This was the point where I really began to regret telling Barthol about my adventures with Galin—back when Galin had been Marroc. The journey sounded terrifying, when in fact—
Actually he was right. It had been terrifying. But still, I had to try.
I heaved a deep breath. “Traveling over the waterfall and through the subterranean lake would be risky.” I bit my lip. “But I don’t have to travel that way this time.”
“What do you mean?” asked Barthol.
“Well, we were on our way to steal Levateinn last time.” I held up the wand. “But now that I’ve got it—I can create a portal. It’s one of the only things I know how to do with this wand. I might as well put it to use.”
“You can make a portal into Hel?” Sigre gasped with terror. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I think I can make the portal. I mean I’ve never actually tried—but it shouldn’t be any more difficult than making any other portal. The crucial thing is that I’ve been there before, so conjuring the portal is possible.”
“But what will happen after that?” asked Barthol.
My nerves buzzed at the thought of seeing him again. “I’ll step through and go find Galin. I’ll try to avoid his … queen. I’ll have the wand, so I can return to Vanaheim any time.”
Dangerous as it was to steal a consort from a death goddess, this idea was making more and more sense. In fact, the fear in my gut had been replaced by a thrilling excitement. Across the table I could see Barthol’s eyes gleaming as well.
“I’ll go with you!” he exclaimed.
“Absolutely not,” said Swegde.
“Why not?” Bo leaned forward. “I don’t think it’s a good idea if she goes alone.”
“Clearly,” said Barthol. “And I should be the one to go. I’m her brother. We’ve done plenty of jobs together already.”
Like the time you left me in the Silfarson’s bank to be nearly eaten by a draugr, attacked by a troll, and imprisoned by the High Elves.
But really—Barthol had a point. “Having a second person along could be helpful,” I said. “And I trust Barthol.”
“What if you get separated?” asked Swegde. “And one of you can’t return?”
“Then this could come in handy.” Lynheid drew a vergr crystal from under the folds of her dress. “I can bind it to Barthol.”
I grinned. “Oh brilliant idea.”
“I don’t understand,” said Harald.
“Vergr crystals allow for teleportation,” I explained. “We can leave it here in Vanaheim, so that if we run into any trouble he can be instantly transported out of Hel. And I’ve got my own crystal, and Levateinn. I’ll make a portal back here when it’s time to go.”
“I don’t like this idea,” said Harald, his voice icy. “Can we really trust this traitor—someone who turned against his own family? I think he’s more likely to murder us than to help us.”
“Yes,” I snapped. “We can trust him.”
“Ali’s right,” said Swegde. “His skills as a sorcerer are legendary. We need his help, or the draugr will overwhelm us eventually. We need to close the doors to Hel. The dead outnumber us by legions, and we can’t throw Molotov cocktails forever.”
“Then it’s settled,” I said. “As soon as Barthol is bound to the crystal, we’ll leave—”
“No,” Sigre barked. “It is not settled. I object.”
Harald straightened. “As do I.”
“On what grounds?” growled Swegde, clearly out of patience.
“He can’t be trusted,” Harald hissed.
As I stared at him, it hit me like a fist. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? Galin was the rightful ruler of Midgard. Harald was only ruling in his absence.
“Obviously, the council must vote.” Sigre flicked her pale hair over her shoulder. “You are, after all, not a dictator. Isn’t that what you said? Those are the rules. And since it’s your proposal, you must abstain from voting. Or have you changed your mind?”
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. Clearly, being a dictator was easier.
“All right.” Swegde held up his hands. “Harald, how do you vote?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Sigre?”
“No.”
Swegde looked to Lynheid, who seemed to be hiding behind her silver hair.
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“And I’m also a yes,” said Swegde. That made two No’s and two Yes’s. All our eyes turned to Bo—the tie-breaking vote.
Bo adjusted his lapels. “Is this perhaps because you’re hoping to mate with him again? Are you sure you’re doing this for the right reasons? You’re not letting your emotions get the best of you, are you?”
Anger erupted in my mind. “The Norn severed the connection between our souls. I feel nothing for him. I am the Empress of the Vanir, leader of the elves. My only duty is to my people. Galin means nothing to me anymore.”
I held my breath as Bo stared at me for a long time, then looked to Swegde. “Well I don’t have any better suggestions. I vote yes.”
I exhaled, wondering why I felt this wild sense of giddiness.
After all—I had severed the bond. What was left?
Chapter 5
Ali
Two hours later, Barthol and I stood in the main hall of the Vanir temple, sandstone vaults in sharp peaks high above us.
I was dressed in my full assassin’s outfit: close-fitting leather pants and jacket, Levateinn at my hip. Barthol also wore leather pants, but instead of a tight jacket he’d chosen to go with his cave bear coat. Because of course he did.
He’d also grabbed a small sword, even though I told him it would be useless against the shades.
Rolling my shoulders, I drew Levateinn. I studied the silver wand for a long moment. I had spent every day of the last month practicing the two spells I knew: fire and portal.
I glanced at Barthol. “Do you remember how to invoke your vergr crystal?”
He nodded.
“Good. If anything goes wrong I want you to call it right away, okay? We are basically stealing from a death goddess.”
“I got it Ali.”
I wanted to say that Barthol wasn’t nearly as experienced as me, that Hel was extremely dangerous and he needed to do exactly what I said, but I bit my tongue. I needed to trust him, not distract him with being patronized.
I took in a deep breath. “All right, I’m going to open the portal now.”
As I scribed the portal spell, and streaks of light beamed before me, Barthol stepped back.
I sharpened my focus. The trick to making it work, I’d learned, was to envision exactly where you wanted to go. It was why you could only go someplace you’d already been. So as I incanted the runes, I tried to remember the tunnel that led to Hela’s tomb. I mostly remembered that it had been at the base of the cliff—a crack in a sheer cliff of stark gray rock.
And this was where the first problem presented itself.
As much as I tried to recall specific details, I wasn’t sure I’d gotten a good look at that part of the cliff. Had I?