Yeah, tell me something I don't know. But I kept that thought to myself, saying, "I have the elixir. I need to see Aidan."

  With my eyes glued to Astrid, and holding the goblet as steady as I could, I took a few careful steps toward the double doors that would take me to Aidan's room. But Astrid rose and flew right into my path, a hard challenge in her eye. Her cool blue gaze trailed my precious burden, and my stomach lurched. I imagined the irreplaceable liquid freezing over from the touch of her stare. But I met those ice-blue eyes head on, refusing to allow her to intimidate me.

  "Do you really think that elixir of yours is going to help Aidan?" Her sweet voice echoed gently around the pillared hall. I hated the way she said Aidan's name, as if she knew him so well.

  How well can a girl get to know an unconscious guy, anyway?

  "It will work. Odin confirmed the elixir will work." I wanted to throttle myself as soon as the words left my mouth. I sounded like I was trying really hard to convince myself that it would work. And I’d just given Astrid every reason to try to sabotage me.

  The answering smile on Astrid's face confirmed she knew how desperate I was, knew the power she had over me. "Oh dear, Brynhildr. Do you have doubts now? I hope I was not the one who sowed the seeds of doubt in your mind." The fake sincerity in her voice sounded almost perfect, and then she spoiled it all by laughing. A laugh that grated even when it sounded halfway angelic.

  I steadied my nerves, relaxing the desperate hold my fingers had on the goblet. As Astrid's laughter petered away, I took a few slow, small steps backward to the nearest table along the wall, and set the goblet down as fast as I dared. The ruby liquid sloshed, but thankfully nothing spilled. To the right of the goblet sat an array of ancient daggers. They gleamed malevolently, and reflected in each shiny blade was Astrid's cold, blue-eyed glare.

  Without the burden of the goblet, I was free to grab my sword if and when I needed it. I faced Astrid, never taking my eyes off the other Valkyrie. She was certainly no friend. Never had been. I found it hard to believe Sigrun's revelation that Astrid had been part of Brunhilde's life, and that the guy she'd loved had left her for Brunhilde. Sad story, and if it were true I could understand a bit of her coldness. But I could never accept her icy, bitter hatred for me. I'd done nothing to her and yet she hated me as if I were the one who'd stolen her boyfriend.

  My thoughts touched on Aidan, and I hoped that Astrid hadn't decided that he was up for the taking, since he was here in Hel with her.

  Alone. Without me.

  My hands quivered, but I focused on Astrid and bounced lightly on my knees. My wings fluttered at my back, reminding me that I actually knew how to fly now. The other girl would find herself equally matched should she decide to fly away. Which she did. As Astrid trained her gaze on my face, she rose into the air, her eyes a deep, impossibly dark shade of blue. She hovered above me at least by a head.

  I gave a quick nod and shook out my wings. Rich rusty red, both wings puffed wide behind me. Astrid raised an eyebrow as if to say Yeah right, you are no match for me. That was okay with me. She would soon have to think again. I rose slowly, bringing myself to her level, my wings fluttering lightly at my back.

  Astrid's eyes widened, their cold blue paling to an almost colorless ice. Her jaw worked as she gritted it, probably struggling not to ask me when I'd learned to fly. A little glow of joy ignited somewhere deep inside me, reveling in the knowledge that in some tiny way I'd already triumphed over Astrid.

  I tossed her a tiny smile. "I take it you aren't going to let me pass?"

  She just glared.

  I reached for the sword at my waist and so did Astrid. Both metal blades sang as they left their scabbards. Although Astrid's sword possessed a beauty in its own song, it was no match for my sword.

  The sword of Brunhilde.

  The musical note rang around the hall, echoing repeatedly, swallowed at last by the shadows in the furthest corners. Astrid remained silent while my sword sang. If possible, her pale skin lost more color as the sound enveloped her. Her cheekbones stuck out starkly and, for a few seconds, she appeared a haggard, skeletal woman. I felt a little sorry for her. What must it be like to hold hate so close to one's heart for centuries?

  We hovered a few feet off the ground, circling each other slowly, white and red wings fluttering, shedding a feather every so often. The hall fell deathly quiet, except for the susurration of shivering feathers and the thick malevolence of imminent battle.

  Astrid struck first, and I would've thought she'd have learned something from our last battle on the field with Fen, before Freya had decided to use Aidan against me. She put her full fury behind the lunge, screaming her rage with vicious ferocity. Her strike was filled more with anger and passion than precision and intention, and it went wide. I ducked the blow with ease, spinning around to meet Astrid head on, careful to position myself between her and the goblet.

  She struck again, this time breathing deeper, clearly calming herself, her chest rising and falling. Learning from her mistakes. Her eyes flashed blue fire, and she still gritted her teeth. Changing her tactic, she used a series of short sharp stabs rather than long sweeping swipes.

  Time seemed to slow down as I watched her sword pass me by. I could almost trace the arc of the sword with my finger. Was I just imagining this?

  What's happening to me?

  My ears rang, but it wasn't the ringing clang of our swords as they crashed into each other. My senses seemed on fire; I could hear the beat of her heart, the tiny soughing of her breath as she inhaled and exhaled.

  I watched as she blinked, so slowly that I could see each individual eyelash as her eyes closed.

  Touch. Mesh. And pull apart again.

  The thrall of the strange awareness pulled me off guard. Astrid's next blow almost landed right between my ribs, and I had to force myself to pay attention. Something extraordinary was happening to me, but I had no time to figure it out. I deflected Astrid's last blow and floated away from her. It gave me a chance to observe her.

  My eyes fixed on Astrid's face again: her eyes, and even the way her muscles twitched in anticipation of her intended move. She thrust and I just knew where she aimed, parrying so easily it seemed like child's play.

  All I did was stir Astrid's fury.

  With a sudden surge, she spread her wings out to flap upward. I followed, forcing myself not to admire the beauty of her pure, white, silver-tipped wings.

  I flapped hard and rose to meet her, and she took the challenge. She dove, keeping her wings tight against her, heading straight for me. I paused and waited for the very last second. I waited until she was almost upon me—then twisted hard to move out of her way. Too late. I'd undercompensated somehow. Or maybe Astrid was smarter than I'd given her credit. She slammed into me and we tumbled.

  Limbs and wings entangled, we fell to the ground, unable to release each other to fly off safely. Astrid hit the ground first, uttering a slightly comical oomph! on impact as the air slammed out of her lungs. Luckily for her she fell on her wings, the soft feathers and pliable bone taking her weight.

  I shoved my way up, got back onto wobbly legs and brandished my sword again, losing all patience with her. She seemed determined to stop me. But the thought of Aidan, waiting patiently and unconsciously for me to save him, spurred me on, giving me the strength and determination to challenge Astrid again.

  Time to get my Valkyrie on.

  I took the lead, wasting no time in charging at her. Astrid lunged with her sword, a flurry of stabs, a set of swipes. I parried, tried to hold her off, but she advanced. Pushed me back against one of the gigantic wooden pillars dotting the hall.

  She brought her sword down on me. I ducked, the sword missing my cheek by a mere inch, chopping off a hunk of hair and missing my ear by a whisper of a prayer.

  I shoved at her, pushing off the pillar, but she spun, landing a solid back-fist to my face, strengthened by the heavy weight of the hilt of her sword. My cheek exploded with agony, pain splintering my jaw. I gasped, shuddering against the rising bile in my throat.

  I fell to the ground, giving Astrid the upper hand. Although I scrambled to get back on my feet, I was too late. She ran at me, sword in hand, tip piercing my throat. I swallowed, despite my fear that the slightest rise of my skin would slit my throat.

  "I have you now, Brunhilde. All this while you thought you could get away from me?" Astrid's voice shuddered, echoing strangely around the empty hall. "It is time you paid for taking Gunther from me."

  I gasped, sucking in air even though the vicious point of her sword pressed against my throat. "What are you talking about? Astrid! You're not making sense." With each word I spoke, I could feel her blade draw shallow notches in my skin.

  "Sense!?" she screamed, bending low over me in a pained crouch, her eyes rolling, shadowed now by an eerie darkness. "I do not need to make sense. You took him away, and if I cannot have him back then I will make you pay."

  In her fury Astrid paid close attention only to my face and neck.

  She didn't see my leg.

  I flung my foot out, connecting to the back of her knee, throwing her off balance. At the same time, I sunk as far into the ground as I could to get away from her sword, missing the point by a hairsbreadth as she swept it around.

  I gasped, sucking air back into my lungs, tenderly tracing my throat.

  Talk about a close shave. Too close for comfort.

  I leapt back onto my feet, legs still unsteady, but my heart and mind filled with purpose.

  Astrid screamed her anger. She launched to her feet again and meant to meet me head on. Only my instinct told me when to swing my sword wide, when to kick her feet out from under her.

  She fell again, her sword clattering on the light wood floor. She grimaced; ruby splotches marring her serene beauty. Astrid rolled away from me, barely getting to her feet in time before I lunged again.

  She ducked, then ran for her sword. I didn't stop her.

  I was no coward.

  We fought, sweat pouring from my forehead, soaking through chainmail and jacket. Astrid soon sported two flaming red cuts—I loved my sword. As yet, I was free from injury, except for the little cuts at my throat.

  I intended to stay that way.

  I'd fought a dragon and a fire giant and a god with a split personality, and defeated them all. One little Valkyrie was a piece of cake.

  With my last thrust, I had her on the floor, my sword edge glinting at her throat. Pretty much in the same position she'd ended up the last time she'd challenged me to a sword fight, except without the mud.

  "I don't know what your frickin' problem is, but stay the Hel out of my way." I growled the words, my anger, frustration, and weariness transmitting a wave of shudders through my muscles.

  "This is not the end, Brunhilde," Astrid said, her eyes wide but furious.

  "When are you going to get it into that thick skull of yours? I am not Brunhilde. I'm me. Take it or leave it. Just leave me alone. And leave Aidan alone."

  A new sound caught my attention. My senses, my very awareness of my surroundings, were so incredibly amplified that even my hearing seemed on overdrive.

  Two hearts thundered.

  Two breaths labored.

  "You can go on denying who you are, but someday I will get my revenge." Astrid glared at my blade so close to her, then sent me a vicious stare. She struggled to lift her head, but stopped when the soft flesh of her neck pressed against the fierce tip of my sword.

  I didn't move my sword away.

  Just watched as it pierced her skin and drew rich, red blood.

  Then I snorted. "You do realize there's no point. Your anger, your need for vengeance—it's all lost on me. I had nothing to do with your issues with Brunhilde. You really need to get over it." I sighed, a wave of pity for Astrid washing over me. "Brunhilde died hundreds of years ago. And even if you think I'm her, what difference does your vengeance make when I can't recall this past life you all think I lived?"

  Astrid didn't respond, just lay back staring at me as if she wanted to wrap her hands around my neck and squeeze the life out of me one breath at a time.

  Given half a chance she bloody well would.

  Chapter 35

  I left her there, flat on her back, and headed for the goblet. A quick glance behind me confirmed she was still sprawled on the floor, throwing venom at my back.

  Let's hope Freya isn't too upset that I just whipped her little dog into submission.

  Goblet in hand, I hurried to the doors, which led to a passage off the hall. At the threshold, I took one last look at the defeated Valkyrie. She'd pushed herself up and now just sat there, fury giving her a bit of color, although the rest of her face remained a pasty, bloodless pale.

  A good match for her wings, I thought.

  I slipped into the passage and shut the heavy wooden door, regretting that I couldn't lock her out. Surveying the corridor, I remembered Aidan's room being one door down on the left. My fingers brushed cold wood and I hesitated, my heart thudding in my chest. This was it.

  I pushed and the door whispered open. Inside the room a single torch flickered on the far wall. Aidan lay so still. A silent Sleeping Handsome. My heart tripped. He would soon wake up.

  I tiptoed to kneel beside Aidan's stone bed, holding the ugly goblet between my hands with the most tender care. My eyes grazed his deathly pale features, heart lurching in my chest. He didn't seem to be at all alive. What if . . . ?

  No—I refused to allow myself to think negative thoughts. Not when we were so close. My fingers clutched at the cool glass of the goblet, and I steeled myself against a desperate urge to burst into tears.

  Cool air circulated in the room; no fire burned in the empty grate, though someone had thrown a light fur over Aidan. I touched my fingertips to his cheek, trailing my fingers over his cool skin. Did the fur even make a difference to his body temperature? Seeing him lie there, so still and silent in a room like a mausoleum, I thought about Siri. Was it possible that they could still hear anything? Were they aware of their surroundings?

  I left the glass on the floor beside the bed and trudged to the fireplace, spending the next few minutes bringing a small fire to life. I'd watched Turi enough to have learned the trick to it.

  Woohoo, survivor Bryn.

  With the fire blazing, I returned to Aidan and perched beside his pillow, propping him up high enough so he wouldn't choke on the elixir. I slipped my hand beneath his back and lifted him up, leaning his dead weight against me. His head lolled forward and I tipped it back so he leaned into my neck.

  The whole business was way awkward.

  Aidan lay within my arms, his position tickling a giggle from me—a position that was as far from romantic as anyone could get, given his unconscious state. I leaned sideways, reaching for the glass on the floor beside the bed, grasped it by its knobbly stem and brought the roughly hewn edge to Aidan's lips.

  A puff of breath left his mouth, and warm air passed over my fingers. My stomach did a little twist as the warmth traveled straight into my blood. I heaved a sigh of relief, knowing that he was still very much alive and still able make my heart race. Smiling to myself, I had to admit I was too eager to see him pin me with those dark, oh-so-hot eyes of his.

  Holding the glass firmly, I used my knuckle to place a little pressure on Aidan's chin, opening his mouth slightly. A tilt of the cup fed the bloody liquid into his mouth a droplet at a time.

  A little shudder ran through him and he swallowed, a sudden gulp that made his adam's apple flex. He sipped faster, and I had to stop him, urge his head away from the goblet. He moaned, lifting his head, red-tinged lips seeking more of the ruby liquid, but I set the glass on the floor again.

  The other half of the elixir belonged to Siri.

  Aidan fell back; his effort to drink had taken a toll on his body. He'd probably expended more energy in the last few minutes than during the entire time he'd been comatose. He shuddered, eyelids blinking rapidly, as if plagued by unspeakably horrible dreams. At last, he stilled and fell into a deep sleep, his breathing even, regular.

  Although tempted to curl up on the narrow bed with him, I really just wanted to be alone with my thoughts, so I slid onto the ground and pulled a rug from a nearby chair across my knees. I sat there, a little forlorn and feeling a little stupid too. I had no idea if this elixir would help him or kill him. What if I'd just ended his life instead of saving it?

  Tremors ran through me, but I shook my thoughts off and rubbed my arms free from the rash of goose bumps that covered them. I settled against the stone bed, angling toward the feeble warmth of the fire, keeping the goblet a safe distance away. As I sat, I stared into the inky shadows billowing from the corners of the room. Lethargy decided it was at last time to attack. My utter weariness had no barriers; all my battles were fought, all adrenalin had evaporated. Sleep took over and I fell into deep oblivion.

  I woke to the sound of coughing. My heart cramped. No, it wasn't coughing.

  Aidan was choking.

  I spun around and was on my knees, lifting Aidan off the bed, before I knew what I was meant to be doing. He spluttered and gagged as I lifted him, coughing some more before taking in a few hacking breaths.

  Then he turned and looked at my face.

  "Bryn?" His eyes held surprise and doubt, and also joy.

  The whispered sound of his voice was better than music, better than chocolate. I couldn't answer, just laughed and hugged him hard. Then, with a shock, I froze.

  I'd forgotten his injury.

  I let go of him as if he were a coiled adder, ready to spit, remembering the stab wound that Loki had inflicted on Aidan.

  After thrusting the fur off his body, I lifted his chainmail, searching for the wound, panic stuttering my movement. I gasped. There it was: purple and yellow and looking so awful, and yet it looked pretty good for a wound that should have killed him. Aidan coughed again and batted my hands away. "What are you doing?" He scowled, which I most inappropriately thought was quite the hot bad-boy look.

 

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