by Leia Stone
“Let me grab . . . Tore?” I rose from retrieving the necklace, never taking my eyes off Tore’s tight lips and white-rimmed eyes. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “What’s wrong?”
“Where did you get that necklace?”
“Oh, Tore, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. It was the sweetest thing—your mom loaned it to me. She said she wanted me to wear it tonight.” As I stared at Tore’s face, awareness hit me like a brick wall. “Oh, my God. She wore this back when you were . . . I figured she’d picked it up during her time in Trondheim. I should have realized—”
“It’s all right,” Tore murmured. He reached up to touch the pearls with one finger, as if he was afraid the necklace might break. Given that we’d just dropped it on the floor, it wasn’t an unreasonable fear. Honestly, Allie. Be careful!
“It’s just that I haven’t seen these in years—since I was very young. My mom stopped wearing them after my father became more . . . free with his affairs.”
Oh, God. Had I seriously opened that can of worms tonight of all nights? Worst. Girlfriend. Ever.
“I should have warned you,” I said. “She just really wanted me to borrow them, and it was so sweet of her to offer. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” Tore reached out his hand. He took the pearls from my open palm and fastened them around my neck before explaining further. “This necklace was my father’s wedding gift to my mother.”
Good God, Ophelia had loaned me her wedding gift? To wear to her dead, forgotten husband’s funeral?
Crazy factor infinity achieved.
Tore continued speaking, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “The fact that my mom wanted you to wear this necklace tonight means that on some level, she remembers her connection to Revenge. Which means that in time, she really will remember her connection to me. And to herself.”
Talk about finding the bright side. Way to go, boyfriend. “That’s . . . that’s really beautiful,” I said softly. “She’ll come back to us, Tore. I have faith.”
“I do, too.” He leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on my lips before pulling back. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, Allie. You’re holding me together, you know that?”
“That works both ways, Protector.” I kept my tone deliberately light. The last thing he needed before walking into a room full of grieving gods was to be saddled with my addled energy. Especially because the mere mention of the incoming Norse pantheon sent a pitcher of nerves sloshing through my torso, from my gut all the way up to my throat.
Dear Universe, Please don’t let me embarrass myself in front of the Alfödr, or the gods of . . . well, of everything. Xoxo, Allie
The ring of the doorbell doused my centers in a fresh wave of anxiety. I mean it, Universe. You better be listening.
“Well.” Tore drew his shoulders back. “No putting this off any longer, I guess. You ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I buried my feelings super deep, forced a smile onto my face, and channeled my inner Mack. My job was to support Tore through this ordeal. So long as I remembered that, everything would be fine.
I hoped.
I held out my hand, and Tore wrapped his palm around it. From the set of his jaw and the twitch of his eye, I knew he no more looked forward to this evening than I did. But I’d be right with him, lending whatever support I could to whatever situation arose. We’d get through this like we did everything else—together.
And if worst came to worst, it was nice to know we had a dragon on standby to fly us the hell out of Trondheim.
***
The evening went as well as could be expected. Numerous members of the Norse Pantheon had descended on Trondheim to honor Vidar’s son, and Tore greeted each of them with admirable grace. His outward demeanor was the picture of calm, and while he never waxed about Vidar’s paternal strengths, he managed to honor his father by not drawing unnecessary attention to Vidar’s shortcomings. Mack’s parents, Elora and Ryul, stayed close to me and Tore, diverting the more gossipy gods to the kitchen and sparing my boyfriend from unnecessary drama. And Bodie’s parents, who were every bit as warm and joyful as their son, directed the flow of traffic through the living room to the more formal dining area, so Tore didn’t have to spend any longer than necessary receiving condolences. Ophelia, who usually would have retired after dinner, had offered to help serve food and clean up. But since we didn’t want to overwhelm her fragile healing with an onslaught of Asgardians mourning the husband she still didn’t recall, Johann’s dads had volunteered to keep her distracted in the little kitchen of her cottage. Garrett had whisked her away under the guise of wanting to learn her lingonberry cookie recipe, while Hjalmar was tasked with providing benign reminders of Ophelia’s Asgardian days that might cement a few of her newly-recovered memories. In the meantime, the rest of my friends tended to our guests, kept a steady flow of food coming from the kitchen, and generally ran interference to ensure the night was as un-traumatic as possible for Tore.
“I thought we weren’t participating in the funeral thing,” I whispered to Mack when he brought me a canapé-laden plate. The bulk of the visitors had come and gone, thank God, and Tore had waved me away so I could discreetly devour Mack’s snack. My boyfriend and I had spent the previous two hours standing in front of the stairs greeting Asgardian visitors, and I was beyond exhausted. I couldn’t imagine what Tore must have been feeling as he’d stood stiffly, thanking well-wishers who expressed their sorrow over the death of his father.
“We didn’t. This was just the wake,” Mack whispered back. “Trust me, the funeral thing would have been way worse. Four times the number of guests, and the heir is tasked with lighting the pyre and releasing the ship. Though since Vidar was eviscerated by the eternal flame, the ship’s offering would have been purely symbolic.”
“Releasing the—oh. Oh! My God,” I whispered. “That’s terrible.” Asgardians had Viking funerals? No wonder Tore had stayed home. Burning his dad’s funeral ship—even a symbolic funeral ship—seemed like the worst possible thing to ask a grieving son to do.
“Ja.” Mack grimaced, before returning to the kitchen. I waved my boyfriend away from the stairs, and we settled into the couch while Mack retrieved a second plate for Tore.
“How are you holding up?” I asked Tore.
“I’ve been better,” he muttered.
My god-brother returned, handing off the canapés with a nod. “Now eat up, both of you. It’s late, so I think that’s the last wave of guests, but you know how it is. Somebody always shows up late and expects to be entertained long after—oh!” Mack’s head whipped around at the sound of the front door closing. “Oh, hei hei, Alfödr. Velkommen to our huset. Please allow me to fetch you a plate.”
The Alfödr offered a small smile while Mack scurried to the kitchen with pink ears. I set my plate on the end table as I stood quickly. “Hello, sir,” I offered. “Sorry about Mack—he’s been cooking all day. He’s exhausted.”
“I understand.” The Alfödr gave a fatherly nod, before turning to the stiff-backed demigod now standing at my side. That was odd; Tore hadn’t seemed uncomfortable around Asgard’s ruler when he’d visited before. Had something changed since then? Besides Vidar’s death?
Oh. Oh, no. Vidar’s death. Vidar’s death would change everything for Tore. Because Tore wasn’t only Vidar’s son, he was his heir, which meant—
“Tore.” The Alfödr spoke gently. “I need to speak with you privately about the new regime. Will you join me outside?”
“Ja.” Tore’s shoulders slumped. He kept his eyes on the ground as he handed me his plate. “Be right back, Allie,” he muttered.
“Tore.” I reached up to squeeze his elbow with my free hand. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“I’m sorry, Allie, but this matter is private.” The Alfödr’s tone wasn’t unkind, but it was firm. This was definitely not up for discussion.
But I didn’t care.
“I�
��m here if you need me,” I reminded Tore. If it came to it, I’d grab Scarlet and have us away from that porch in less time than it took Bodie to polish off a plate of Ophelia’s cookies. Nobody got to stress out my boyfriend at his dead dad’s wake. Not even the head of Asgard.
“I know you are. That’s why I love you.” Tore offered me a tired smile before following the Alfödr outside. From the heaviness in his step and the hang of his shoulders, I knew he was beyond exhausted, but I sensed his problems were only just beginning.
Elora glided into the room to be by my side, and I turned to her. “What do I do?” I asked. My godmother stared after Tore, her lips set in a tight line of disapproval.
“Couldn’t he have waited a day?” she tutted. “Poor Tore’s been through enough.”
Preach. I raked my bottom lip between my teeth and fought the urge to bite down. “Is he going to have to take his dad’s job now?”
Elora turned to me, concern lining her soft features. “Oh, sweetheart. Come here.” She opened her arms, and I set Tore’s plate on the end table before launching myself into them.
“Is he?” I choked down my fear. Tore wanted nothing to do with Revenge—he’d told me that the first week I’d known him. If the Alfödr forced him to take his dad’s title, he’d be miserable. Who wanted their entire life’s work to be wrapped up in getting freaking revenge? It was the least Zen-like career in the world. And it definitely wasn’t Tore. What was he going to do?
“Shh,” Elora soothed. “I don’t know what the Alfödr will ask of Tore, but I know that Tore will rise brilliantly to the occasion. Whatever the Norns have in store for him, it is not to become his father. If he is to ascend to Revenge, he will wear the title with all the grace and dignity Vidar failed to exhibit. I know this with certainty.”
“Thanks.” I sniffled into Elora’s shoulder. “His life’s just been hard enough. I don’t want this for him.”
“I don’t want this for him, either.” Elora put her hands on my shoulders. She leaned back to study me. “I want to see him settled down with a nice girl, happy. And I also know with certainty that that will happen for him.”
Heat crept up my neck, and I tugged at the lacy collar of my dress. “Thank you,” I whispered. “For everything.”
“It’s truly my pleasure.” Elora squeezed my shoulders. “Now, why don’t you go into the kitchen and chat with your friends for a bit? I’ll take care of any stragglers, and send Tore your way when he comes back inside.”
“Thanks,” I said again. “You want anything to eat?”
“I’m good.” She waved me away. I offered small smiles to the handful of Asgardians lingering in the living room. Bodie and Mack’s parents kept them occupied while I scooted into the kitchen. It was empty, except for Greta and Mack, who hurriedly scooped appetizers onto a plate.
“It’s okay, Mack. The Alfödr’s outside. You have a few minutes.” With a sigh, I lowered myself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, and eased the high heels from my now-screaming toes. Next time, I’d wear flats, for sure.
“Oh, good.” Mack slowed his movements, arranging the food more carefully before carrying it out to the living room. He returned to the kitchen empty-handed.
“Where’s Tore?” Greta pulled up a chair and sat beside me.
“Talking to the Alfödr about the regime change.”
“Already?” she blurted. “I thought he’d have more time.”
“So, you knew for sure he’d have to take Revenge’s job, too?”
“He’s the sole heir. We didn’t expect it to be an issue for a long time, but . . .” Greta shrugged.
I wrung my fingertips together. I’d briefly wondered about Asgard’s succession rules, but in hindsight, I really should have seen this coming.
“It’s okay, Allie.” Greta reached across the table to place her hand over mine. “He knew this day would arrive. It’s going to be an adjustment, but we’ll help him through it. And Asgard will be all the better for it.”
Right.
I pulled my hands into my lap and stared at the table. The front door opened and closed several times, and the noise from the living room dimmed with each Asgardian’s departure. When Mack, Bodie, and Johann had all taken seats around the kitchen table with Greta and I, and a full two minutes had passed between door closures, a throaty voice broke through the silence.
“Well, it’s official.” Five heads swiveled as one to find Tore slouched against the kitchen doorway. “You’re in the presence of Revenge.”
There was no humor behind Tore’s words. Not a trace of irony or ego. Just the dry, monotone of a god resigned to his fate.
Oh, poor Tore.
I pushed out the empty chair beside me, and Tore crossed the space to drop into it. I didn’t say a word, just turned my hand up and rested it on his thigh. He slid his fingers through mine and closed his eyes.
“I have until we kill Nott and wake Eir,” he rumbled. “After that, the Alfödr wants to hold the ascension ceremony. It’s a done deal.”
So once my dreams came true, Tore’s came to a crashing halt? Seriously, Universe, could you be any more screwed up right now?
“Is there any way out of it? Could you appoint a successor, or—”
My escape plan was interrupted by Elora’s unusually tense voice from the other room. “Absolutely not. You are not welcome in this house now, or ever. Ryul, remove her immediately.”
“You’ll need to come with me,” Mack’s dad ordered.
I craned my head around to see what was happening, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Tiri, the one mistress of Vidar’s I’d had the displeasure of meeting, stood near the front door. Her boobs practically toppled out of her completely inappropriate black mini-dress. Seriously, did she have no self-respect?
“Tore!” Tiri called from the living room. “Tore, I need to talk to you.”
Tore’s jaw tensed. His hands balled into fists, and I had to hurriedly extract my fingers from his to avoid requiring an emergency hand-healing. “She is not welcome here,” he growled.
Mack, Bodie and Johann stood. They took menacing steps toward the living room.
“We’ll get rid of her,” Bodie vowed.
“I think Mack’s dad is already on it,” I said. Sure enough, when I looked back to the living room, Ryul was nudging Tiri through the front door.
Vidar’s mistress yelled through the narrowing crack, “Wait! Tore! I came to apologize.”
“Right,” Tore mumbled under his breath.
“You need to leave, Tiri,” Johann threatened, as he and my boys bore down on the front door.
“Tore, please!” Tiri pleaded. Then she drew her shoulders back, and called out, “I know how to heal your mother!”
CHAPTER NINE
“WHAT DID SHE SAY?” Tore pushed himself up from the table so fast, his chair toppled backward. Mack, Bodie and Johann stilled, turning to Tore with wide eyes.
Tiri knew how to heal Ophelia? I didn’t know if she was trying to ingratiate herself, or just screw with us.
Tore appeared to be in camp screw with us, because he whirled on one heel and stormed into the living room. “How dare you?” he bellowed, before pulling the front door from Ryul’s grasp and dragging it open. “Get out of my house. Get out of my sight. Never come near me again!”
The words thundered into the night, thickening the air with the heavy resonance of rage. So much for keeping the evening drama-free.
Greta and I knocked our own chairs to the ground and ran into the living room. Whatever was about to go down, we had Tore’s back. And at that moment, said back was shaking with barely contained fury. I knew Tore wouldn’t hit a woman, but I had zero doubt he’d find some way to set Tiri straight if this turned out to be a ruse.
Run, Tiri. Run as fast as those stupid little legs can carry you.
“I know you’re angry, Tore.” Tiri raised her hands to shoulder level, as if she could deflect the charged emotions with a chest pass. Girl was going to need
way bigger hands. “I drove a wedge between you and your father, and I’ll have to answer for that for the rest of my existence. I apologize.”
“Go to Helheim,” Tore ground through gritted teeth.
“I probably will,” Tiri admitted. “But whatever my fate, I need you to have this.” She pulled a folded piece of paper from her cleavage—seriously?—and held it out to Tore.
“Why should I trust anything you give me?” Tore glowered.
“Because your father wanted you to have it. I found it after the funeral today, when I was going through his things.” Tiri’s eyes filled with unshed tears. She looked around our group, but didn’t catch one lick of sympathy. Nor should she. “Vidar kept most of his work papers in his office, but this was tucked into his nightstand. Behind the gold ring he wore when he was married.”
Not smart, Tiri. Admitting she knew what married Vidar wore was an implicit admission to her role in breaking up Tore’s family. My boyfriend’s chest rose and fell with seriously volatile energy, and I stepped forward to place a reassuring hand on his back.
“I think you need to leave,” I advised Vidar’s mistress. “Now.”
“I will. But Tore, please take this paper. It explains how to heal your mother. I didn’t know that Vidar wiped her memory—I thought she’d died, just like everyone else did.”
“Died while Revenge was off screwing you, huh?”
The woman shrank back at Tore’s words. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. She shoved the paper into Tore’s hands and ran from the porch. We watched in silence as she raced through the front yard, across the field, and disappeared into the Trondheim night.
After a seeming eternity, Elora’s gentle voice broke the silence. “Come sit down. All of you.”
My protectors, Greta, and I turned as a unit, following Elora’s outstretched hand to claim spaces on the sectional sofa. I settled in between Tore and Greta, while Ryul and Elora lowered themselves onto neighboring loveseats.
I took a quick headcount, and came up short. “Where’s Bodie’s mom and dad? And what happened to the rest of the guests?”