Page 149 of Blood of Ancients

I looked back again, an ugly sob ripping past my throat again, and cried harder. I looked . . . inhuman. Disgusting.

Despite my outward appearance, I also felt rejuvenated and stronger. My blood flowed with energy I couldn’t explain. Sniffing, I could smell scents I’d never smelled before, mixing with the musk of my men and the dustiness of the room and the sterile motes of Elayina’s magic. My vision was razor-sharp, taking in tiny details that would go unseen before, like the pores on my mates’ faces.

Corym remained kneeled, bowing his head with a fist on the floor. Clearly, he knew more about this transformation I’d gone through than I did.

I spun around, nearly smacking my new wings against Sven and Grim—

And found Lady Elayina, ancient half-elf seer and daughter to Queen Amisara of legend, also kneeling before me. When she lifted her face, tears trickled down her cheeks and got caught in the divots of her wrinkles. Her chin trembled. She saidsomething in Elvish, then stared into my eyes. “Lightbearer,” she croaked in a weak voice. “The prophecy is true.”

I breathed heavily, shaking my head. “H-How?” I asked. “What . . . whatamI, Elayina?”

Corym finally rose, walking past me to help the old elf up on creaking knees. Arne joined my side with Sven and Grim. The three of them stayed huddled by me.

“You are the Winged One, child,” Elayina said. She rattled off the other names from her prophecy. “The one who flew. The enemy of our enemies. The one we have waited for.Ser’karioth.The last dragonkin.”

At mention of the final title, my mouth dropped. I was sweating. My eyes burned from tears and perspiration dripping into them. I felt exhausted yet stronger than I’d ever felt, as if the Runesphere had truly awoken something inside me more than just the physical wings.

I knew Elayina spoke the truth. It was written on my back, on my face, in my blood. I could deny it no longer. I was not a simple half-elven bog-blood born to a destroyed family line. I wasimportant—more important than I could ever fathom.

Why me?I wondered.

The question never left my lips.

A new question formed, fit to match the new appearance I sported and was trying desperately to figure out.

Whynotme?

“There is a lesser-known name among your people for what you have unveiled, Ravinica.” Elayina clasped her hands in the sleeves of her cloak. “Floating around the secret halls of your academy, matching the grit of your people.”

Her face was brittle and leathery—nearly as leathery and waxy looking as my new dragon wings—as she smiled roguishly at me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The Last Valkyrie.”

My mates let out sounds of shock and concern.

We all knew the valkyries of myth and legend. The warrior maidens who traveled the sky on winged steeds down from the heavens, to gather the dead soldiers of battle and bring them to Valhalla. The most well-respected and admired host of our pantheon.

I blinked at her. “W-Why? What do valkyries have to do with anelvenprophecy?”

“Our people have always been closely aligned, lass, despite our differences over the past thousand years. Our gods and goddesses, the Aesir and Vanir, have intermingled just as often as elves and humans themselves.” She swept a hand out at me. “The proof is on your face—in your ears, your silver hair. The question should not bewhyis this so, butwhatdoes it mean?”

I tilted my head. “Care to venture a guess, Ancient One?”

She squinted at me through baggy lids, taking a long gander. A minute of pin-drop silence passed . . . and then she started chuckling. She palmed her forehead in disbelief, looking away, and her chuckle turned into a roar of laughter—so loud and cackling it made me and my mates exchange worried looks.

Our looks said,Has she finally lost it completely?

Through her laughter, she turned away and tapped the glass holding the Runesphere. “Oh, but the spiritsaretricksters and jesters, aren’t they? Damn the gods—they have a sense of humor!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Recall the prophecy, lass.” She spun to me and paced in front of my group. “‘Fly me toon wings of leather, not feather.’” Then she pointed at my wings . . .

Which had the scales and leathery musculature of dragons, not the feathers of angels or gods—the kind of wings valkyries had always been associated with.

“It is a prophecy of valkyries bringing the dead to the golden shores. The pearly gates. Whatever you want to call it. The afterlife.” She shook her head, sighing. “It’s a theory many academics have had: The valkyries were actually dragonkin bringing their carrion from one field to their feeding grounds. But people looking up from the ground, at a distance, simply saw women of great splendor riding winged steeds. The valkyrie must have been serpents themselves!”

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