of wits, Annabel. I know you far too well to fall for this nonsense!”
I know you far too well.
Something he’d said before flickered in my mind. Something he’d said only moments before: “We have been here so many times before, Annabel. So many nights. And every time, I win.”
Understanding yawned like a heaving chasm in the pit of my stomach.
He… knew me.
“I claim my second truth,” I said, setting my jaw to steel my resolve.
“What?” The darkness in his eyes deepened.
“Now. I claim it right now.”
He only glared at me, and I was fairly sure he was imagining my head exploding.
“You said we have been here before. So many nights,” I said slowly, trying to find the right words to put the puzzle together from the multitude of pieces suddenly appearing for my mind’s eye. “You say you know me, but how could you? We hadn’t exchanged more than a few words before you killed me.
“I… remember you. I recognized you the first time I met you on your farm in Iceland. I have dreamed about you. Had nightmares of you. As a child and young girl, I saw your face in the shadows every time I was scared. And yet… I could never put my finger on it. I could never truly remember. Not until now. Until this place. The place you say we’ve been before.
“Tell me… Tell me why you were in my nightmares. Tell me what it means. Were you haunting me? Did you… Did you try to kill me then too? When I fell through the ice, was that you? Did you want to kill me before I could bond with your brothers?”
Grim sneered. “I am not a ghost. I don’t haunt little girls.”
“What, then? You don’t deny you shared my dreams. Why?”
He breathed, deeply, finally moving his eyes from mine to stare at the angry sea beyond. “I should never have accepted your help to mend my bones.”
“Grim. Tell me. You swore an oath.”
“The day you fell through the ice, I felt your fear. It was… so intense. So painful. It pulled on me—yanked my soul across the distance to you. I saw you in the water, fighting like a lioness for survival even though you were so… weak. Small.”
His words came slowly, reluctantly. “After that day, the connection to your magic must have been opened. Your visions of me would summon me to you. Your fears. When you were scared of the monsters under your bed, I was pulled across the ocean. I watched your father tell you no such things as monsters exist. I watched as you cowered under the sheets during thunderstorms. Watched you run from drunk groups of men shouting after you on the streets. But this place, this moment in time… this is where you brought me the most. I suppose I should have recognized it for what it is—perhaps then I wouldn’t have lost enough strength to that Nightmare that you could put this cursed ring on me.”
“I… I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would you watch me?”
Grim scoffed, finally turning his gaze from the ocean back to me. “It wasn’t my choice. You called me.”
“Me? I didn’t even know you existed, let alone that I had any sort of magical powers!”
“You are so blinded by this supposedly sacred purpose some low-grade prophet spewed during a mead-induced stupor, you still don’t understand,” he said, the anger in his voice laced with a rare softness.
“Just who are you calling low-grade?” Mimir barked. Grim ignored him as he continued.
“Your birth was a curse, for me more so than my brothers. My father sired me to fulfill the prophecy. Verdandi claimed he would need a Mistborn son to claim this prophesized omega if he were to save his own skin once Ragnarök struck.
“I sometimes wondered if Verdandi tricked him. If she knew. If my bond to you is her creation, forged for her own devious schemes. Not that it matters. I care little for Fate’s ties.”
“Grim, I… I don’t understand.” My voice was hoarse, my throat tight. What he was saying… It was like staring into a kaleidoscope and desperately trying to hold on to some semblance of form, find some truth in the swirling myriad.
“I suppose you don’t,” he said, the softness waning for cold indifference. “You gave in to your supposed Fate without question. You accepted four mates for the sole purpose of fulfilling a prophecy that was doomed to fail from the start.
“The day you were born, Annabel Turner,