Winter Lost

“Ragnarok,” I said, pronouncing it like most Americans would. Then more properly with rolled “r’s” and umlaut “o,” the way Zee said it: “Ragnarök. You believe that this marriage holds fate at bay. By preventing Ragnarök.”

“Indeed,” agreed Liam.

“The end of the world.” I wanted to scoff. I didn’t believe in fate. Didn’t want to believe in fate. But my instincts were standing up and paying attention, telling me that this explanation would account for our adventures thus far. This explanation was big and fantastic enough to include an ancient frost giant who could take the form of a gryphon. Big enough for a storm of epic proportions and a holy place in the wilderness full of supernatural people gathered under one roof.

What in the world had Gary been mixed up in?

To make sure I had this right, I said, “You believe that if we don’t stop the storm so the marriage can take place, Garmr is going to be freed and the world will end.”

Liam gave me a faint smile that held no amusement. “If the wedding participants cannot make it here because of the storm, if the marriage doesn’t take place, Ragnarök will begin.”

“You bring me on such interesting adventures, my love,” said Adam. “What is Garmr?”

My mouth was dry so I had to swallow. I had thought we were here to save my brother, and prevent the dozen or so deaths that a storm like this would bring. The end of the world was a pretty exponential leap in consequence. Not that I believed in Ragnarok, I reminded myself.

“Garmr is the wolf—or dog, or something canid—who guards the gates of Hel—that’s one ‘l,’ not two,” I told Adam, because Liam had made no effort to answer. “According to legend, he breaks free from his chains”—I glanced over at Liam, who shrugged—“or some kind of binding, anyway. Once he is free, he bays or howls or cries out and announces the start of Ragnarok.”

“The end of the world,” Adam said. “Is that real?”

“This”—I gestured out at the storm and waved my hands to encompass the events since my brother showed up—“feels like someone believes this marriage is important to stop.”

Liam said, his voice a near whisper, “I believe.” He turned back to the storm. I couldn’t tell if he was looking for something out there or if he didn’t want us to see his face.

“When Zane Heddar bought this place ten years ago, I was called here to prepare it for this wedding.”

He put his fist against his heart. The wind chose that moment to beat especially hard against the windows.

“Real enough, maybe, that someone enraged a frost giant to prevent the marriage,” Adam said, linking our story to his. His words hung in the air for a moment.

Liam nodded. “That is my thought. If finding the artifact will stop this storm, I will help you in any way that I can—as long as it does not interfere with my primary objective, which is to see this wedding accomplished.”

“Does that include information?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Andrew and Dylis Heddar are both fae,” I said. “The fae are immortal. How does that work?”

“Ah.” Liam took time to organize his thoughts. “Andrew is entirely mortal, though you are right that he carries fae blood. His great-great-grandmother was a fae woman. He has some magic, though I am unclear on exactly what he can and cannot do with it. Dylis…” He sighed. “The binding spell is a Great Spell. There have never been very many of them. Whoever or whatever created it, they used wild magic, and it resonates in the bones of the people tied by blood or vow to the family.”

“She was attracted to the magic?” I hazarded. I remembered the glassy look in her eyes. “Addicted?”

“That’s a good word for it,” Liam said. “She feeds on it, and it feeds on her—as long as she is married to a member of the family.”

“Are we talking about ‘I am my own grandpa’?” said Adam somewhat obscurely. “Let me guess, she is also Andrew’s great-grandmother.”

“Great-great-grandmother. But she was also that husband’s great-grandmother.” Liam sighed. “She’s been marrying her own descendants every few generations. Andrew figured it out after Zane’s birth. I gather that is why Zane has no legitimate siblings. He’s not only the oldest child in his generation, he is the only legitimate child in his generation.”

Adam whistled in through his teeth.

“We think that the binding would also work with one of Andrew’s illegitimate children—they are still descendants of the last sacred marriage—but we don’t want to chance it.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Adam asked it before I could.