But while the door to the room is wide open, it’s not easy walking through. There’s a feeling of thickening air, like something solid pushing you back, similar to the feeling of walking through the tunnel under the waterfall.
“It’s the wards,” Lovia says, her face straining as she pushes forward and finally we both go stumbling through, my ears popping as I try not to trip over a rug.
“Father!” Lovia yells, searching the room, while I go straight to the window and peer out to see what’s happening.
Of course I can’t see a damn thing. The world is covered in the thickest layer of fog I’ve ever seen. I don’t even know if it is fog, maybe it’s smoke. Even though he’s been avoiding me, the weather hasn’t been too terrible the last few days. Not sunny like the day he told me I was marrying him, but it’s been pleasant. But this? It’s foul and I wonder if it’s all his doing.
“He’s not here,” Lovia says, sounding panicked. “Do you mind if I go look for him? I’ll be okay out there, and you’ll be safe in here. Just lock the door behind you and don’t leave this room. Okay? He’d kill me if something happened to you.”
I’m not planning on leaving, but I don’t want her leaving me either.
I swallow hard, feeling so scared I might vomit.
Somehow I have enough courage to nod. “If you say I’ll be fine here, then I’ll stay.”
“I’ll be right back,” she says. Then she marches over to a stand of armory in the corner, picks up a sword, twirls it around in her hand, and then grins at it in satisfaction before heading through the wards again and out the door.
I quickly head to the door and fight through the ward again to lock it. Then I turn around and face the room, wondering what the hell is going on.
Some fucking wedding day. The groom doesn’t show up and then the venue gets bombed.
The little attempt at humor falls flat though when the castle shakes again, though subtle now, the boom sounding far off. Either the attack is subsiding or the wards really do have me protected.
I sit down on the end of Death’s bed and try to think. Of course it’s bigger than king-sized and all black satin and velvet, with iron posts and skulls in the corners. Definitely didn’t get this at Ikea either.
Another distant boom sends the mirrors rattling against the walls and I get up, wondering if I should huddle under something just in case. I’ve had my fair share of earthquake drills, but when the actual earthquakes shake up Los Angeles a few times a year, I usually spend most of the time thinking about taking shelter but not actually doing it.
Another boom makes the walls tremble and my heart leaps in my chest. It’s been racing steadily this whole time and I have to remind myself to breathe in deeply, in case I fall victim to a panic attack. Somehow I’ve survived all of Tuonela without really having one, but now I feel utterly alone for the first time.
What if everyone dies? What if this is part of the uprising?
What will the Old Gods do to me if they find me? Gouge my eyes out like the old believers? Will I be sent to Oblivion? Or to Inmost for eternity, to be turned into a Deadmaiden for them? What horrors do they inflict on mortals engaged to Gods?
Okay, now I’m having a panic attack.
Suddenly there’s a tapping at the window.
I can’t help but scream.
I whip around and look, terror seizing me, expecting to see the eye of a giant at the window, saying “Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum, I smell the blood of a social media manager.”
But no.
It’s Rasmus.
I don’t know how, but it’s fucking Rasmus.
He’s sitting outside the window, a window that’s hundreds of feet up in the air. His red hair is tousled by the high winds and he’s waving at me, like he just stopped by after dinner to see if I was home, wanting a beer and a chat.
“What the hell?” I say, rushing over to him. I fling the window open, careful not to hit him with it. “Rasmus?” I cry out, blinking fast at the wind in my eyes.
“Hanna,” he says, flashing me a triumphant smile. “You knew I was coming back for you, didn’t you?”
I stare at him. This can’t be real. I have to be hallucinating.
“How are you even…？” I begin, and then I realize he’s crouched on a gargoyle of a wolf just below the window. My fear of heights kicks in and I have to grab the window frame to steady me.
“Are you ready?” he asks, then he frowns at my dress. “You look ready for something else. Catch you at a bad time?”