River of Shadows (Underworld Gods #1)(22)

I almost laugh. My father loved history, and all history around the world is more than a little soap opera-ish. I wouldn’t expect the Land of the Dead to be any different.

“So if that doesn’t interest you, then what brought you to this place more than once?” I ask. “It’s not exactly a walk in the park.”

“Eternal life,” Rasmus says simply, a snowflake getting stuck in his hair. “Immortality. I like finding spells here and new magic and herbs to bring back home, but I can’t pretend my goal isn’t power in the end. The power to live forever. Isn’t that what everyone wants? Including your father?”

I swallow thickly, the idea of immortality and talk of power making me uneasy. “Do you know for sure my father wanted to be immortal? Maybe he just wanted to live a little longer.”

“Maybe. But I won’t pretend that’s not what I’m here for.”

“I thought you were here to help me rescue my father,” I say slowly, squinting at him.

His face remains blank, with boyish innocence I’m starting to second guess. “I am. Don’t forget he’s like a father to me too. I’d do anything to help him.”

I want to believe that. “So you’re not going to toss us to the side to try and get some magic to make you immortal?”

He lifts his shoulder. “I promise I will not toss either of you aside. My mission here is clear—bring home Torben Heikkinen. But one day, I will be back. Each time I’m here, I get a little closer, I make a few more allies. If I can get into the Library of the Veils and then my hands on the Book of Runes, then I’ll be set. They say that some magic, in the right shaman’s hands, can rival the power of a God’s.”

A greedy look settles across his blue eyes and for the first time since we set foot in this place, I’m a little wary of him.

Don’t let your guard down, I tell myself.

But at that, his eyes crinkle at the corners and I know he just heard my thoughts. Fucking hate that.

I take in a deep breath. “Do you really think my father is still alive?”

He twists around and reaches into the front pocket of his mahogany leather backpack and pulls out the aurora stone, which is still gleaming in various electric hues of green and purple. Actually, it’s shining even brighter than it was back in the cabin, like it’s plugged into an electrical socket. “He’s still alive,” Rasmus says. Then he raises the stone in the air. “Watch this.”

The snow that’s been falling suddenly changes color, mimicking the color of the stone. Glowing flakes of green, purple, blue and pink start landing on our coats, creating a frosted rainbow on the deck.

I laugh at the sight, reverting to the sense of awe and wonder I had as a child, when everything new was magical. Rasmus is laughing too, the uneasiness between us being buried by the glimmering multicolored snow.

I take off a mitt, wanting to feel the snow in my hand. A yellow-pink flake lands on my palm, shining like a little firefly. It warms up as it stays on my skin, but it doesn’t melt, it just sits there shimmering, and my eyes focus on how delicate and intricate it is, how perfectly every angle comes together to create a work of art.

I’m about to remark on nature being amazing—in every world it seems—when suddenly there’s a loud splash from behind us.

I gasp and whirl around as Rasmus quickly puts the stone back in the backpack. He quietly walks down the deck and I follow. The snow is still falling in different colors, making it slippery beneath my boots.

The sea is choppier now, and even with the snow, the light is like eternal twilight. It’s hard to see anything between the wake and the waves but even so, Rasmus is on edge.

“Hanna,” he says to me in a low, quiet voice as he keeps his gaze glued to the surface. “You’ve got the sword, right?”

“Yes, why?” I move it over to my bare hand and grip the handle. It’s shockingly cold against my skin, enough that I feel fused to it.

Suddenly something pelts me on the head from above, like a small stone.

“What the fuck?” I look up as another object gets me right on the forehead with a quiet splintering sound before falling to the deck. I peer down to see a couple small bones attached to a skull about the size of my pinky finger. I take my sword and touch it with the tip of the blade just as I’m pelted again.

I look over at Rasmus to see him hold out his hand. A tiny skeleton falls from the sky and lands in it, then jumps off his hand and onto the deck, as if alive.

“Oh my god,” I cry out softly. “Is that a…frog?”

More of the tiny frog skeletons begin to fall from the sky, some of them pinging off my sword, others hitting the deck. Most of the bones shatter on impact but some manage to hop away and off the boat, into the water.

It’s another magical yet macabre thing but Rasmus doesn’t look in awe as he did with the snow. His mouth is set in a grim line. “She’s here,” he says dourly.

From his tone I know that whoever she is isn’t good. “Loviatar?” I ask, almost hopefully. I actually liked the deer skull daughter of Death. You know, before she wanted to kill us.

He gives his head a firm shake. “I won’t speak her name yet.”

So…Voldermorta? I think, just as the water off the left and right sides of the boat splash simultaneously, droplets flying on the deck. A chill runs down my spine and I grip the sword tighter.