Page 20

Consciousness came back to him slowly, his thoughts still moving sluggish, and his limbs uncooperative. Hakon 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, Hakon 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 a blót ceremony. Thick steam rose from the cauldron, curling toward the perforated ceiling like the grabbing fingers of a draugr . All around him, shadows flickered and danced, but he couldn’t make out another living being.

Heart racing, Hakon 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? Hakon’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 the ?sir .

The sudden thumping of footsteps startled Hakon. 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.

Hakon’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.”

Hakon 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 the vala let you fuck him, or was it you who spread your legs?”

“I’ll kill you,” Hakon 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 Hakon, he ran a cold hand over Hakon’s face.

“You should’ve known your place, brother . You should’ve killed the chieftain of the Vanir as 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.”

Hakon’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, Hakon stared his half-brother down.

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

Hakon 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, Hakon 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 Hakon’s panic rose with every passing minute. The soft rustling of leaves pulled Hakon out of his spiraling thoughts. Were there footsteps? A shadow moving in the darkness? Hakon 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 wore leather armor like the night of the raid, a sword girded around his hip, and a Vanir -green cloak billowing behind him.

Hakon 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 Hakon 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. Hakon 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, volur to protect him against Talvinen’s seier . Where were they?

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

“This is a trap! Go! Run!” Hakon 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, Hakon. Let me have a chat with your husband ,” 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.”

Cold despair threatened to drown Hakon. 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 the Vanir . 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 Hakon’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?

Hakon 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 this seier coming 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 with seier . With a flick of his wrist, Talvinen sent a rain of icy splinters toward Brogar, but the fire roared higher, melting the ice away. Hakon gasped. The ground trembled beneath him, the whole temple shaking under the clash of seier . But this couldn’t be. Brogar wasn’t a vala ; he would never besmirch his honor by practicing the art. So who was protecting him?

What was worse, Hakon wasn’t sure if Talvi was aware of the extent to which the Jotnar despised male volur . For the Vanir, teaching their men in the art of seier was only natural. The ?sir looked down on it, called it effeminate, and did it, anyway. But a Jotunn warrior like Brogar would never cast doubt on his manhood by wielding a staff.

“It’s a trap,” Hakon 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 Hakon was trapped.

Sneering, Brogar lingered in place. Hakon 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. Hakon’s heart sang with pride. His young husband was doing so well.

Brogar pressed forward, wielding his sword like a man possessed by a berserker’s trance, 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. Hakon could tell just by looking at him. Someone must have granted him his seier . One of Bergelmir’s volur, perhaps?

Twisting and struggling, Hakon 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 infamous seier , and you can’t even touch me?” Brogar laughed, circling around Talvinen.

Talvinen didn’t respond. He swung his sword again, channeling so much seier into the strike that even Hakon 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, the Jotunn recovered 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. Hakon 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 as Talvi’s blade whistled past his chest. “All this power, all this seier wasted on a weakling.”

Blood trickled down Hakon’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.

Heart clenching in fear, Hakon watched the duel unfold. He’d never seen Brogar fight like this. There was raw, untamed power in his movements, something that didn’t belong to him. But how? Hakon tugged at his bonds again, panic rising in his chest. If Talvinen couldn’t end this soon—

With a roar, Brogar shoved Talvinen backwards, throwing him off balance. The force of the impact sent Talvinen sprawling across the floor, frost spreading in his wake.

“Talvi,” Hakon sobbed into the gag.

Rolling, Talvinen got back onto his feet. He seemed shaken but not scared. Advancing again, slower this time, Talvi studied Brogar’s every move, searching for an opening.

Hakon’s heart thundered in his chest, each beat a desperate plea for Talvinen to prevail. His husband advanced with the cautious precision of a hunter, movements still elegant. But Hakon could see the toll this battle was taking on him. Brogar’s unnatural strength was wearing him down.

Slashing his sword artlessly like a hammer, Brogar lunged again, aiming for Talvinen’s head. But Talvi sidestepped, graceful like a deer, and swung his blade toward Brogar’s midsection. But once more, Brogar’s sword was there to meet him.

“You can’t beat me, little vala .” Brogar’s voice dripped with arrogance. He seemed to be enjoying himself, his grin wide and feral. “Just give up. Kneel, and maybe I’ll spare your precious husband.”

Growling, Talvinen met him in a whirlwind of steel, blocking and parrying insanely fast.

Hakon pulled at his bonds with everything he had, wrists raw and bleeding, but the ropes held fast. The helplessness gnawed at him, watching as Talvinen fought alone, knowing he could do nothing to help. Please, gods, please let him be safe , Hakon prayed silently.

Brogar swung high again, aiming to end the fight with a killing blow, but this time Talvinen didn’t block. Instead, he ducked, sweeping his leg under Brogar’s feet and sending him crashing to the ground. Brogar scrambled to his knees, but Talvinen was already moving, sword raised, frost sparkling around him like a coat.

Brogar’s eyes widened as Talvinen brought the sword down with a roar, the blade slicing clean through his defenses. The frost-coated steel bit deep into Brogar’s shoulder, freezing the flesh as it cut. Brogar screamed in pain, his sword clattering to the ground as his body convulsed. Talvinen didn’t hesitate. He pulled the sword free and, with a final strike, plunged it into Brogar’s chest. The fire around the altar flickered and died as Brogar’s body fell limp, his face twisted in shock.

Hakon gasped, his breath ragged and uneven. It was over. Talvinen stood above Brogar’s lifeless body, his sword dripping with blue Jotunn blood, his chest heaving from the exertion. The once-mighty flames were now embers.

Turning to him, Talvi smiled at him, soft and tired.

“It’s done,” he whispered.

Tears welled in Hakon’s eyes as relief flooded his body. Talvinen had won.

“Talvi,” Hakon choked through the gag. The smell of incense burning to ashes clogged his nose, and Hakon couldn’t wait to feel Talvinen’s arms around him.

Lowering his sword, Talvinen took one last look at Brogar’s dead body before he turned towards Hakon.

“ Dróttning ! Are you well? Did he hurt you?”

Hakon laughed, relieved beyond measure. But his elation was short-lived.

The awful sound of steel cutting through leather and flesh echoed in the temple, and Hakon stared in shock at the tip of a blade protruding from Talvi’s chest.

“What—?”

Talvi’s mouth shaped into a surprised ‘O’, his eyes widening. Blood dripped past his pale lips. Why was he bleeding?

Frozen in shock, Hakon could only stare in horror as the blade was ripped back, blood oozing down Talvi’s chest. Red. So much red. Talvi stumbled and fell to his knees. Behind him, the silhouette of a woman took shape.

Svanhild grinned down at Hakon, Isbani held casually in her hand, dripping with Talvinen’s blood.

“No,” Hakon breathed.

Leaning forward as if he wanted to touch him one last time, Talvi locked eyes with him.

“Love…you—” The words were choked, barely a whisper.

Light fading from his eyes, Talvi collapsed. Silently. Just out of Hakon’s reach.

Hakon screamed.

How could the gods be so cruel as to give him everything he’d ever dreamed of in the form of a fearless young vala , only to steal the love of his life away from him again? His only consolation was that he would die with Talvinen.

“Poor thing,” Svanhild purred as she watched the tears pouring down Hakon’s face, something like greed gleaming in her eyes. “Let it all out. Let me drink your grief.”

Sobbing helplessly, Hakon tried to rein in his emotions. He loathed to give Svanhild what she wanted, but his despair was all-consuming. Leaning forward as much as the ropes would allow, he tried to reach Talvi. But he wasn’t even allowed one last touch of skin. Talvi was just out of his reach.

Svanhild pointed Isbani at him, and Hakon felt dizzy, the essence of his life being sucked away from him. Not even his tattoos seemed able to eat her seier . Like he was in a trance, Hakon watched his own sword, Talvi’s precious gift, glow with an eerie green light. This was all Hakon’s fault. He was a bad omen. Bad luck.

And now Talvi was dead because of him.

A distant roar resounded through the temple, growing louder by the second. Hakon tore his gaze away from Talvi’s face, pale in Hel’s cold embrace. Something like uncertainty showed in Svanhild’s features, and she dropped Isbani with a surprised sound as it began to glow brighter. The blade clattered to the ground and the shape of a mighty polar bear appeared between them, its large paws dipping into the pool of Talvi’s blood.

Hakon slumped in defeat. He knew the beast. He’d killed it on a sacred quest as a young warrior, and Talvi had overcome it in the fertility ritual, making the spirit his own as much as it was Hakon’s. Now it had abandoned them.

The bear growled, its muzzle touching Hakon’s brow almost gently. He could feel its hot breath. Then it turned, facing Svanhild.

“How—?”

Roaring, the bear struck her with its paw and snapped at her. Svanhild shrieked. She stumbled backwards, and Hakon saw that the beast’s snout was smeared with blood.

“Get up! Help me!” Svanhild shouted, pointing her staff at Brogar’s corpse, making it rise up like a puppet on strings. But it took the bear only seconds to rip the undead to shreds before it chased Svanhild into the night.

Snow began to fall, the cold flakes tumbling silently through the gaps in the roof. Silence enveloped the temple, Svanhild and the bear gone like the ghosts of fallen warriors. Hakon couldn’t stop crying. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, but he didn’t care. He would’ve preferred it if Svanhild had killed him. But he wouldn’t live without Talvi. Maybe it was a fitting punishment that he would just perish out here like a dog, chained up and forgotten. After the ill fortune he’d brought upon Talvi, he didn’t deserve any better.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered again and again, crumpling to the ground as close to Talvi as he could get. His senses slowly left him while the night was blanketed in snow.