When she rode him, she could not even feel his hooves strike the ground.
Why was she even considering any of this as truth? Enbarr was just a horse, a very beautiful one. These people were mad—except Freya, from the neck down, was still unable to move.
“I’m not one of those Beasts.” If Freya had been able to move, she would have slammed a fist and probably cut her hand on the rough stone.
“Fomori,” Morrigan snapped. “None of the texts call Beasts that, but that is the name of their people.”
“Don’t worry about the Beast problem.” Hedwig waved off Morrigan. “You should be happy, Freya. You’ll never have to worry about wrinkles or dying of old age. Young and pretty forever, or until someone kills you.” Hedwig’s smile told her she was hopeful of the latter.
“How do you all know so much about me?” Freya swiveled her head to look at the three of them, considering she could not do much else.
“Your parents have used birds to watch you since you were a babe,” Balder said.
“That’s…very creepy,” Freya said.
“Yes,” Hedwig agreed. “There are probably a million better things to do than watch you skulk around in moth-eaten rubbish, freeing Siegfried’s supporters, and buying those harem toys from Ulf.”
“If my parents know my life is in danger, can’t Woden show up in his loincloth and start spearing the assassins? Can’t Hecate show up and eat the Druids or something?” Freya asked.
Morrigan took a deep breath. “Again, here we are. We are your protection and your instructors. Before you are confronted with any other fey, you must learn your powers. You must be able to defend yourself.”
“How do I learn these powers?”
Now we’ll see if this is real. If I get powers, the Romans are going to be fleeing from here, pissing themselves all the way across the river. She resisted the urge to cackle like Hedwig. But what if I turn into a Beast and start eating people? Well, there are Romans nearby. If I were a Beast, would I care about chomping on some Romans? Would the armor get stuck between my teeth and cut my gums?
“You begin to learn your powers when you learn your true name,” Balder said.
Morrigan leaned forward, cupped her hands over Freya’s ear, and whispered one word. “Loreley.”
The world around Freya blurred and darkened into blackness. She groped for the stone wall beneath her, able to move again. But it was not there. Reaching blindly with her hands only revealed more nothingness.
A deep rumble of thunder, a flash of lightning skewering her body, and she shrieked. But it did not hurt. The flash illuminated this reassembled world. Only a moment ago, the sky had been clear. But now, it was dark. There was rain. The very earth seemed to rumble with thunder. The ruins were nowhere. She couldn’t see the earth, only purple clouds in a black sky cracked with white lightning.
A dream. This was some sort of dream. Dreams always had weird shifts of scenery, like from being in a market stall to suddenly being seated at one of her parents’ dinners in sackcloth.
Her body shook, becoming something else, something light and winged—not something heavy and fanged. White wings, covered in feathers. She soared through the storm, her wings untouched by the lightning, as if she were carried by the wind. Her stomach reeled with her loathing of heights. She kept telling herself not to look down, or up. Sometimes, looking up was just as bad as looking down. Was it so odd to ponder falling up and never finding any purchase, just an endless fall?
But, as always when she instructed herself not to do something, she did just that. Still, she did not feel dizzy, for the storm formed a silver-black ceiling above her, shot with marbled lightning.
And then, the sea. Great waves crashed upon the shore. Ships were swallowed by great water beasts with unblinking eyes and great rows of fangs, larger than swords. The mortals’ screams were drowned in the great roaring of
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley