Page 76 of The Magic of Vanaheim

Cold despair threatened to drown Håkon. Did that mean Brogar had been able to leave some kind of message for Talvinen to find? Had he demanded his husband come here alone? Executing such a complicated plan to lay a cruel trap sounded way beyond Brogar’s abilities.

Talvinen strode forward, his eyes narrowing. “Give him back, and I might consider killing you another day.”

Brogar snickered, but there was an edge of nervousness to it. Maybe his plan wasn’t as well thought through after all.

“You’re foolish. Did you really think you’d just walk in here and take him back? Look around you.” Brogar gestured to the ancient walls and the altar behind him. “This is the domain of gods far older and darker than theVanir. They demand more than animal sacrifice, and tonight, they’ll have their fill.”

“The only sacrifice here will be you,” Talvinen spat.

“You’ve already stepped into the jaws of the wolf, Talvinen,” Brogar sneered. “And now you’ll be crushed.”

Wait, he’d used the name ‘Talvinen!’

Icy dread squashed Håkon’s chest.Your husband. The vala. The King of Vanaheim.These were things Brogar could know. But not Talvinen’s real name. Who had told him?

Håkon pulled at his bonds with renewed vigor. He couldn’t let Talvi face this threat alone.

Brogar raised his hands, and the flames around the cauldron roared higher, the shadows in the room lengthening, twisting into grotesque shapes. Where was thisseiðrcoming from? Watching Talvinen face Brogar was like seeing him trapped inside the burial mound again, only a hundred times worse.

“You want to crush me? Then try it,” Talvinen said, eyes flashing coolly.

He unsheathed his sword, the blade humming withseiðr. With a flick of his wrist, Talvinen sent a rain of icy splinters toward Brogar, but the fire roared higher, melting the ice away. Håkon gasped. The ground trembled beneath him, the whole temple shaking under the clash ofseiðr. But this couldn’t be. Brogar wasn’t avala; he would never besmirch his honor by practicing the art. So who was protecting him?

What was worse, Håkon wasn’t sure if Talvi was aware of the extent to which theJötnardespised malevölur. For theVanir,teaching their men in the art ofseiðrwas only natural. TheÆsirlooked down on it, called it effeminate, and did it, anyway. But aJotunnwarrior like Brogar would never cast doubt on his manhood by wielding a staff.

“It’s a trap,” Håkon tried again, but his words were no more intelligible than the first time he’d tried.

Talvinen’s eyes never left Brogar, his expression unreadable.

“Not so sure about your victory, after all?” Talvinen taunted, circling the fire pit, luring Brogar away from where Håkon was trapped.

Sneering, Brogar lingered in place. Håkon had seen him like this a thousand times, stallingindecisively before finally attacking.

Brogar lunged.

Talvinen met him head-on, their blades clashing with a sharp metallic ring that echoed through the temple. Sparks flew as steel met steel, Brogar’s blows fast and savage, but Talvinen’s defenses were impeccable, not leaving the smallest opening. Håkon’s heart sang with pride. His young husband was doing so well.

Brogar pressed forward, wielding his sword like a man possessed by aberserker’strance, his attacks wild and powerful. But Talvinen blocked every strike with precision, his movements fluid, almost effortless.

Filled with furious battle-magic, Talvinen’s sword whirled in a blur of frost and steel, striking out in a quick series of attacks, each blow sharp and deadly. But Brogar matched him, somehow, parrying with a force that rattled Talvinen’s blade. The strength behind Brogar’s strikes was monstrous, unnatural. Håkon could tell just by looking at him. Someone must have granted him hisseiðr. One of Bergelmir’svölur,perhaps?

Twisting and struggling, Håkon desperately tried to break the ropes. He needed to get free. He needed to help Talvinen.

With a sudden burst of speed, Brogar swung high, aiming for Talvinen’s throat. But Talvinen ducked at the last second, Brogar’s blade slicing through the air just above his head. Retaliating with a low strike, Talvi went for Brogar’s legs. His sword whistled through the air, but Brogar leapt back, avoiding the blow by a hair’s breadth.

“Is that all,vala? All your infamousseiðr, and you can’t even touch me?” Brogar laughed, circling around Talvinen.

Talvinen didn’t respond. He swung his sword again, channeling so muchseiðrinto the strike that even Håkon could feel it. The blade crackled with frost as it rushed down on Brogar in a deadly arc.

Brogar raised his sword at the last moment. The clash of the blades sent a ripple through the room like the collision of two battleships. Swords locking, the two opponents stood face to face, muscles tensing as they pushed against each other. Brogar’s grin was feral, his eyes glinting with the fire of madness.

With a grunt of effort, Talvi pushed Brogar back. He swung his sword again, this time with enough force to send Brogar stumbling. But before Brogar could fall, theJotunnrecovered with alarming speed, twisting his body to avoid Talvinen’s follow-up strike. The grin on Brogar’s face widened, as if each near-miss only fueled his confidence. What kind of madness had befallen him?

Moving with deadly grace, Talvi’s sword arced through the air, leaving a trail of frost in its wake. His attacks came in a flurry—sharp, precise cuts aimed at Brogar’s exposed sides, his legs, his neck. But somehow, Brogar met every blow, his own sword moving with inhuman speed. Brogar’s face twisted as he parried blow after blow. Håkon knew from their countless duels that his strength should be waning by now. But it wasn’t. “You’re predictable, Talvinen,” Brogar taunted, stepping back just asTalvi’s blade whistled past his chest. “All this power, all thisseiðrwasted on a weakling.”

Blood trickled down Håkon’s wrists as he twisted his hands again and again, maybe he could slip free somehow. Why wouldn’t these cursed ties budge?

Shifting his stance, Talvi raised his sword, bringing it down in a powerful overhand strike. Brogar blocked. Again.