Page 2 of Valkyrie Song

But it's been silent in the weeks since, not even speaking to Tori. Like with so much else, we're fumbling along blindly, hoping we hit the right combination to tap into the skills we need to reveal its secrets.

In two weeks, we've made very little progress.

Oh, we can all call our Light on command and link without hesitation now. Marion can hold the immense flow of our combined Light far more easily than she could when we fled through the Portal. We've become formidable weapons, no doubt.

But we're still stumbling in the dark, trying to work out how to tap into the Power we need to move beyond the Veil and save the souls the Forsaken intend to use to plunge every realm into eternal servitude.

Are my unsettled emotions the ones the Bifröst senses?

The question floats to the surface of my mind, unbidden. Part of me wants to automatically reject it, but I can't.

I can't help but wonder and doubt, either.

My sisters are all close, but there's a…distance between me and Marion that holds me back. It's not her doing. She accepted me with open arms. The distance is all my fault because I'm plagued by guilt that I got to know her parents, Rand and Simek, when she never did. They placed her in foster care when she was young to protect her from the Forsaken hunting us.

The Forsaken killed them trying to save her life…but before that, I spent months in their care. They rescued me the nightthe Forsaken murdered my family and hid me away until Marion and Abigail found me. I lived with them, learned from them.

Does Marion resent me for getting to know them in a way she'll never be able to do? She never says anything or treats me any differently—she's warm and kind—but still. Guilt prods at me every time I look at her.

Is that guilt preventing us from finding the answers we need? Is it what the Portal senses?

I stare at the reflective surface, hoping for an answer, but it remains frustratingly silent. As usual. It isn't dead, though. Part of it is alive and conscious. Warmth emanates from it in a steady pulse, like the beating of a heart.

The magic of the Bifrost is powerful, ancient. And not even the Fae entirely understand what it is or how it works. That knowledge was never shared with them.

I stare at the Portal for a long moment and then sigh and turn away. There are no answers to be found here today. Just like there were none yesterday or the day before.

I turn my chin up at Rhistel, earning a tiny, apologetic grin from the vicious warrior, and then slip back into the shadows of the forest surrounding Valhalla, heading back toward our barracks. Giant, towering trees grow up all around me as I stick to the edge of the forest. Their gnarled branches weave together in a delicate tangle overhead, as if to hide the valley they protect from view. I don't think that's going to be a problem, though. Aside from the Fae who came through the Portal with us, Valhalla is silent.

Asgard, directly on the other side of the Bifröst, is too. That shining city is as much a relic as Valhalla, a sad reminder that not even gods are infallible. The spires have toppled, and moss and ivy have overtaken most of the buildings. Like Valhalla, it died a long, long time ago. But unlike the haven Odin made forthe Valkyrie here, Asgard won't rise again. There are no gods left to breathe life back into its hallowed halls.

When Asgard fell during Ragnarök, it fell forever.

A branch snaps behind me as I'm picking my way through the ruins of an old Fae building—an outpost of some sort, I think. My heart leaps into my throat, anxiety swirling through me.

Is it the Forsaken?

Ha! Unlikely. There are a dozen Fae warriors guarding the Portal every moment of the day. Tori and Reaper, her mate, spend most of their time at the Bifröst, too. She feels a connection to the Portal none of us do. The Fae have started calling her theHirðir, or Guardian. Reaper never looks happy when they say it.

More than likely, the sound is Stephan following me again. Frustrated confusion weaves through me at the reminder of the human warrior who acts like my shadow.

I don't understand him at all! When we're with the Fae, he always has a quick smile and a joke. But when he looks at me, he's always so somber and serious. He rarely speaks to me at all. And even though he's been following me ever since we came through the Portal, he never tries to approach me. He just…lurks in the shadows as if he thinks I won't notice him.

It's impossible to miss him!

He's beautiful in a rugged, battle-worn kind of way, with piercing gray eyes and scars that probably would have killed most men. But I don't think he's like most men. He's one of the few Blooded warriors the Fae have welcomed deep into their inner circle, treating him like an equal instead of someone in need of protection.

I think it's because he's so damn fierce. There's a solid vein of strength and resilience in him that's fascinating. When most of the warriors have given up for the day, too exhausted to continue rebuilding, he's still hard at work, sweat pouring from him ashe manhandles logs into place or hammers away at nails with unfailing precision.

He was a Navy SEAL in a former life—before he came to live among the Fae, I mean. His training shows. He moves with the deadly grace of a predator, almost as fluidly as the Fae. The savage beauty of the man takes my breath away.

I can't deny the pull I feel toward him, even as his standoffish behavior confuses and frustrates me. I've tried to ignore the way my heart races when he looks at me, but it's becoming harder and harder to do. Especially since he insists on shadowing my every move, lurking just out of reach.

Another faint sound reaches me, and I duck behind a toppled pillar, reaching for my Light. It comes easily, flowing out of the almost limitless well and into me in bright rays that make my skin hum. I don't call much—not enough to give away my hiding spot. But if the Forsaken are out here, I intend to be ready. And if it's Stephan? Well, he doesn't get to hide in the shadows today.

It's my turn. And I've got questions.

I hold my breath, straining to hear.

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