Mist

believed I could help broker a peace between his forces and the Aesir’s.”

“Broker a peace? You mean attempt something not even Odin believed was possible?”

“I had been away from my people a long time, even then. No one remembered me, and so I believed I had a chance not open to those directly involved.”

“But you joined Loki in the end.”

“When I recognized my mistake in trusting him, I attempted to warn the Aesir. I was too late.”

Mist didn’t want to hear any more excuses. She raised Kettlingr and set the blade’s tip against Dainn’s chest. “Where were you, when you were ’away’ from your people?” she asked.

“My memory of those times is incomplete.”

“You like that excuse, don’t you?”

“You said you could tell if I was lying. Am I lying now?”

“Did Freya save you from Thor?”

“The Lady believed I had tried to warn the Aesir. She spoke for me when I stood before the gods and elves.”

“And she sent you here to protect me.”

He sighed. “Yes. I deceived you on that point. But until a week ago, I had no idea what had happened to the Homeworlds just as the Last Battle began.”

“So you never suffered any punishment at all.”

“My own people repudiated me,” he said softly. “Perhaps you will understand how I felt when Freya contacted me, and I learned the Aesir and my people lived. I could no more have rejected the service the Lady asked of me than could you.”

Too little, too late, Mist thought, her anger and disgust far from assuaged. She looked across the room at Vali, who was so lost in his drink that she doubted he’d heard or seen a single thing that had happened since Vidarr had stomped out.

“I’m not buying that that’s all there is to it,” she said. “But I can’t believe Freya would to send an unregenerate traitor to find her daughter and locate the Treasures.” She lowered the sword. “Are you sticking with your story that it was my magical ability at work against Loki, not Freya’s?”

“Look inside yourself, and you will see.”

Mist didn’t want to. She was still afraid of what she would find. But she looked anyway. The Freya part of her was still present, light and gentle as a dusting of pollen on a honeybee’s back. It wasn’t obtrusive or threatening, as it had seemed when it had led her to attack Loki with the smothering power of seduction. It was just there, like a dormant memory waiting to be called up again.

“I still can’t talk to Freya directly?” she asked.

“When you are ready.”

She sang Kettlingr small and sheathed her. “Let’s get a few things straight. I’m no one’s unquestioning servant. Unless I get orders from Odin himself, I’m going to use my own judgment. And you’re going to do what I tell you. No one is going to move me around like a defender on a hnefatafl board.”

“And Vidarr?”

Mist glanced at Vali again. “I’m not going to let him kill you, if that’s what you mean. I’ve known Vid a long time, and he is one of the Aesir. Maybe he doesn’t care much about mortals, but he knows we can’t be fighting each other when Ragnarok is about to happen all over again. And for real this time.”

One of the Jotunar groaned loudly behind Mist, and she realized how completely she’d forgotten about the frost giants. Again. There was a scuffling as one of the creatures began to sit up.

“Odin’s hairy balls,” she said. “We still have to figure out what to do with them.”

“If you do not wish to kill them—”

She flashed him an irritated glance. “You were the one who dealt with them in the first place. What would you do?”

“I would send them to a place where they will be of no further trouble for some time to come.”

Dainn had made it clear before that he was going to need time to recover, but he looked ten times worse than he had before Vidarr had exposed him. “Are you up to it?” she asked.

“With your help.”

“I was afraid of that. I assume it’s the same as before? I think of the Runes, and you—”

“No,” he said, very quietly. “You must let go of your will and let me guide you.”

Her mouth filled with the acrid taste of fear. “You want to control me? I just told you—”

“Not control you,” Dainn said. “Guide only.”

Again and again, it all came down to how much she believed him, and she had even less reason to trust him than she had ten minutes ago. If she agreed, she would literally be putting her life— her being—in his hands. Her part in all this could end today if Dainn had some ulterior motive.

She turned to him again and stood in front of him, toe to toe. “If I find out you’ve meddled with my mind again while you’re in it,” she said, “I’ll—”

“Kill me.” He smiled, flashing perfect white teeth. “Fair enough, Freya’s daughter.”

It was the first time he’d really smiled, and it was a revelation. She could count on one hand the times she’d seen an elf smile in Valhalla. Dainn’s expression turned the dim, dingy room into a candlelit palace. His rags became velvet, his hair as glossy as Sleipnir’s silken mane.

The illusion didn’t last, and when it ended, the room, and Dainn, seemed even shabbier than before.

“I may kill you anyway if you don’t change your clothes,” she said, sharp with annoyance at her lapse. “Did you think you were making yourself inconspicuous when you put those on?”

“I had hoped—”

“It didn’t work. Do you think you can manage to keep the Jotunar quiet for a few more minutes? I’m going to see if Vidarr has any spare clothes in his office. Better that you flap around in his stuff than in those rags, and I’m not going to be able to concentrate with that stink in the air.”

Dainn sank to the floor, settling himself into a meditative position. As Mist started for the back room, he began to sing.

* * *

Dainn’s Rune-song died as Mist left the room. The ruined door was propped open, and he knew he would have little time to regain his equilibrium before she returned.

He would need every second. All the peace he had believed he’d found after centuries of searching— the peace not even Freya’s sudden appearance was able to destroy—had been severely shaken the moment he had met Mist of the Valkyrie.

Closing his eyes, Dainn steadied his breathing and reconsidered everything that had happened in the past ten hours. That moment of meeting had been indelibly imprinted in his memory. Though he had never met Freya’s unacknowledged daughter in Asgard, he had been in no doubt that the Lady’s offspring would be possessed of a certain native allure and a striking presence that would affect anyone who saw her.

And she was beautiful, in spite of her obvious unawareness of her beauty. Her appearance was that of a twenty- eight-year- old woman; her candid eyes were gray with highlights of green, her cheekbones high, her lips full and firm, and her hair, fixed in a long braid at her back, was the gold of sun-kissed wheat.

But she was nothing like her mother. She regarded herself as a warrior, blunt of speech and manner. When she had first addressed him, he had actually wondered if she would be suitable for what Freya had in mind.

Mist had proven him wrong. The first time he had touched her flesh, seeking the confirmation of her identity in the tattoo around her wrist, he had already begun to feel it. And when he touched her mind, he had confirmed his impression that she was no mere Valkyrie. She was strong and courageous, to be sure, but Dainn had never had any use for warriors.

It was her inner core of strength, her determination to accept the impossible, that had shattered his preconceptions. She faced every difficulty with her eyes wide open and her mind ready for battle, physical or otherwise.

And that wasn’t all. Very far from it.

Dainn filled his lungs on a slow count and absorbed the oxygen into every cell, feeding his weary body as