We stood and watched as the herd moved away, blending into the environment until I could no longer distinguish them from the rocks.

Late in the afternoon, Thorin and I set up camp in a canyon that produced a view worthy of a “Visit the Mojave!” postcard. To prove I wasn’t completely helpless, I pitched my tent by myself, cranked up the butane stove, and set about reconstituting my dinner.

“You don’t eat much, do you?” I poured boiling water into a bag of freeze-dried tofurkey and rice I had picked up at the camping-supplies store. It weighed next to nothing in my pack and required no refrigeration, which made it perfect for camping. The meal also smelled like old shoes, but I was hungry enough to eat my boots, so the point was moot.

Thorin shrugged. “Can but usually don’t.”

“Why?”

He lounged against a boulder like a model in an advertisement for outdoor wear. L.L. Bean wishes they had a model like him on their cover. He looks good in everything. Probably looks best in nothing at all, if my dream last night was a true indication.

“Don’t have to,” Thorin said. “I eat when I need to appear human or for pleasure. Food tastes good, but it’s rarely necessary for survival.”

“Cold and warmth? Does the chilly air bother you?”

Thorin huffed, and vapor spurted from his nose.

I shrugged deeper into my insulated jacket and tried not to shiver.

“I’m not your science experiment, Sunshine. Didn’t your mother tell you it was rude to pry?”

I rolled my eyes and turned my attention on my dinner. “’Scuse me, Mister Sensitive.”

“There may come a time when you need to know everything about me…” He sounded vaguely apologetic.

“But this isn’t it,” I finished for him. “So, if you’re not up for a game of Twenty Personal Questions, what do we do to kill time? Did you bring a pack of cards or anything?”

“As a matter of fact…” Thorin riffled through his pack and brought out a familiar red-and-white box. “Gin?”

“Mani taught me how to play. He won that first hand but never another one after that.”

“Oh yeah?” Thorin shuffled the cards with the skill of a Vegas dealer. He grinned and said, “Put your money where your mouth is.”

I held out my hands, palms open and empty. “I’m broke.”

Thorin dealt the cards with imperceptible speed, letting his human façade slip for a moment. “Then we’ll use another currency.”

“Like what?”

“Truth.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Lowest deadwood points in each hand gets to ask any question he or she wants, and the loser has to answer with complete honesty. We’ll play to five hundred.”

I rubbed my hands together and anticipated victory. “I’ll take that bet.”

In the first round, Thorin knocked with a two of spades and an ace of hearts. I discarded some of my deadwood but still held over ten points in my hand. I sucked my teeth, making a sound of disappointment, and said, “Okay, hit me with your best shot.”

Thorin stroked his jaw, and intrigue sparkled in his eyes. “Tell me about your dream. The one you had about me.”

My thoughts went to the vision I’d had the previous night, and a betraying blush erupted on my cheeks. Thorin’s eyes widened, and he blinked, obviously surprised by my response. He reached his knuckles toward my cheek, but I pulled away before he could touch me.

“What’s all this about?” he asked.

I took a breath to deny but realized his original question had referred to the premonition I’d had about his death back at the Aerie. “Th-there isn’t much to tell,” I sputtered. “Tori probably told you everything I know.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

I set down my cards, hugged my ankles, and rested my chin on my knees. “There was a spear, but I couldn’t see details. It was deeply buried and covered in blood. I saw it like a freeze-frame image, but I knew it was the beach at the Aerie. You were lying in the sand in a pool of blood, the spear piercing your chest. You were dead.”

Thorin pressed his lips together and arched a circumspect eyebrow. “You didn’t see who threw it?”

“It was too foggy, but I assumed it was Helen or one of her minions.”

He shook his head. “A regular human cannot wield it. They could possibly carry it, but in battle, it would render them impotent. They wouldn’t be able to lift it to use it against one of us.”

“Maybe it was Helen, then.”

“It was made for Odin. Only descendants of his bloodline can use his weapons. It’s why only I can use Mjölnir, because I am Thor’s son.”

While we were in Vegas together, Thorin had mentioned how he and Val had possessed objects of great power but had lost them. Thorin had since recovered Thor’s hammer, but Gungir, the spear, remained elusive—unless Val did have it but was keeping it hidden for some reason. I had often questioned Val’s motives, but keeping the spear a secret after everything that had happened would be a new low, even for him.

“You have any siblings who survived Ragnarok?” I remembered a conversation with Tori, back at the Aerie. She’d said there were more Aesir than the ones I knew.

Thorin pointed at the playing cards. “You win the next hand, and I’ll answer that question.”

I didn’t win the next hand, either, damn it.

Thorin grinned like a cat that had cornered a mouse. “Tell me what made you blush when I asked you the last question.”

No way would I tell him the full truth: that I’d had… inappropriate dreams about him. Thinking fast, I said, “I was embarrassed.”

“For what?”

“Being reminded of my deception and how it led to such a terrible ending.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yes, that’s what I was just saying. I mean, it was necessary to keep you alive at all costs, but to lose Inyoni and Kalani—”

Thorin grabbed my arm. “No, I mean you’re lying about the blush.”

I squared my shoulders. “No, I’m not.”

“You got over on me once because I underestimated you, but now I know what your lies look like. Tell me the truth.”