“He’s juggling a lot of things. I don’t think it will be like this much longer.”
“No, it won’t. The wolf will eat you soon.”
I recoiled, hoping I had misunderstood. “What did you say?”
Nina shrugged and strolled to the railing at the front of the porch. “The wolf will eat you. I’m sure of it.”
“What a horrible thing to say.”
Nina turned around and leaned against a post. She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself for warmth. “Doesn’t make it a lie.”
“What do you know about it, anyway?”
“Only what Helen told me.”
My eyebrows arched. Aghast, I said, “You and Helen are buddies?”
“Of course not. You can’t really call your foster mom a buddy, you know?”
I wheezed. Bombshell much? “Helen’s your foster mom?”
“She never adopted me, but she raised me after my mother went missing on the streets when I was a baby. Never knew my dad.”
A cold sweat broke out at the nape of my neck, and my stomach burbled unhappily. “Does Baldur know this?”
“He hasn’t asked,” Nina said. She widened her dark eyes into a kooky stare and tapped her temple. “Not too bright, that one.”
“You’re on good terms with Helen, still?”
Nina shrugged. “Haven’t talked to her in a while. I left her when I turned eighteen, went out on my own. She’s a little… intense, let’s say. We bashed heads a lot.”
“But you keep in touch?”
“Up until the wreck, yeah, we talked every couple of weeks.”
“And since the wreck?”
“I’ve been debating whether I should contact her. If I gave you to Helen, she might welcome me with open arms, but this Baldur thing might work out pretty good for me, too.”
“You two are soul mates. He’s loved you for eternity.”
Nina rasped a dry laugh. “That’s what he keeps telling me—reincarnation or some such nonsense. Past lives.” She stuck her tongue between her lips and blew a raspberry. “That’s what I think about that.”
I scrunched my nose at her. “I see Helen’s had a lot of influence on you.”
“Maybe.” Nina shoved herself off the porch rail and strolled back to the front door. “It pleases me to keep your secret, Solina. I can’t be sure Helen’s plans include a place for me. I know she used me to get to Baldur, and that makes me more than a little resentful. But you can be sure if the scales tip in her favor, I’ll sell you out in a hot minute.”
“Why would you tell me this? Most predators don’t give their prey a heads-up.”
An innocent, childlike look came over her face. “I honestly don’t know why I would tell you except I think I feel sorry for you. I think you deserve fair warning.”
This chick is one tinfoil hat away from being the mayor of Crazy Town. “Do you know how insane you sound?”
“Yes, I do. Crazy has been my game for a long time. I totally hate myself for it, too.” Nina stepped closer and pulled up her sweater sleeve, revealing a thick, puckered scar snaking from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. “Tried to cure myself when I was sixteen. Didn’t take, though. Helen found me soaking in a bathtub full of red water and got me to the hospital in time.”
I wiped my hands over face, trying to clean away the vision stirred up by Nina’s words. She told her story as if she had suffered a case of appendicitis instead of an attempted suicide. Horror and pity waged war within me. Nina didn’t behave as though she wanted my sympathy, though.
“You know I’ll have to tell Baldur,” I said.
Nina’s jaw clenched. Her eyes glittered like hard black stones. “Of course you will. I hope you tell him and cut his heart open with it.” She turned on her heel and went back inside after that—thank God—and left me to digest her disturbing revelations on my own.
She was right that sharing the information with Baldur would hurt him, and when it came to Nina, he had already suffered too much. Still, he had to know. The decision of what to do with her after that would be his. For my part, I planned a quick separation as soon as Baldur brought news of Thorin down from the mountain.
On the run again—it barely bothered me anymore.
The clear day eventually gave over to clouds and stiff winds. I ceded my outdoor vigil and went inside. Nina had secluded herself in her room—good riddance—and I went into my bedroom and tried to relax. I must have dozed off because I awoke to darkness, the front door banging open, feet stomping, and Baldur calling my name.
I rolled out of bed and scurried into the living room, where Baldur stood, his face grim, worry etching lines around his eyes and mouth. His shoulders bowed under the burden of keeping a swaying and nearly unconscious God of Thunder upright. I gasped as he stepped forward and deposited Thorin onto the sofa in front of the fireplace.
Drawn and haggard, with a rough beard and circles of trauma and pain ringing his eyes, Thorin had obviously survived a horrible ordeal. But he was there and alive, and nothing mattered more than that. A wild and uncharacteristic frenzy haunted Thorin’s eyes. My gut clenched, and I knotted my fingers together and waited for Thorin to look my way and recognize me.
“Thorin?” I asked. “Are you okay?” Though he obviously wasn’t, I didn’t know what else to say.
Thorin looked at me because I spoke to him, but no light of recognition brightened his face. His brow creased, and in a dry and raspy voice, he mumbled something vaguely Germanic sounding before falling silent again.
My insides caved in, and my heart sank to my feet. I looked at Baldur, pleading for reassurance. “Can you help him?”
Baldur shrugged. “He was half buried in a crevasse when I found him. Time and rest are the best medicine. He’ll heal quickly, I promise.” Baldur knelt before Thorin and examined his compatriot. “Mild hypothermia. A strained ACL in his knee, but not torn. A few bruised ribs and a wicked concussion. He should be mostly fine in a day or so. Sore and tender in spots for a while, but back to his old self in no time. Surprisingly good condition, considering.”
Throughout Baldur’s inspection, Thorin remained silent. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes dull and listless.
“Aleksander?” said Baldur. Thorin did not respond. “Magni?”
At that, Thorin looked up, and Baldur spoke to him in the old language. Thorin blinked a few times and stuttered an answer.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He remembers me, but it wasn’t in this place. He doesn’t know where he is. I get the impression he doesn’t know when he is, either.”
Baldur and Thorin conversed again in their ancient tongue. Finally, Thorin nodded and closed his eyes. I almost sobbed but shoved my fist against my lips and turned back to Baldur. The sight of Thorin, defeated and confused, hurt my heart.
“I told him to rest,” Baldur said. “He said he felt there was something he was supposed to be doing, guarding, watching out for. I told him he had been a valiant soldier, but it was time to rest and let us take over for a while.”
Baldur rose to his full height and ran his hands through his hair so the cinnamon strands spiked like a porcupine. “We need to think about going to New Breidablik. It’s a fortress and the safest place to keep you. Helen would hesitate to attack us there.”
“I’m not safe anywhere.”
“That’s somewhat true, but my home is your best bet.”
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “How much do you really know about Nina?”
“What do you mean?”
I told Baldur everything, trying my best to repeat, verbatim, my strange conversation with Nina. I kept my eyes covered, too much of a coward to face him as I talked. I didn’t want to see his pain. His heavy steps crossed the room, and the upholstered chair in
the corner creaked as it accepted his weight. I finally braved a look and found him slumped over, holding his head in his hands.
“I knew some of it,” Baldur said. “I had a private investigator look into her background as soon as I found her.”
“She’s Helen’s foster daughter, and you thought it was a good idea to put us in the same house together?”
Ever since Rolf had showed up in San Diego, I had been waiting for someone to stab me in the back—if not him, then the Valkyries or Grim—and suddenly, Nina was there, who had all but told me she’d sell me out if it suited her. I’d be damned if I would sit around waiting for her to do just that.
Baldur jerked his head up from his hands and glared at me. “It’s not like I had time to figure out an alternative plan. I can’t leave her alone. I’ve been careful, Solina. I’ve watched her incessantly. She hates me for it, too.”
“Does Thorin know about her?” I glanced at the subject of my query, who stared, empty eyed and vacant, at the fireplace. “I mean before, when you were all in the hospital.”
“I doubt it.”
I doubted it, too. Thorin’s devotion to Baldur ran deep, but cracks had started to show. The surprise about Nina’s provenance might prove the breaking point.
“She’s a pitiful thing, Baldur. She needs lots of care and attention. I think if anyone could help her, it would be you. But you can’t protect me and give her the level of attention she requires at the same time.”
Baldur shrank back. “You can’t ask me to abandon her.”
Utterly frustrated by Baldur’s opacity, I threw up my hands and screeched in frustration. “I don’t want you to abandon her. I want you to take her back to your home and leave me here with Thorin.”
“No, Solina, I can’t—”
I waved my hand and cut him off. “You can’t have it both ways.” I lowered my voice, which had risen to a shout. “And I won’t spend another night under the same roof as her. At this point, she needs you a lot more than I do.”
Baldur’s nostrils flared, and his neck and ears flushed. He sat rigid in the chair and fumed a few more minutes before he stood up and pointed a finger at me. “Fine. You said before that I had used bad judgment. I’ve even admitted it myself. Maybe it’s time I defer to your wisdom.” He sneered at the last word.
Baldur’s pity party burst my self-righteous bubble. Something about seeing the Allfather, leader of an ancient race of superbeings, reduced to a temper tantrum brought me plenty of regret and no satisfaction.
“I don’t want it to be like this,” I said. “No bitterness between us. You helped Thorin save my life, and I am indebted. But you can’t be effective torn in two like this. You said Helen gave Nina back to you because she wanted to see you distracted. If that’s her plan, it’s working. Don’t let Helen win. Help Nina heal. Love her—I don’t think she’s had that.”
“But you’ll be on your own with him.” Baldur motioned to Thorin. “I’m not sure he can be much help to you.”
“It’s my turn to be a help to him. I owe him this.”
Baldur’s chin dropped to his chest, and I knew I had won my argument. “Let me leave you with some cash, at least. You’ll need supplies.”
“Thank you, Allfather.” I crossed the room and pulled Baldur into a hug. “We wouldn’t have made it without you.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Frigid gusts battered the old Jeep Baldur had found for me. It rocked like a ship in a sea squall. Dense clouds had gathered over Mount Rainier, and snow fell in ungainly clumps. I had a moment to appreciate the serenity before the storm took a deep breath and exhaled. Lacy flakes turned into frozen darts, whipped into whiteout frenzy by fierce winds. Cold air seeped between the seams in the Jeep’s canvas top. I turned up the heater and clutched the steering wheel until my knuckle joints creaked.
By the time I returned to the drive leading to the rental cabin, the snow had covered the path until it appeared as nothing more than a faint indention in an otherwise indistinct landscape. The late-afternoon sun had started to set, casting everything in gloomy shadows. I braved the pathway in four-wheel drive, bumping and jostling until I dead-ended in front of the small log house roofed in tin sheeting. I imagined smoke curling from the stone chimney and decided to start a fire after carrying in the groceries and supplies I had bought in town, including a couple of pairs of jeans, T-shirts—for me and for Thorin—and necessities like toothbrushes and shampoo.
After stowing everything away, I went into the living room and knelt before the fireplace to clean away the old ashes, a chore to divert me from Thorin’s unsettling presence. Before he left, Baldur had explained the situation to Thorin in their ancient language. Thorin assured Baldur he understood, and he promised to stay with me.
As I shoveled ashes into a metal bucket designated for that purpose, I threw a glance over my shoulder. Thorin still sat on the sofa, unmoving and staring at the floor. I blew out a breath, and ashes swirled into the air. I turned to the box of kindling beside the fireplace and stacked them into place.
“You saved my life,” I said, “and I can’t even properly thank you.”
“What?” Thorin asked.
I flinched and turned to face him. “Wait. You understood that?”
His brow furrowed. “I’m a fast healer. I think.”
“Does that mean you recognize me?”
Thorin’s dark gaze slipped over me, but it remained cold and distant. “No. Not yet.”
My heart sank. “At least I won’t have to resort to sign language to communicate with you.”
I rolled onto my feet and went to the door. A hoard of logs was stacked in a shelter on the side of the porch, and my indoor supply needed restocking. Thorin rose and followed me out. He held his arms outstretched before him. I translated his meaning and stacked him with firewood up to his nose.
After dumping his bundle into a crate near the fireplace, Thorin crouched at my side and helped arrange the cold logs on the grating. “Have a light?” he asked.
I pantomimed thumbing the striker on a pretend Bic lighter, and a small flame sprouted at my fingertip. The tinder caught and roared to life. I shivered, shaking away the lingering cold in my blood, and went to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine and a corkscrew.
Thorin moved away from the fireplace and slumped in the corner of the couch, eyes closed, arms loose at his sides.
The cork slipped out with a satisfying thock, and I poured a glass for me and waved the bottle toward Thorin. “Want some?”
One eyelid peeled open, followed slowly by another. He struggled to focus on me.
“Wine?”
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Sure.” I turned to the coffee machine and babbled as I measured grounds and filled the carafe. “How about food? I know you don’t usually eat, but you look a little malnourished. I have soup, or I can make you a sandwich, or if you rather—”
“It’s fine,” Thorin said. “Coffee is fine.”
I started a pot brewing and, when it finished, brought a tray of coffee, wine, and a plate of cut fruit and cheese for a picnic on the living-room floor. Crossing my legs first, I lowered to the rug, putting the fire to my back and Thorin at my front. He worked to maintain lucidity, and the strain showed around his eyes. He deserved to be left alone, but I was selfish. I needed to see him alive and physically present, not in Asgard but in my world. I needed to hear his voice and relish the relief of it.
“Do you remember who I am?” I asked.
“A daughter of Sol, evidently.” Thorin shook his head. “But no. Nothing recent. Not yet.”
“Do you remember why you were up on that mountain?”
“Baldur told me it was because I was rescuing you from my brother.”
Guilt weighted my heart, and it thudded heavily. If I hadn’t
gone looking for that stupid sword… If I hadn’t taken Val along with me… If I hadn’t… If I hadn’t…
“You remember Grim?”
“I don’t remember fighting him recently, but we’ve rarely agreed. It doesn’t surprise me.”
“He wanted Mjölnir.”
“That also doesn’t surprise me. Baldur also told me Grim wanted to kill you.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“Helen Locke is trying to reinvent Ragnarok. Grim thought your death would prevent that.”
“And you have no idea what happened to Grim or Surtalogi?”
Thorin’s chin dropped to his chest. “Nothing.”
I put my hand on his knee. He raised his eyes to meet mine.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It must be a horrible feeling.”
Thorin made no indication either way. He stared back at me, unblinking. I reached behind my neck and unfastened Mjölnir’s chain. Thorin’s eyes lit the moment I brought the weapon free from the collar of my sweater. “I’ve been keeping it for you.”
“You?” he asked, markedly curious. “How did you come to have it?”
“You gave me the lanyard a while back, said you could use it to track me.” I smiled at the memory of him finding me in the cave, his beauty, his warmth. “It’s how you found me, how you saved me from Grim.”
“But you have the hammer, too.”
“It showed up a few nights ago. I woke up to find it on the pillow beside me. Baldur said it returned to its lanyard when you lost your ability to command it.”
I held the necklace out to Thorin. He set his coffee mug on an end table, took the chain from me, and cupped the gold Mjölnir charm in his palm. He flicked his wrist, a gesture older than his memory loss, and brought the full-sized hammer to rest on his knee. “You must be someone special to me.”
Heat flooded my cheeks.
Thorin saw my reaction, and a smile spread across his face. How stunning, how dazzling was his joy. “I guessed right?”
Arctic Dawn (The Norse Chronicles Book 2) Page 28