“Are ye sure that’s necessary?” I asked, my voice nasally and echoing in the round antechamber Freya had escorted me to after our brief contest of power. “It stinks.”
“The smell will fade,” Freya assured me. “Fólkvangr knows you are alive and refuses to let you heal, so I must trick her into believing you belong.”
“I thought this realm was yours. Shouldn’t ye be able to tell it...her...to heal me and be done with it?”
“Don’t be silly. Nature is not something to be bossed around, especially not by us. We gods answer to her, not the other way around. Anyone who believes otherwise is a fool.”
“How very...enlightened.” I grimaced as Freya began applying the foul-smelling wrap, winding it around my wrist and forearm. It was cool and slick against my skin, though soon a hot, prickling sensation ran up my arm. I shook my head as I processed Freya’s words, reminded of my inner goddess and her innate belief in divine superiority—her detached, entitled view of the world. “I take it ye don’t feel the same way about mortals. Or is it free will you’re contemptuous of?”
“You mean because I tried to force you to do as I wished?” Freya shook her head. “Hierarchies are an integral part of nature. Dominance creates order from chaos. Besides, if you were too weak to stand against me, then why would I bother sending you to Niflheim with my blessing? You would simply have died.”
“Does that mean ye intend to give me your blessin’?” I asked, eagerly.
“Did you even hear what I just said?”
“Of course I did. But I also meant what I said before. Time is of the essence.”
“More than you know,” Freya replied, cryptically. The goddess rose and went to a mahogany bowl full of water to wash the muck from her hands. “And I am considering it. First, I want to hear back from Kára. But, assuming you did not lie to me, there is something I would have you do in exchange for this blessing you want so badly.”
“Of course there is,” I groused. “And what’s that?”
“I have a task for you that only a stranger to this realm can achieve. Given your predilection for sneaking, and having seen your unique power—however you came by it—for myself, I believe you are more than capable. The question is, are you willing to make the trade?”
I mulled her question over for a moment, distantly aware that she’d given me an opening to explain how I’d come by whatever power I’d used to chase hers away. The trouble was, I hadn’t the faintest idea; it hadn’t felt like my inner goddess coming to my rescue. In fact, the all-consuming heat I’d experienced defied explanation. Should a goddess of night be able to channel such warm energy? I realized I didn’t know. There was no user’s manual for this sort of thing, no How to Be a Goddess For Dummies to brush up on.
“Alright, I’m listenin’,” I replied, waving for her to continue. “What’s the job?”
“I need you to go somewhere neither I nor my Valkyries can go without drawing unwanted attention. I need you to be my spy.”
“Okay...and where would that be?”
“Valhalla.”
11
Perhaps an hour or so later, I found myself sitting on a bench full of hairy men, pretending to be one of them as I tossed back a flagon full of uncommonly strong ale, wary of the precariously balanced helmet that sat cockeyed on my head; Freya’s Valkyries hadn’t been able to find one that fit before I’d left Fólkvangr behind courtesy of a rainbow-tinged Gateway. Fortunately, the majority of Odin’s chosen warriors—exclusively men, I was loathe to notice—seemed far too inebriated to pay attention to the tall, fair-skinned redhead in their midst. Of course, the animal skins the Valkyries had draped over my shoulders and tied about my waist to make me appear broader than I was didn’t hurt.
“Another!”
The cry came from a different table but was quickly echoed by a second, then a third, as pewter flagons hit wood with cacophonous thuds. In moments, a slew of fair-haired serving maids came wading between the benches, refilling mugs and flashing beatific smiles that would have sickened me if they hadn’t been so damned genuine—if these women were upset with their lot in the afterlife, they certainly didn’t show it.
“Would you have more?”
I turned to find a freckled maid with hazel eyes that looked nearly yellow in the torchlight poised over my shoulder, her fingers playing with my braided hair—another of Freya’s thoughtful additions. I cleared my throat, thrust it down an octave, and accepted her offer. As I passed over the mug, I leaned back so as not to be overheard, inviting the maid to come closer.
“Something else I can do for you?”
“Magni and Modi. I wish to speak to ‘em. Where are they?”
“The Allfather’s grandsons?” An inquisitive look passed across the serving maid’s face but was quickly supplanted by a coquettish smile. “Why bother with them? Wouldn’t you rather finish your drink and come lie by the fire with me?”
The fire. Yikes. I glanced past the serving woman, eyeing the mound of bouncing, writhing bodies that “lay by the fire” in an orgasmic pile. In hindsight, I supposed I had either forgotten all about the third “f” Valhalla was known for or simply repressed it. It seemed I’d arrived in time to skip the fighting and join the feasting, which left...well, tossing down a bearskin rug and going at it like there was no tomorrow. Of course, I knew nothing would give away my cover faster than a game of show-and-smell.
Besides, I had a job to do.
“Later, perhaps.” I took a judicious sip of my ale. “I need to find the brothers. Can ye point ‘em out to me, or not?”
The maid huffed but did as I asked, gesturing across the improbably large mead hall towards two hulking figures sitting in the shadows of a distant corner, nursing their beers in private. The one on the right—based on Freya’s description—was Modi; unfortunately top-heavy, he had the look of a lifer on parole: nothing but swollen shoulder muscles and an impossibly thick neck to go with a lion’s mane of blonde hair. His companion, Magni, lacked his half-brother’s hefty bulk but made up for it with flair; whorling tattoos covered every exposed inch of him, including his face and shaved head, their blue ink standing in stark relief against his thick red beard and beady brown eyes. I frowned, wondering why the two sat so far removed from the festivities; according to Freya, the brothers lived for a good fight and a better feast.
“I wish you would reconsider,” the maid insisted, sliding a hand along the smooth curve of my jaw, her nails gliding along my skin. “And not just for your sake. There are not many as pretty as you among Odin’s chosen.”
“Aye, well, they don’t make ‘em like me around here,” I replied as I drew her hand away, patting it. Part of me, admittedly, was flattered. Of course, a much larger part wanted to know how she kept her nails from chipping in a place like this. Instead, I asked the more pressing question. “Why aren’t the brothers joinin’ in with the rest of ye? I mean, us?”
“They mourn their father’s passing. Thor was beloved by many. But surely you knew that already.”
“Actually, I heard he was a dick,” I muttered, slipping from the bench to stand alongside the maid, who stared up at me in open surprise. “What? Did I say somethin’ I shouldn’t have?”
“No. But...to speak of Thor in such a way...it is simply not done.” The maid flicked her eyes from side to side as if preparing to cross an invisible street before raising on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. “Do not say such things in front of Magni and Modi. They will take your head, and no one will stop them, no matter how they felt about Thor, personally.” She drew away, searching my face with that coquettish smile. “If you change your mind about the fire, find me. Night will fall soon, and these vaunted warriors will begin to fade. Something tells me you won’t suffer from that malady.”
Now that made me laugh.
“Not generally, no. But I have an advantage they can’t compete with,” I replied, chuckling. “Anyway, t’anks for the advice.” I squeezed the maid’s arm, extended my goodbye, and
made for the mead hall’s corner booth. My marks—that’s how I’d thought of them ever since Freya explained who I was meant to spy on and why—didn’t so much as bat an eye as I lounged against the nearest wall some ten feet away. But then that was the point: as a fresh face among thousands, the odds of being outed the way one of Freya’s Valkyries or one of her hugr might have been were far slimmer.
Or so the goddess had explained.
“And why d’ye want me to sneak into the mead hall?” I recalled asking after agreeing to Freya’s proposition. “Is it your husband? Afraid he’s up to no good?”
“Odin won’t be found in Valhalla. In fact, that is why I’m sending you. My husband has other priorities at the moment. But his fellow Aesir are restless. Many believe he is not the god he once was. I believe a few have even gone so far as to propose treason, though I cannot prove it.”
“Shouldn’t the Allfather be able to nip that in the bud?” I’d frowned then, recalling Odin’s legendary foresight at the expense of his own eye. “Surely he knows who speaks against him?”
“Ordinarily, I would say yes. But someone he cares about very much has gone missing, and he’s been...distracted.” Freya had looked troubled, then. “I believe his grandsons are at the heart of the conspiracy. In his absence, they became terrors—heathens reveling in their newfound freedom like hounds let loose on the livestock. But now that the Allfather has returned and brought change to our way of life, they resent his authority.”
“Returned from where?”
“That’s not important. What matters is that you find out whether Odin’s grandsons are indeed plotting his downfall. Their names are Magni and Modi. You won’t miss them, but try to be sure they don’t spot you. They don’t take kindly to strangers, especially not after what happened to their father.”
“Who is their father?”
“Was their father. His name was Thor.”
“Wait, the Thor? Are we talkin’ about Captain Hammertime, himself?”
Freya had shot me a dirty look, then.
“Ah, right. Sorry. How’d he die?”
“Screaming. But that was the path he chose. He was always a spoiled child. Only this time, he tried to push someone around who would not be moved and suffered as a result.”
“The natural order of t’ings, eh?”
“You learn fast.” Freya had dipped her chin, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“And, if I do this, I’ll get your blessin’?”
“Find out what Magni and Modi are up to, and I will give you what you seek.”
“And what if it’s all smoke and no fire? What if they aren’t plannin’ to overthrow the Allfather?”
“If I’m wrong, I will be relieved. But you must be sure. Magni and Modi are not subtle creatures. You will know their hearts the moment you hear them speak.”
And—in that, if in nothing else—Freya had been right.
“The question isn’t when we’re going to kill the one-eyed bastard, it’s how,” Magni said, confirming Freya’s suspicions with a single sentence, his gravelly voice grinding just loud enough to be heard above the general hubbub of the hall.
“Killing him is not that easy,” Modi replied, gloomily. “Or else Father would have done it long ago.”
“The Allfather is not what he once was. We’ve seen it for ourselves. That’s why he hid Mjolnir from Father. He feared having it used against him. And now that we know where it is, we can force him to bow before us.”
“Then the Temple upstart will pay for what he did. Him and his pet dog.”
Magni said something in a voice so low I couldn’t quite make it out, something about keeping promises and...drowning puppies? I crept closer, my heart racing after hearing the brothers throw out the Temple surname, wondering what Nate had gotten himself involved in this time. Was he still Zeus’ prisoner? If so, what did he have to do with Thor’s death?
“At dawn, we ride,” Modi asserted, pleasure radiating off him in waves. No, not pleasure. Power. He was flexing his power, sending it out into the room in little waves. But, unlike Freya and the denizens of the Underworld I’d encountered until now, his energy had a diluted feel to it that left a brackish taste in my mouth. Indeed, neither brother seemed particularly powerful—perhaps demigods, at best.
“Yes, at dawn,” Magni agreed. “Now, about that source of yours, did Loki say...hey, who’s that?”
I struck my most unassuming pose and froze, pretending as hard as I could that I didn’t exist. Maybe Magni and his brother would dismiss me as a drunk, or—at worst—tell me to beat it...unless they thought I was eavesdropping and decided to beat me, instead. Fortunately, it turned out I wasn’t the one who’d piqued Magni’s interest.
Unfortunately, I knew exactly who had.
12
An absurdly tall woman carved a path through rosy-cheeked warriors, shoving them aside with nothing but the sheer breadth of her finely muscled shoulders. Those who foolishly refused to budge were subsequently helped to their feet by their companions, and within seconds a hush settled on the hall as every eye began tracking the blonde. She wore a pale leather jerkin trimmed with white fur that bunched at the throat and waist, a pair of similarly decorated thigh-high boots, white leather pants, and a white wolf headdress that framed her startlingly beautiful face with its savage teeth.
“Child!” the blonde bellowed, her glacial blue eyes locking onto me from across the mead hall. “I felt you enter our realm, and now I have found you at last!”
I felt my mouth gape open of its own accord as I played back the memory of her voice—so loud then that it had threatened to cause avalanches. What the hell was she doing here? I glanced surreptitiously at the two brothers, cursed under my breath, and hurried to close the distance between the newcomer and myself. Once within reach, I took her by the arm and drew her aside, painfully aware that she dwarfed even me in this form. Not that I was surprised; the last time I’d seen her she’d been the size of a mountain—literally.
“Skadi,” I hissed once I was sure we wouldn’t be overhead, using the name she’d given me long ago, in another realm, “what are ye doin’ here? And since when are ye mortal-sized?”
“I was too big to fit through the door,” Skadi replied affably, bathing me in the radiance of her smile, her voice booming to the rafters as though she had no volume control to speak of. “We jötunnar learned this trick long ago.”
A collective gasp rippled through the mead hall in response to Skadi’s offhand comment, and I turned to find a cluster of Odin’s chosen warriors had formed a loose circle around us. Even worse, Magni and Modi seemed intent on reaching the front of the line, their heads bobbing in unison above the notably shorter crowd.
“You do not seem pleased to see me, breaker of chains.”
“Call me Quinn, please,” I insisted, grimacing at the unfortunate nickname. “And of course I am. I wasn’t sure what happened to ye after we left the Valley of the Dead.”
I said “left” out loud, but inwardly I felt the more accurate term would have been fled; the realm Othello and I had invaded with the help of a treacherous vampire—not to mention the magic that had sustained it—had collapsed not long after we freed Skadi from her prison, forcing us to survive several centuries’ worth of would-be thieves and ravenous monsters. In any case, it hadn’t been pretty. Truthfully, I could have lived my whole life without solving the mystery of what happened to Skadi...especially if finding out meant I might die thanks to her blowing my cover.
“I returned to Thrymheim. The mountain welcomed me as it once did my father, and now I rule atop it as he did.” Skadi puffed out her considerable chest and planted meaty fists on her slim hips. “But today the mountain spoke of changes.”
“The mountain spoke?”
“Yes, through the thunder for which it was named. You see, since the thunder is no longer bound to serve Odin’s brat, it often tells me of the world. Today, it told me of the usurper, of the one who claims to hold w
inter in his sway. It also told me of you and of your quest to stop him. And so I have come to give you a gift.”
Unfortunately, I barely heard the latter part of what Skadi said; subversive whispers broke out at the mention of Thor—also known as Odin’s brat, the god of thunder. Worse still, Magni and Modi broke through at that precise moment, their faces ruddy with rage. Modi’s flaxen hair began to shine, his muscles bulging with power as he took one floor-shattering step forward.
“Who are you to enter Valhalla and speak of the Aesir with such disrespect?” Modi demanded.
“Let us go,” Skadi insisted, ignoring the fair-haired brother. She planted one absurdly heavy arm across my shoulders, its weight enough to make my knees buckle. “You will like Thyrmheim. It is loud and strong, like us.”
“My brother asked you a question,” Magni hissed, his tattoos swirling in concentric circles that made me a little nauseous to watch.
“Do you hear something?” Skadi asked me, feigning confusion. “It sounds like the yapping of a pup. Listen.”
“You dare—” Modi began.
“There it is again.”
“That’s it!” Modi snarled and rushed the giantess, lunging for her as though he might tackle her to the ground and begin pummeling her for such insolence.
Instead, the giantess open-palmed slapped the son of Thor into the nearest wall. Which, by the way, was some thirty feet across the room. Magni’s jaw fell open as he eyed the man-shaped dent his brother’s body had made in the solid wood. And, for one very brief, glimmering moment, I thought the bastard might turn tail and run.
But then his eyes fell on me.
“You! You were spying on us,” Magni said, stalking forward until he was almost within reach. “What did you hear?”
“Nothin’!” I lied, holding up both hands as though I’d been caught stealing from the candy jar. “I mean, unless ye consider ye two plottin’ to kill Odin as somethin’.”
Brimstone Kiss: Phantom Queen Book 10 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 7