Page 75 of The Magic of Vanaheim

Arngrim bowed, formal as he sometimes tended to be. “You’re welcome, my King. And I need you to know that I’ll do everything to keep you and the realm protected.”

Talvi sighed. “I know.”

He watched Arngrim return to the festivities with a mixture of hope and sorrow. How he wished Arngrim would truly accept Håkon at his side.

twenty

Blót

?åkon

Consciousness came back to him slowly, his thoughts still moving sluggish, and his limbs uncooperative. Håkon neither moved nor opened his eyes so as not to alert anyone who might be watching him to his wakefulness. Taking in his surroundings, he found himself lying on the cold, hard ground of a drafty room, his arms and legs bound with coarse ropes that bit into his skin.

Where was he? This wasn’t Saeborg. Where was Talvinen? Gods, he hoped Talvi wasn’t hurt.

Carefully, Håkon opened his eyes. Around him rose the decaying beams of an abandoned hall—no, a temple. In the center of the building roared a large fire with a cauldron sitting above, like the ones used for cooking meat during ablótceremony. Thick steam rose from the cauldron, curling toward the perforated ceiling like the grabbing fingers of adraugr. All around him, shadows flickered and danced, but he couldn’t make out another living being.

Heart racing, Håkon struggled against his restraints, but it was no use. The ropes were too tight and his hands were bound behind his back and lashed to a wooden stake driven into the loamy ground. There was no way of escaping. Even the gag in his mouth, restricting his breathing, would not come loose.

Norns, what was going on here? The last thing he remembered was attending the second day of the harvest celebrations together with Talvinen. He’d talked to Frekegar for a bit and drunk a cup of mead. Then nothing. Was this Frekegar’s doing? Håkon’s gaze flitted from the fire to the large stone block at the far end of the hall, its weathered surface stained dark by past sacrifices. The floor around the altar was littered with animal bones. Every inch of this place spoke of death and despair, of offerings made to appease ancient deities whose thirst for blood even surpassed the greed of theÆsir.

The sudden thumping of footsteps startled Håkon. Something moved in the shadows, the wind outside picking up, and through an archway stepped a large warrior clad in leather armor and Jotunheim’s coat of arms. Brogar.

Håkon’s stomach turned. He knew for a fact his half-brother’s influence didn’t stretch to Vanaheim. So how did Brogar manage to capture him and bring him outside the walls of Saeborg? Was Brogar here on their father’s behalf? Or did he have helpers in the citadel?

“You’re finally awake, my dear brother,” Brogar said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Welcome to your final resting place.”

Håkon answered him with an angry growl. How he longed to wipe the boastful smirk off Brogar’s face.

“I’m sure you can’t wait to be reunited with your lover. Tell me, did thevalalet you fuck him, or was it you who spread your legs?”

“I’ll kill you,” Håkon hissed, but his words were swallowed by the gag.

Brogar walked over to him, his silvery hair and frost-gray skin shimmering in the light of the fire. Crouching down in front of Håkon, he ran a cold hand over Håkon’s face.

“You should’ve known your place,brother. You should’ve killed the chieftain of theVaniras you were ordered. But don’t worry, I’m not cruel. As soon as your precious husband comes riding out here like the fool he is, believing he can save you, I’ll allow you to die together.”

Håkon’s blood boiled with rage, but he was unable to spit words of defiance in Brogar’s face. This was nothing but a trap, designed to trick Talvinen. And his beloved husband would certainly come for him, running right into it. Shaking with fury, Håkon stared his half-brother down.

Brogar only laughed. “So angry.” As he stood up, he dealt Håkon a sharp blow across the face.

Håkon had no idea how long he lay on the ground afterward, worried sick about Talvinen and tasting blood. He watched the pale sickle of the moon wander across the sky through the holes in the temple’s roof and the cracks in its walls. Yanking at the ropes desperately, again and again, Håkon gritted his teeth as they only dug deeper into his skin. His body screamed at him to fight, to escape before Talvinen walked into this nightmare, but all he managed was to chafe his wrists raw. Brogar had vanished into the darkness of the temple, hiding like the scavenger he was, and Håkon’s panic rose with every passing minute. The soft rustling of leaves pulled Håkon out of his spiraling thoughts. Were there footsteps? A shadow moving in the darkness? Håkon grew perfectly still, cold sweat trickling down his back.Please, gods, don’t let Talvinen be foolish enough to come here alone. Please, don’t let him come here at all.

His prayers weren’t heard. Bold, like a warrior-hero of times long passed, his husband stepped in front of the fire. He woreleather armor like the night of the raid, a sword girded around his hip, and aVanir-green cloak billowing behind him.

Håkon wanted to scream.

“I demand my husband back,” Talvinen said, his voice like a crack of thunder in the near-silent temple. To an ignorant observer, Talvinen might seem like an inexperienced, young warrior, but Håkon knew the raw power that thrummed beneath the surface of the boyish prince. Still, his heart beat frantically. He was sick with worry about his beloved.

A slow, mocking laugh echoed through the hall. Håkon craned his neck to get a glimpse of Brogar lurking in the shadows behind the altar. Something wasn’t right here. Brogar wouldn’t dare to face Talvinen alone. There had to be warriors with him,völurto protect him against Talvinen’sseiðr. Where were they?

Talvinen’s gaze flickered to Håkon, their eyes meeting for the briefest moment. Talvinen smiled reassuringly at him, a silent promise that everything was going to be fine. Håkon shook his head.

“This is a trap! Go! Run!” Håkon tried to shout, but only an incomprehensible garbling made it past the gag.

Brogar was suddenly behind him, yanking hard at his hair. How hadn’t he heard him coming?

“Don’t be inhospitable, Håkon. Let me have a chat with yourhusband,” Brogar said. “Welcome, King of Vanaheim. I must say, I’m surprised that you value my bastard brother enough to bother coming here, and all on your own.”