Mist alone. He would have faced an equal in Freya. But now the Slanderer’s opponent was more than goddess, more than Valkyrie, more than the sum of both.
He struggled to his feet. “Freya!” he shouted.
She glanced at him with all the interest she might afford a speck of dirt forgotten by a house maid’s broom. But in that brief moment when she held Dainn’s gaze, he saw the spirit that could not be quenched trapped behind her brilliant blue eyes.
“Mist!”
The goddess smiled at him, striking him to the ground with the full fury of her love, and returned her attention to Loki. He had given up his attack and was scrambling away, frantically chanting spells of defense.
Freya didn’t hear him. She pursued Loki across the room, striding like a giant, ever smiling. Dainn got to his feet again and stumbled toward them, knowing that if he intervened he would be struck down.
Before Dainn could lay a hand on Freya’s arm, Loki bounced up and struck at him, flinging a rope of flame meant to burn Dainn’s fingers and force him to drop Gungnir. Dainn dodged, but not before the fiery rope slashed across his chest and licked at his jaw, searing his flesh almost to the bone.
He clung to Gungnir with the last of his strength. The fire winked out, and every surface in the room grew a slick coating of ice as the lingering traces of warmth left in the apartment flowed into Loki’s raised hands.
Freya’s eyes lost their gentle rage, and her hair fell back around her shoulders with a hiss and crackle of static electricity. Just before Loki struck, Dainn tossed the knife. She caught it in her right hand, whirled to face Loki again, and chanted the Rune- spell that restored Gungnir to its original form.
The Spear’s head caught the brunt of the ice storm Loki hurled at her, and the steel glowed deep red as if it had just emerged from Mist’s forge. Radiating heat Dainn could feel from several yards away, it seemed to waver in the frigid air as if it existed in two realities at once and belonged to neither.
Still Mist didn’t move. She, too, was frozen between worlds, between minds, between herself and the goddess who wanted her body and the magic that was as much a part of her as her strong sword arm and her selfless courage.
Loki dropped his hands, water dripping from his fingers. Dainn tensed.
“Why did you stop, my Lady?” he asked, breathing hard. “You almost had me.”
Mist blinked. She looked at the Spear and tightened her fingers around the shaft. Loki turned his hand palm up and curled his fingers inward, pulling the heat from Gungnir’s blade. It engulfed his hand, freezing instantly, and in a second Loki had shaped the ice into a heavily spiked ball like a mace on a medieval flail.
Loki’s weapon couldn’t kill Freya, who was not yet fully attached to this world, but it could destroy a physical body. Mist would die, and Freya would still be free to seek another shape, even if it took time to find one capable of containing her power.
Dainn began to move. But before he could take more than a step, Loki threw the ball directly at Mist’s head. She swung the Spear to intercept it. It bounced against her arm, slicing through her already shredded jacket and shirt and engraving deep slashes across her skin. She dropped Gungnir, and Loki sprang onto the rosewood coffee table, perching there like an eagle ready to swoop down on its prey.
“We could go on, Sow,” he said to his enemy, “but where would be the fun in that? Especially when even I can see you’re losing your grip on your daughter.”
Mist-Freya picked up the Spear with her left hand as blood soaked her right sleeve. “I can still kill you,” she said.
“I don’t think so.” He brushed water from his shoulder. “In truth, you want me humiliated, not dead. I still want a real contest, Lady. And I think you do, too.”
They stared at each other, goddess and godling, with hatred and complete understanding.
“We will continue our game,” she said, “so I can crush you utterly before you die.”
“And the bridges?”
“Do you think I closed them?” she asked. “You shall have to hold yourself in suspense a little while longer. But I still have the Eitr. For the time being, you will pay the penalty by losing ten percent of your Jotunar. You will obtain funds only by conventional mortal means, not through magic. If you flout our bargain again, I will use it.” She pointed Gungnir at Loki’s chest. “Do you understand me, Slanderer?”
“You couldn’t be more plain.” Loki glanced at Dainn. “Our witness is hardly neutral, but I will accept his honesty. Shall I see you both to the door?”
Freya hurled the spear at Loki’s head. If he hadn’t twitched slightly to the left at the last possible moment, it would have pinned his skull to the wall behind him. Instead, it sliced off several inches of his hair on the right side of his head. Loki fell to his knees.
“Take the Spear,” Freya told Dainn, dusting her hands on her thighs. “We will go.”
She shot Loki a poisonous glance and strode to the door, trailing the benevolent warmth of the sun, golden butterflies, and the scent of primroses. Ignoring Loki, Dainn pulled the spear from the wall and glanced quickly around the room. He saw Mist’s knife at the feet of one of the dead giants and paused to retrieve it.
He tucked the sheath in the waistband of his pants and followed Freya, his stomach churning with horror at what he had permitted to happen.
They met five Jotunar as they reached the elevator. The giants comically skidded to a stop when they saw Freya.
“Never fear,” she said, her voice all seduction again. “Your master is alive. For the time being. You may choose whether or not to continue to serve him by standing in my way, or die.”
The two giants in the lead exchanged glances and moved to the side, leaving the path clear. When she and Dainn reached the lobby, Freya moved to the nearest chair and sank into it. Guests stared at her, but she ignored them.
“Fetch me something to drink, Dainn,” she said. “A sweet drink to cool my temper. I do so dislike being angry.”
Dainn held the Spear against his body and remained where he was. “
She glanced up at him. “You had no need to know before. It was only a temporary measure, until I could be sure my allies were ready.”
She might be lying, Dainn thought. He could no longer separate truth from falsehood. But she was still as confident as she had ever been.
“I expressly told you not to allow my daughter to come to harm,” Freya said with a very small frown, “but I shall forgive you, since the need for such precautions is past. I will soon have other tasks for you.”
“Searching for the other Treasures?”
“Among other things.”
Dainn shifted his grip on Gungnir’s shaft. “How were you able to take Mist so quickly?” he asked. “I thought you needed more time to prepare.”
She patted his arm. “These are not your concerns, my Dainn.”
“Are your allies ready as well, Lady?”
She laughed, the sound drawing the stare of every male in the room. “Those who fight for me shall be free to come within the next two Midgardian weeks.” Freya casually waved her hand. Mist’s warm, calloused hand, and the wrist that bore a tattoo no longer red, but black. “In the meantime, now that I am here in body, I can have every man I meet eager to serve me. How many can I gather in a day? A week?” Her fingers drifted along Dainn’s thigh. “My daughter has power that enhances my own in ways I could not have anticipated, and it is all open to me. And I
Dainn looked away, feeling nothing of Freya’s caress. If there was anything left of Mist behind Freya’s stunning blue eyes, she would soon have no hope of escaping her mother’s control. Soon—in minutes, hours, days—she would be completely absorbed into a mind that would use Mist’s own power to prevent her resistance until she no longer had the strength to fight.
