Free The Apple Throne by Tessa Gratton

the saucer. Amon makes a sound caught between gasp and groan. I jostle tea over the edge of the mug in a shock of fear. “What is it?”
    He uses his broad shoulders to block the monitor. “Just relax, all right? I found a breaking news link about your boy.”
    “Tell me he’s alive,” I whisper.
    Amon pushes up from his stool, still blocking my view. He takes my arms. “He’s alive.” This near, I can see tiny shivers of lightning creep around his pupils.
    “
Let me see
.”
    “You have to promise to stay calm. I know what gods are like when they get upset. Storms and cracks in the world and shapeshifting skit.” His hands tighten. “But I also know I’m strong enough to hold you like this forever.”
    I laugh desperately; I have no power to draw lightning or split the earth. I can’t even seeth anymore. “Let me see it.”
    “What’s going on?” calls the barista.
    “Nothing,” Amon and I say at once.
    “Show me,” I whisper to him as the girl turns on the coffee grinder. It shrieks for us.
    Amon gently releases one shoulder and draws me forward with the other. He’s got a news story pulled up. There’s Soren’s face, blank and exhausted. My pulse pummels my ears. I reach out and touch the old screen, shivering at the static against my skin. The headline under his chin reads:
SUN’S BERSERK ARRESTED FOR MURDER.

FOUR
    T he information is spare, and my fingers shake so much Amon pulls me off the stool by my waist and takes over. He shows me that most of the articles draw on a single original, from a place called Eureka in Alta California.
    It happened the morning of Yule. Reports claim Soren stopped a car from leaving its driveway with his bare hands, ripped off the driver’s door, and flung a man out so hard his neck snapped on impact.
    There’s one witness who says Soren wasn’t even frenzied, and another who says he definitely was, because how else could he have ripped the door off? Most of the witnesses condemn Soren outright.
Unprovoked
.
Premeditated. Blood will out
.
    My throat closes, and I can’t stand the rich coffee smells. I cover my mouth. I know absolutely Soren did not murder anybody.
    But there’s a dead man.
    And Soren is in jail.
    At least I know he is alive.
    He must be so full of despair. Thinking of his own father, Styrr Bearskin, who infamously went berserk in a mall when Soren was eight years old and killed thirteen innocent people.
    I’ve never seen Soren avoid my eyes as he did when he told me that story. He looked anywhere but at me, then would suddenly snap that hot gaze right to mine and not let go. As if I was the only thing to keep him focused. Keep him sane. I must get to him.
    “Idun,” Amon says quietly. “Hey, jilly. You’re staring through the computer. You see something on the other side?”
    I blink slowly, until my eyes alight again upon the screen. I click through to another image of Soren. It’s kinder, in full color. His shoulder leans into Baldur’s, and they’re laughing about something.
    “Take me there,” I whisper.
    “Huh?”
    “Take me to Eureka. To Soren.”
    Amon neither pulls a face nor even looks surprised. Only resigned. “It’s about a twelve-hour drive, maybe more if the snow’s bad, but I’ll take you.”
    That was easy. “Why?”
    “What the skit else should a person do? Leave you on the side of the road?”
    “Some would.”
    “I’ve met him.”
    “Soren?”
    The godling tugs at his eyebrow ring. “A year or so ago. At Bright Home. He was looking for
you
now I recall. Asking why Idun wasn’t at a Hallowblot sacrifice.”
    “I only attend the quarter celebrations.”
    “That’s what I told him and offered to hook him up with one of the disir-daughters. They love a good buzz.” Amon grins slyly, as if to imply Soren might have taken him up on it.
    I return a level gaze. He can’t fool me so easily. “You know he’s no murderer.”
    “I think anybody could murder, given the circumstance.”
    Grabbing to-go cups