Read Online Dead Embers by T. G. Ayer - Free Book Online

grinned as he set me back on my feet. "To
what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Brynhildr?"
    I opened my hand and revealed the leaf. It glistened in the
ambient firelight, except for the veined grooves, which were filled with mud.
Njall scowled, his great moustache wriggling with displeasure.
    "What happened to it?" he growled.
    I blinked, surprised. Why had his demeanor gone from cheerful
to cheerless? Had I done something to make him angry?
    "Was it my workmanship?" He bowed his head.
"I do apologize, Brynhildr. I will understand if you are unhappy with my
work."
    Suddenly I understood. I touched his elbow to reassure him.
"No, no, the string must have snapped in the middle of a sparring session.
It was entirely my fault."
    The lines on Njall's forehead smoothed, and I smiled at him.
"I just need you to make it into a brooch or something. I'm not really
sure what. Just so that it doesn’t fly off me again. I'd hate to lose it."
Weeks ago Njall had been the one to drill a tiny hole into the leaf so I could
wear it as a necklace.
    Now he picked the fragile piece up in his huge, fat fingers.
Truly amazing that he actually created such intricate metalwork with those
sausage-like digits. I waited, my heart knocking against my chest, as he rubbed
his thumb over the leaf and walked toward a wooden bucket. He rinsed and dried
the leaf, then strode to the open fire, still too quiet for my comfort.
    He picked up a long pincer-like tool and gripped the leaf
with one pointy end. Then he thrust it to the fire.
    I inhaled, shocked, terrified he'd melt the little leaf; my
special gift would dribble all over the hot coals.
    I opened my mouth, about to shout, "No!" but my
lips had barely parted when he yanked the leaf away from the fire and laid it
onto the end of a metal rod. Then he used a pair of metal pliers to bend the
leaf around the rod. I didn't breathe.
    Just watched.
    At last he sighed, a sound plump with satisfaction. He
twisted his generous bulk to face me, sweat gleaming on his ham-sized forearms,
a proud cheery grin on his round, reddened face, and held the leaf out to me.
    For one horrible instant, I knew I'd been right and he'd
destroyed my precious leaf. Then I saw what he'd done.
    Beautiful.
    I picked the leaf off Njall's palm and rolled it onto the
tip of my finger. The golden leaf was now a golden ring. I’d never once
imagined the leaf in the form of a ring. A brooch or an earring, maybe. A
ring—no.
    And yet it worked. I slipped the ring onto my finger and
found it slid on smoothly, a perfect fit, curling around the digit as if it
belonged there.
    ***
    My pleasure with my shiny new leaf-ring provided a little
distraction from the debacle with Joshua. Until almost three hours later, when
a Huldra brought me a note, summoning me to a council of Valkyries, Warriors
and Ulfr.
    We gathered in a small hall I hadn't been to before. The
runes carved into the door declared that the room belonged to Fenrir, son of
Loki. I entered in silence, finding a seat without drawing too much attention.
    Joshua was there. We hadn't spoken yet, not since that
horrible moment when I'd gone all multiple-personality on him and almost sliced
him in half.
    Laughter rang around me, but the sound barely penetrated the
fog in my mind—the cold, bleak fog of fear and self-recrimination. My sword
hand shivered, and I tucked it under the table, hoping no one had noticed. My
eyes flitted over the scout team gathered to discuss whatever topics scout teams
discussed: Fen and Sigrun, Aimee and Mika, and various Ulfr I knew only by
sight.
    And Joshua.
    Looking up at him through my lashes, my heart drummed to the
beat of guilt. He must have sensed me staring. He looked up and our eyes met
across the table. My heart jumped again, but those deep black eyes no longer
burned with anger, or accusation either—just concern, mirrored in the creased
frown on his forehead. The slight curve of his lips formed a kind smile, more
hurtful than the verbal lashing