by S. T. Bende
Frigga’s eyes darted to me, then back to Tyr. “A situation in Jotunheim requires the attention of the acting Goddess of Love.”
Silence descended on the three of us, Frigga’s unspoken words a dagger in my gut. Nanna was doing my job when her realm—and her husband—needed her. Whatever happened to Balder fell squarely on me.
Skit.
I drew my shoulders back and forced my gut to still. Calling up a strength I hadn’t felt in a long time, I narrowed my eyes and barked my orders. “Go to Nanna and tell her the jotuns can fend for themselves. Tyr, you and I will put a stop to this nonsense. Now.”
“Freya, I already attempted to—”
“I said now, Frigga.” Then, because Frigga was my queen, and not a valkyrie under my command, I added, “Sorry. Please.”
“Yande, inform Nanna she is to report to me at once,” Frigga instructed. With a sharp nod, the handmaiden scurried back to the castle. When she’d gone, Frigga turned her attention back to me. “I will return to the gathering with you. Perhaps the three of us will have more power than I alone.”
I didn’t wait for her to finish before turning on one heel and charging across the meadow. When I didn’t hear footsteps behind me, I shouted over my shoulder, “War! Move it!”
Tyr instantly appeared beside me. Frigga must have been somewhere behind him. We raced away from the pond, charging past the willow tree and heading for the thick cluster of evergreens that marked the portion of the woods we referred to as the dark forest. Nothing good ever happened there—it was the lone section of Asgard within which our enemies managed to open portals, and it was the site of more Asgardian casualties than any other in the realm. My feet pounded damp dirt as I lowered my head and picked up speed. How had Odin left the realm without knowing dark magic was afoot? Even if the rest of Asgard had been spelled, our leader—and those under his immediate command—should have been impervious. Odin’s guards were more vigilant than any other in the corps, and he had a full-time energy master assigned to his detail, specifically tasked with deflecting dark entities—including spells. Unless Michalio had been compromised, there was no way that anyone could get past—
“Stop,” Tyr commanded. He planted his feet in the mossy earth, crouching behind a pine tree. Frigga blurred right past us, apparently too intent on reaching Balder to process Tyr’s order.
I dropped into a ready position beside him. “What is it?”
“The gathering is at my ten o’clock, but look fifty meters into the forest, at your one-thirty. What do you see?”
I narrowed my eyes and drew on my Asgardian sight. Sure enough, a cloaked figure in the exact location Tyr specified drew a hood over his head. His back was to me, and he was blurring between the trees too quickly for me to lock in on his face, but his shifty movements and heavy energy reeked of darkness. Whatever he was up to, it wasn’t good.
But we had bigger problems to deal with than a creepy lurker. Stopping our people from killing Forse’s dad was priority one.
Especially since Thor’s wife, Sif, was about to hurtle a massive stone at the god whose death could mean the end of us all.
“Sif!” My hand flew to my face. “What is she doing?”
Tyr shifted his gaze to where a cluster of Asgardians circled the God of Light. Balder’s arms were outstretched, and his warm voice carried across the meadow.
“Come now, Sif,” Balder said kindly. “You know what my mother said. She had every being in the realm take an oath to protect me. Even the Norns cannot challenge that.”
A sharp inhale burned my chest as Balder gestured for Sif to proceed. She unleashed the stone and it barreled at Balder, veering off course at the last possible second. Sif’s golden hair tumbled over her shoulder as she threw her head back in laughter. The joyful sound echoed off the trunks of the evergreens, bouncing back at us in delighted peals.
“What the Helheim is wrong with them?” Tyr narrowed his eyes. “Move it, Freya. We have to stop this before somebody—”
“Skit,” I swore. Balder’s brother stepped forward, a bow and arrow in his hands. Hod was lining up to take his shot.
“Förbaskat,” Tyr chimed in. His eyes met mine for one horrified moment, and we both took off, charging like twin raging bulls. Blood pulsed so heavily in my ears I was barely able to discern Hod’s declaration as he drew back his bow.
“It’s only mistletoe.”
The world shifted into slow motion. Frigga launched herself forward, her hair fanning out as she tried to stop the arrow. “No!” she cried. “Wait! Do not shoot!”
The words were high-pitched shrieks, but the pounding of my heart dulled their terror. Fear coursed through my veins, the whoosh of adrenaline filling my ears so the cries of the onlookers were almost completely muted as the arrow left Hod’s bow, soared toward Balder, and pierced his left wrist. Oh, gods. No! Hod’s face slackened, his once joyful grin dropping into a mask of horror while his brother clutched his arm in confusion.
“But Mother said…” Balder withdrew the shaft, his hand shaking as red liquid dripped down to his palm.
Balder’s blood undid me. My toe caught on a rock, and I face-planted into a bed of mossy dirt. The taste of copper filled my mouth, but I didn’t have time to assess my own injuries. With a spit, I pushed myself up to my knees. Tyr was already back at my side, his expression unreadable.
“You okay?” He pulled me to my feet.
“Let’s move. It might not be too late to save—”
“It is.” His voice cracked. “Balder has fallen.”
Moisture filled my eyes, and I blinked hard as Balder dropped to his knees. Frigga descended with him. A thick, red film covered them both, dripping from their bodies to coat the green tapestry of the meadow at their feet.
We were too late.
My heart seized, and I gripped Tyr’s forearms for support. He steadied me as Hod’s voice carried across the air. “I—I had no idea,” he stammered. “That man gave me the arrow…”
Creepy lurker.
Sure enough, when I managed to raise my head, Hod pointed to the spot in the forest where the cloaked figure had stood. He was gone now; no trace of his traitorous form lingered in the dark forest.
Frigga wailed. My attention returned to the circle of gods, some of whom had dropped to their knees. “No!”
The color drained from Balder’s once joyful face. As his body withered in Frigga’s arms, he drew his final breath. The gods wept.
“Find the perp,” I barked. Action was the only thing that might keep me from falling apart. I ran into the dark forest, scanning the trees for the monster who had caused this. He was going to pay with his life.
“Freya, wait.” Fear colored Tyr’s voice. “I can’t lose you again!”
But I couldn’t stop moving. I darted from tree to tree, scanning the woods for any sight of the hooded demon who had murdered Balder—who’d signed the death warrant for us all.
He was nowhere to be seen. He must have fled the forest right after…after…oh, gods.
“Freya.” Tyr finally caught up to me. He wrapped me in his thick arms, pulling me so close I struggled to breathe.
“Too tight,” I gasped. Tyr’s grip loosened, and as I sucked in air he gently pulled my head to his chest.
“It’s going to be okay,” he offered. But I knew the words were a lie. We hadn’t been fast enough. We hadn’t stopped the worst from happening.
And it was all my fault.
Forse’s dad was gone. And unless Frigga’s handmaiden had the speed of a caffeinated älva, Nanna didn’t know any of this was happening. She was locked in some meditation room, covering for me because I couldn’t get it together enough to do my own job. Her husband—my friend’s father—was dead because of me. Ragnarok was upon us because of me. We were all going to die because of me.
A darkness filled my head, thicker and more cloying than any I’d known before. The weight was unbearable, and for the first time since I’d returned from Helheim, I gave in
to the overwhelming feelings of solitude and despair. They overtook my consciousness, choking out the light as I folded over in Tyr’s arms. And with two words, I allowed myself to escape.
“I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes, and surrendered.
CHAPTER THREE
BRYNN
THEY MADE ME DELIVER the news to Nanna. Freya was in no state—she’d been in and out of what Elsa deemed a “self-preservation coma” since her return from Asgard. Her spirit kept shutting her body down to keep it from experiencing an overload of grief.
Forse, obviously, couldn’t be the one to do it—he’d dropped to his knees when Tyr had delivered the news, and wept onto Elsa’s chest with a desolation I’d never seen in the normally even-keeled justice god. Elsa had held him until his tears ran dry before helping him to his feet and gently guiding him away from the Arcata cabin. He’d sequestered himself within Elsa’s cottage to mourn privately, and refused to see anyone since.
Tyr had returned to Asgard, where he’d locked himself in the cabinet room with the rest of Odin’s Council, and began strategizing for the now-imminent unleashing of Ragnarok. Mia, as a mortal, still couldn’t legally enter the realm, so she’d busied herself making comfort food for Elsa to deliver to Forse.
Which left me and Henrik to rock-paper-scissors it out to determine who got the mother of all bad jobs.
“Paper covers rock.” Henrik gently placed his open hand over my fisted one. “Sorry, Brynnie.”
I swore. Loudly. How had I forgotten Henrik always chose paper? Must have been the eleventy billion other things on my mind…like my comatose friend, my grieving friend, and my friend who was, literally, on a warpath as we spoke.
Awesome.
“I’ll go if you want me to,” Henrik offered. “You can stay here and protect Mia.”
“No, I’ll do it.” I sighed. “Mia needs some semblance of normalcy right now, and you can cook together. I’d be of no use—I’m this close to losing it.”
Henrik closed his hand around mine and pulled me to him. “I know you are, sötnos. How can I help?”
“I don’t know.” I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of sunshine emanating from Henrik’s chest. “When Tyr gets back, he’ll have some kind of ballpark on our enemies’ trajectories. If doomsday’s not imminent, maybe we can go on one last date before all Helheim breaks loose.”
My gut churned, and I immediately relegated the thought to the banished bin. Don’t go there. Do not think about Ragnarok, and the end of days, and the fact that you and Henrik are in all likelihood about to die. Be like Elsa and think about the now. The moment. The mind-blowingly amazing date Henrik will take you on. Right after you go to Asgard and tell Nanna that…that her husband’s dead.
“I’ll do you one better than that,” Henrik offered. “How about you and I take a mini break? A few days, just you and me, away from all the crazy before the crazy…”
“Deal.” I stood on tiptoes to kiss Henrik’s stubbly chin. “Walk me to the Bifrost?”
My boyfriend angled his head down so his lips brushed against mine when he murmured, “Always.”
Three toe-curling minutes later, I stood in my warmest jacket at the drop site. Balder’s death had brought on another summertime sleet storm. The mortals had to be noticing this. They could be unobservant to things they didn’t want to recognize, but nobody was this dense. Right?
“Love you,” I called to Henrik as I stepped into the blinding rainbow bridge.
“Jeg elsker deg.” He waved morosely. “See you in a few.”
“See you.” I clutched my stomach as the Bifrost sucked me upward, hurtled me across the cosmos, and deposited me in a nauseous heap entirely too close to the dark forest for my liking. Wait. The dark forest is where…oh gods. A coppery tang filled my nose, and I stumbled backward, stopping at the squelch of gooey liquid beneath my boot. Oh, oh gods. Please don’t let me be at…
Mia’s cupcake threatened to make an unsightly return as I registered the thick pool of red coating the mossy earth at my feet. Balder had only been gone for a few minutes; it made sense that his blood would still be fresh. But why in the name of Odin would Heimdall have dropped the Bifrost into the spot where Light had died? What could possibly make him be so cruel as to—
“Brynn?” Nanna’s soft voice came from behind my shoulder. “Frigga’s handmaiden told me to come to the meadow, but she wouldn’t give a reason. What’s going on?”
That was why. Because Heimdall knew Nanna was on her way, and he wanted someone there to support her when she stumbled onto the spot where her husband had just been murdered.
Sorry, Heimdall. My bad.
I pushed my nausea down and hastened to Forse’s mom. “Oh, Nanna.” I hurriedly slung my arm around her shoulders and steered her away from the clearing. Odin had cultivated a rose garden not far from here. We would talk amidst beauty, not horror. She deserved that much.
“Brynn?” Worry lined Nanna’s brow. “Why aren’t you saying anything? And why was Yande crying?”
“Because something has happened,” I said honestly. “Come with me. I have something to tell you.”
**
All things considered, Nanna took the news better than I’d expected. She wept. And screamed. And she showed a lot more anger toward Hod than I’d imagined the Goddess of Warmth would be capable of exhibiting, especially after I explained Hod was probably under the influence of dark magic. But when she calmed down, her primary concern was for her sons. I assured her we were taking good care of Forse—omitting the tiny detail about him locking himself away and refusing to talk to any of us—and I promised we’d send him to see her once he was fit for travel. Then I escorted her to her other son Nils’s house. The two of them could grieve together. And, Odin willing, offer one another a modicum of comfort.
The entire trip took less than two hours, and I returned to the Arcata compound just as Mia was serving a delicious-smelling roast to a party of one. Henrik was the sole god in his usual seat at the kitchen table.
“Comfort food,” Mia insisted as she placed a platter of au gratins on a trivet. “Brynn, pull up a chair. It’s best when it’s hot.”
She didn’t have to ask me twice.
Henrik and I waited until Mia took her seat. We heaped servings onto her plate before turning our attention to the piles of roast, potatoes, and carrots we’d piled onto ours. We ate in silence for a good two minutes, but even after Henrik made a substantial dent in his dinner, his chalk-hued face hadn’t regained any of its normal color.
I nudged him with my foot under the table. “You okay, big guy?”
“I’ve been better,” he admitted. “Still no word from Forse?”
“Elsa texted that he’s going to stay in for the night,” Mia said. “He’s not ready to see any of us.”
Henrik’s curse echoed my thoughts exactly.
“And Tyr?” I ventured. All of Asgard was on edge knowing the council was locked in Odin’s war room. That space was reserved for plotting during extremely dire circumstances. Like the end of the worlds as we knew them.
Yikes.
“Tyr texted too—I guess he’ll be home sometime tomorrow.” Mia picked at her meat with her fork.
“Did he give you any updates?” I already knew what the answer would be. Tyr was beyond protective when it came to Mia; he never wanted to scare her.
“He said to pack an emergency bag.” Mia raised her chin bravely. “And to be ready to evacuate with Henrik the minute he sent word.”
“With Henrik?” I lowered my au gratin-ladled fork, mid-bite. “What about me? I’m supposed to be your bodyguard.”
“You were in Asgard when he sent the message,” Mia offered.
Oh. Right.
“I packed a bag for you too, sötnos,” Henrik said. “I got your back.”
“Thanks.” I resumed shoving potatoes into my mouth. “So, I guess we just wait for news?”
“I guess.” Mia raked her bottom lip between her tee
th. She set her utensils diagonally across her mostly full plate and refolded her unsoiled napkin.
“You’re done?” If Ragnarok really was upon us, I intended to enjoy every bite of what could well be my last decent meal. Battle rations majorly sucked.
“I can’t eat,” she admitted. “Oh, Brynn, what if he doesn’t come home? What if the fighting begins while he’s still in Asgard, and he can’t get back to us? What if—”
“Stop right there.” Henrik reached across the table to save Mia from shredding her cuticles to bits. “Balder’s death marks the beginning of Ragnarok, but it could be months before the actual fighting starts. Did Tyr ever explain the prophesy to you? Or are you going off what you learned in your textbooks?”
“Textbook,” Mia admitted. “Tyr never wanted to talk much about it.”
Henrik and I exchanged a look. That was both good and bad—the humans’ books painted a distorted view of a Ragnarok that, for their own peace of mind, we’d pitched to them as already having happened. Odin bless their fears of their own mortality.
According to the texts we’d gifted them—in which we’d kindly pitched Ragnarok as having happened once upon a time—the end-of-days kicked off with the death of Balder and quickly spiraled into a cosmos-wide annihilation during which the realms were demolished and a new world order rose from the ashes. A small handful of minor gods survived the apocalypse, and were tasked with rebuilding Midgard, Asgard, and everything in between. Our stories were deliberately fuzzy on details. And right then, our order-oriented Ahlström looked like she was about to lose her over-analytical mind. I couldn’t blame her. Everything about this was scary.
“Okay, here’s the deal.” Henrik whipped his fake eyeglasses out of his pocket and pushed them up his nose. He’d worn them a lot when we first got to Arcata and he was trying to blend in with the humans, but now he reserved them for emergencies. Like when Mia was on the verge of an all-out panic attack, and needed instant mood-lightening.
