And most of all, I needed to redouble my efforts to get the helm off my head. The magic was weaker, but I needed to be completely free of the infernal crown.
I surveyed the mead hall, taking in the scene.
The Vanir leader sat at the head of his table, the hawk I’d seen at the battle still perched on his shoulder. He caught my eye, then tossed a piece of meat to the bird. As the creature devoured it in messy bites, its master stared me down like he wanted to murder me.
Perhaps he and Ali could bond over that particular fantasy.
“Galin,” said my father suddenly. When I turned to look at him, I saw a little flash of apprehension in his eyes. “I want you to stay after the meal. I’m taking the leaders of the Vanir and Night Elves on a little after-dinner outing. But perhaps you could act as host as well.”
“I suppose.” Inwardly, I was relieved. I’d have a chance to warn Ali.
Gorm returned to his plate of turkey and mashed potatoes.
Later, when the servers cleared our plates, the king rose from his seat and spread his arms.
“Thank you all for coming to dinner.” He pointed to a group of guards dressed in gold embroidered uniforms. “These elves will lead you to your rooms.” As the Night Elf leaders and Vanir began to stand, he spoke more softly, in his usual melodious tones, “Leaders of your tribes, please stay. I have some evening entertainment planned, and we have much to discuss. Please, join me on the dais.”
While the elves continued to file out, Ali started to make her way to the dais, flanked by two Shadow Lords. I had the impression they were guarding her somehow. Behind them trailed the Vanir leader.
And then it was just us—the High Elf leadership and a handful of our greatest enemies. Including my mate.
Ali shot me a sharp look, and I tore my eyes away from her.
“Thyra,” said King Gorm in his deep baritone. “Let me congratulate you on your success today. One hundred sixty-one of your elves survived. That is quite the feat.”
Thyra’s expression remained unchanged. “Maybe, but I lost one hundred and thirty-nine of my elves.”
Gorm waved away her worries. “Come, come. It is a great honor to give your life in battle. Surely, your elves ascended to Valhalla. Tonight, they are drinking Heidrun’s mead and singing with the valkyries.” He was just lifting his glass, when he suddenly stiffened, nearly spilling his mead. “What are you doing here?”
I followed his gaze to Ali. Tonight, she looked every bit the Night Elf assassin. Tight leather pants and shirt, hair pulled up, a shadow dagger at her hip. My pulse raced at the sight of her. And I felt my heart breaking, too.
“Oh, hello again.” She held out her hand. “I don’t believe we were ever properly introduced. Every time we met before, you seemed rather intent on throwing me into your well. I’m Astrid, daughter of Volundar, Chief Assassin of the Shadow Lords.”
For an instant, Gorm’s gaze flicked to me. It was only a second, but the expression was easy enough to read. Pure fury.
He started to introduce Revna. Presumably, he thought she would be able to intimidate Ali. He was wrong.
“Oh, we’ve already met,” Ali cooed, her eyes glacial. “Shame we didn’t meet during the melee. There’s something I meant to pay back.” She lifted her hand, displaying the nub where Revna had severed her ring finger.
For the first time in my very long life, I saw my sister completely on her heels. “Oh, yes,” she stammered. “Well, I will try to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Enough pleasantries,” said Thyra suddenly. She nodded at the Vanir leader. “Now, I don’t believe we have been introduced.”
He was tall, with the typical Vanir appearance: ebony hair, green eyes, and bronzed skin. He wore a black vest that exposed thick, muscular arms. His trousers appeared to be made of buckskin. He had a rough look, as if he was about to go bear hunting.
He bowed deeply, then spoke. “I’m Swegde, Regent to the Empire of the Vanir.”
Thyra frowned. “Regent? I thought the Vanir were led by an emperor?”
Swegde bowed his head solemnly. “Our Emperor died unexpectedly a few weeks ago.” He shot a sharp look at Ali, and a heavy silence fell over us. Bit awkward, given that the Emperor’s assassin was right here.
“Well, now that everyone is properly acquainted,” King Gorm interrupted, “let us chat over drinks.” He walked to the entrance of the mead hall, saying, “This way,” over his shoulder.
He was taking us out to the courtyard? Odd. He had something planned.
When we reached the arched doorway to the Citadel, I paused. Normally, exiting the Citadel would cause the Helm of Awe to shock me. My mind spun as I tried to piece together what Gorm’s play was.
In the center of the courtyard stood a large structure that I recognized as the royal barge. Constructed from mahogany and large glass windows on all sides, it looked a bit like a very large 19th century carriage. Unlike the stately carriages of the Victorian Era, however, gold gleamed on every surface.
Odd to see it resting on the frozen courtyard stones. Before Ragnarok, Gorm had spent hours floating on the lakes of Elfheim on the barge, drinking copious amounts of mead.
Swegde’s dark hair caught in the icy wind as he turned toward the king. “What is this contraption?”
Gorm held out his arms, smiling. “This is the royal barge.”
“But there is no water,” replied Swegde. “What does it float on?”
“Come aboard and all will be revealed.”
A guard opened a pair of gilded doors in the side of the barge. As we lined up, I noticed Ali seemed to be doing her best to stay as far away from me as possible. The relationship between us, at this point, seemed as frozen as the world around us. I tried desperately to put her out of my mind as I boarded the barge behind the king.
I couldn’t focus on Ali when I needed to stay alert, to anticipate Gorm’s actions. If he tried to hurt those around me, I would cut him to ribbons even if the helm fried my mind.
As I stepped inside, I felt a slight wave of disgust. The last time I’d been inside the barge had been over a thousand years ago, and I’d forgotten how ostentatious it was. Virtually everything was gilded, from the frames of the windows to the bar; even the seat cushions were stitched with shining golden threads.
King Gorm led us out a door and onto a small exterior platform with a golden railing.
A High Elf dressed in a captain’s uniform followed after us. “Where to, Your Majesty?”
Gorm lifted his hands expansively. “Let’s show them the city.”
The captain whistled sharply, the sound echoing in the otherwise empty courtyard. Then, a massive flock of giant moths swooped down from the sky. They were so large and numerous they blotted out the stars, and the beating of their wings stirred the frigid air, blowing up clouds of snow from the ground.
From each moth hung a thin golden cord. As they circled above us, more High Elves climbed onto the roof of the barge. Dressed in blue uniforms, they began to tie the cords to a large brass ring in the center of the barge’s roof.
The captain climbed into a small seat on the roof. “Ready, men?” he shouted. “Aloft!”
The barge lifted smoothly into the air, and the wind rushed over us as we rose. In moments, we were flying above the Citadel. A few snowflakes fell from the night sky, and the frozen city of Boston spread out below us. Twinkling lights nestled within a vast expanse of darkness. As the barge climbed higher, the breeze stiffened, and the snow grew heavier.