Authors: T. G. Ayer
Dead Radiance (42 page)
Then I remembered. I broke eye contact, unable to look at his face, knowing it was his father who was the reason I’d lost Aidan.
“I am very sorry, Bryn.” He stared into the valley, his soft words forming little puffy clouds that swirled and dissolved on the icy air.
I shook my head, even though his gaze was fixed somewhere out in the stark white snow. “No. You don’t need to apologize to me, Fenrir. Loki may have been your father but you can’t be held responsible for his actions.”
I wasn’t sure anyone could be held responsible for the god Loki’s notoriously deceitful actions, least of all the god himself. And the last person who should ever claim responsibility for the trickster's actions would be Fen. Fenrir had proved his loyalty to Odin already. Nobody could doubt him.
“Even so, I am sorry.”
I touched his arm, hoping he wouldn’t pull away. This beautiful man who had horrified me the first time I’d seen him. This man who was a wolf. This man who offered his life and his service to Odin, the very god he was meant to betray.
Fen’s profile was all rugged and stiff, like granite against the backdrop of grey rock surrounding us. But only for a moment. I guess he struggled with his brooding demons.
My own father was pretty acceptable if I were to compare him to Fen’s father. “You know, you aren’t the only one to have a crappy dad.” I thought about Aidan’s father. “Look at Aidan's dad. He sent his henchmen to kill his own son. That’s way worse, in my opinion.”
Fenrir tilted his head, a skeptical gleam in his eyes. “Loki meant to kill Aidan. I do not understand why you are not viciously angry.”
“Viciously angry I am. Viciously angry with you I am not! Come on, Fen. You can’t let this thing affect you.” I couldn’t believe I was giving advice to a being who was hundreds of years older than me, who was so powerful he could kill me with one blow.
He shook his head. “I had always thought that humans did not possess the capacity for purity of heart. I believe you are different.”
“Maybe because I'm not human. Never was, never will be.” I sighed. Perhaps a tiny part of me yearned to fit in with humanity. But the reality was I no longer belonged. I’d never belonged, never understood or fit in with the whole cheerleader, popularity contest side of human life. Always on the sidelines, playing new girl, temporary friend and freak. “I understand what you mean," said Fen, "but it is the failings of humanity that I am referring to.”
I bristled. “Failings? Are you saying you admire me because of my failings?” I frowned, clenching my fists, ready to follow my Valkyrie instinct into full blown fury. Fen had me pretty off balance today.
“Yes.” Fen moved to the edge of the precipice, and my heart thundered in my throat. He stared down, eyes focused on the black rocks and snow that mingled in the hushed valley. “Your failings are what make you so special. You are not perfect. It is all that emotion inside you that makes you so different.”
“I hardly see how different my emotions are from yours, or any of the other gods, for that matter.” Odin and Freya’s natures were both fickle and capricious, selfish and selfless. An aspect of godhood that hadn't been easy for me to understand at first. “Freya showed me that even the gods have their popular crowd.”
“Popular crowd?” Fen glanced at me, a shadowed frown darkening his forehead, his ebony hair sweeping his shoulders.
“Yeah. The cool dudes. The hip chicks,” I teased.
He scowled, though it didn’t mess with his handsome face at all.
“Okay, the people everyone wants to be like. That’s Freya,” I said. “And the haters, like Loki.”
“Ah. I understand.”
“The gods of Asgard are really no different from us humans, you know.” I smirked. “Unless, of course, you consider the whole thirty-foot-high size issue.” I paused to gauge his mood before adding, “And the gods can die just like us, too.”
Fen nodded, eyes still trained on the depths of the cavern.
“So what are we doing here. And I am so not jumping off any cliff to prove how not human I am. What are you trying to do? Check if I can defy death?”
“No, Bryn. This is part of your training.” He spoke slowly with exaggerated patience.
“What is? To jump into oblivion when I can’t fly? You're supposed to teach me how to fly—not force me to jump to my death.”
“How will you know if you can fly if you do not try?”
“Well, I certainly ain’t trying to fly by taking a flying leap off the side of a frickin' mountain!”
I snapped my gaze away from him, folding my arms in a huff. My eyes traced the rocky pathway leading down into the valley's pristine depths, as if the scenic view somehow held the answer to Fen’s psycho training plan.
Glaring at the view meant turning my back on Fen.
Big mistake.
I’d assumed he still stood beside me, lost in his funk, entranced by the silvery-white valley. But when my back suddenly warmed as some large object shielded my body from the icy fingers of the gusting wind, I stiffened. I glanced over my shoulder, my heart tripping.
Too late.
Too late to turn and defend myself.
Too late to stop him.
For a shadow of a second I stared into his eyes, shocked, horrified that he’d do such a thing to me. A thousand fears filtered through my frigid brain. Was he in cahoots with Loki? Or was he Freya’s dog all along?
It took an eternity for him to blink. Even longer for me to blink.
Then Fenrir pushed me and I fell off the cliff, into pure white oblivion.
To my husband Selvan who made my dreams come true –you are the reason I breathe.
To Dharshini and Dhivya – for tiptoeing and whispering, for random cups of tea and for your unfailing belief in your mom – Best Daughters Ever.
To Patti Larsen, writing partner, mentor, and friend – for keeping me sane.
To Cassie Hart – who forced me to churn out pages just so she could know what happens next.
To the Inklings: Kim Koning, Leigh K Hunt and Melissa Pearl – for your undying support and for every kick in the pants you ever gave me.
To Natasha Pillay – an incredible friend and soul sister.
To my Beta readers Courtney McDonald, Mina Witteman, Rachna Chhabria, Kimberly Kinrade, Dharsh and Patti – for loving this book even when it was a grubby first draft.
To my editor Eric Pinder, rock star of editors – for all-nighters and bleary eyes, for knowing what needed fixing without me having to explain.
To Valerie Bellamy, print designer and mind-reader – for somehow knowing exactly what I want and for your eternal patience.
To Eduardo Priego, super-talented cover artist – for bringing to life the cover I thought would only exist in my imagination.
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And to you, the reader – you are the reason I write.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
: T.G. Ayer
I have been a writer from the time I was old enough to recognise that reading was a doorway into my imagination. Poetry was my first foray into the art of the written word. Books were my best friends, my escape, my haven. I am essentially a recluse but this part of my personality is impossible to practise given I have two teenage daughters, who are actually my friends, my tea-makers, my confidantes… I am blessed with a husband who has left me for golf. It’s a fair trade as I have left him for writing. We are both passionate supporters of each others loves – it works wonderfully.
My heart is currently broken in two. One half resides in South Africa where my old roots still remain, and my heart still longs for the endless beaches and the smell of moist soil after a summer downpour. My love for Ma Afrika will never fade. The other half of me has been transplanted to the Land of the Long White Cloud. The land of the Taniwha, beautiful Maraes, and volcanoes. The land of green, pure beauty that truly inspires. And because I am so torn between these two lands – I shall forever remain cross-eyed.
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Coming soon
In the Valkyrie series
By T.G. AYER:
~~~~~
BOOK 2: DEAD EMBERS
and
BOOK 3: DEAD CHAOS
~~~~~
for updates on release dates.
Note from T.G. Ayer:
One of my dear friends has written a book I love, and I hope you'll love it too. Please enjoy this excerpt from talented author Patti Larsen:
Chapter 1 – Smoke & Magic
I leaned over the railing of the steam powered vessel for my first look at London, even as the sun set behind me, casting the towering buildings and arching bridge in shades of orange and red. I had packed already, my sturdy travel case by my feet, my silver Persian in his wicker carrier. I could hear him snarling and grumbling to himself and suppressed a grin, knowing he would make me pay for stuffing him into his prison as soon as we arrived at our destination.
But that was for later. Right now I focused on the deepening shadows that filled in the cobbled streets and stretched long shadows down the rippling waters of the Thames. Smaller vessels bobbed past us, looking worn and miniscule in comparison. I drew a breath, so accustomed to the piercing clarity of sea air by now, I came close to gagging over the side as the taint of rot rising from the river assaulted me.
But even the rising stink of dead fish and worse things did little to dampen my enthusiasm. It was the first time in my four week trip across the Atlantic that I had something new and exciting to focus on and I wasn't about to miss a moment of it.
“Miss Burdie?” Mr. O'Brien, my over eager porter, smiled his easy smile, the one I'm sure he thought made him irresistible. I'd found it easy enough to resist him, thank you. “A shame about the view. We're almost twelve hours early, makes for a dark entry into the harbor.”
“Does that happen often?” I did my best to be polite despite my discomfort. His eyes wandered downward and I knew he wasn't examining the buttons on my new black velvet shortcoat. I gritted my teeth and thought of my mother. She would be very disappointed in me if I turned him into something I could squash with my heel.
Being a witch had its benefits, but not when it came to punishing normals for nasty behavior.
“Not often,” he continued our conversation, heavy Irish accent making him difficult to make out. “You'll not have a chance to see the city like this again, more's the pity.”
I didn't bother to tell him I'd be leaving the way I came and would have ample opportunity. My temper was known to get the better of me more often than I'd like and this boy was only making things worse.
Choosing to ignore him and his apparent desire for more conversation, I stepped away from the rail, the smell finally getting to me. How could my mood alter so quickly? I was suddenly feeling as sour as the air. The Thames stank like a cesspool and I began to wonder how Londoners could stand it.
Not that my native New York was perfect, by any means. But I didn’t recall our harbor smelling like this. My feelings of charity toward the old world and my trip there slid back into the gloom that plagued me the entire way—that I had been, in effect, shipped off to jolly old England when I should, in fact, have been home helping my parents with the transition of our coven.
Our present leader's power was waning and quickly, the coven suffering from her lack of ability and her increasing dementia. And while my mother, Thaddea, was certain the take over of power would go smoothly from one family to the next, she wasn't taking any chances. The moment the coven elected her as successor, she set in motion her plan to promptly get rid of me.
I stomped my way across the deck toward the gangway as the ship eased into dock, my thoughts as dark as the evening sky. I understood why Mum and Da sent me away. As the only female Hayle, I was next in line after my mother. And while they hoped the acquisition of the family power from the Tremere's would go smoothly, Mum wasn't taking any chances.