The High Seat of Asgard (The Ragnarok Era Book 4)

by Matt Larkin

  Thor trod forward first, seeming unaffected by the stone behemoth ahead. Meili followed after him, blade in hand, and then the others.

  Sif shuddered again.

  As they drew nigh to the gates—and fuck, those had to rise ten times her height—they creaked open of their own accord. Beyond them lay a steaming, smoky hall, thick with strange odors. Humans and jotunnar, all naked or nigh to it, lay about, eating, drinking, or fucking in great heaps of hedonistic abandon. Sif faltered, unable to make herself cross the threshold, even as the others pressed on.

  Geri grabbed her wrist and dragged her inside.

  The doors screeched shut behind them with the sound of rattling chains. The steam seemed to rise from numerous slits in the floor, and, as they passed some, she had no doubt they burned some strange herbs on the lower levels. The vapors left her dizzy, but at least they warmed her.

  It felt good.

  Damned good.

  They followed the central hall. Maybe it was the herbs but … that looked like a two-headed jotunn with two … two cocks? Because he seemed to be fucking two separate women, each head focused on one. Sif blinked, then shook her head. The motion sent the whole room spinning.

  She caught herself on someone.

  A naked jotunn, his skin blue as a man in deathchill. Her head barely came up to his navel. She giggled. Then she jerked a hand over her mouth. She did not giggle. What the fuck? She laughed again. Sif didn’t giggle!

  She stumbled along after Thor, struggling to walk in a straight line.

  “I’m a little odd,” Hildolf said.

  “We know,” Itreksjod answered.

  “I feel odd today,” Hildolf repeated, looking around in obvious confusion.

  The pair of them had dawdled, staring at humans and jotunnar engaged in an orgy. Sif stepped around them to follow Thor.

  At the back of the hall sat another jotunn, this one probably three times Sif’s height. Even his throne rose so high above her, stretching into the shadows above, she felt dizzy just looking at it. Actually, she felt dizzy no matter where she looked.

  “Vörnir!” Thor said. “I am Thor Odinson!”

  “I know who you are.” The jotunn’s voice rumbled like an avalanche, his pronunciation of the North tongue odd and drawn out too long. “Have you come seeking pleasure … or war?”

  Thor glanced about the hall, his eyes lingering too damn long on the parade of flesh and food and what looked like a river of mead. “Pleasure. I … I mean, I seek to offer you a bargain.”

  Vörnir grinned, revealing two white teeth that looked, just a little, like the fangs of a wolf. “What bargain?”

  Thor grunted and rubbed his eyes. “You built this place?”

  “I did.”

  “And your craft is a well-known. I would hire you to repair the … Midgard Wall. On behalf of the king of the Aesir. The king of Midgard.” He kept turning about, as if drunk, staring at jotunn woman who had settled herself into the river of mead.

  Vörnir laughed, the sound seeming to set the whole hall rumbling, like the mountain itself mocked their temerity in coming here. Sif clenched her jaw and held her hands still at her side, if only to keep herself from curling up into a ball and hiding. “Why not? I am already on this side, and I need no competition from my brethren. And yet, what could you possibly offer me for such a grand undertaking? The sun? The moon? No, I think you have little to bargain with.”

  Thor grunted and slapped a hand against the side of his head like that might clear it. If it worked, Sif would happily do the same damned thing. “Name your price.”

  Vörnir leaned forward, then again revealed his fangs. “I have a great many beautiful women in my collection. But I have never sampled the most beautiful on Midgard, famed far and wide for her stunning body.”

  Thor took a half step back, though Sif couldn’t say if from revulsion or just the herbs in the air. “Who do you wish?”

  “Your people overthrew the Vanir, or so rumor holds. Bring me Freyja, the matchless daughter of Njord.”

  Sif snickered. Given that Odin had cast Freyja—and all the Vanir save the First Ones—into the Otherworlds, that didn’t seem apt to work out for Vörnir.

  “Uh …” Thor said. “Yes. I will bring you Freyja …”

  What the fuck? Was he going to lie to this jotunn lord while they stood in his very hall? Sif opened her mouth, but Geri elbowed her in the ribs, knocking away both her breath and words.

  “I will bring you Freyja if you can finish the entire wall before the winter is out. But if even a crack remains in the wall come summer, you forfeit your prize and must still complete your work.”

  Oh. Oh, no. Sif opened her mouth again, glanced at Geri, and shut it. This had to be the stupidest bargain Thor had ever made. What in Hel’s frozen underworld did he think would happen when Vörnir found out they had tricked him and made an offer in bad faith?

  Vörnir clapped his hands. “Agreed. Now, please, indulge yourself in my keep. We leave for the wall tomorrow … though perhaps not at first light.”

  Thor nodded with more eagerness than Sif liked, then turned and headed for the mead.

  Sif rushed after him, cutting him off halfway. “What were you thinking?”

  Thor leaned in close to her ear, leaving her heart beating too fast. “Father said there are several breaches. No one can possibly fix them in less than one season. Learn to relax, my friend.”

  Before she could retort, Thor stepped around her, stripping off his shirt and heading for the jotunn woman in the mead river. He yanked off his trousers midway, hopping on one foot to do so. Then he leaped in, ducked his head beneath, and sucked down great gulps of it.

  Sif stared at him, trembling unable to believe what she’d seen. Thor hated the jotunnar. So what the fuck was he doing? They were whispering something. Laughing together! Hel take that jotunn bitch. Thor ducked his head back under the water. Incredibly close to the jotunn woman—who arched her back.

  No.

  Oh, Thor! No! Stop!

  Sif raised a hand to forestall what was happening, then spun away. Damn it! She had to get out of this haze. Where the fuck was Geri? Sif drifted around the hall, resisting several offers—and why were they so damn tempting—to indulge in one debauchery or another. Sweet meats, fruits no one ought to have been able to grow here, and so many lustful, handsome men …

  She pressed her palms to her temples, wandering on, then faltered. Geri reclined against a pillar, a man dripping some kind of crimson liquid onto her tongue one drop at a time. Please don’t let that be blood.

  Sif stormed over. “What are you doing?”

  Geri stared up at her with glassy eyes and blinked twice. The varulf moaned and slid a hand down along her trousers, grabbing herself between her legs. The man feeding her the vile liquid took that as an invitation and began unlacing her clothes.

  Damn it, Geri. What had gotten into all of the Thunderers? This place was a poison—thick and toxic as the fabled river Elivagar. Sif’s stomach lurched as she stumbled away. She’d find no comfort in Geri, nor, from the look of it, in any of the others.

  Even quiet and solemn Meili seemed lost in the debaucheries of Vörnir’s hall, laying down with a trio of women.

  And Hildolf … a jotunn seemed to have convinced him to try licking honey off his own arse. Thus far, he seemed to be failing, much to the amusement of the watching jotunnar.

  Sif shuddered. It would be so easy to let go, let herself give in, and relish a moment of comfort like the others. But then, who would watch over them? If they could not take care of themselves, she would look after the band. They were her people, and she had to do whatever it took to keep them safe—even from themselves.

  She dare not sample the liquids or draw too nigh to the steam, but she would have to eat. And just pray no toxins saturated the damned food. Eyes bleary, she wandered the hall, snatching up bits of food and fending off one unwanted advance after another.

  To this jotunn, this lust-addled monstr
osity, they had entrusted the safety of all Midgard. It was not like to end well. A sudden, terrible fear settled on her gut and sent her rushing over the pile of Thor’s discarded clothes. She lifted his tunic … Mjölnir still lay underneath it. Replacing the shirt, she settled down beside it. They could not afford to lose the hammer.

  Not even if it meant she had to sit there while Thor pumped his cock into a jotunn trench ten feet away. Sif turned her back on the atrocity, set her jaw, and settled herself to watch the hammer. She would not allow herself to sleep in this place, no matter how much she needed it, no matter how dizzy the fumes made her.

  Someone had to retain her senses. That someone had to be her.

  22

  Five Years Ago

  The warmth of Asgard offered a welcome reprieve after their long moons about Midgard. Here, the sun warmed Sif’s face, and she let her hair hang loose, relishing the light. Thor, of course, claimed they fought to bring this bounty to all of Midgard, but Sif couldn’t see how slaying trolls and jotunnar and draugar would banish the mist.

  The Thunderers walked the road toward the royal hall of Valaskjalf side by side, save for the prince who led. Men and women cheered their passing, some offering fruits or sweet meats. The latter, Geri accepted, stuffing her face and letting juice drip down her chin.

  Sif snickered and shook her head. “Wild dog.”

  Geri sucked down more juice. “Bitch.”

  That drew another snort. “Do I truly need to point out the irony in such a claim coming from you?”

  “I don’t know. Do you? If so, I’d say that says something about you.” The varulf offered Sif a hunk of meat.

  She shook her head again. “We look travel-worn and disheveled enough as it is for an audience with the queen.”

  Geri shrugged, then licked her fingers. “You mean Mother.”

  Yes, though it was so easy to forget that, as Odin’s adopted daughter, Geri thought of Frigg as her mother.

  Above the hall, construction had begun on a tower that seemed made of silver. Sif shook her head in wonder. The sheer ostentation of the creation would leave a woman speechless. Why build such a thing, save as a beacon to reflect the light and announce Odin’s hall to all Asgard? As she drew closer it became apparent the workers had set silver plates atop a stone foundation.

  “Father ordered it built,” Geri said, obviously reading the look on her face.

  Gate guards announced them as they drew nigh to the throne room. The royal hall was not unlike the great halls of mortal kings, save the ceilings rose ten times her height, supported by rafters of stone and silver-plated iron. Massive statues warded the outside of the hall, and others, smaller but still three or four times her size, lined the long stretch back to the thrones themselves. Sif had come here only but a few times, and always, the long walk left her stomach rumbling like butterflies flitted about inside.

  Four years ago, she had met Thor here, after his apple ceremony. That was when he had formed the Thunderers, and she had begged the prince for a place on his team. And for reasons he never explained, he accepted her.

  Frigg, elegant and graceful, sat upon one throne, legs crossed and arms gripping the armrests. Her smile at Thor’s return seemed so controlled Sif might have almost doubted the woman cared had she not known better. The queen hid her emotions, always. A woman could learn a lot from her, she supposed.

  “At long last you return to us, my son,” Frigg said. “Word has reached us of your many victories across Midgard. I hear you even felled a jotunn.”

  “Two of them, mother.” Thor swept a glorious bow, turning to flash his brilliant smile at every member of the court. “One I decapitated with his own axe.” He pointed a finger at a skald. “Be certain to include that detail in the tellings!” Thor chuckled. “Glorious, I tell you.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “Indeed. And”—Thor turned, smiled at Sif for a brief moment that sent the butterflies into a rampage—“I could not have accomplished nigh to so much without my companions. Most notably, Sif Hermodsdotter. She has fought bravely beside me and even slew trolls with her own hands. As such, I request you grant her a reward fitting for such deeds.”

  By the Tree! Was he saying what it sounded like? Sif’s legs turned to water. All she could do was focus her energy on not collapsing in the middle of the great hall.

  It wouldn’t do to seem too eager. Of course, everyone wanted an apple. To live forever in youth and health, stronger and faster than any other person? No greater prize existed. But then, a great many Aesir fought, bled, and oft as not, died trying to prove themselves worthy.

  “You mean you think the girl deserves an apple of Yggdrasil,” Frigg said.

  “Indeed.”

  Ten thousand questions raced through her mind. Why did he speak now? Did he feel aught more than friendship for her? Or was it purely reward for her actions as he said? Or did he fear losing her in battle? And if so, did that fear belie some deeper emotion between them? No. No, she could not dare to hope such a thing. Could she?

  One did not dabble with princes. Naught good came from such liaisons. She knew. She had learned it already.

  The queen spread her hands and leaned forward, locking Sif’s eyes with her own.

  Right. The queen of Asgard was looking at her. At her. Oh fuck.

  “So, shieldmaiden,” Frigg said, “do you believe yourself worthy of such an honor? Would you accept eternal life, knowing it meant denying it to another?”

  Sif’s mouth opened and a squeak came out. Fuck. How did you even answer a question like that? Was she the most worthy person in all the world for immortality? That sounded like the most pompous claim she’d ever heard—and she spent all her days beside Thor. Much as she adored him, the prince had pride the size of the World Serpent. She tried again. Another damn squeak.

  “Oh, come now, mother!” Thor bellowed. “Are such ceremonies truly necessary when your own son vouches for the woman’s honor and prowess? I say to you she deserves it.”

  Did he love her? It sounded like he did. Holy fuck. Her heart was beating so hard against her ribs it would probably start to echo through the hall. Her fingers twitched, unable to still themselves. Was she ever this tongue-tied in Gylfi’s hall? No. Not even close. “I … am honored.” Wonderful. She sounded like a mouse in a hall designed to carry sound hundreds of feet.

  Thor strode over and slapped her on the back, hard enough to send her stumbling forward. “You see! She admits she deserves it.”

  She forced a chuckle as she caught her balance, trying not to look a damned fool before the queen. His mother. His mother! Sif grinned. Like a fool. Oh fuck. Just let the whole damn hall collapse and bury her now.

  Frigg turned her hand over in a gesture that sent someone scrambling away toward the back of the hall. “Very well. The petition for an apple is granted. Sif Hermodsdotter shall be welcomed into the ranks of the immortals.”

  The ceremony felt like a dream, a ritual happening to someone else as she watched. Men and women blew upon gilded horns at dawn, heralding her arrival as though she were a goddess herself. Sif supposed that was the idea.

  She wore a dress of elegant blue silk, imported from Miklagard, shimmering and sleek. She rarely wore dresses anymore. It always felt like trying too hard.

  Her parents were off fighting against the Serkland Caliphate, so, of those she truly cared for, only Thor and the rest of the Thunderers attended. Off in the wings she had spotted Aunt Sigyn, but they weren’t close. And so, alone, she walked the long hall to where Frigg waited, holding a basket with a single golden apple.

  The queen spoke long of the duty and honor now bestowed upon her, of the need to always remain worthy of that honor, to become a symbol to those who remained mortal, out in the cold. And when at last Sif’s hand closed around that apple—warm and pulsing faintly—it felt the hand of another.

  One did not eat the apple in the main hall. She had heard it would drive her into fits of delirium, euphoria, and sexual ar
ousal unlike aught she had ever experienced. People talked about it, especially the last bit, and shared stories of what they imagined it was like.

  And then it was over. Frigg waved a hand, the gathered crowd cheered, and their ranks broke as they went to mingle among themselves, laughing and drinking. Many raised toasted in her honor. As she drifted around the crowd, several men offered to help her sate herself after she tasted the apple. Sif tried to keep a straight face at each.

  Thor was talking to Gna, one of Frigg’s ladies, who giggled into her palm. Sif scowled at the woman. What were they talking about? With the tumult of the celebration, she couldn’t make out the words but from the look on that bitch’s face …

  A hand fell on her shoulder, and she turned roughly. “Aunt Sigyn.”

  “Congratulations, Sif.”

  Sif smiled as politely as she could manage, casting another look back at Thor. That wanton bitch was leading him away, out of the royal hall. Who the fuck did they think they were fooling? A blind man could have seen what they intended.

  “It’s hard, sometimes,” Sigyn said, “when those closest to us cannot see what lies right in front of them. You have to decide whether it’s best to give over what does not lie in your urd, or whether to step forward, custom be damned, and claim it. Eternity is a long time to live in regret.”

  Sif favored her with a withering scowl. The woman always knew more than she had any right to and seemed to think that gave her permission to stick her nose in other’s affairs. “I do not seek counsel at the moment, aunt.”

  Sigyn opened her mouth, then shut it with a too-knowing smile. Bitch. “Sif, you know the Vanir had a tradition in such times. The recipient of the apple could request to spend the night with anyone she chose as part of the honor, and, it was all but forbidden for anyone to refuse.” Sigyn cast a glance at Thor and Gna as they reached a doorway. “There is precedence for a request if you don’t let it slip through your fingers.”