Fate Undone (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 5) Read online

  She was only slightly better off than when she’d first come in, but she was too tired and sore to continue on.

  “Logan?” she called, annoyed that she needed his help, but grateful for it.

  He knocked a moment later and she called him in.

  “Ready for breakfast?” he asked as he picked her up.

  “That’s what I smelled?” she asked, referring to the bacon scent that had emanated from the kitchen earlier.

  “Yes.” He carried her into the bedroom and sat her back upon her bed, pulling the covers up over her legs. “I’ll be right back.”

  Sylvi was struggling to hold onto her anger when he returned carrying a tray. She was still hurt, and still a little angry, but it was hard to hold onto the worst of it when he was taking such good care of her. She’d yelled at him last night about whether or not he’d be there to take care of her when she needed him.

  She had the answer to that.

  “Here, have some almond apple cake,” he said as he set the tray down on her lap. “You aren’t supposed to have a large meal, but I thought you’d like this.”

  That’s what she’d been smelling. Her eyes immediately prickled at the sight of the little cake on the platter. He must have eaten the bacon and eggs but had made this for her. It had always been her favorite. Back in Asgard, he used to bring her some from the kitchens whenever they made it.

  “How did you remember?” she asked.

  “I remember everything about you. I’m going to make you forgive me.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “You’re terrible at forgiveness.” He took the seat in the corner.

  “So? Maybe you don’t deserve it.”

  “I want it. Whether or not I deserve it. And I’m going to convince you to give it to me.”

  Sylvi ignored him and picked up the divine little cake and took a bite. It exploded on her tongue, awakening her senses—sweet and tart and the best thing she’d ever tasted. Of course he’d be a good cook. He no doubt used his magic. But however he made it, it tasted so good it didn’t matter.

  “Did I get it right?” he asked.

  “I’m not talking to you right now.” But she was starting to cave.

  “You have to eventually.”

  “Long enough to destroy the labyrinth. But then we’re done. Your face reminds me of how you hurt me and everything bad that happened back then. I don’t want to think about it.”

  “That’s just your problem. Did you ever think that you don’t forgive because you don’t want to think about the wrong done to you in order to forgive the person?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “That you don’t like to think about the bad things that have happened to you. Forgiveness requires you to think about what the other person has done wrong and forgive them for it, but you don’t want to even think about it, so you can’t start to forgive. You run instead.”

  “Stop psychoanalyzing me.” She didn’t run. But if she didn’t want to think about the sadder parts of her life, that was just smart. It hadn’t been easy to be a demigod in Asgard and it sure hadn’t been easy to make her way on earth in the Middle Ages.

  “I know you think you’re just protecting yourself.”

  She scowled at how right he was.

  “But your life would be fuller if you could forgive,” he said. “You’re missing out on a lot by cutting people off right away.”

  “Oh, like you, I suppose?”

  He shrugged. “Or your mother. Fates know I’m not fan of Freya. But I care for you. I want you to be happy. Having her in your life would probably make you happy.”

  The sweet taste of the cake died on her tongue at the mention of her mother. As angry as she was with Logan, it was nothing compared to how she felt about her mother. Even now, against her wishes, she could feel herself cracking in her opposition to Logan. He’d always been so good to her, with the exception of that one time that still pissed her off. But with her mother, there was no crack in her armor of anger.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. But he was at least partially right and she hated it. She’d lived with herself long enough to have studied all her own motivations and poked some holes in them, but it’d been easier just to pretend everything was fine. When someone else was telling her the exact same thing, it was harder to ignore.

  “Ignoring everything bad in your past isn’t healthy, Sylvi,” Logan said. What she was doing worried him. She wasn’t facing any of the bad in her past. She picked up and moved on, packing away her baggage for another day.

  “It was working really well, actually. Until you appeared and dredged up all my bad memories.”

  “If you made peace with them, you’d be happier.” He didn’t normally think about such emotional shit, but he wanted to prove to her—to himself—that she could forgive. If she could forgive her mother, then she could forgive him. He hoped.

  “I don’t want to make peace with them.” There was a combative glint in her eyes now.

  “I think you should.”

  “I think you should quit being so bossy!”

  “Give it a chance. Let me show you your mother.”

  “Like in the past when she kicked me out? Do you think you’ll convince me that she couldn’t have stopped it?”

  “I can’t see into the past so I can’t show it to you. But I don’t think you need to see that. You know your mother couldn’t have stopped all the gods when their will was united, no matter how powerful she was. I think you just need to see her now to remember her. Jar your memory and remind yourself of the reality that exists outside your desire to protect yourself.”

  She turned her head from him, stubbornness in the set of her brow. But she didn’t say no. She’d been able to believe the things she’d told herself about her mother because no one had ever told her differently. But she was too smart to try to keep believing them in the face of the truths he made her confront.

  He conjured the Immortal Fire at the edge of her bed, a smaller flame than usual since he didn’t want to singe her bedding. He had more than enough control not to burn her house down, but he didn’t want to do even the slightest amount of damage.

  Sylvi turned her head to look at the flame. He pulled all the power he had within him to locate Freya and show her to Sylvi. Spying on other gods required a large draw of power because they usually shielded themselves from prying eyes with their own magic. But spying was one of his specialties, honed over years of practice. It wasn’t difficult to find Freya meditating in her garden.

  Sylvi gasped softly when her mother appeared in the flame, a shimmering image of a blue-cloaked woman with flowing blond hair. She sat cross-legged in the grass, her eyes closed and a serene smile on her face. A raven stood in the grass near her.

  “She looks the same,” Sylvi said softly.

  “They all do,” he said. “We do.”

  “I know. I suppose I just thought she’d look different to me after all these years.”

  “Because you feel differently about her?”

  “Maybe.” She peered hard at the image, then jerked her head away. “I’ve seen enough.”

  He collapsed the flame, letting it disappear into nothingness. Annoyance surged through him at her unwillingness to even try to move past her anger.

  “You know, Sylvi, you really need to—”

  “Thank you.”

  That shut him up.

  “I mean it,” she said. “Thank you for showing me Freya.”

  “You forgive her?”

  “No. I don’t think I can. But it was nice to see her again. Honestly, I’ve no idea how I feel and with the labyrinth, I don’t have time to think about it now. But thank you for showing her to me.”

  “No problem. Pay me back by working on forgiving her.”

  “Later. For now, I’d rather talk about the Retaliator. I’m already a lot better and I want to be prepared to end this thing when I’m well enough to get out of bed.
”

  “You’ll take it easy.” They needed to get to work destroying the labyrinth, but one more day of rest wouldn’t stop them from doing that.

  “Don’t tell me what to do! That’s the whole reason I’m pissed at you. I make my own damn decisions. Quit trying to protect me.”

  She drove him up the damn wall sometimes. “Of course I’m always going to try to protect you. Not because I don’t think you can do it yourself. You can. But I can’t help myself. I want your life to be good.”

  “Let me decide what I want. And what I want is to destroy this damn labyrinth.”

  “Fine. When you’re well.”

  She nodded. “Do you have the metal lump Warren took from the retaliator? The one that looked like a heart?”

  He got up and left the room, eventually returning with the lump of strange metal in his hands. He handed it to her.

  Sylvi took the heart from Logan, surprised by how extraordinarily heavy it was. Though she couldn’t decipher the writing or designs—it actually reminded her of a labyrinth—she did get a big hit of magic off of it.

  “I’m surprised it wasn’t destroyed by your flame. You got lucky that you didn’t toast this,” she said.

  He nodded. “I think the magic protected it. And whatever kind of metal it’s made of.”

  “How the hell did you get out of those chains?” she asked.

  “When I saw him hurting you, I lost it. When you were near death, I found strength I didn’t know I had.”

  Her hands faltered and dropped to her lap. The heart of the Retaliator sat like a stone and she stared at it.

  Holy hell. He really did still care about her. He’d said it, but this was something else entirely. And she had no idea what to do about it. So she did what she did best and tried to ignore it.

  “Do you know anything about the heart?” she asked.

  “I think it’s the Retaliator’s soul.”

  Sylvi shivered. “What?” His soul should be long gone to wherever it was that gods’ souls went when they were killed. Sometimes it was the hell of their belief system where they joined the ranks of deceased mortals. Sometimes they just disappeared. But to be formed into a metal heart? “What kind of magic made this? I feel it, but I don’t understand it.”

  “Something dark. I don’t think the writing on it is a real language. When Thoreas was a god, his worshipers didn’t have written language. I think it’s the language of his soul. It’s the essence of the god of time. All his power is stored in this. If one could operate it—maybe you, since you can feel the magic in it—then it could be used to harness and focus the god of time’s power.”

  “You can’t operate it?”

  “I don’t have that type of magic. I can do no more than determine what it is.”

  She looked back at the heart. He was right. This was her specialty. His was more of the clever plots and utter destruction of his enemies, usually through massive displays of power and cunning. Her skill was subtler—though she could bash some heads in with her staff—and more of the traditional, spell casting variety.

  “I suspect it could work like the wind of time, but stronger,” Logan said.

  Sylvi’s brows rose. Some beings—like herself and the soulceresses Esha and Aurora—had the ability to utilize the wind of time, a spell that advanced time drastically until hundreds of years passed in seconds. Whatever the wind touched would be affected.

  “How do you know about that?” Sylvi asked. It was a fairly well-kept secret spell, as it was immensely dangerous.

  “I was caught in it once,” Logan said. “Ian saved me. It’s how we met.”

  She hefted the heart in her hands, squinting at the language engraved into its stylized curves and edges. “I think it could destroy the labyrinth. If it was operated by a witch or sorceress who can control the wind of time, then it could be used to accelerate even the wind.”

  “Until something as large as the labyrinth crumbles to dust,” Logan said.

  A thrill of excitement surged through Sylvi. This could be their answer. “I’ll deploy it of course.”

  Logan’s gaze whipped to her. “No, you—” He snapped his mouth shut. “Fine. You should do it.”

  A deep scowl cut across Logan’s face. She knew he’d wanted to tell her she couldn’t because it was too dangerous, but he’d stopped himself. Why? To prove that he wasn’t trying to be such an arrogant know-it-all who would let her make her own decisions?

  “We’ll ask your friends for backup,” he added.

  Her gaze shot up to meet his. This was the first time he’d suggested seeking help from someone else. She reminded herself not to look too deeply into it or anything else.

  “I’m going to sit here a while and try to get a handle on the magic in this thing,” she said. “Why don’t you invite everyone over?”

  “Not yet. You need to heal some more. It’s nearly eight at night now. Rest, then we’ll convene tomorrow.”

  “I’m fine.” She shifted to get out of bed to show him how fine she was and had to stifle a groan of pain. “Okay, I’m not fine. But I should be fine tomorrow night.” They still had a week until it was complete, so they had time, right?

  “All right.”

  She glanced down at the metal in her hands and said the words she really didn’t want to. “I would be able to do this better if I could be out under the stars.”

  He nodded and surged to his feet. She was grateful she hadn’t had to ask him to carry her—he’d just known. At the time when she wanted to get away from him the most, she was too weak to do anything by herself.

  And maybe she didn’t want to get away from him all that badly.

  He grabbed the sweater that was draped over the dresser and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” She tugged it on.

  He draped the throw that was on the foot of her bed over his shoulder, then picked her up. She flinched slightly at the soreness that streaked through every inch of her.

  “Sorry.” His voice was rough and his gaze pained as it ran over her body. He carried her carefully out onto her lawn. “Where to?”

  She pointed to a small hill about twenty yards distant. A lone oak rose from the gently rolling summit. He carried her there, clearly careful to limit any jostling, then lowered her to her feet.

  After he’d spread the blanket out, she sat atop it cross-legged and said, “You don’t have to stay out here.”

  “I will.” He walked over to the tree and leaned against the trunk.

  Sylvi tried to ignore his too-near presence while she directed her attention to the heavy lump of strange metal in her hand. She drew her staff from the aether to aid her magic, but her attention remained partially on Logan.

  It took her countless deep breaths and all her focus, but eventually the magic in the heart vibrated beneath her palm, strong and steady.

  Just like making her way through a labyrinth, she had to focus on unraveling the signature of the magic, finding her way around it until she could combine it with her own power over the wind of time.

  She discovered that the heart wasn’t just the Retaliator’s soul. In a sense, it was also the heart of the labyrinth. It had the power to create as well as to destroy, if only she could use it in the right way.

  Finally, she was exhausted and achy and thought she had enough of a handle on the heart that she could take a break. She opened her eyes and stretched.

  Logan was at her side in an instant. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” she said, trying not to be moved by the worry in his eyes.

  “Ready to go back in?”

  She nodded and he helped her to her feet. Though all her bones felt mended and steady, her muscles ached like she was in the middle of a bad flu. She was sure she looked like some type of woodland creature—not the cute kind—and smelled like one, too.

  She sure could use a bath.

  Logan grabbed the blanket, then swept her up into his arms and asked, “How about I draw you a bath when we get bac
k?”

  His timing was too perfect. She almost groaned in anticipation. Instead, she tried to say cooly, “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  It didn’t take him long to carry her from the hill to her house. He sat her on her bed and disappeared through the door to draw the bath. She wanted to get up and walk into the bathroom, but when she tried to stand, her thighs trembled so badly she collapsed back onto the bed.

  This sucked. It looked like she’d be staying here until he came to get her.

  He appeared in the doorway moments later and made his way to her.

  “I can walk if you’ll just help me—”

  “You can’t,” he said and swept her up into his arms.

  The feebleness that pervaded her muscles agreed with his statement. She clung to him, hating her weakness but loving his strength.

  Fitting into the tiny bathroom together was tight, but he maneuvered her until she sat on the toilet seat. By now, her muscles felt like they were made of melted wax and her eyelids were drooping.

  Still, she pushed at him and said, “Go. I can do this.”

  “You’re dead on your feet. I won’t look. Let me help you.”

  “No.” She pushed him again, but ruined it by swaying.

  “Just let me take care of you, damn it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to, all right? I want to take care of you for the rest of your damn life because I care for you.”

  That shut her up. His determination, combined with the jelly-like state of her muscles, made her realize that this was a lost cause. And she wanted this bath so very badly.

  “Fine. Don’t look.”

  He averted his eyes as he gently undressed her, but his jaw was clenched. His big hands skimmed over her flesh, raising goose bumps in their wake that made her shiver. He was careful as he lifted her and placed her in the steamy water.

  The most sublime sensation of comfort rushed over her as the warm water enveloped her. She wanted to soak in here forever, washing away the sticky filth of her journey to Svalbard and the aches in her muscles. The pleasure carried her away on a cloud.