“You’re crazy if you think I’m just going to stand here and wring my hands and wait for you to come back and get me!”

But Baldur couldn’t hear me anymore. The problem was, Baldur was crazy, at least a little bit. Maybe he really did think I would stand there. I moved out from the trees into a nearby clearing and spun around, searching the sky.

In the distance, a copse of black clouds disrupted the blue morning sky. Lightning crackled through their billowing darkness like glowing filaments in the world’s biggest plasma globe. The display was beautiful and amazing, and Thorin was its maker and master. How could my trivial fire compare against something like that? What a monumental ego I have, thinking he needed my help. But the same moment that thought concluded, the lightning dispersed, crackling away like an ellipsis at the end of an unfinished sentence. The clouds faded, shedding their weight and magnitude until they resembled a flock of fluffy, harmless lambs. Maybe the fight had ended. Or maybe something had happened to Thorin.

Screw standing here and waiting. I couldn’t judge distances. How far would I have to go to get back? A mile? Two? It didn’t matter. I made up my mind to go, and I went, putting my heart and lung health to the ultimate cardiovascular test. I wasn’t a runner, but adrenaline can do amazing things for the human body. It gives mothers the strength to raise cars off their trapped children. It gives soldiers the ability to hold out until backup arrives. It made my feet fly, gave them wings.

Mercury, eat your heart out.

Chapter Thirty-four

Perhaps Baldur hadn’t stranded me as far away as it first seemed. Or maybe I really had flown—a little of my shooting-star power had blossomed, giving me the extra lift and speed I needed. The trip passed without awareness, like making it home from work without remembering anything about the drive and asking: How did I get here?

When I reached the battlefield, Thorin was still in the middle of the fight, swinging Mjölnir in a blur. Rubble piles littered the field around him—lifeless remains of golem bodies making their own burial cairns wherever they fell. A handful of stone men remained, keeping Thorin occupied as Rolf danced in and out with the sword, apparently recovered from its inert state.

Warlord indeed. I had lost track of time, and it seemed as though Thorin had fought for hours while maintaining an aggressive and relentless pace. How much longer would he last? Thorin’s sweater showed singe marks, signs of Surtalogi’s close encounters. A nasty wound over Thorin’s chest peeked through a rip in the dark wool. Another slash had rent a hole in his side, over his ribs, but he fought as though the injuries didn’t bother him. While I hated being the helpless heroine who stood on the sidelines while the hero did all the grunt work, I also understood the danger of being Thorin’s stumbling block. I edged in closer, looking for an opportunity to help without getting in his way.

Baldur and I had lost physical contact, and I couldn’t see him anymore because of our invisibility runes. He could have been standing a foot away, and I wouldn’t have known. I grumbled curses at him while keeping my attention focused on Thorin. That probably explained why I didn’t see Rolf’s next trick until it was almost too late.

Only five or six golems remained, and one parted from the group, heading for Thorin. Thorin turned his back to me as he prepared to swing his hammer. A few yards separated us, but the space provided sufficient room for another golem to rise from his underground grave.

They’re like cockroaches. They just keep coming.

Thorin demolished the stone creature in front of him, but that distraction held him long enough for the new creature to grab his ankle and throw him off balance. The air behind Thorin shimmered. Rolf appeared at Thorin’s side, sword already swinging through the course of its strike. Surtalogi’s fire spewed a rain of plasma sufficient to drown Thorin—instant incineration. Thorin never saw Rolf’s attack, but I did, and I called on my flames in response. With no time to think, question, or doubt, I threw myself into the fray and raised my flames to maximum burn, shielding both Thorin and myself.

Rolf had seen the sword take my powers when I fought against Grim and probably knew if he kept Surtalogi focused on me long enough, the sword would drain me dry and render me useless.

The sword can have my fire. Just let me last long enough for Thorin to rally his counter attack. “I can’t hold him off forever,” I said. “Whatever you’re going to do, you better do it fast.”

Thorin’s dark eyes reflected my flames, and he looked like a demon freshly released from Hell. “Sunshine? I told you not to come.”

“You knew I wouldn’t listen. Be grateful. I just saved your ass. Again.”

Thorin roared something indeterminate, but he didn’t stay to argue. He blipped out of sight, and a moment later, Surtalogi’s flames disappeared. Rolf was splayed on the ground. Thorin kneeled over him, his hand wrapped round Rolf’s throat, squeezing off his air supply. Thorin held Mjölnir poised overhead, only feet away from ensuring Rolf’s death.

The remaining golems fell, one by one, as if crushed by an invisible hand—an invisible hand that no doubt belonged to Baldur.

As I retracted my flames, Rolf’s gaze settled on me, and he wheezed a silent laugh. “Knew you’d show up,” he croaked.

“You can see me?”

My ears popped, and Baldur appeared, visible, at my side. “That invisibility rune couldn’t stand up against your fire and Surtalogi’s flames,” he said. “Not unless I made it a permanent part of your essence, and we didn’t have time for that. Thought it’d be better to go with something temporary. I should have warned you.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore.” I kept my gaze on Rolf. “It’s over now. Rolf is defeated.”

Another soundless laugh rocked Rolf’s shoulders.

“What’s so funny?” Thorin asked.

Rolf made a choking noise. Thorin released his grip enough to allow Rolf to speak, but he kept Mjölnir raised in a conspicuous threat. “See how she looks at you, God of Thunder. How she’d risk herself for you? If only she knew your true character. And the Allfather, so quick to give his support to the unworthy. It’s a shame.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You want to know who I really am?” Rolf’s gaze shifted to Thorin. “I told you that you would have to earn it. And, oh, how you have.”

“Go on then,” I said. “Cut the dramatics and tell us.”

“Are you sure, Solina?” Rolf looked back at me. “Once said, it can never be taken back. It’s like opening Pandora’s Box. You can’t close it again, but you’ll wish you could.”

“Say it,” Thorin snarled. “But if you won’t, I’ll kill you and live with the disappointment of not knowing. I’ve gotten good at living with disappointment.”

Rolf grinned again. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And with that, the face of the man whom I’d known as Rolf Lockhart melted away to reveal another, one even more familiar.

Everything ground to a halt, my breathing, my heartbeat—the entire world stopped spinning and fell off its axis. I couldn’t have said a thing if the fate of every life on earth depended on it. Not that I needed to say anything.

Baldur said it for us all. “Val? Is it really you?”

Chapter Thirty-five

“Val?” I said. His familiar blue gaze turned on me and cleared me of any doubt. Bile crawled up my throat. I coughed, trying to choke it back down. “How could you? How could it be you? Grim broke you in half.”

Val twisted his lips into a wry smile. “There’s more to me than meets the eye. Obviously.”

“It’s been you all along, hasn’t it?” Thorin said. “I suspected, but I didn’t want to. You are my cousin. How could you betray us?”

Val erupted with a cold, cruel laugh. It turned into a cough. He hacked, turned his head, and spat. His cold eyes turned back to Thorin, and he said, “I killed your cousin the day of the final battle in Asgard and took his place.”

“If you are not Vali Odinson, who the hell else would you be?”

“I am Vali, but I am no son of Odin.”

Thorin hesitated, the gears turning in his head. “Loki,” he said. “Loki had a son.”

“Loki had many sons,” Val said. “Most did not survive.”

My brain plugged back in and whirred to life, making connections, drawing conclusions. Loki was the trickster god of schemes, pranks, and deceptions—it explained Val’s immense aptitude for deceit. It also meant he had some very problematic family relations.

“Helen is your aunt?” I asked. “Are you here to do her bidding, or was it your plan all along?”

Val’s face sharpened into a look of hatred so severe I felt it in my bones. “I don’t give a damn about Helen’s ridiculous schemes. This has nothing to do with her.”

“Then what is it? What do you want?”

“Revenge.”

I blinked at him. “I don’t understand.”

“Why not? It’s a language you speak so well. Someone takes your other half away from you, mercilessly murdering an innocent brother, and you’ll do anything to make them pay. That’s something you appreciate, right?”