All Chapters of The Troll Queen's Bride: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Yolanda and I alighted on the light elf terrain:Alien glimmers of the whitewashed, satin blue, finely featured elves, who towered over us in silken, slender forms, held out pearl gray mushrooms and glowing yellow fruits, circling us in a whirlwind as their crystal palaces and strange, arcane stone temples blurred as they fractaled.The tribe of Ljossalfar splintered like ice.Terrified, I looked up into Yola's arms. She put her plush eagle wings in a vice around me, the cinnamon and cloves of her skin darkening my vision. She cried out, as if a stabbing pain from the light of the dead - as the dark elves and light elves had spirits of the disir and alfar, our ancestors... transformed into something forbidden - was crushing her lungs and spine.Her flesh grew hot, and we both screamed.Suddenly, silence, and eldritch cold."Is this an initiation into the Land of the Dead, Helheim? Are we trespassing?"I kept my eyes shut, shrouded by

Yolanda and I woke up as dusk tinged the sky. Panicked, in her twisting wings, and soaked with gray sleet to the bone, I ruffled her muddy cheek, then pressed my ear to her godstone amethyst heart:The pulse had slowed to a crawl.The gravestones of runes danced with light elf ghosts, so transparent, they looked like fog. The arcane, alien figures did not look at us, eyes gutted and blind, salt in their mouth, for they were the dead.Skadhi's Bow was merciless above, and Mani's moon was a fingernail, scratching at the surface of the night. I sat and watched them, ageless, cast out - cursed. Yolanda stirred in my arms, and in silent remembrance, we watched the milky stars of Audhumla pour forth from the Great Mother Auroch's udders.We cross ourselves with Uhruz, rune of the ox.Yolanda had bitter grapes in her mouth. She spat out dirt and sand. Suddenly, I felt dry clay and earth on my own palate, and spat it out in repulsion."Look at our f

He put me down gingerly before the guards. “She is my guest,” Samael said, arm around my shoulder. I shuffled in his grasp, made uncomfortable by the closeness. The guards bowed lowly.“We have arranged for a proper means of transport,” one said. “They await beyond the gates.”“Many thanks. Fianna, if I could escort you?” Samael proferred his arm in an old-fashioned manner. I rested my forearm on his, wary of the contact. He smiled. “The pleasure is all mine.”“You'll escort me straight off a cliff,” I muttered, gloomy. The last thing I wanted to do was enter a hell mouth to meet Samael's brothers. People might think angels were nothing but love, light, and hallelujahs, but I knew better. They were just as vicious as their fallen brethren, even more so when executing the will of God.I caught my breath as we entered, gazing out upon a scene of unearthly beauty. “Impossible,” I whispered. Ancient trees in fantastical shapes formed innumerable groves, their trunks thick as

“Perhaps we don't.” His lips curled in secret amusement. “How am I to know if my actions were not always God's intending? That the suffering my rebellion brought was all in His plans? I make choices, never knowing if the Lord's dictations are behind them, as He pulls strings of fate eons away...” He helped me down from the hearse and led me to the small path. “Would it surprise you if I still considered myself God's servant?”“Yes.”He smiled sadly. “I was never given a choice in my servitude, you know. It is a role I cannot escape, like a brand pressed over one's heart. No matter what I do, I will never be rid of it.” He dismounted the buggy and docked Pallor at the base of the oak tree. “The path continues on foot from here,” he said, helping me down.“What? Where's the grand entrance to the mouth of Hell?”“We're taking a back route so as not to attract attention.” He scouted the path ahead. “And what a lovely day for a stroll it is. Not a bit of blood-rain in sight.”

5,000 Years Later:Once upon a time, a dying father sold his child to the man of many names.Death is a judge, but he is also a lawyer, and he makes fit the scales of life to balance with his gall. Life for a life, blood for rain, and never a rose without a thorn. Stains of the earthly kind do not wash out, not when they are upon the soul, and the father’s girl was wine red. Born kicking and screaming with a birthmark in the shape of wings on her back. Her mother died in labor, for no one cheats the Reaper.The Devil always gets his due, and tithes to Hell named Janet end up betrothed to infernal Tam Lins. There is not much justice in fairytales, and Sam Hill takes all in time.Seven winters pass. She has the face of a starving angel. Her mother dies in labor in Bethlehem, one of the many Bethlehems that have sprung up since a mad messiah walked wild in the desert long ago with thorns and roses in his hair.The father does not remember his bargain.Each night, she has a visitor.“Daddy