Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
My heart plunges. After everything—our desperate stand, the miracle of her return, the light that saved us—the woman I knew does not look back at me. She does not run into my arms. She does not weep with joy or whisper my name. Instead, she stands apart, distant as the sun itself, and I realize we may have won the battle but lost something far more precious.
A sharp wind stirs the ashes below. Around us, soldiers and Gods alike wait, breath held, for her next move. I try once more: “Hanna, please. It’s me. It’s Tuoni. Your husband. Your king.”
No flicker of recognition. Her eyes narrow slightly, as though irritated by my words. She takes a step back, foot scraping stone, and spreads her arms. A subtle glow sparks at her fingertips.
My heart turns to ice. She doesn’t know us. She doesn’t remember.
Or worse—she chooses not to.
Before I can utter another plea, Hanna’s gaze hardens, and I see a gleam of alien light behind her eyes. Everyone tenses, weapons raised with uncertainty. I stand there, sword slack in my hand, my voice locked in my throat.
“You must be Death,” she says.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HANNA
The God of Death stares back at me with what can only be described as hurt on his face. How have I hurt him? I just saved him and his land. Why isn’t he happy?
I look at those surrounding him. There’s a pretty girl with long, blonde hair, her face cut and bruised. I feel something inside me call to her, a hint of recognition. She must be Loviatar, Death’s daughter. I wonder what she means to me, for she stares at me in a similar way to her father. She too looks like I have betrayed her somehow.
I do not understand.
I look to the others. A young man with red hair gazes at me with a mix of awe and contempt—such an interesting combination of feelings, something to be wary of. There is also a tall, stately woman in black armor, her torn gown flowing like the sea. She comes across as a Goddess herself, and I figure she must be Vellamo. I have a brief memory of the two of us together before Mother Sun whisked me to my home. She didn’t want me to leave; she was worried, but what for?
Then, there is the man who said he is my father. It is looking at him, at his watery blue eyes lined with life, that I feel something in my chest, a pang where a heart should be. This man, I trust. I once felt love, innocent love, without conditions, and I felt it for him. He is the only one who doesn’t look hurt at my appearance; if anything, he looks relieved. I smile at him, hoping it comes across as sincere.
In the distance stand two others I recognize as Gods: an aging man with skin like bark and a long, bushy beard leaning against a wooden staff, alongside a girl with tangled red hair, tiny antlers springing from her head. They watch me warily, on guard.
“I mean you no harm,” I say to them, to everyone. “I have come to help.”
The God of Death holds out his hand for me, and I eye it. There’s something about this I have to be careful of, but I’m not sure what. It’s just his hand, gloved in leather.
I take it, and he squeezes it. I stare up at his formidable form, at the skull mask shoved up over his forehead, curling horns sprouting from the top, as if he has been fused with an animal. His hair is long and black, flowing over his shoulders, his beard ending in a small braid. His eyes are alive with many emotions, a dark silver that gleams against his brown skin, accentuated by lines of black kohl. The furry collar of his cloak is just low enough for me to spot shimmering veins of silver running over his neck, disappearing beneath.
He is handsome in the intimidating way only Gods are. Somewhere in my crystalline core, I feel a tremor of something for him. Is it emotion? It’s a curious feeling—perhaps not emotion, but a physical response. My blood seems to warm in my veins, becoming molten gold, my breath shaky. This God has an effect on me still.
“Hanna,” the God of Death says to me, his voice like roughened silk. “Do you know where you are?”
He squeezes my hand, as if that will help.
“I am at Castle Syntri,” I tell him, hoping he will be satisfied with my answer. “This was Louhi’s stronghold before she took over Shadow’s End.”
His gaze narrows slightly. “And you know who I am to you.”
“You are my partner,” I tell him. “The king to my queen.”
“I told you this could happen,” Vellamo whispers to Lovia.