“What if Helen won’t give you that time?”
He grimaced. “I’ll make the best of what I’ve got.”
“Have you seen Skoll anywhere out there?”
“No. And I’ve been looking.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
I gestured to the battlefield. “This is supposed to come last. First Hati kills my brother. Then Skoll devours me. Then comes the battle. Helen doesn’t have the fire sword, either. What’s she hoping to gain from this?”
“I don’t know anymore,” he said. “She’s desperate. Her plans are falling apart.”
“Maybe,” Grim said, “she just wants to take as many of us down with her as possible.”
“I don’t like feeling useless.” I stared out at the approaching army. “I want to face her. I want to fight her.”
Thorin shifted closer and curled an arm around my shoulders. “Does it help to know your being here gives me more incentive to succeed? You make the cost of losing too expensive.” He lowered his voice so only I could hear. “I can’t lose you. I refuse to lose you.”
I swallowed and searched for an appropriate response, something to express how much I wanted the same thing. My words were weak and insufficient. Instead, I leaned into him and held him close.
A cry rose from the combat zone, a lone voice shouting something imperative and urgent. The golems responded. As a unit, they lurched forward at a steady march. Their pace increased as they closed the distance between us. They ran, hurtling toward us—a giant stone battering ram with a hundred different points of impact. When the first line of golems reached us, they drove headlong into Baldur’s wards, and the collision blasted them into dusty smithereens. The repercussion jangled in my ears, and I winced as my eardrums shrieked.
Baldur’s wards violently heaved, and the Allfather cried out, bared his teeth, and sank to his knees. Another golem tidal wave raced toward us. Thorin glanced at Baldur, at his brother, and at me. A cold mask fell over his face, and my heart lurched into my throat. His decision showed plain on his face, and before I could form a protest, he leaned forward and kissed me. Then he vaulted the porch railing and threw himself over that metaphysical boundary separating us from Helen’s hordes.
“No!” I screamed, grabbing for him. Too slow. Much too slow. Above us, the storm raged. Thunder detonated. Winds screamed. Frantic, I turned to Grim, knotted my fingers into his shirtfront, and jerked him forward. “Why are you just standing here, you bastard?”
Blackness bled into Grim’s eyes, and he snarled. “Baldur. I need a weapon. Now.”
Clutching his head between his hands, Baldur groaned and rocked on his knees.
“Allfather, please.” Grim pulled free from my grasp. He knelt beside Baldur and implored. “You asked me to stay and fight. I can’t do it empty-handed.”
I sank to the floorboards beside my erstwhile enemy and addressed the Allfather. “You know how I feel about Grim. I have less reason than anyone to trust him. But we can’t afford to play it safe now.” I glanced up and searched the melee, looking for a glimpse of blond hair or a flash of lightning reflecting off Mjölnir. But the only evidence of Thorin’s presence in the fight was the occasional spray of exploding stone and the deafening shrieks of thunder and wind.
Given enough time, Thorin might demolish the entire army on his own, but Baldur and his wards would fall long before then. Once Helen’s army breached our walls, a flood of rock and stone would drown us all.
“Find Nina.” Baldur forced the words through his clenched jaw. “She knows where my weapons room is. Surtalogi... Take it.”
I glanced at Grim. The darkness in his eyes cleared, and his whole countenance lightened. “Stay here with Baldur,” I said. “I’ll find Nina. I’ll bring you the sword.”
Like a pinball, I ricocheted through the house and bounded down the basement stairs. “Nina.” I stopped and panted for breath. “Weapons room. Now.” My parents jumped up and rushed toward me. I waved them off. “No time to explain. Stay put, please.”
My mom and dad clenched each other’s hands and stared at me, their eyes huge and full of worry. “It sounds like World War Three up there,” Mom said. “The house is shaking like it’s going to come down around our ears.”
“Nah.” I put on a thick layer of bravado, an act to keep my parents calm. “It’s just Thorin showing off. Posturing a little.”
“Then why do you need weapons?” Nina rose from her seat.
I narrowed my eyes, urging her to read my body language and play along with my nonchalant performance. “Just being prepared.”
Her sour expression said she didn’t believe me, but she rounded the corner of Baldur’s computer desk and crossed to the basement stairs. As I followed her to the exit, I slapped a smile on my face and fought against the tension in my neck and shoulders. I steadied my breathing and unclenched my fists.
“Everything’s under control,” I said to my parents. “I’ll be back soon to give you an update.” Lies, lies, lies. But I’d do or say anything to keep them here—out of the way, innocent, ignorant. A few months before I had cursed them for ignoring the truth about Mani and for not trying harder to uncover the motives behind his murder. Now, I’d consider it a blessing if they’d sit and wait and not ask questions or seek answers for themselves.
I followed Nina to the first floor, leaving my parents gaping at each other. As soon as the basement door closed, Nina whirled around and faced me. She arched a single eyebrow. I read the question in her face and answered quickly, summarizing all that had happened since our kaffeeklatsch in the kitchen. As I talked, she led us down the hallway and up a flight of stairs to the second floor.
“Baldur keeps the weapons room warded like the rest of the house.” She approached a bare expanse of wall stretched between two bedrooms.
“Will the inside wards fall if the outside ones do?”
She pursed her lips and pressed her palm against the wall. “How should I know? This is all still mostly a lot of hocus pocus to me. I wasn’t sure I believed him, but he made me practice just in case.”
Nina whispered a word, and the bare drywall faded, revealing an open doorway leading into a closet-sized space chock-full of knives, swords, and things I had only seen in fantasy role-playing games. World of Warcraft, anyone?
Nina took in my stunned silence and rolled her eyes. “Hocus pocus.”
Baldur had mounted everything elegantly, either on a wall rack or perched on display stands like a museum. I stepped into the room, and motion-sensor lighting illuminated the displays. Surtalogi, the ancient fire sword, drew my gaze as if whispering my name. Carefully, as if it were a bomb, I lifted the weapon from its mount on the wall. I also selected a slim knife covered in rune etchings from a velvet-lined box. When the sword didn’t explode or immediately drain away all my fire, I turned and started down the hallway for the stairs.
Nina trailed behind me. “Why that one?”
“It’s a fire sword. Works like the craziest flamethrower you ever saw. It’s for Grim.” My stomach turned over, but I shoved aside my discomfort and doubts. “He needs a weapon, and he’s familiar with this one.”
“I don’t know anything about weapons or how to use them.”
I paused on the stairs and studied her. Although beautiful, she was gaunt and seemed fragile. Breakable. I had once thought of her as a porcelain doll. Her outward appearance screamed she was helpless and needed protection, but it was camouflage. She had survived Helen’s manipulations and emotional abuse. She had survived a car wreck and a coma. She had survived hundreds of reincarnations. I had a feeling anyone who underestimated her strength or fell for her fragile façade would wind up regretting it.
