The third (and last) book in a magic-laced, fast-paced, fantasy trilogy. With dragons.
I’m being pulled nine ways at once. Brand new mating. Brand new pregnancy. Stronger magic than I’m used to. The Nine Worlds are failing. Rot that began on Earth has spread to Vanaheim. Odin knows more than he’s telling us, and no one has any interest in working together.
The only thing everybody has in common is a sudden, weird fascination with my baby. The dragons want him raised on Fire Mountain. The Celts want us in Inverlochy Castle with them. Hel hasn’t weighed in, but I bet she’d like to see her grandson in Niflheim where she can dandle him on her knees every day.
If it weren’t for the catastrophe looming over our heads, Bjorn and I would escape to a distant borderworld and never look back. It’s always an option. Good to preserve as many of those as possible
Keep your fingers crossed for me. And my son. See you on the other side.
I'm basically a mountaineer at heart. I remember many hours at my desk where my body may have been stuck inside four walls, but my soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry. There's a timeless element to the mountains. They feel like old friends as I visit them, and visit them again. There's nothing like standing on a remote pass where I've been before and seeing that the vista is unchanged. Or on an equally remote peak. Mountains are the bones of the world. They'll prevail long after all of us are dust. It feels honest and humbling to share space with them. I hope I'm blessed with many more years to wander the local landscape. The memories are incomparable. They warm me and help me believe there will be something left for our children and their children after them.