Excerpt from “The Usurper Queen Book IV: The Crown of Salt and Smoke”
“Then let me see what happens to the ones who stood where I stand,” she said. “Let me see where they burned, and why they rose.”
His eyes flicked, quick and bright as a fish turning in dark water. For a heartbeat, she thought he might refuse. Instead, he shifted his hand in hers so their fingers meshed like branches.
“Remember,” Freyr said softly. “This is a house of memory. You will be shown. You are not asked to approve.”
“I’ve approved of worse,” she said, and if her voice was dry, it was only to keep it from shaking.
“Truth will prove if you have the stomach for what is to come,” he spoke plainly. She wasn’t sure if it was a benediction or a warning or both.
Cold noticed her again in Odin’s shadowed rafters. Freyr slipped his cloak from his shoulders and placed it upon her bare form before he reached for her hand again, leading her deeper into the hall, where a crowd of people gathered that she hadn’t noticed before.
The hall was filled with bodies, and music rose to the rafters. The skald playing was likely the most skilled Indunna had ever heard. She wondered if she could sit for longer and listen, perhaps sample the life of Odin’s hall for a moment longer before death brought her there. Instead, Freyr’s arm on her shoulder pulled her forward.
“Be on your guard, you as the Vanir here,” He whispered in her ear, before standing once more to his full height.
The golden-haired god led her through the throng. There, Indunna got a better look at the dais, at the center of the hall between the great roaring hearths. On the dais, a golden-tongued skald plucked a lyre, Bragi, surely; beside him sat a woman staring with fawning eyes. Her own namesake, Indun. Not far from them sat two identical men; likely, they were Odin’s twin brothers, Vili and Ve. Between them sat a woman worrying the glass beads hanging from the brooch at her throat. Her long hair was braided over one shoulder, and her face glowed with a maternal warmth despite the crease in her brow as she twisted the beads endlessly. If Indunna had to guess, the woman was Odin’s wife Frigg.
This could be any hall of any Jarl or Chieftain of old, where guests gathered on a winter night to stave off the cold and seek entertainment in safety.
As they stood among the crowd, a woman approached them, her golden hair unbound, her face poised and beautiful. Indunna knew she felt familiar, and when she looked closer, she realized that she was Freyr’s sister, Freja.
“They’ve been out there a long time,” Freja said in a low tone, as she moved closer to her brother’s shoulder.
He nodded absently, watching the Aesir shifting around them, watching them like unwelcome guests.
“Freyr, should we go to her?” The blonde woman asked, her curls cascading over her shoulders.
Before he could answer, the door to the hall burst open, and a man strode in with a woman at his side, caught in an iron grip. The woman was dressed similarly to how Indunna had seen the elves adorn themselves, in blue skirts, with tightly woven bands belting her dress tight against her ribs. Her long brown hair was worn in braids that fell midway down her back. She had a wicked smirk upon her lips, as if whatever had transpired between her and the man was amusing to her.
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