Val grimaced and gnawed his lower lip. “There aren’t that many twin brothers and sisters running around out there named after the sun and the moon.”

“Maybe our parents had an affinity for Norse mythology and a strange sense of humor.”

Val shrugged. “Maybe, but it turns out my suspicions were correct.”

I turned away from him and inhaled a deep breath. I gathered my calm and swallowed my anger. Was there anything genuine about our relationship, or was it purely the result of Val’s plotting? What did it gain him to get close to me and my brother? What purpose did it serve? I had resisted opening up to him, letting him in, for this very reason—not wanting to risk getting hurt. But Val was insidious, and he crept into my affections anyway. His duplicity stung. No, it was worse than that, but I refused to give the feeling a name or let it take root. Push it down. Tuck it away. These kinds of emotions won’t help right now, and I need his cooperation. I can use his own game against him. “How?” I said, my voice dry and raspy. “How do you know about this? Who are you, really?”

“Vali Odinson Wotan.”

“Odinson? Like, literally?”

Val shrugged again.

“And Thorin?”

“Thorin what?” said the man himself, standing in the kitchen doorway.

“You’ve got to quit doing that,” I huffed. “Appearing out of thin air.”

“I assure you I simply walked across the room.”

“You move like a ghost.” The tea kettle whistled. I pulled it off the stove and split the water between four mugs. “I saw you in that vision, Thorin. You had the hammer. You were going to battle. Tell me what that was.”

“Battle?” Skyla said, stepping to Thorin’s side.

I passed out tea, and while everyone doctored it to their preference, I rehashed the vision I’d seen when Thorin touched me in the Westmark Hotel’s driveway. “You still haven’t told me what á braut héthan means.”

“With our swords wielded,” Val said. “We head to battle, going so quickly that our horses are still unsaddled, but we go with our swords wielded. Or something like that. You get the point.”

“That sounds familiar,” Skyla said. “I’ve read it somewhere before.”

“It’s Darra Tharlioth, the Song of the Valkyrie,” Val said.

“So why did I have a vision about it if it’s only some story?”

“It’s not some story,” Skyla said. “Where do you think the author got his stuff? My guess is he got it from the source. If this is real, and I’ve seen more evidence for than against at this point, then according to my research, we are standing in the presence of the survivors of Ragnarok. Vali, a somewhat minor son of Odin, and Magni, eldest son of Thor and Odin’s first grandson. Am I right?”

Neither Val nor Thorin would return our gazes.

“Come on, boys, show your cards,” Skyla said.

“It’s not that simple,” Val said, sneering. “You think you have it all figured out, but you know nothing.”

“Then tell us,” I said. I stepped closer to Val and put my hand over his. It was warm from holding his mug.

“He’s right,” said a new voice from the doorway leading to the stairs. “There’s nothing simple about what’s been going on.”

“Baldur,” Thorin said, his voice full of reverence. He shifted to stand straighter. “I’ve been trying to reach you for ages.”

“Well, it looks like you finally did,” said the newest addition to our gathering. He came into the room and put his attention fully on me. His regality overcame me. His otherworldliness shone through, despite the dark circles smudging his eyes and several days’ growth of unkempt beard. He was lovely, in the way an ancient masterpiece is lovely—faded around the edges and a bit worn, but unquestionably brilliant. A voice in the back of my head urged me to kneel before him, but it was a small voice, so I ignored it. “Have you got any more tea?” he asked. “It’s been a long trip.”

The group moved aside to allow Baldur to take a seat at the table. Even though I was confounded by his sudden arrival, my upbringing insisted I play the gracious hostess. I poured a mug of hot water, dunked in a bag of Earl Grey, and set it near his hand along with cream and sugar. Baldur stared blankly at it for a moment, but Val patted him on the shoulder and woke him from his stupor. Baldur poured in sugar and stirred while everyone waited for him to say something.

I glanced over at Skyla and gave her a look that said, Who the hell is this?

Skyla opened her mouth, paused, cleared her throat, and started again. “Baldur,” she said. The stranger looked up, his blue eyes bleary. He scraped a hand through short, cinnamon-colored hair. He could have been Val’s older brother. Maybe he was. “You are Baldur, son of Odin, right?”

Baldur smiled wryly and nodded.

Skyla continued. “You were killed with mistletoe by your blind brother and sent into the underworld to live with Hela until the end of the era, when you were supposedly released to lead the survivors of Ragnarok in the rebuilding of the new world. You are the new Allfather.”

Baldur leaned forward and inhaled the steam from his tea. “Sounds so easy, when you say it like that. Sounds like it was merely a blip on the timeline of humanity.”

Val eased into a seat at the table and laid his hand on Baldur’s forearm. “I mean no disrespect,” he said, “but why are you here?”

“Magni sent me a message. I felt it needed my attention.”

Val looked at Thorin and narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been talking to Baldur?”

Thorin shrugged. “Someone needed to.”

The disjointed conversation was difficult to follow. I raised my hand and said, “Someone tell the ignorant mortal what’s going on here.”

“You’re not a mortal,” Baldur said. “At least, not in the traditional sense.”

My mouth fell open, and I stood in a dumb stupor, unable to form a response. Not mortal? I hadn’t crawled out from some primordial ooze or fallen from the stars. My parents had pictures of Mani and me in the hospital the day we were born. My mother told me the story of the difficult birth. My parents weren’t Titans or fallen angels or any other kind of immaculate beings. Those circumstances, in my mind, pretty much disqualified me from being an immortal.

As if sensing my distress, Thorin stepped forward and took over the conversation. “It’s a long way from New Breidablik. You’re exhausted. We don’t have to do this now.”

Baldur shook his head, and grief pooled in his expression. I recognized that look, having seen the same on my own face so many times. “I’ve already wasted enough time,” he said. “I should have come sooner.”

Thorin tilted his head, and his eyebrows drew together. “What’s happened?”

Baldur sighed and covered his eyes. “Nina’s missing.”

Chapter Twenty-two

I backed into a kitchen corner and tried my best to play the part of a fly on the wall. Gathering information from this bunch was like prying a dinosaur fossil from the ground with a toothpick. Reminding them of my presence might make them go mum again.

“Of course Nina’s missing,” Val said in the tone one uses on an unstable mental patient. “That’s part of the deal. She’s reincarnated every generation. How long has it been since the last time she was here?”

Reincarnating? So, I’m not the only one?

Baldur shook his head. “That’s just it. I’ve never been longer than thirty years without her. But it’s been nearly fifty years, and I’ve had no word of her.”

“Fifty?” Thorin asked. “You think she’s gone all this time without finding you?”

“I don’t know,” Baldur said. “I hoped it was maybe an unlucky, chance occurrence. My fault for making it so hard for her to find me.”