Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (27 page)

Amusement registered in
the woman’s grass-green eyes at Rolf’s display. She addressed Erik directly,
“The Palace prosecutes those who carry weapons. It is not wise to display them
openly.”

When Erik didn’t comply
or answer, the songvari asked, “Where are you from?”

“Far away,” said Erik. The
woman seemed harmless enough, but Erik didn’t trust her . . . yet. “We are
looking for a man named Lothar.”

The woman buckled at the
name, her face breaking from smooth to troubled. “

Why?” she asked. “Do you
seek his protection?”

Erik laughed, a hard
sounding noise tainted with anger and sarcasm.

“Hardly.”

“Then why?” she pressed.

“He has something that
does not belong to him.” Erik watched her face.

Lothar’s name incited
fear within her. Her features twisted and her skin blanched when Erik spoke the
name; he wondered what Lothar had done to her.

“How do you know of Lord
Lothar?” she asked, eyes clouding with suspicion.

“I have seen him,”
confessed Erik. “In my . . . ” He did not want to confide in the woman about
his visions, but his tongue slipped and he did not know how to cover his own
slack speech.

The songvari’s features
drooped with worry. “In your dreams?”

Erik nodded.

“Then you have seen the
Shadow?” she pressed.

The woman crossed the
distance between them, reaching out to rest her hand on Erik's forearm. Her
touch sent a river of warmth up his arm; much like the song had calmed his
thoughts—so did her caress. She searched his face, her eyes seeking his.

“You have great need. I
can see it within you.” A sad sigh escaped her lips as she continued, “Lothar
resides in a place called Holyfell, not a day’s ride from where we stand.”

“Can you direct us?”
asked Erik.

The songvari tightened,
her muscles going rigid, her gracefulness sucked away.

“It is the Mother’s
command for one such as myself to serve those in need.”

She curtsied to the
brothers, tipping her chin to her chest, her hand remaining on Erik.

Erik’s brow knitted in
confusion.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, as a
songvari, by the Mother’s will I am your servant.”

“Then you will show us
the way,” Erik clarified.

“I will,” she replied. “Just
know what you ask of me also endangers my life. I trust you to not take that
life lightly.”

Emma lay on her back on
top of her downy bed covers, cringing as Lothar slithered down next to her. Her
heart thumped erratically. Nausea flooded her stomach and she bit back the bile
forming in her throat. The lord took her hand in his; the waxiness of his
fingers intertwining with hers caused the sourness to revisit her mouth and she
swallowed hard as she held back her tears.

Whitefoot had been
removed from the room earlier, in the mouth of the silver wolf. The wolf
assured Emma upon exiting that the polecat would not be harmed. The polecat did
not take kindly to anyone near Emma, at least not anyone as threatening as
Lothar, and had lunged at the lord’s throat. Lothar did not stand for mutiny on
the part of his gift, threatening the creature with an instantaneous demise. When
Emma had argued for the polecat’s life, rationalizing the creature only did the
job he was given by protecting her, Lothar had conceded and promised Whitefoot
would be returned, unharmed, after their business had concluded.

“Calm yourself.” Lothar
squeezed Emma’s hand with too much pressure. “This is for the best. Remember,
all you do now keeps Erik safe from harm.”

Though Emma was sure the
lord tried to sound reassuring, his tone slithered, like the feel of his hand
against hers. He was so close to her she smelled the hot, syrupy aroma of
elderberry wine on his breath. Her stomach lurched once more as she fought away
the rising sickness and prepared to tell her only love she did not want him anymore.

“You must relax. Sleep.”

The revilement of Lothar
next to her caused a curious paradox of sensations. One, the sick that built in
her stomach increased, and two, it affected her like a sedative causing her
eyelids to droop. Emma’s mouth grew thick. She struggled to retain
consciousness, objecting to the lord's presence.

“Erik will not come with
you here.”

“I have explained this. You
need me here and we need to be connected in order for me to be inside the dream
with you. If I am here, Erik will not protest when he sees we are united.”

When he sees I am
your prisoner
, she thought, and
the tears threatened again.

Lothar slunk closer, his
shoulder pressing against hers. Numbness spread through her arm, into her chest
and throughout her body. Her mind relaxed, not in a peaceful manner, but in an
incapable of fighting back, inebriated manner.

And she slept.

Emma found herself in a
dull landscape, rolling mist quashing in on all sides. Lothar appeared in the
distance, standing back from her, giving her space.

“Erik,” she called.

“Nei,” commanded Lothar.
“Do not call him. Let him come to you.”

Emma obeyed, waiting as
the ashen landscape whirled about her, casting blackness over Lothar’s waxy
features.

“He’s not coming,” said
Emma, hoping beyond reason they could quit this madness, but she knew doing so
would only prolong the hurt.

“Patience. He will be
here. I am sure of it.”

Lothar had no more than spoken
the words when Erik appeared in the grayness, a transparent figure in the
distance. His body blinked in and out of the background until he spotted Emma. When
he looked at her a rush of desire flushed through her body. She wanted to run
to him, hold him, and feel his strong arms safely around her.

“Emma!” Erik cried out
and his body surged forward, turning opaque as he flew through the landscape to
land directly in front of her.

Emma relished the
moment, staring up into eyes that had felt like they were her destiny for so
many moons. But a bittersweet ache shot through her, knowing this would be the
last time she would look up at him and see his adoring face smile down at her. Her
breath trembled inside her breast. Erik reached out to take her hands in his,
but she jerked away. A pained confusion washed over his features, causing
shadows to play in the depths of his angular face.

“Emma, I am close.”

“Nei. You must not come,”
Emma said, shaking her head.

“You don’t understand. I
am almost here. I can take you away from this place.” Erik's face looked so
expectant, so excited. As he said the words her chest seared with raw anguish,
the beat of her heart quaking in misery.

“Nei,” Emma said more
forcefully. “I do not want you to come, Erik. I am happy here.”

With outstretched arms,
Erik tried to take her hands in his again. As his warm fingertips brushed hers
a rush of all that was Erik swept through her, heating her insides. She forced
his hands away and the absence of them sent a chill straight into her chest.

Erik shook his head,
unbelieving, taking a weighted step backward. The silence between them swelled.
Emma’s heartbeat thumped against her breast.

Then Erik noticed Lothar
through the haze. His eyes narrowed at the man.

“What have you done to
her? You hold her against her will!”

Lothar smiled and
shrugged, waiting for Emma.

“Nei, Erik.” Emma
stepped away from Erik, her heart ripping at the disconnection.

She joined Lothar,
though she could not bear to seek the lord’s hand. Lothar sensed the hesitation
and completed the action for her and the sick sensation of their joining caused
the vomit to return to her mouth. She swallowed against it, hardening herself
against both Lothar and Erik.

“You lie.” Erik’s voice
flattened.

He sought Emma’s gaze
from across the distance. His turbulent green eyes seized her, holding her. For
an instant she almost burst, confessing the deception, but Lothar yanked on her
hand, reminding her of her cause.

“Lothar and I are to be
wed. I do not wish to see you again.”

“You lie,” Erik said
again, but this time his tone deflated into a desperate whisper.

Lothar squeezed her hand
harder and sickness lurched into her throat. She thought she’d turn and empty
the contents of her belly but pushed her speech out instead.

“I do not want to see
you again, Erik Sigtrigson. Do you understand me? Ever! Now go away!”

Emma whirled from them
both, unable to view the damage she had just delivered. Wetness spilled from
her eyes, streaking her cheeks, and within a breath she was returned to her
room with the lord pressing against her side.

“You should not have
cried. I almost didn’t get the ward up in time.” Lothar’s voice jabbed at her
fresh wounds.

Emma turned on her side,
scrunching her knees up to her chest to control the wave of nausea sweeping
over her.

The lord slid from her
bed, placing his slipper covered feet on the floor, and got up to exit.

Before he disappeared
into the hallway he added, “It is for the best, Emma. You'll see that in time. And
in time you'll come to love me for it.”

Blackness waylaid Erik,
smothering him.

“Emma!” he cried out,
but only the slick sinking of darkness surrounded him, forcing him downward.

“Please, Emma. Come
back.”

The air caught in Erik's
throat as he gagged back emotions. His shoulders quaked. Raw, burning betrayal
ate away at his belly, ripping open wounds inside his soul. The look she wore
on her face—determined—as she stood by that man’s side. Erik thought Emma would
always be at his side, regardless of the complications of their parentage, but
she had stood with her face hardened against him and told him to go away. Forever.

It doesn’t have to be
this way.
The man’s insufferably
pleasing voice crooned in the back of Erik’s head.

“Shut up!” Erik
screeched.

He swiveled to seek the
source of the words but saw nothing except blackness.

She can love you
again.

“Leave me!” Erik worked
to find his body within the dull swirl of the void. He fought against his
transparent limbs, struggling to make fists out of his spectral hands.

You are more powerful
than Lothar.

“I said shut up!” Erik
quailed. “I don’t want you here. I don’t need your help!”

But you do. The
sooner you see it, the easier it will be. You could have the world spread out
before you on a platter. There are more beautiful women than Emma. You could
have any one of them at your side.

“There is nei better
woman!” Erik said, finding his body in the mist.

Such loyalty. I
admire that.
The black-haired
man appeared, entwining with the shadows of the landscape. His figure pooled,
flowing back and forth until it settled into place. The blackness of his hair
punctuated his stark-white tunic, trousers and skin. His eyes shifted along
with the ever-changing landscape behind him.

“You wouldn’t
understand.”

Erik averted the man's
fluctuating gaze, visions of Emma filling his memory—her face lighting like
beams of sunshine when Erik had given her
their
key, a promise of their
future home, in her fifteenth’s summer. His heart burned at the thought,
betrayal tarnishing the once perfect moment.

But I do.
The man circled Erik, slowly, his eyes clouding
into a far-off gaze.
I loved someone, once. Someone who did not love me
back.

“What happened to her?”
Erik asked, the hole widening within him.

I realized if she did
not care for me, it did not matter. I could find a life for myself without her.
I could help those who struggle, just as I had, because I understand their
pain. I could be the one who shines for those in need.
The man snapped his attention back to Erik.
But
that’s a long story for another time. For now, know that I am your friend. We
share a common bond, and I will do whatever is within my power to help you.

“Who are you?” demanded Erik.

Call me Loki.

Then the man’s image
blinked back into darkness.

Erik opened his eyes to
find himself warmed by the glow of a stone—the same stone the songvari had
sculpted with some sort of seidr-craft as Rolf and he had watched earlier in
the evening. Andvarri walked without a limp, crossing behind Rolf and the
woman—he remembered her name was Seretta—who sat on the ground. Seretta guided
Rolf’s hands over the glowing rock, instructing him in some manner. Erik
glanced at Andvarri again, standing upright on both legs. The songvari, upon
meeting the dwarf and learning of his injury, had sat down over him, placed her
hands upon his leg and sang, while a white light glowed about her palms. When
she had finished, Andvarri’s leg was as good as it had ever been, and the dwarf
had jumped up and danced a little jig out of happiness and thanks.