The dragon lowered its snout and sniffed the woman beneath its wings. Then it growled furiously and pierced Tryg with its two vertical pupils, its bright white eyes, white clouds escaping from its snorting nostrils. Its fury, somehow, reminded him of a dog staring at the murderer of its owner.
Trembling, Tryg took a cautious step back. Even if he still wanted to face the witch, even if he healed the wound in his shoulder, he had lost his only weapon. If it was already arduous to defeat a Revenant with only a dagger, he could only imagine how unlikely it would be to defeat a dragon like that.
Keeping his face focused on the beast, he glanced toward the Raven Tree and frowned. The answers were so close...
"Satisfied?" Sinmara said, suddenly appearing beside him. Or perhaps she had been nearby the entire time. He could not tell; he had not paid attention to the queen during the fight.
"Not yet," he retorted, holding his bleeding shoulder, crimson drops dripping from the tips of his fingers. He turned his attention back to the great beast and asked, "Is it normal to see a dragon protecting a Revenant?"
At the edge of his vision, he could see the fox seated, unchanged, looking in the same direction as him. "No. But she is not an ordinary Revenant — she is the Raven Keeper, and that dragon is her guardian. If I am not mistaken, his name is 'The Pale One,' or something even less creative."
The dragon opened its enormous maw and unleashed a furious, deafening roar. When it quieted, it closed its mouth and stared deep into Tryg's eyes. Cerulean flames escaped between the beast's teeth. The shadows were not necessary to realize that a devastating attack was on its way.
"Time to go," Sinmara said, touching Tryg's leg with one paw.
"What?!"
Blue ice sprouted beneath his boots and climbed up his legs, immobilizing him. At the same time, Niflheim's mist surrounded them, spinning, forming a restless and impassable tornado.
"No!" Tryg exclaimed, but just as he had not listened to the queen during the fight, she also did not care about his plea.
The dragon spat a torrent of incandescent and freezing blue flames. However, neither Tryg nor Sinmara saw the destructive results of the attack. Both were already far from the Raven Tree and back at the Idun Tree.
The ice freezing his feet cracked and shattered into thousands of glittering particles. Tryg fell to his knees, driving his hands into the ground. He was not tired. He felt no pain.
"Why...?" he asked the fox beside him, his voice broken. "Why did you take me away from there...?"
He wanted to throw a tantrum. He wanted to let the tears flow out of him. But anger was greater. Anger was better. Anger suppressed everything.
"If I had not taken you away from there, what do you think would have happened? You can barely defeat a Revenant and you already wanted to charge at a dragon like that?"
"I needed to try!" he shouted, gripping the snow. "You had no right."
"What did you say?"
"I said—"
"Look at me, boy!"
When he lifted his gaze, Sinmara was almost pressing her wrinkled snout against his nose. Her eyes, once white, now cerulean, burned with a powerful and irritated conflagration, ancient flames with thousands of years of experience.
Tryg shuddered. He had been so blessed by the queen's graces that, for a brief time, he had forgotten how frightening she could be.
"Watch how you speak to me, boy," she declared, harshly. "I had no right? Have you forgotten where you are standing at this exact moment? I have the right to do whatever I please. I could very well turn you into a pile of frozen bones if I wished.
Stolen novel; please report.
"I may have been lenient with you until now, but do not mistake my kindness for servitude. I am not your friend. I have no reason to help you. And I also have no reason not to help you. But dare use that tone with me again, and I swear my empathy will quickly become the greatest regret you will have in your short life."
Tryg's impulsive words became trapped in his throat. Not only because of the queen's terrifying authority. But mainly because of the realization caused by it — the realization of his own foolishness and ingratitude.
He had no right to demand anything from Sinmara, much less to be angry with her. After all, she had not only spared his life when they met, but had also saved it not once, but twice since then.
She had allowed him to enjoy the Fruits of Idun. She had helped him understand the labyrinth's temporal effect. She had taken him to the Raven Tree so he could try to speak with his mother. A chance that, perhaps, Tryg had just thrown away with the idiotic fight his lack of control had caused. And one that had certainly hurt the person who had been helping him far more than she needed to.
Guilt made Tryg's head hang, his eyelids heavy.
"Forgive me, Lady Sinmara," he said, his voice low. "I lost control. Not because of you, but because of my mother. Just imagining her alone, suffering, waiting for me..." He drew a deep breath. "But that doesn't give me the right to speak to you as if you owed me anything."
His fingers sank into the snow, blood running down his wounded arm.
"You've already done more for me than most would, more than any god would... I was unfair. And ungrateful. I'm sorry..."
Silence. For a long moment, nothing was heard but the cold wind whistling over the cliff. However, one shameful eternity later, the queen finally answered:
"Yes. Yes, you were." She sighed. "But recognizing your own stupidity is already a beginning."
Tryg lifted his head and managed a restrained smile. "Yeah, I suppose so..."
"Come." She walked over and sat upon one of the tree's roots, then looked at him. "I want you to tell me everything about your mother's illness, from the beginning. Do not leave out a single detail."
He rose, a quiet excitement growing inside him. Of course, he had already considered the possibility that Sinmara, with all her vast and ancient knowledge, might have some idea of what afflicted Frida and, with luck, even know a cure. However, he had also believed that Hildisvíni, being who he was and working for whom he worked, might be able to help as well, as he promised.
Tryg did not want to ask the queen for more than he had already been receiving from her. But now that she herself had suggested it, and now that his mother's condition had worsened, he did not hold back. After sitting beside her and taking one of the Fruits of Idun from his bag to heal himself, he let everything out.
He told her that Frida's mysterious illness had always been present, ever since he was only a child. He described how the symptoms were easy to ignore at first — symptoms of illnesses as common as any others — but how, over the years, they had gradually worsened — dry coughs that began to expel blood; fevers that became more frequent; pains in her limbs so strong they kept her from doing anything for days. He emphasized that the worst decline had occurred after they moved to Asgard, or, considering what the ravens had revealed, perhaps more recently, after he was separated from her and transported to Niflheim.
"Is that all?"
Tryg nodded, heavy-hearted. Remembering all of that was not a pleasant experience. "Yes. I don't think I forgot anything."
The fox brought a paw to her mouth, her thoughtful gaze lowered.
He stared at her, a drop of hope falling into the dark sea that was his mind. "Do you know what she has?"
"Perhaps... Are you certain your mother is Midgardian?"
"I am. But—"
"Then it is your father," she interrupted him. "You do not know him, and your mother never told you who he was, I imagine..."
Tryg raised an eyebrow. "No. But what does he have to do with her illness?"
"Nothing. Not directly, at least. The true cause of the symptoms is your mother and you."
"What?! What do you mean?"
"First, listen. Then ask your questions."
Sinmara paused, then began, "The illness your mother has is not common in any way, as you once thought. It is rare and happens only to people who have a nature like yours, but one that is constantly suppressed."
"Wait... Are you saying what I am made her sick?"
"By Surtr, you must be deaf... Questions. Later. And no, you did not make her sick, not directly, at least. What causes your mother's symptoms is not what you are, but the fact that the two of you keep trying to hide it."
Tryg widened his eyes, but kept his mouth shut.
"You do not know you are hurting her. Nor does she know she is hurting herself, probably. You must think she was cursed by vile beings or that she was simply born with terrible luck. But your mother's suffering is simpler than you think.
"Every time she chose not to tell you about your father or your nature. Every time she tried to keep you from reaching the truth. Every time you lied to yourself about what you are. Every time you forced yourself to forget the lineage running through your veins... All the lies that tried to make you ignore your true nature — whether yours or hers — made her sick. That is why she got worse when she arrived in Asgard. That is why she got even worse when some of your suppressed gifts finally awakened during Ragnarök and you began using them more often, here in Niflheim.
"The lies are the illness. And the truth, and only the whole truth, can cure her."