Night Out

This flash piece is a rough draft of a scene from the prequel novel of The Prophecies of Ragnarok, a Norse mythology based new adult series I'm currently writing with Meri Benson. It may or may not end up in the final version of the novel. This was also written in response to 8Letters' #31Letters challenge, an invitation to write every day for the whole month of January.

Here are the shorts we've written so far for the prequel, in chronological order:

• Birthright
• Ice Queen
• Quiet Time
• Tyr Lends A Hand
• Big Sister, Big Brother
• Just Friends
• Prison Break
• Escaping Asgard
• Marriage Plans
• New Normal
• Hunting Trip
• Night Out (this story)
• Brother's Keeper
• Final Hour
• Better Off Gone
• Resistance and Steps
• Forsaken
• Revenge Served With Rage
• Goodbye, Good Friend
• Inheritance
• A Winter's Bargain
• Death Finds All
• Homecoming
• Reconnection
• The Hour of the Wolf

Hotel Fen, the first published book of the series, follows after this point.

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In Norse mythology, Hel is said to preside over an underworld realm where she receives a portion of the dead. She is referred to as a daughter of Loki, and is described as having been appointed by the god Odin as ruler of a realm of the same name, located in Niflheim. Her appearance is described as half blue and half flesh-colored, and further as having a gloomy, downcast appearance.

Hodr is the blind son of Odin and Frigg, who is tricked and guided by Loki into shooting a mistletoe arrow which was to slay the otherwise invulnerable Baldr, his twin brother.

(Wikipedia)

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The royal palace of Alfheim glittered, but in a way completely unlike Asgard's golden halls. The castle was ancient, made of stone long weathered by time, but the stones have a sparkly sheen to them — faerie dust, or so they were called by the Midgardians. Even the air twinkled with them, giving the premises a dreamy, ethereal look, only made stronger by the flowers that seemed to bloom everywhere, from the cracks in the stone pillars to the beams on the ceiling. The floor, instead of marble, was covered in grass.

The Fae were very easy to spot. They were fair of skin and hair, and so much paler than their Jotnar cousins. They dressed in light, breezy fabrics with gold and floral accents, with the ladies even sporting wings of various designs, the largest and most complex belonging to the queen herself. Seated on her throne, she looked like an oversized butterfly perched atop the ruins of a long-forgotten kingdom, her wings almost translucent, colors shifting along the spectrum of the rainbow.

"On second thought," Skadi whispered into Geiravor's ear, "I'll marry Njord. You can't make me do this, not even for Jotunheim."

Geiravor laughed, bumping her cousin's shoulder with hers. Their meeting with the Vanir had gone unexpectedly well — largely due to the coincidence of Frey having fallen in love with a Jotunn. Frey had been so taken by Gerdr that he'd done nothing but pine for her in the months since he'd first seen her, and his father, Njord, was at his wit's end. Geiravor had been all too happy to offer to help broker the marriage, in exchange for a few favors.

Thus they proceeded to Alfheim, where the girls planned to woo one of Finvarra's seventeen sons, or even the king himself, who was well-known to be generous in his boons and with a weakness for beautiful women. Geiravor and Skadi were certainly beautiful, but more importantly, they had the ability to make themselves beautiful. Beauty was in the eyes of the beholder, after all.

They had another reason to come to the feast in glamour, however. Finvarra had opened the doors of his palace to nearly everyone across the realms. If anyone would love a wild party — and the feasting was wild, with wines that knocked mortals out with a drop, and bizarre herbal concoctions that made even the most proper of the Fae lords lose their inhibitions in public — it would be the Aesir.

The Aesir, who wanted Geiravor and her loyalists dead.

That was why Geiravor chose to look like an Aesir that night, giving herself dark red curls and ice blue eyes. Gold arm rings adorned her upper arms. She wore an extravagant, tight-fitting emerald gown that shimmered like those of the Fae, with a low neckline and a high slit that sent eyes staring at anywhere but her face. She hated the attention, but it was necessary if they were to seamlessly blend in. Skadi, on the other hand, was immaculate in black, her hair pulled severely back into a tight bun; she'd refused anything more colorful or outrageous.

"I really think you should lose the flowers," Skadi insisted, picking up two goblets of purple Fae wine and handing one over to her queen.

"Have you seen this place? There's nothing but flowers." Geiravor's hair was loose, but she'd weaved several strands of it together and secured it to the back of her head with a small pin. Attached to the pin was a small, unassuming clump of silver ice-flowers.

"Not those flowers." Skadi gave her a look that practically said she was being stupid. Which, maybe, she was. Not that she was going to admit it. Or admit to the reason why she'd decided to wear such an accessory in the first place when it was entirely unnecessary. "What if someone recognizes them?"

"What, silverfrost? They're weeds." She really had a penchant for insignificant and discarded things. Why else would her favorite flower be that of a weed? "Not even an Aesir would know what they are, not without coming close enough and staring past my ass."

"Uh huh." Skadi remained unconvinced. "Except a certain Aesir prince."

Geiravor scoffed. "He won't be here." She took a sip of her wine and nearly gagged. It was strong. "He has no reason to be."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that, dear cousin." Skadi pointed to a doorway somewhere down the hall, to their left, with her goblet. "Isn't that Baldr?"