Perfekt Control (The Ære Saga Book 2)

by S. T. Bende

  “Let me go, Henrik,” I snapped. “I told you before, I don’t want you touching me anymore.”

  Henrik eyed me levelly. On the surface he was the picture of calm, but I knew him well enough to see the angry spark beneath his cool grey-blue eyes.

  “Tyr, go ahead,” he directed. “Your jaw’s clenched, the vein in your forearm is throbbing; it’s obvious the giant half of you feels the effects of what appears to be the anger level of Helheim. And I don’t want you and Brynn feeding off each other.”

  Tyr shot Henrik a look that could have frozen a jotun, but he drew a breath and walked down the stairs. It didn’t escape my notice that he bumped my shoulder harder than he needed to as he passed.

  “I felt that, you jerk!” I lunged for his back. Henrik’s tight hold on my shoulders was the only thing that kept me from falling off the ledge and into nothingness.

  “Listen very closely, Brynn.” Henrik stepped to the wall and pulled me with him. Our shoulders pressed against the cold rock. I shivered. “I know you’re only saying these things because of the energy seeping out of that door.”

  “Nope.” I shook my head angrily. “I mean it. You think you’re so above everyone. Especially me. You humiliated me in Alfheim—humiliated me. And then you did it again in Midgard. You told everyone in front of Brynhild you didn’t want to kiss me. I get it. You’re not into me. You don’t have to rub my face in it!”

  Henrik moved one step up, raising his height another five inches. Now he nearly towered over me, like he always did. Ugh. Was posturing right now really necessary?

  “Brynn Aksel, I never said I didn’t want to kiss you.”

  “Well, you never said you did want to kiss me, did you? It’s the same thing. You suck.” I glared.

  Henrik let out a frustrated huff. “Let’s move away from the anger door, ja?” He pulled me down the stairs, until one hundred meters separated us from the indigo planks above. The rage began to seep out of me, replaced by a feeling of total humiliation. Again. Oh, gods.

  “Henrik, I—” I stammered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He turned again, standing two steps below me. Tyr was nowhere to be seen; he must have stormed all the way to the next landing. “Listen, the truth is, it doesn’t matter how I feel about you. You’re bound to Freya, and I won’t have you lose your eligibility on my account.”

  So we were back to that party line.

  “Don’t look so disappointed. I need you to trust that I’m doing what’s in both our best interests here. Can you do that for me? Please, sötnos?”

  When I didn’t answer, Henrik lifted my chin with one finger.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “It’s not forever. You and I both know that. It’s only until you hit that rank, right? And it’s not for nothing; your job requires complete control over your emotions. Being together would complicate that and put you at unnecessary risk. Besides, our relationship has existed in perfekt balance for this long, what’s another hundred or so years going to kill?”

  “Me!” I blurted. “It’s going to kill me!”

  Henrik chuckled. “I highly doubt that. You’re the toughest flicka I know.”

  Leave it to Henrik to call me a chick on the steps of Helheim.

  I drew a breath. “I was a jerk. I’m sorry.”

  “Water under the Bifrost, Brynnie.”

  The ceiling became infinitely fascinating. “I have to apologize to Tyr, don’t I?”

  “Yep.” Henrik nodded. “But you and I are good. Let’s just get through the next century or two and trust Freya to have your best interests at heart when she doles out the perfekt matches, eh?”

  I closed my eyes. If Freya didn’t pick Henrik for me, so help me Odin I was quitting the valkyries and running screaming for the hills. Maybe the Berserkers would be hiring by then. They took females. And Henrik would make an epic trance-inducing warrior god…

  “Where’d you go?” Henrik’s voice brought me back to reality.

  “Just hoping this ends well,” I muttered.

  “Things usually do.” Henrik grinned. “We just need to trust in the innate goodness of the cosmos and know the elements, like us, are working together to rule the realms in perfekt balance.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You sound like one of those new age meadow elves. Or Elsa.”

  Henrik laughed, the sound bouncing off the rocky walls. “They’re not all crazy, you know.”

  “If you lot are done chatting, I’ve got a situation down here.” Tyr’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness. Valkyrie fail. I’d left our charge on his own longer than absolutely necessary.

  “On it.” I nodded at Henrik, and we bolted down the stairs. When we got to the final landing, we skidded to a stop. Tyr stood just past the threshold of an open indigo door. And on the other side swarmed a horde that promised a fate worse than death.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “CLOSE IN,” TYR COMMANDED. Henrik and I drew our blades and formed a tight triangle with our commander, our backs pressed close together.

  “What the Helheim are those?” I asked.

  “Ikkedød. Hel’s undead minions.” Henrik held his sword at eye level. We shifted our feet in small steps, turning a slow circle while assessing the threat.

  “Why aren’t they attacking us?” I chanced a brief glance away from the gnarled figures, whose bandages dangled from bones protruding through decaying flesh. The odor in the room was ghastly, but the room itself was kind of beautiful. We seemed to be inside an ice castle, its crystallized walls coated with a faint frost. Purple and gold silky fabric circled thin columns spaced along the perimeter, and the place seemed to be lit by tiny candles flickering just outside the clear walls. The whole effect was light, and airy, and really quite beautiful.

  If you forgot it was Hel’s inner sanctum.

  “I think they’re waiting on a command from her.” Tyr jutted his chin at the far end of the icy corridor, where a figure sat atop an ivory throne with indigo cushions.

  “Hel,” I said, keeping one eye on the ikkedød. They hovered menacingly in front of us, but didn’t strike. They alternately snarled at us and turned their soulless eyes on their master.

  I followed their sightlines and did a double take. We’d been taught Hel was a halfling; that physically she’d taken on the worst traits of her giantess mother and demi-god father. But the demon resting regally on the throne was far more beautiful than the textbooks made her out to be. The right half of her body was tinted a deep cerulean, while the left was the powdery blue of the Asgardian sky. Silver eyes stared impassively from above high cheekbones, and a shock of glossy black hair fell in soft waves around her angular face. She was as unique as the stories promised, but in a far more striking way.

  Hel was beautiful.

  But even more beautiful was the enormous winged dragon seated to her right. Its emerald scales glistened along its muscular frame, giving way to dark purple wings at its midsection and ending in a spiked mallet not unlike a mace at its tail. In its oversized talons it clutched a glowing red crystal. Each time it stroked the crystal, the stone emitted a pulse of light, like it was communicating with some far away receiver.

  Oh, crud.

  “We were right, the dragon’s got the dwarves’ gemstone,” I murmured. “The transmutation one Berry told us about. Destroy it, and we disable the super soldiers. Let the dragon keep it, and we can start the countdown to the apocalypse.”

  An ikkedød lurched forward and Henrik lunged with his sword. The creature withdrew, melding back into the horrible horde. My stomach clenched. We needed to never come back here.

  Tyr drew a breath. “Henrik. Stats.”

  “Hel, my twelve o’clock. Crystal-hoarding dragon at one. A half-dozen ikkedød at ten and another at two, and I do believe that’s our lovely Freya in the cage next to Hel’s… is the ice queen sitting on a throne made of human bones?” Henrik spoke quietly.

  Oh, ew.

  “First wave, now.” Hel’s voice rang out. A
grating screech followed, as two of the ikkedød flew at us. With Asgardian speed, Tyr and Henrik raised their broadswords, angled them toward the demons, and swiped. The ikkedød snapped in half, fell to the ground, and disappeared in twin clouds of smoke.

  “Oh gods.” I gagged. “What is that horrible smell?”

  “When eliminated, ikkedød leave behind a certain scent,” Tyr explained.

  “Stench,” Henrik corrected.

  “It’s awful,” I grumbled.

  “Yeah, well, that’s just the beginning. You’ve read about them, ja?” Tyr pointed his sword at an approaching demon, and it backed off.

  I ticked off what I’d learned in school. “Ikkedød are Hel’s undead guards. They’re shape-shifters, mood influencers, and they’re capable of stealing their victims’ souls by sucking out their energy.”

  “Right.” Tyr nudged me with his elbow. “And that dagger’s not going to do much. I suggest you pull out that vacuum thing or the one that makes everything implode.”

  “We can’t use the particle accelerator. It’s too risky.” Henrik shook his head. “Nobody’s ever studied an ikkedød, and we don’t know their molecular composition. What if the bullet shot through and hit the ice wall? The whole place would go down, and we’d lose Freya… and possibly release the slew of dark souls Hel’s got cooped up in here.”

  “Plus we’d be dead,” I pointed out. “It’s hard to stage a coup when you’re dead.”

  “That too.” Henrik continued the slow circular shuffle. When we’d completed our rotation, we formed a loose triangle. Tyr faced one horde of the ikkedød, Henrik the other, and I stood in the middle, poised to charge Hel.

  It wasn’t entirely clear which of us had drawn the short straw.

  “They’ve let us stand here an awful long time,” I whispered. “Why hasn’t Hel sent a second wave to attack?”

  “Because I know what you did to Nidhogg’s shadow guards in the forest, and I’m not in the mood to lose any more guardians today. Now you may turn yourselves over to me. Starting with you, blondie.” The ruler of the underworld sat coolly on her throne, staring me down.

  “Uh, yeah. I don’t think so.” I reached around and extracted the vacuum from my backpack. I passed it to Henrik, who slid it into his pocket while I spoke. “How about you hand over our friend, and we’ll let your creepy minions live? Or stay dead? Or… whatever.”

  A throaty laugh echoed down the icy hall.

  “Something funny?” I asked.

  Hel placed her palms on the arms of her throne. “I just thought the God of War would be more… imposing. Your father made you sound much more intimidating when he offered your… services.”

  Tyr kept his voice level. “My father was Ragnar Fredriksen, and he wanted nothing to do with you. You must be referring to Hymir. I should have known he was behind this.”

  “Hymir didn’t ask me to kidnap your little love goddess, if that’s what you’re thinking. He put my brother up to snacking on those simpering adopted Asgardian parents of yours, and by all accounts I hear they were delicious.” Hel grinned, revealing rows of blindingly white teeth. “But I took your friend on my own. I was hoping to procure that pretty mortal girlfriend of yours, but the coward stayed in your ridiculously protected little house. So I got the next best thing.”

  Hel swung her hand to the left, and I got my first good look at Freya. She was hunched in a ball, in an ice cage cloaked with dark magic. Her normally slender frame looked positively emaciated, and she trembled in the corner of her jail, her pale strawberry-blond hair laced with dirt, leaves, and blood.

  “Let her go, Hel,” Tyr growled.

  “Oh, that’s not going to happen.” Hel laughed. She pushed herself to her feet and squared her shoulders. “But this is. Your father promised you to me, not that simpering human you call a girlfriend. Your darkness is destined to unite with mine to create an unstoppable force. The realms will bow beneath our combined power, and you and I will rule the cosmos.” Hel stretched her arm in front of her, turning her palm up to Tyr. “Join me, and I let your friends live. Turn down the offer of a lifetime, and everyone you love, including your precious little mortal, comes to spend an eternity with me. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for all of their deaths, would you? After your loyalty to my dog of a brother killed your own parents.” Hel clucked her tongue. “How do you live with yourself, Tyr?”

  Tyr bristled, and I reached over to put a hand on his arm. “Don’t bite. She’s trying to goad you.”

  “Oh, am I?” Hel took a step toward us. Nidhogg shifted his weight as she moved. His eyes darted between the crystal and his mistress. No doubt he’d been ordered to protect them both.

  Hel flicked a finger and a group of ikkedød flew from their horde. Most descended on Tyr, who lunged with his broadsword and made violent jabs at his attackers, but one flung itself at me. I dove out of the way, drawing my dagger from my boot as I rolled away from Tyr. When the demon passed over me again I jabbed at its decaying thigh, but it was too fast. It whirled in a tight circle, creating a vortex above my forehead that felt kind of like the Bifrost, but a lot more uncomfortable. Instead of feeling like my bones were being sucked out of my body, I felt like my very essence was trying to escape. The thing was stealing the life right out of me.

  Oh, skit.

  “Arugh!” I let out a cry as I rolled again. My blade swiped blindly at my attacker as I flipped my body over and over.

  “Brynn, move back toward Tyr,” Henrik called out. My eyes flew open. The ikkedød continued to swirl above me, and I had the horrible feeling it was going to win.

  But I didn’t feel like dying today. And I knew Henrik had a plan.

  Despite the overwhelming suction pulling me back, I used my fingertips to claw across the icy floor. In my haze I saw Tyr swinging at the horde closing in on him. Moving closer to a group of the soul-suckers seemed like a bad idea, but Henrik had never let me down.

  I really hoped he’d keep that streak running.

  “Now drop!” Henrik shouted.

  I watched Tyr fall to the ground in front of me, just before something large and heavy flew at me from behind. The smell of sunshine overpowered the stench of decay as Henrik covered my body with his. A whoosh of air gusted overhead and deafening shrieks filled my head. I pressed my cheek to the ice, looking up just in time to see the remaining ikkedød sucked into a tiny black box. The vacuum rattled in protest, then fell neatly into Henrik’s outstretched palm.

  “Very nice.” I panted. I felt dizzy from lack of oxygen. Henrik pushed himself off me, holding out a hand to help me up. But before I could take it I was wrenched away, pulled by an invisible force along the length of the hallway to Hel’s side. She slid one long fingernail under my chin and let out a quiet laugh.

  “So young.” Hel sighed. “You’ll make a lovely handmaiden.”

  “I don’t think so, sister.” I raised my dagger to gauge her creepy silver eyes out, but the blade dropped from my grip and my hand froze over my head. My other hand flew up to meet it, so my wrists were stuck together. “What the Helheim?”

  “Precisely.” Hel waved her hand and my ankles slammed together, the shock of bone on bone sending a wave of pain through me. My wrists and ankles burned, as if they were being seared by an invisible rope.

  “Arugh!” I cried out as Hel flung me against the wall, binding me to the stone with another unseen tie across my forehead. It burned, but I’d felt worse. I assessed the room from my new vantage point as I attempted to breathe through the pain. Freya was right in front of me, seemingly catatonic in her icy prison. Hel stood to my left, entirely too pleased with the howl of fury coming from Tyr as he battled another wave of ikkedød. The dragon was on her other side, stroking the glowing crystal like it was his firstborn. And at the end of the hall, Henrik charged. His eyes seethed fury as he bore down on Hel like an enraged bull.

  Gods, I loved his angry face.

  “You killed my favorite guard. I think I’ll kill you myself
.” Hel tilted her head to study Henrik’s approach, then shifted her gaze when Tyr let out another roar. The war god eliminated the last of his attackers, and turned on Hel with tight eyes and bared teeth. “Nidhogg, handle the halfling for me, won’t you?”

  I fought against the ties that actually bound me… in Helheim… behind a dragon. Things were so not looking good.

  Nidhogg gave the crystal a longing look as he flapped his enormous wings and took to the air. He soared down the hall, passing over Tyr as he ran behind Henrik, then doubling back to attack from behind. His claws raked the icy floor, which trembled at the violent contact. A fissure formed where his talon scraped, traveling along the length of the hall until it reached Tyr. With a snap, the fissure became a full-on crack, forcing the war god to fling himself to one side to avoid falling in. As my friend slid across the slick surface, Nidhogg dove again, clutching the god in his talons and chucking him against the wall. Tyr slid to the ground, blood seeping from his cheek.

  So, so not good.

  Henrik bore down on Hel, taking advantage of her momentary distraction to drive the blade of his dagger through her chest. She pulled her eyes away from Nidhogg in surprise before wrapping bony fingers around Henrik’s arms and throwing him off. She withdrew the blade from her chest and threw it at the wall like she was playing a game of darts. She looked down and frowned.

  “You tore my favorite shirt.” She pouted. She wasn’t even bleeding.

  “Son of a—”

  Hel let out a giddy laugh. “Darlings, I rule the underworld. Did you think you could kill me?”

  I tugged at my bindings again, but the movement did nothing but intensify the burning sensation. Frustration bubbled in my chest as I realized my position. Henrik and I were supposed to be a team. And at the moment I was of absolutely no use to him.