Galin was standing a few feet away, in front of an open grave. The Vanir corpse lay at his feet.
It seemed we were in a graveyard. Ancient stones jutted from the snow like a hag’s teeth, and above us, the frozen branches of an elm speared the night sky. Bitter cold gnawed at my skin.
“Galin,” I said. “I need you to tell me about the letter. The one that got me thrown into the mines for treason. You still haven’t explained it to me. Did you expect me to die there?”
He looked confused. “I didn’t send a letter. Of course I didn’t want you in the mines. I was trying to get to you.”
“So who wrote it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know yet. But Ali … you must realize at this point that I don’t want you dead.”
I bit my lip. My hatred for him had brought a strange sort of familiar comfort in the mines. I was almost reluctant to let go of it. No, it wasn’t just comfort—it had given my life a purpose.
Without it? I had no idea what I’d do with myself.
But I had to admit—if he’d wanted me dead, he’d have killed me in the battle. And I supposed letters could be forged. “I guess it could have been written by someone else,” I admitted.
“Ali, I can’t stop thinking about you … and with the gods dead, you are the only thing that has meaning for me anymore. We are bound, our souls entwined. I have no choice but to love you.”
My breath left my lungs. “No choice?” Apart from the speed at which I was trying to adjust my conception of him, there was something about that particular point that bothered me. “No choice. You make it sound like a prison sentence. If you have no choice, it’s not real, is it? If you take the magic away, maybe we have nothing in common. I can’t talk about which rune will best stun a draugr, just as you wouldn’t know how to slice an elf’s throat without soaking your clothes in blood. What if it’s not real?”
His expression had gone glacial. “It’s not fake. That is a very limited understanding of the importance of fate, Ali.”
I clenched my jaw. “I want the bond to be broken. It’s the only way to know what’s real.”
His divine gold eyes now held a mournful expression. “I’ve seen what happens when Wyrd is ignored.”
“You have?” Here he was, making things up again.
“My mother’s soul was also bonded to another.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes, I had one of those once. She died a long time ago.”
This was the last thing I’d expected to come out of his mouth, and my heart twisted. When my parents had died, I’d been a wreck for months. “I’m sorry.”
“Shhh, listen—” He pressed a finger to my lips. The wind gusted, and Galin moved so that he shielded me from the blowing snow. “Wyrd bound my mother to a human. Someone named Brian. She tried everything to escape her fate, even going so far as to marry another. But the Norns had spoken.”
“And that’s how she married King Gorm?” I breathed.
“Exactly. She tried to break free of Wyrd, but she couldn’t. In the end, it destroyed her. Her life was empty, rotten, wrong without Brian. I vowed never to make the same mistake as her. Wyrd is unfair, cruel, but you cannot fight against it. In the end, fate always wins.”
“What happened to your mother?”
“Gorm had her killed.”
“Why?”
But I already guessed the answer. Galin’s broad shoulders, his enormous hands. The complete lack of that stupid High Elf sing-song voice. It all made so much more sense now.
My jaw dropped open. “Your father was Brian. You’re part human. That’s why Gorm hates you. Right?”
Galin nodded. “And it’s also why Sune and Revna despise me. I’m the physical manifestation of my mother’s unfaithfulness, and I’m not even a pure elf.”
“Why doesn’t Gorm just disown you, then?”
The wind toyed with his golden hair. “That would require him to admit that she cheated, that he was a cuckold. To an elf like my father, that’s far worse than having a bastard son.”
“So, you’re not really his heir?”
“No, but I will be king.” Gently, he brushed the back of his knuckles over my cheeks. “So, do you understand now why we can’t fight Wyrd?”
I drew in a deep breath, feeling like my heart had iced over. And that I needed it to ice over, or I’d drown. “I understand where