“You don’t have to believe him, Sunshine. It’s our way. He’s not lying.”

Dumbfounded, I stared at Grim. He looked up, and our gazes locked. I grumbled an ineffable sound of disgust and backed away, putting Thorin and Baldur between Grim and me. “Give me one reason to doubt you, Grim, and I’ll burn you to ash. You don’t have a fire sword to protect you anymore.”

Thorin’s brother said nothing but bowed his neck. I snorted and turned away. How do I keep an eye on him and fight Helen and her army at the same time?

As if reading my thoughts, Thorin said, “I’m watching him, too, Solina. But I believe he’ll do what he says.”

“I believe it, too,” I said, my tone thick with derision, “so long as Helen continues to be a bigger threat. What happens when he gets tired of fighting her and decides it’s just easier to kill me first, the way he originally planned?”

“He won’t.” His eyes, dark and intent, bored into me. “I won’t let him.”

“Why is he still here? I thought he was going to leave when he felt better.”

“I asked him to stay,” Baldur said without turning his attention away from whatever distant spot he’d been staring at. “We need all the help we can get.”

I harrumphed but swallowed my protests. As much as I hated it, Baldur had a point. Grim was invested in Helen’s defeat as much as the rest of us. If he kept his berserker battle rage pointed in her direction, he could be useful. And I’d try not to set him on fire.

“Where are the Valkyries?” I asked between rumbles of thunder and lightning strikes. Concussions of sound and light bombarded a distant ridgeline where, I assumed, Helen’s army approached.

“Still hours out.” Thorin gritted his teeth.

I rolled my shoulders and popped my knuckles. “That’s too bad, because this may be over long before then.”

Chapter 23

Back and forth, Thorin shifted his weight, his feet, his shoulders. He toyed with his hammer, tossing it from fist to fist. I stood beside him and stared, searching distant ridges that stood out against the bruised sky like raw, broken bones, but nothing struck me as unusual.

“How does Helen transport a battalion of stone soldiers into the middle of Lake Tahoe without drawing notice from mortal authorities?” I asked. “The National Guard should already be here with tanks and helicopters.”

“Out here, in the mountains,” Baldur said, “those creatures are naturally camouflaged, blending in with the landscape.”

Thorin twirled Mjölnir’s handle through his fingers like a baton, the same trick he’d shown my parents last time we were here. If I touched him right now, wonder if I’d get an electric shock? “If Helen unloaded her trucks somewhere nearby and sent the golems in small groups on foot through the mountains, it’s possible they could go a long way without being noticed, especially if they move at night.”

“And she’s had days to get them into position,” I said. “While we were wasting our time at Amchitka—why do you think I didn’t see this part of her plan when I was in the Norns’ well?”

“She probably didn’t decide to do this until she learned that we were on our way to Amchitka,” Thorin said. “I think this was a last-minute decision on her part. It’s the only way to outwit your premonitions.”

“It still took some advance planning.”

“Someone from within the Valkyries is betraying you,” Grim said. “They’re rotten at the core.”

“Tell me something I didn’t know, Captain Obvious.” I scowled at Grim’s profile, but he had the sense not to take my bait. He stood at Thorin’s opposite shoulder, and the two brothers, side by side, formed a formidable force. Thor had split his might between his sons, giving Magni Alexander his strength and Modi Grimr his lust for battle. One look at them and any sensible opponent would run for the hills. Neither Helen nor her stone men had demonstrated much sensibility, however.

I scowled at Grim. “I have to believe the Valkyries aren’t all—”

Baldur gasped and sank to his knee. Thorin grabbed the Allfather’s shoulder and held him steady.

Baldur rubbed his temples and ground his teeth. He rose unsteadily to his feet. “The wards... I don’t know what she’s done, but if she keeps it up, I won’t last much longer.”

I stared into the distance, and a shimmer of iridescent colors quivered across the horizon. I pointed. “I see something.”

Thorin followed the direction of my gesture. He grunted low in his throat. “Shit.”

“What is that?”

“It’s the wards,” Grim said. “They become more visible as they lose their strength. Helen’s hitting that spot with everything she’s got.”

“What can we do to help?”

Baldur winced and clutched his head in his hands. “I don’t know. Maybe... Maybe if there was someone who could reinforce the wards...”

“Who could do that?” An idea struck. “What about Skyla? She’s a direct descendent. Do you think she could help?”

“Couldn’t hurt.” Baldur grunted.

“It’ll mean telling her the truth about you and her.”

He turned his glittering, pain-filled eyes on me. “If it means saving everyone’s lives, I’ll risk it. Even if she hates me.”

I looked at Thorin. “Can you get her? Bring her here?”

Worry lines crinkled around his eyes. He licked his lips. “I’ll get her if you can find her. But the moment Helen breaches the wards, I’ll have to stay and fight. No matter what.”

I swallowed past the hard lump rising in my throat. “I understand.”

Thorin slipped his cell phone from his pocket and tossed it to me. After thumbing through his recent call log, I found Skyla’s name and swiped the call button. Her phone rang and went to voicemail. I tried again with no success. Where the hell are you, Skyla?

“Call me immediately,” I said to her voicemail. “I need you here as soon as possible. Thorin will come get you, but he has to know exactly where you are. Baldur’s wards are failing, and there’s a way you might be able to help if we can get you here. Now.”

I ended the call and met Thorin’s dark stare. “Do you have any of the Valkyries’ other numbers?”

He shook his head. “They mostly use disposable phones. They aren’t very trusting.”

Baldur’s wards shimmered again, ghostly greens and blues rippling from the golems’ point of impact like concentric rings in a pool of water. The undulations dispersed into the atmosphere in a twinkle of glittering sparks that resounded like fireworks. Baldur uttered a steady litany of words under his breath, most likely naming the runes that had fabricated his enchanted wall. He spoke the runes with specific intent, giving them power, converting them from inert symbols into active weapons.

A crack like the felling of a massive oak tree cut through the dissonance of thunder, lightning, and wind. A web of veins—glowing and pulsing with every hue of the rainbow—clawed through Baldur’s invisible barricade.

“It’s going,” Baldur groaned. “I can’t...”

Thorin threw back his head and roared something in his ancient tongue. A glowing network of electrical highways and byways crisscrossed the clouds like a celestial map, crackling and popping with potential energy. The lightning fell apart and rocketed toward the earth, slicing the sky into jagged shards and ribbons. Thorin folded himself around me, forming a shelter against the concussion of sound and dynamic force exploding across New Breidablick as his ammunition found its target.

I clamped my hands over my ears and clenched my eyes shut, but the blast rocked through me despite Thorin’s insulation. My heart stumbled and stuttered, its rhythm disturbed by the blast. I wheezed and pounded my chest until the sensation faded. Still, my ears rang, and the world swirled in a dizzying soup. He stroked my back and kept me wrapped in his arms until my senses recovered.

“Good Lord,” I rasped. “Why don’t you just drop an atomic bomb next time?”

He ignored my bad joke. “You’re all right?”

I shifted and peered at his face. Amber flecks swirled in his dark eyes like suns in faraway galaxies. I offered a limp smile. “I’m fine.”