Page 85 of The Magic of Vanaheim
“You’re mad,” he mumbled, but there was something like hope in his voice.
Their longships sailed smoothly through the icy waves, gliding through the fog like the spirits of the fallen. Talvi stood at the bow of his warship, hisseiðrguiding their fleet undaunted through storms and between icebergs to Jotunheim.
He watched Håkon next to him, tense but determined. Håkon’s light hair flowed in the wind like a banner. Beautiful.
“Do you think she’ll be all right?” Håkon asked, his voice low.
“We’ll make sure she is,” Talvi promised.
He’d never admit it to Håkon, but Talvi enjoyed their journey. Repaying Bergelmir for his cruelty by landing in Jotunheim in the dead of winter with a war fleet and allowing Håkon to return to his father’s hall as king, powerful enough to enforce his will, was exactly to Talvi’s taste.
“The ice shield is near,” Håkon breathed, and Talvi was overcome by giddy excitement.
Navigating the magical waterways between the worlds was a risky undertaking, even at the best of times. But in the middle of winter, Jotunheim was surrounded by a deadly barrier of floating icebergs. Raising his hands, Talvi commanded the fog tolift. Håkon’s eyes widened in wonder as the aurora borealis came alight above them, illuminating their way. Jotunheim couldn’t be seen yet, but a towering barrier of ice loomed like the wall of a fortress in front of their fleet. It was an obstacle no mortal—or even most gods—could overcome in the heart of winter. But Talvi had been looking forward to this.
“Hold fast.” Talvi smirked at his husband. Gathering hisseiðr, Talvi made the ice in front of them move. Reflecting the lights of the aurora, it seemed like a glittering veil was pulled aside, and a path opened for them in the labyrinth of icebergs. Soundlessly, the ships glided through the narrow opening, and behind them the ice sealed itself once more, leaving no trace of their passage.
“No one crosses through the ice during winter,” Håkon muttered, awe written all over his face. “Neither king nor seasoned chieftain has ever accomplished this feat.”
“I do, if it pleases my husband,” Talvi said.
He lowered his hands as their fleet sailed into the dark waters of Jotunheim’s fjords.
Snow-covered and rugged, Jotunheim’s mountains rose from the water of the fjord. On the narrow, cultivable stretch of land, Talvi spotted only a few farmsteads.
“The land allows only poor harvests,” Håkon said. “My people depend on hunting, fishing, and raiding to survive.”
“If there was trade again between the realms, theJötnarcould prosper,” Talvi retorted. “Our merchants would gladly trade grain for furs and ivory.”
Håkon answered him with a soft smile. “Only if someone wiser sat on the Frostland Throne.”
“Times can change,” Talvi said, mischief lacing his words. Bergelmir was in for a nasty surprise.
Exhaling a shuddering breath, Håkon’s gaze was fixed on the fjord. Talvi could only imagine how much pressure this journeyput on him, but he hoped his husband would feel liberated as soon as Bergelmir lost his vile influence over him.
“Utgard isn’t far. The fortress lies behind the next curve in the fjord,” Håkon said, tension evident in his voice. “Promise me you won’t die. Again.”
Pressing a soft kiss against Håkon’s lips, Talvi smirked.
“As my husband commands.”
twenty-four
The Frostland Throne
?åkon
When the silhouette of his father’s great hall appeared behind the bend of the fjord, Håkon was overcome by a feeling of unease. The wind howled like a wild creature and tore at their sails and banners as if in warning. Utgard itself, dark and menacing, lay like a sleeping dragon at the edge of the fjord. It seemed unreal that it had been less than a year since Håkon had set sail from this very beach to assassinate the King of Vanaheim. Today he’d returned, not as Bergelmir’s undesired bastard son, not even as a successful conqueror as he’d hoped, but as the beloved husband of the very king he’d been sent to kill.
Panic broke out among the fewJötnaron the beach as theVanrlongships glided ashore one by one, supported by Talvi’sseiðr. After the night Svanhild had killed him and Talvi had returned from the Halls of the Dead unscathed, he was more dangerous than ever, and perhaps Håkon should be afraid of him. But he wasn’t.
“Bergelmir will not be pleased to see us,” Håkon mumbled, even as he watched the few warriors who spotted them rush intothe hall, terrified. His father obviously hadn’t expected them to make it through the ice. Maybe he hadn’t expected them to make the journey at all, using his message only to taunt Håkon.
“I’m counting on it.” Laughing, Talvi leapt to shore, youthful and brave and insanely powerful. “Come.” He beckoned to Håkon invitingly. “I want to meet your sister.”
Overcome by the giddiness of impending battle, Håkon followed him.
It felt strange walking up to the hall, flanked by Talvi and Gudrun, Isbani in his bear form at their heels. Håkon knew every inch of the land from the fjord to the vast mountain ranges beyond, but in Jotunheim he’d always been Bergelmir’s bastard son—looked down at and replaceable. Talvi made him feel like he’d returned as a king in his own right.