The goddess turned to look at me. Her movements were slow, like a reptile just warming up after a cold night, her dark eyes expressionless. Was it possible she didn’t actually care about the wand?
She held out her hand. “Give it to me. It is mine.”
Her body went preternaturally still, and it took all my willpower not to look away. A cold dread was spilling through me. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, and my jaw didn’t want to open. Still, I somehow managed to say, “No.”
If the goddess was surprised to hear that, her expression didn’t show it. As she studied me with her dark eyes, I felt a deep foreboding. A clammy chill spread over my skin, and my heart seemed to beat more slowly in my chest.
It had to be magic. Whatever she had done to Barthol, she was doing to me now. A death spell?
“Is this the wand, Galin?”
“Yes, Goddess.”
“Please bring it to me.”
Galin stepped forward, ready to take the wand. With an iron will, I forced myself to step back.
“You cannot run, Empress,” Hela hissed.
“Barthol,” I gasped. “Help me.”
Across from me, Barthol remained focused on the goddess. He took a step towards her. Slowly his arms spread open. Then, grinning like an idiot, he wrapped the goddess in one of his massive bear hugs.
Galin moved for me then, but the goddess’s gaze had shifted from me. Free of her magic, I dove hard to the side, evading him with a roll to the ground.
As I leapt to my feet, I dodged him again, farther away this time. Shifting out of Galin’s reach, I cast a portal spell with a crackle of electric magic.
The portal opened a foot to my right, no more than eight inches wide—a direct conduit between Hela’s tomb and my chambers in the Vanir temple.
Static electricity crackled round my wrist as I shoved the wand through.
“Get any closer and I’ll drop it,” I shouted.
Galin went still—five feet away from me. Behind him, Barthol still hugged Hela. What in gods’ name was he doing?
“If you drop the wand, you’ll be trapped here.” A sharp edge undercut Galin’s voice.
“Do you really think I’m that stupid?” I shot him a bitter smile. “I’ve got my vergr crystal back in Vanaheim. I can leave at any time—wand or no wand.”
For the first time since we’d been talking, I saw an emotion on Galin’s face: worry.
“Didn’t anticipate that, did you?” My smile deepened. “So here’s the plan. You’re going to take a little vacation with Barthol and me. I’ll return you when the draugr are actually trapped in Hel once more. Then you can have your queen back.”
Hela’s monotone voice cut in, “And what do I get in exchange?”
“This isn’t a negotiation.” I kept my eyes on Galin as I spoke, in case he made a move for me.
“But I think it is,” said Hela coolly.
“You have nothing to negotiate with,” I shot back.
“But I do.”
I peeked at Hela out of the corner of my eye. She’d extracted herself from Barthol’s embrace. Now he stood beside her, staring at her again with puppy-dog eyes.
She stroked his cheek, and something like panic started to steal my breath.
“Barthol!” I shouted. “Use your crystal.”
Barthol didn’t move, didn’t even seem to hear me. He continued to gaze rapturously at Hela.
Bringing him here was the worst mistake I’d made in a long time.
“Barthol,” I shouted again, “your crystal.”
“Barthol,” crooned Hela. “I am the Goddess of the Dead. You love me.”
Barthol’s eyes widened, as if this were the first time he’d heard that. “You are the Goddess of the Dead,” he intoned.
“Kneel before me,” said Hela.
“Barthol! Don’t listen to her!” I was practically screaming. But if Barthol heard me, he didn’t acknowledge it. Slowly he knelt in front of Hela, his eyes locked on hers.
“Draw your sword,” she purred.
Barthol did as he was commanded.
I screamed at him, but he continued to ignore me.
Hela smiled, her eyes ice cold. “Now, press it against your neck.”
He pressed the blade against his own neck, and nausea rose in my gut.
“So you see,” said Hela, turning to look at me again. “I do have something to negotiate with.”
Terror wound through me. Just like the Nokk had done to Galin, Barthol was completely mind controlled.
“Barthol,” I shouted again, vainly hoping to get through to him. “Use your crystal.”
“Give me the wand.” Hela held out her hand. “And I will release your brother.”
I looked to Barthol, my heart slamming against my ribs. I had to make a choice.
I could let Hela kill him, or I could give up the wand. But if I left the wand, then I had no way to get back to Hel.
My people—all elves—would die at the hands and teeth of the draugr. I’d have failed completely as Empress.
It might take months, or years, but I knew in my bones we’d be overrun. I could save Barthol now, but in the end? He’d die with the rest of us.
But maybe there was another way—it was just one that involved sacrificing the wand, and I would be putting all my trust in Galin. What other choice did I have?
I pulled the wand from the portal. “Release him, and you can have it.”
Hela nodded, her eyes half closed, expression stony.
“Get me the wand, my dark king,” she said to Galin.
Galin crossed to me, but as he reached for the wand, I threw it behind Hela, watching as she turned to look at it. Then I lunged forward, and wrapped my arms around Galin.
All it took was one word to connect us to the vergr stone—and I just had to pray that my brother would come to his senses and follow.
Light flashed, and Galin and I disappeared.
Chapter 8
Ali
For a moment, my eyes blazed with violet light. Then, the light faded, and I found myself in my quarters again, my arms wrapped around Galin’s chiseled chest. I forced myself to step back.
“You can stay away from me.” My voice sounded like ice. “You’re only here because I needed a sorcerer to stop the draugr. And now, if Barthol doesn’t return, you will be collateral. When we’re done, I will trade you for my brother. Clearly, you belong in Hel.”
“Is that right?” he said tonelessly.
Anger still vibrated through me, and I glanced at the stones sitting on a shelf by an open window. They glimmered faintly, casting violet light over the clean white walls, and the gauzy drapes that floated in the breeze. One was mine, the other Barthol’s. His crystal was right where he’d left it.
We’d lost the wand, but all Barthol had to do was say the word.
I closed my eyes, uttering a silent prayer. Please say the word. Please give him back to me.
But who was I praying to? Only one god walked the nine realms, and she was the living nightmare who’d trapped my brother.
I pulled his crystal from the shelf, clutching it as I willed him to appear. My chest grew tighter, dread sliding through my blood.
A minute passed, then another, but there was no sign of my brother. Dammit Barthol. Just say the word.