“Don’t care if he’s the king’s own offspring—he wants no visitors today. We can throw him in the dungeons till the king’s ready to see him.”
“She’ll share the bounty with you,” Abigail said quickly. “The bounty on his head. It’s large. Right, Izmerelda?”
The troll hag snarled at her but shrugged. “I reckons I can spare a few coins.”
“I wants half.” Ozzie’s eyes lit up greedily. “Or he can rot in the dungeons.”
“Half is fine,” Abigail said.
Izmerelda growled deep in her throat but nodded. She waved at the other troll hags to follow, but Ozzie held his hand up. “Just you. Those others smell like they ain’t bathed in weeks.”
“Go on then.” Izmerelda shoved Abigail and Hugo inside.
The corridor was lit by small torches and sized for trolls—the children had to bend their heads to avoid the ceiling. At the end, Izmerelda stopped and turned to them. “Don’t speaks to His Highness unless he speaks to you first. Don’t looks at him. Don’t embarrass Izmerelda, or she’ll boil your bones in stew herself. And whatevers you do”—she stabbed her finger into Abigail’s chest—“don’t let on you’s a witch, or he’ll boil us both in hot oil.” She turned and opened the door.
They stepped into the biggest room Abigail had ever seen. Fur pelts had been strewn over the ice floor. A fire roared in a stone hearth, but it didn’t seem to stop the cold. Giants sat around a long table in the center of the room, arguing and shouting.
Izmerelda shoved them toward the table. It was two times as tall as Abigail’s head. Conveniently, a small set of steps led to the top. They made their way among the dishes and past towering shakers of salt until they reached the end.
A giant with cinnamon-red hair and a long beard sprawled back in a throne made of pointed ice crystals that fanned out behind him. He brooded over a large tankard cradled in both his hands.
“Your Highness.” Izmerelda dragged out a long bow. “We brings you the brat you have been searching for.”
At her words, the giant’s head snapped up, interest lighting his eyes. “You brought me the Son of Odin I seek?” His hand swooped down on Hugo, grasping him by the back of his collar and lifting him to his face. “Where is it, boy? Where is my treasure?” He blinked. “This is not the boy who stole from me.”
The giant tossed Hugo back onto the table, where he landed with an oof.
Fear passed over Izmerelda’s face. “Course this is hims—we tracked him through the woods. Robert Barconian. Tell him, boy.”
Hugo got to his feet. “I … I’m not him. Sorry.”
She glared at him, then her eyes lightened. “Maybe he knows wheres to finds him. We could torture him. Get hims to talk. My husband is a right good torturer, Your Highness.”
The giant king mulled it over. “Fine. Get him to tell you where my fjalnar is, and I’ll pay you twice your weight in gold.”
He dismissed them with a wave of his hand. Izmerelda gave Hugo a shove, but Abigail had heard enough.
“Stop!” she shouted, witchfire springing to her hand. “You will not harm a hair on him. He is a Balfin, and he is under my protection.”
There was a collective inhale of fear around the table as giants stumbled backward, several drawing weapons but most looking too afraid to do anything more. Utgard-Loki took refuge behind his ice throne.
“You brought a witch here?” he roared at Izmerelda. “You traitorous troll hag, you’ll rot in my dungeons for that.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Izmerelda wailed. “I thought you would want to lock her up.”
“I’ll toss her into the deepest pit we have and bury her with stones—that’s what I’ll do,” he said.
“Not before I singe that beard off your face!” Abigail waved the witchfire.
“Hold on,” Hugo said, getting between them. “What if we could help you get this, er, fjalnar back?”
“And how would you do that?” Utgard-Loki asked from behind his throne.
“We know where the son of Odin is headed.”
The giant warily poked his head out. “Tell me and I’ll spare your life. You can live out your years rotting in my dungeon, but the witch will be thrown off the highest peak.”
“Not before I melt this palace into a puddle.” Abigail called up a second ball of witchfire in her other hand.
“Look, just hold on,” Hugo said. “Abigail, put the witchfire out.”
“No, I told you this was a bad idea. We need to get out of here.”
“We need his help,” Hugo said. “Besides, I’m hungry, aren’t you?”
The smell of roasted meat had been making Abigail’s stomach rumble since they’d entered the room.
“Can we just sit down and talk?” Hugo asked. “I promise Abigail won’t do anything. She’s actually a very nice witch. Right, Abigail?”
“Not today I’m not.” But she let the witchfire burn out.
Utgard-Loki rose from behind his throne and straightened his tunic. He sat back down, keeping one eye on Abigail. Hugo sat cross-legged on the table and pulled Abigail down next to him.
“Leave us,” Utgard-Loki ordered, and the room cleared of giants, none of whom seemed too interested in lingering with a witch in the midst of them. Utgard-Loki shoved a plate of meat toward the children, and Abigail and Hugo each picked up a sliver. It was tender and juicy and … possibly the most delicious thing Abigail had ever tasted. Her empty stomach rumbled in appreciation.
“What’s so important about this fjalnar?” Hugo asked between mouthfuls.
“What’s so important?” The giant’s face turned red. “It’s only the most valuable possession I have. A necklace made of bones from Ymir himself.”
Abigail nearly choked on her food. “Ymir? You don’t mean the creator of the cosmos?”
Like everyone in Orkney, Abigail knew the story of Ymir. Before gods like Odin came into being, the very first creature to have life was a giant named Ymir.
Hugo jumped in. “They say when he died, he spit out the sky. His hair became the trees; his bones, the mountains; his sweat and blood, the seas.”
The giant nodded. “That’s right. My forefathers harvested some of his teeth and formed them into a necklace. I call it my fjalnar. It means ‘little deceiver.’ Without it, I have none of my magic.”
“What if we could get it back for you?” Hugo asked.
“How?”
“Thor is here, is he not?”
The giant’s eyes narrowed. “So?”
“So why do you think he’s back at the same time your fjalnar was stolen?”
Utgard-Loki went completely still. “What are you saying, boy?”
“We heard a rumor that Thor paid a boy to … uh … steal your … fjalnar … so Thor can get revenge.”
Utgard-Loki slammed his fist down on the table, making them jump. “That pathetic god would never dare step foot in my palace again, not after how soundly I defeated him. Did he tell you of our last encounter?”
“I’ve heard the stories,” Hugo said. “How you disguised yourself as a giant named Skrymir and Thor tried to smash your head in to stop your snoring, but each time you enchanted him and deflected the blows.”