Page 23

Winter in Vanaheim was cold and bright and magnificent. The land was blanketed with snow; the winds howling outside Saeborg’s high towers, their icy breath rattling the windows. Inside the thick walls, the blazing hearth fires created a comfortable refuge. The fortress was peaceful and quiet. The Vanir needn’t fear any raids during the winter season, but today Talvi felt a chill—a strange foreboding feeling that had nothing to do with the cold outside.

Walking down the familiar corridors, Talvi felt a twinge of unease. He hadn’t seen Hakon since they shared their dagmal in the morning, and Talvi hadn’t found him on the snowy grounds where he usually stayed when the warriors were training. Overcome with worry, Talvi went searching for his husband. Ever since Svanhild had snatched Hakon from Saeborg with Arngrim’s help and nearly succeeded in killing him, Talvi had been a little paranoid about his husband’s well-being.

At the entrance to their chambers, Talvi paused and strained his ears, but everything was quiet. Slipping inside, he found the fire in the hearth burned down and the candles in the tactic room unlit. Hakon stood with his back to him at the windows overlooking the fjord, staring out into the falling night, his broad shoulders slumped and his head bowed. Talvi stepped closer on silent feet.

“ Dróttning ,” Talvi whispered.

Hakon flinched but didn’t turn around. As Talvi approached him carefully, he noticed the piece of parchment clutched in his fist. Talvi could practically feel the distress radiating from his husband and his heart clenched.

“What is it, love?” Talvi asked, gently nudging Hakon to face him.

Inclining his head, Hakon closed his eyes and tightened his jaw as if battling with himself to stay composed. He clutched the crumpled parchment close to his chest, unwilling to share whatever torment the words held for him. Talvi frowned and wrapped an arm around Hakon’s waist.

“Bad news?” Talvi could only think of one person whose messages were delivered to Hakon personally and who had the ability to shake him so badly.

Bergelmir.

Finally looking up at him, Hakon’s eyes glistened with tears. He swallowed hard, and with a heavy sigh, leaned against Talvi, offering him the parchment.

“Come, sit with me.”

Accepting the crumpled parchment, Talvi pulled Hakon along to sit on their bed. Hakon went without resistance, and Talvi noted that his hair was still tangled from sleep and his tunic was only half-laced.

“You’ve been mulling over this news since the morning,” Talvi muttered, annoyed with himself that he hadn’t sensed his husband’s distress sooner.

“I needed time to think.”

Scanning the runic inscription quickly, Talvi’s anger rose with each word he read. “An invitation to Princess Anya’s wedding? How dare he?”

“She doesn’t deserve this,” Hakon said, his voice choked with emotion. “Jorulf is a bloody maniac, nothing more than a cruel warlord. She can’t—”

Stroking gentle hands down Hakon’s arms, Talvi hummed. He picked up the ivory comb sitting on the chest next to their bed and began carefully untangling the light strands of Hakon’s hair.

“We’ll have to visit your father and demand that he break their engagement, then,” Talvi said.

“No.” Hakon sounded horrified. “You can’t travel to Jotunheim. The journey is too dangerous at this time of year, and Bergelmir will surely try to kill you on some threadbare excuse if you enter his realm.”

Relishing the fact that Hakon allowed him to touch him in this way, Talvi took his time combing the soft tresses.

“So, I can’t make the journey to Jotunheim, you say? It’s too dangerous? What about you?”

Hakon froze. Of course, his brave husband was determined to spare his sister a life of misery through an arranged marriage. Again. And Bergelmir knew that all too well. But Talvi would never allow Hakon to face this danger alone.

Concentrating on the movement of his hands, Talvi began braiding Hakon’s hair from the temples to the base of his neck so it wouldn’t fall into his face. He felt his husband relax under his touch, a soft sigh leaving Hakon’s lips.

Bergelmir had surely anticipated they’d either ignore the invitation or be crushed during the journey by the shield of floating ice surrounding Jotunheim. But this time, Bergelmir had miscalculated. Talvi was no stranger to winter’s cruelty. He was winter, after all.

“We’ll go together,” Talvi repeated. “We’ll end Bergelmir’s schemes once and for all.”

“Once we’re there, my father won’t let us walk out of Utgard easily.”

Talvi smiled. “Then it’s time we put him in his place, don’t you think? Bergelmir has no idea what he’s up against.”

Shuddering, Hakon leaned into his touch.

“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, his seier guiding their fleet undaunted through storms and between icebergs to Jotunheim.

He watched Hakon next to him, tense but determined. Hakon’s light hair flowed in the wind like a banner. Beautiful.

“Do you think she’ll be all right?” Hakon asked, his voice low.

“We’ll make sure she is,” Talvi promised.

He’d never admit it to Hakon, 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 Hakon 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,” Hakon 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 to lift. Hakon’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 his seier , 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,” Hakon 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,” Hakon said. “My people depend on hunting, fishing, and raiding to survive.”

“If there was trade again between the realms, the Jotnar could prosper,” Talvi retorted. “Our merchants would gladly trade grain for furs and ivory.”

Hakon 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, Hakon’s gaze was fixed on the fjord. Talvi could only imagine how much pressure this journey put 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,” Hakon said, tension evident in his voice. “Promise me you won’t die. Again.”

Pressing a soft kiss against Hakon’s lips, Talvi smirked.

“As my husband commands.”