaster ceiling overhead. “Somehow, I will find someone who can help me get out of here, and Iwillbe taking my ex-husband with me.” Her emotions turned chaotic, and she forced herself to slowly inhale then exhale, counting to ten as the oxygen drained from her lungs. When the familiar icy demeanor returned, she calmed and glanced around her once more, noticing lavish blue curtains in the middle of the wall across from her.
My lady?
Baldr? How are you able to contact me here?
Well, I don’t know wherehereis…I just used our mental connection, which seems to have worked, although it’s really difficult to hear you.
I’m in the Unseelie Court, but that’s a long story. Use the Gods’ Glass in my room.
A couple of minutes later, Hel felt the familiar tingle of the Glass. Baldr appeared in front of her, concern in his gaze as he returned her stare.
“You are well, then? he asked.
She shrugged. “As well as can be. What’s happening there with the conclave? Has anyone come to a decision on what to do about the death realms?”
“Without knowing who is creating the chaos and stealing souls, none of us can come up with a good plan. We need a focus, so for now, the others will return to their own realms and remain in contact. Currently, Hades’ realm has been the least affected, so he is setting up stronger protections around Tartarus and the deeper prisons. If those beings get loose…”
He shivered. “It won’t matter who’s behind the disappearances. Arawn, Osiris, and I will get a count of the missing and also place stronger wards around the realms, but we need the name of the person behind this and why. What’s their motive?”
Hel shook her head. “I’ve given myself a headache trying to figure that very question out. Émilien and I have run into a small snag, but we’re still searching for the culprit. Stay vigilant and protect yourself, my brother, and the demons. Something tells me they still have a part to play in this.”
Baldr gave her a slight bow then a quick grin. “If anything changes, I will let you know.”
“Thank you.”
Walking to the closed curtains, she pulled the heavy material away, her gaze drawn to the fine golden threads adorning the hems. With an appreciative nod, she slid the curtains to either side and stared at the window. Running her finger down one cold pane of glass, the wavy texture was beautiful in its antiquity.
When she finally moved her attention to the area just outside her room, her eyes widened in wonder. The unexpected vision of a pristine English-styled garden, or any other royal gardens for that matter, was a complete surprise.
“It must take forever to care for such a huge space,” she whispered to herself.
“Not with magic,” said a feminine voice behind her. “And who was the delicious-looking man you were talking to?”
Whirling around, her jaw dropped. In front of her stood the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Freyja and Idunn were exquisite, but this woman held herself regally, and her pale skin almost glowed, even in the room’s dimness. Her raven hair was long, the locks laying in loose spirals over each breast and stopped at the delicate silver belt worn low on her hips, accentuating the medieval-styled dress. The black material matched her hair and accentuated her mesmerizing sapphire eyes.
“Who are you—?” Hel leaned sideways and noticed the closed door. She moved back and crossed her arms over her chest. “And where did you come from?”
“I came from Tír na nÓg, my home. I am Morrigan.”
The Celtic goddess was well-known to Hel, an idol really. This goddess woman was the ultimate warrior, and the epitome of what a woman should be. Not just a fighting spirit, but a loving, giving female in any role. Hel had never achieved the second part, but the warrior side, she excelled at.
“Why—” Hel cleared her throat then continued, “why are you here? How are you here?”
“I heard your cry, Hel, queen of Niflheimr. I will not leave a fellow sister warrior here, under the care of that hateful Fae.”
Hel’s lips twitched. “I take it you know Fer-Diorich well.”