White Stag (Permafrost #1)(46)

“I know you’re not asleep,” the man said. “I want you to know you’re safe here. I protect my own.”

My father continued, “It will be over quickly. And then you’ll be free. You’ll never be a monster.”

I looked past him at the sun spilling across the wheat, turning it to waves of amber. When I spoke, it was almost as if it were the voice of a stranger. “And what exactly is a monster, Father?”

My father took me into his embrace. “A monster,” he whispered in my ear, “is anything that is not us.”

He released me, then cradled the blade in his hands and offered it to me hilt-first. Taking a deep breath, I gripped the bone and waited for the pain. The ironwork didn’t even sting—or if it did, it was nothing compared to the agony inside me.

I admired the designs carved into the blade and the way the hilt was shaped like a ram’s horn. It was a shame that something this beautiful could be so tainted. “There are monsters in this world.”

My father sounded pleased. “Go on. Make the right choice.”

“I loved you all so much,” I whispered. Then, before fear stilled my hand, I shoved the knife between my father’s ribs, through his sternum, and into his heart. “But you are not my father.”

He gasped, eyes widened with shock as he fell to his knees. Blood spurted from around the knife. He scratched at his chest with his hands until he ripped the blade out, but all that did was quicken the spill of blood. He screamed one word over and over.

His body shuddered and convulsed. His eyes rolled back into his head as his mouth stayed open with a silent accusation. His body shimmered, morphing until it no longer looked like my father but like a faint echo of myself, before dissipating in the wind. Tears dripped from my cheeks. “Yes, I am a monster.” I pity the fool who can’t remember that. “But so is everyone else.”

With those words, the world exploded into whiteness. As my vision faded, I swore it took the shape of the stag.





11


TO FEEL


WHEN MY EYES opened again, I was back on the cold ground of the black ice caverns. Vines lay in a pile around me, and I coughed as dust and cobwebs stirred up in the air.

My mind reeled. The bruising from the fight on the mountainside and subsequent fall was now an ugly yellow instead of hideous purple, and pale scabs had begun to cover where my wounds were. My brow furrowed at the sight. The wounds looked a few days old instead of a few hours.

I glanced at my hands, half expecting them to be coated with my father’s blood, but there wasn’t even the burn of iron on my fingertips. Bile rose in my throat. It’d all been so real.

“I do not envy you, child.” Donnar approached from the darkness, his tail swishing up the dust.

“What … what happened?” I coughed. The dust and cobwebs stirring in the air didn’t help my already parched throat.

“You simply made your choice,” he said. “And though winter law dictates I be impartial in the wars to come, I must say I believe you chose well.”

My bow and quiver lay against one of the rocks. I scooped them up, the familiarity of the bow against my back easing my anxiety.

“Was it real then? All of it?”

Donnar frowned. “When faced with a choice between what has been and what will be, either option is as real as the other. You chose your future over your past, though the decision took quite some time.” I blinked in confusion. It couldn’t have been an hour since Donnar kissed my forehead. Donnar smiled at me sympathetically. “A few days, dear, nothing drastic.”

A few days could be a lifetime on the Hunt. I shivered. Soren could be dead; he could think I was dead. He saw me fall down the cavern with Elvira, I was certain of that. All that time I was in my limbo, he was alone and ally-less, if not dead. Soren is strong. I tried to convince myself. He can survive without help.

“He’s down here,” Donnar interrupted my thoughts. “Your goblin. I can tell. He smells like another who came before; they must’ve been related.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

Donnar shrugged. “It was a long, long time ago. Some seek more knowledge than they can bear. They usually do not last long. I wouldn’t concern yourself with such things. Either way, you will find who you are looking for down here.”

He began to turn away, but as he did, something he said stuck out. “What do you mean, ‘the wars to come’?”

Donnar met my eyes. “For thousands upon thousands of years, you have sat beside your throne, firmly rooted into the earth. After thousands upon thousands of years, the roots are devoured and torn away. A thousand wars have been fought for you, thousands of deaths offered to you. Each time you have been ripped from the earth, and each time you regrow stronger than before. One day your roots will spread across the worlds, and when they do, they will be all that is there to anchor it in place. As I said, I do not envy you.”

“I was hoping for something a little less cryptic,” I said, my voice quivering at Donnar’s warning. Gooseflesh rose on my arms, and I rubbed it away.

“I must go now, child,” the svartelf said. “Don’t linger in this place; it is not for your kind.”

“Wait!” I called. “You must be able to tell me something else.”

The svartelf’s soulless eyes stared into mine. “By the new moon’s time, all will come undone. Now go.” The words came with a powerful wind, blinding me and pushing me to the ground. When I stood, the svartelf was gone.