Page 124 of Clash of Storms
"Will you be able to shift when we get to the lagoon?" Malin asked.
"I'm not dead yet. But if I can't manage, then Freyja can tell Rurik where we are," Sirius growled out. "Hopefully, his Royal Arrogance will decide to rescue her before the wyrm senses us."
The Blackfrost? Relying on anotherdrekimale to save him? He must be feeling the ache of his wounds. Or common sense had finally beaten him into submission.
Freyja stood in the open door, guarding it. "Is it open yet?" she called, over her shoulder. "I can't hold the door much longer."
Holding her hands out wide, Freyja let a small crackle of lightning play over her knuckles, and tendrils of her hair lifted with static. It was as though she summoned lightning through her veins. Her eyes fair gleamed with it.
"Open!" Sirius stuck his head through, soft wisps of snow tumbling through into the Hall of Mirrors and dusting the bloodied remnants of his shirt. "Can't see anything. It's clear."
Offering her his hand, he helped Malin through.
Snow crunched under her feet and she sank up to her ankles in the chill biting cold. In the distance unearthly blue waters gleamed beneath the afternoon sky. Wisps of steam curled off the lagoon, and the snow had melted around the outsides. They called the springs the Gateway to Hel, and they'd formed when the ground cracked over a thousand years ago when theZiniclan first forged the court within Hekla. Originally,drekihad bathed in the waters, until Jörmungandr took up residence.
"Freyja!" he whispered loudly.
"Coming!"
The queen hurtled through the portal, and Sirius caught her, setting her on her feet.
The portal hung in mid-air, a dark doorway in the middle of nowhere, outlined in faint golden runes. Freyja paused as she moved to drag the mirror closed from the inside, reaching out to brush her finger against one of the runes.
"These seems familiar," Freyja murmured.
"Study them later," Sirius hissed under his breath. He leaned heavily on the sword he'd appropriated. "They were created by the Ljósálfar many centuries ago, before our alliance with the Light Ones was broken."
"The Ljósálfar?" Freyja raised a brow. "They truly exist?"
"Smarmy, mincing bastards, the lot of them," he growled, under his breath. "Yes, they exist, though they haven't been seen since we closed the gateway to Álfheimr. Occasionally, one of the old circles awakens and their world aligns with ours long enough you could step through, but we went to war once. I don't think they've completely recovered."
"Perhaps this is not the best time to discuss this?" Malin said softly. She couldn't help feeling as though something was watching them as they stepped into the low-lying roll of steam. "How do we get out of here?"
Sirius pointed to a low ridge surrounding the waters. "If we climb up there, then hopefully Rurik and the others will arrive."
"Going somewhere, brother?"
The voice sounded like a sword screeching over stone; jarring and discordant.
Malin felt Sirius freeze.
Roar.
He was somewhere out there in the mist.
Malin's heart skipped a beat. He must have followed them through the portal. As they turned, three tall figures stepped out of the steam.
"Go," Sirius told her, stepping into a defensive stance and tilting his head so he could see through his remaining eye.
His shirt clung wetly to his bloodied back. As he shifted his weight onto his left foot, she could sense him wince.
"Freyja, keep her safe. Get to the top of the ridge and call Rurik."
"Sirius," Malin argued, but Freyja grabbed her hand.
"I can hold them," he said, in a dangerously soft voice.
"You—"
