Iduna's Apples (Valhalla Book 2)

by Jennifer Willis

  “Why don’t you ride a flatulent goat off a steep cliff?” Thor spat in a hoarse whisper.

  “A gruff and feisty bride. I like it.” Freyr leaned back and laughed. “But you might want to tone it down. Sure, Freya’s not a fan of Thrym to begin with, but she is less direct with her barbs.”

  Thor twisted the tight bodice across his torso, trying to prevent the fabric from binding beneath his arms. “Who said I was trying to insult a giant? That one was just for you.”

  “Whatever you say, princess.” Freyr paced while Thor fidgeted. “Try not to tear the dress to pieces just yet, eh?”

  Thor shoved the bouquet beneath his veil and held the flowers in his teeth to free both hands. He yanked at the ivory-colored fabric—repurposed pillow cases appropriated from the master bedroom—that rose from the bust to cover the shoulders before finishing in a high collar around Thor’s thick neck.

  “This liner, or whatever the hell it’s supposed to be, is incredibly itchy,” Thor complained through clenched teeth. “Makes me want to tear my own skin off.”

  Freyr stopped in place and patted Thor’s elbow. “If you weren’t so shy about showing a little cleavage, you wouldn’t be having this problem, now would you?”

  Thor dropped the bouquet into his hand. “Go eat a troll,” he growled. “You know I’ve got too much chest hair to be showing any skin. I don’t care how long they were stuck in that glacier. Even a Frost Giant is going to draw the line somewhere.”

  Freyr grabbed Thor by the shoulders and shook him—or tried to. Short of an 8.2 earthquake, or an angry Saga, there wasn’t much that could actually rattle the massive god.

  “It’s time to get it together.”

  Thor’s muscles relaxed. He smoothed out the material of the gown’s skirt and lifted his bouquet with surprising grace. “So, how do I look?” Thor hastily raised a finger and pointed it in Freyr’s face. “And no insults.”

  “Honestly?” Freyr looked Thor up and down while the bride posed for inspection. Thor clasped the bouquet delicately in both hands at the gown’s empire waist, from which thick folds of tapestried fabric hung to the ground.

  “Not bad. If I’d been imprisoned for thousands of years with only Valthrudnir for company, I might marry you myself.” Freyr extended his arm. “Let’s get you to your wedding.”

  Thor rested his big hand lightly on Freyr’s elbow and allowed himself to be led forward. They came around the last bend and saw a clearing ringed with flaming torches where the path seemed to dead-end into a rock wall.

  Thor felt his cousin’s frame stiffen and his gait slow as they drew closer to the meeting point. He knew Freyr was fighting the temptation to look back for a glimpse of Heimdall.

  “He’s there,” Thor whispered beneath the lace veil. “Even if he’s not, we can take these guys.”

  Freyr’s jaw tensed. “You think I’m afraid to face a bunch of Frost Giants?”

  Thor inclined his head. “If you’re not, there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

  A tall figure stepped out of the shadows into the circle ahead. Freyr inhaled sharply as he recognized Thiassen. “I hate these guys.”

  “One more thing we have in common, cousin.” Thor patted Freyr’s elbow as they continued forward.

  Thiassen opened his arms wide. “We welcome the twins of the Vanir, Freya and Freyr.”

  Thor and Freyr stepped into the circle of torches. Thiassen moved toward them and bowed. “An especially hearty welcome to the goddess Freya, soon to be Queen of the Frost Giants.”

  While Freyr’s pained smile froze on his face, Thor did everything in his power to keep from spitting on the ground. Queen of the Frost Giants. He tried to imagine how cool and collected the real Freya would be, even upon being offered such a despicable title.

  “It’s just you, then?” Freyr’s voice cracked.

  “I was elected to the honor of greeting the bride and her brother, yes.” Thiassen plucked a pair of apples out of his vest pocket.

  “You are no doubt feeling weak.” He gestured toward them with the apples in his outstretched hands. “There will be more at the wedding feast, of course, when we can sit side by side as true kin. Take these as tokens of our good will, and replenish yourselves for the ceremony.”

  Thor hesitated. Freyr stepped forward and accepted the apples. “My sister is a bit shy,” he explained. “Nervous about the wedding.”

  Thiassen smiled and bobbed his head.

  “She appreciates your hospitality, but would prefer not to reveal her face.” Freyr frowned at his own pitiful lie.

  Thiassen paused, then took a few steps back. “Of course. It is natural that a bride would not want to lift her veil for any but her new husband. Please, take your time.” He turned away.

  Freyr rolled his eyes and handed the apple to Thor. They both immediately bit into the sacred fruit, consuming the apples whole.

  “I hadn’t known how weak I was,” Freyr whispered. “I can feel just a trickle of strength returning already . . .”

  Thor grunted and mopped juice off his beard with the inside of the veil. The fabric felt itchier than ever against his skin. He made a conscious effort to unclench his fists, then he smiled. He was growing more irritated. That was a good sign.

  “My sister and I thank you for your patience and understanding,” Freyr called out to Thiassen.

  Thiassen turned around and smiled. He took a few paces toward them and paused to admire the bride.

  “My lady,” the giant half-bowed. “May I say what a true pleasure it is to be in your gracious presence? These past millennia have been very kind to you indeed.”

  Thor gritted his teeth, though he heard Freyr choke back a snort. He wondered if the Vanir sprite would be laughing if he was the one in the dress instead.

  “Will you not accompany me inside?” Thiassen gestured toward a shadowy path on the far side of the circle of torches, then disappeared into the dark, recessed area that lay beyond.

  Freyr lifted his head and followed, gently urging Thor along as they stepped into the shadows.

  “I can’t see a bloody thing beneath this stupid veil.” Thor kicked at the hem of his gown as his boots threatened to get tangled again in his train. “No wonder brides need their fathers to walk them down the aisle. They’d never find their way to the altar otherwise.”

  “Shh.” Freyr smiled and patted Thor’s hand as Thiassen glanced at them over his shoulder. “There, there,” Freyr murmured for effect.

  The giant turned back around, and Freyr and Thor froze.

  “Did you hear . . . ?” Freyr whispered.

  Thor turned his face upward as a trace of high-pitched cackling echoed down from the mountain’s peak.

  Thor shivered, his hulking form shaking the folds of his heavy gown and the weaponry stored beneath. “That doesn’t sound like any Frost Giant I ever heard.”

  “Maybe all that time in the ice . . . did something to them?” Freyr asked.

  Up ahead, Thiassen pushed open a heavy stone door that led directly into the mountain and motioned for them to approach.

  “This is your fortress?” Freyr called to Thiassen.

  The giant paused before answering. “Now that we are to be family . . . Yes, this is one entry to our mountain stronghold. I can give you a more comprehensive tour after the ceremony, if you would like?”

  Freyr offered a thin smile.

  “Built inside the bloody mountain,” Thor cursed under his breath. He paused at the entryway to study its construction. “I’m amazed Maggie got a call out at all.”

  “A full tour of this place? Knowing where all the entrances are, all the vulnerabilities?” Freyr whispered back. “That might be worth marrying a Frost Giant for.”

  They followed Thiassen down a dim corridor, lit by angled mirrors reflecting sunlight around every bend.

  “This is quite a set-up they have here. Nice use of sunlight,” Freyr said in open appreciation. He ran his fingers along the polished stone walls. “Inc
redibly smooth. This isn’t something they did overnight.”

  “I don’t imagine it’s too comfortable in winter, though,” said Thor. “But if they put as much thought into airflow as they did with the lighting—”

  “How long has this place been in existence?” Freyr called to Thiassen.

  The giant stopped and turned toward him. “Our king built it for your sister here, before the war.” He nodded politely toward the bride. “It was to be a bridal gift, at their wedding.” He half-bowed again before continuing down the corridor.

  “I wonder what the square footage is,” Freyr mused aloud. “Colors are kind of dull, though.”

  Thor gripped Freyr’s arm. “If you’re quite finished playing Martha Stewart, I’d like to focus on surveilling the property for strategic weaknesses.”

  The passageway opened into a small chamber with a large skylight cut into the ceiling. Freyr glanced at the evening sun overhead.

  “It’s like a maze in here,” Freyr called again to Thiassen.

  The giant shrugged but kept moving forward. He led them down another corridor branching off from the close room. “You are not the first to say so. Goddess Maggie has made similar comments.”

  Thor nearly tripped. Goddess Maggie?

  “She’s here,” Freyr breathed.

  Thor squeezed Freyr’s arm.

  Freyr cleared his throat. “Yes, we have been wanting to inquire after our kinswoman. Is she well?”

  Thiassen glanced over his shoulder, then turned a corner and waited for them to follow. “Quite well. She will be one of the honored guests at the ceremony this evening.”

  The corridor ended and they stepped into a large hall illuminated by sunlight pouring in through narrow windows cut into the high ceiling. A circle of candles burned on tall pillars at one end of the room.

  Thor elbowed Freyr in the ribs and nodded toward the other end of the chamber, dominated by a large table piled high with meats, vegetables, tankards of ale—and mounds of Iduna’s apples, easily enough to fill their clan’s share of the harvest.

  Thiassen stopped in the middle of the room. Watching Freyr and the bride as they entered the hall, he followed their eyes to the feast table and smiled.

  “All has been arranged for a truly joyous celebration of the joining of our two clans.” Towering over his guests, Thiassen clasped his large hands together and cast a long shadow across the polished stone floor. “This day has been too long in coming. If only a similar arrangement had been agreed to prior to that fateful day, so many centuries ago, we could have joined forces against the Æsir—”

  “Enough!”

  Thrym, King of the Frost Giants, appeared in one of the doorways leading away from the candle-lit circle. Dressed in what would have passed for baroque finery in the Middle Ages, Thrym threw his shoulders back, puffed out his chest and strode into the room with an air of undeniable authority.

  Thor stiffened, trying not to choke at the sight of Thrym—taller than any NBA player—in a bolero-style, gold-embroidered jacket and ballooning breeches that gathered below the knees.

  Freyr elbowed the husky bride. “Now there’s somebody who needs Project Runway. Or maybe Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.”

  Thor bit his tongue beneath this veil and tried hard not to laugh.

  Thiassen nodded to his king in apology and backed out of the way.

  Thrym approached his bride, looking her up and down with an approving eye. He thew an obligatory glance Freyr’s way, then stopped and bowed deeply. Unable to see past the lace veil, Thrym laughed and raised himself up to standing—more than a head taller than his bride.

  “My, my,” Thrym clucked appreciatively. “You have been keeping yourself well these past millennia. You have filled out nicely.”

  Freyr took an angry step forward and poked the giant in the belly—what would have been the chest on a normal-sized Norse deity. “How dare you address my sister with such a lecherous tone!”

  Thrym stepped back, tilted his head, and appeared to consider Freyr’s protest. After a long pause, he nodded. “Yes, you are quite correct.”

  Thrym knelt on the stone floor and lifted his hand to beseech his bride. “Dear lady, accept my apologies for my inappropriate remarks. I have dreamt of this very moment for many cold years. My excitement and impatience have me acting the impudent fool.”

  Freyr leaned close to Thor and whispered. “I don’t remember the Frost Giants being quite so polite.”

  Thor leaned in even closer. “Did you hear what Thiassen said? About teaming up with the Vanir against the Æsir?” Thor whispered as quietly as possible.

  “Maybe they don’t know our truce is effectively permanent,” Freyr replied.

  Thor looked at Freyr through the thick lace and shrugged. He glanced down at Thrym, still waiting on the floor, and extended a meaty hand—only then realizing he hadn’t taken care to hide his rough, hairy paws.

  “Such strength in these lovely fingers!” Thrym laughed out loud and clasped his bride’s thick hand, then leaned forward and lightly kissed Thor’s calloused knuckles. Thor clenched his stomach to stave off a disgusted shiver.

  Gripping his bride’s hand tight, Thrym rose to his feet. “Well, then!” He patted his future wife’s fingers. “Let us not delay.”

  He gestured toward the ring of candles—where Thiassen stood waiting to perform the ceremony—and led Thor across the floor.

  Freyr looked about the room and frowned. “Where are the others?”

  Thrym turned to him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The others.” Freyr gestured about the empty room. “Are there to be no other guests other than myself?”

  “Ah, of course.” Thrym gestured to Thiassen, who ducked into a nearby corridor. He reappeared moments later, followed by Geirrod, Valthrudnir, Maggie, and Iduna.

  Freyr’s face melted at the sight of Maggie, and he crossed the floor quickly toward her. “Maggie! Are you all right?” He took her hands into his and studied her face for any signs of abuse or trauma.

  Maggie nearly laughed with surprised relief. “Am I glad to see you!” She glanced past Freyr and frowned. “Where’s everyone else? Where’s Heimdall?”

  “It’s just the two of us, for now.” Freyr nodded toward the bridal Thor, standing amongst the candles with the would-be groom. “I can’t really explain it all just this second.”

  “I’m also well, by the way,” Iduna cut in with a scowl. “In case you were wondering.”

  Freyr turned to her with an embarrassed nod. “Iduna, of course.” He let go of Maggie’s hands and stood in front of the Goddess of the Grove. “We were devastated by your capture—”

  “I’ll bet,” she cut him off.

  “Iduna, this is no time . . .” Freyr leaned toward her, then closed his mouth when Geirrod stepped up beside Maggie with a protective air.

  “Lady Maggie,” the giant leaned down and cooed to her. “We are to witness a great event this evening.” He gestured toward the bride and groom several yards away. “The marriage of your Freya to our king will bind us as one at last.”

  Maggie squinted at the bride and frowned. “That’s not Freya.”

  Freyr laughed with exaggerated volume, but Geirrod looked at the bride with suspicion.

  “You’ve just never seen Freya in a bridal gown before,” Freyr announced loudly, then leaned close to Maggie. “Just sit tight. Things are going to get really weird for a few minutes.”

  Maggie sighed. “I doubt it could get any weirder than the past few days . . .”

  Iduna gripped Maggie’s arm and pulled her aside. “Welcome to the pantheon,” she scoffed.

  Freyr walked back across the floor toward the bridal couple and addressed Thrym with a stern tone. “I’ll ask again what is keeping the other guests? Would you dishonor my sister—your bride—by not conducting a fitting ceremony in the presence of your full complement?”

  Thrym blinked. “I assure you, my almost-brother, every surviving member of my clan is present.�
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  Freyr rested his hands on his hips. “What do you mean, every surviving member?”

  “We four.” Thiassen stepped forward. “We are the only Frost Giants who came out of the ice.”

  Freyr stomped his foot on the stone floor. “This is a ruse! What cruel trick is this?” He grabbed Thor’s arm and played at pulling the bride away from her suitor. “You will not spout such lies to your intended kin on my sister’s wedding day.”

  Freyr stormed toward the doorway—at least, he tried to. Thor didn’t understand at first that he was supposed to allow himself to be dragged along like a distraught maiden. Freyr gave him a hard look through the thick lace and tried tugging on his arm again.

  Thor attempted what he thought sounded like a feminine sob, and followed Freyr across the floor.

  “Wait!” Thrym hurried after them. “It is no lie. Please, do not go. Allow me to explain.”

  Freyr glanced sideways at Thor, then turned around with dark indignation. “For all we know, you have lured us here for a fake ceremony while your army attacks our kin.”

  “No.” Thrym lifted his hands and dropped his shoulders. “What Thiassen says is true.” He gestured toward his three fellow giants. “We are the only survivors of our icy prison.”

  Thor bristled, ready to charge at Thrym. Freyr grabbed him by the wrist and squeezed. “Odin and his army sent nearly one hundred Frost Giants into the ice,” he spat. “You expect us to believe only four of you remain?”

  “They died down there, Freyr.” Maggie stepped away from the wall. “Trapped in the glacier for thousands of years, without these magic apples you’re all so crazy for.” She gestured toward the feast table at the far end of the room, then glanced quickly at the four giants around her and shivered.

  “Listen, I’m not friends with these guys or anything. They’ve kept me locked up in here, with her . . .” She nodded toward Iduna. “But near as I can tell, it really is just these four guys.”

  Freyr turned to Thor and shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s possible . . .”

  “We could not have come to you for help. You defeated us! You imprisoned us!” Thrym took another step toward them. “This is why we stole the apples.”