Mist

7

Mist’s vision began to clear. Dainn’s face resolved from a blur to crystal clarity. There was no denial in his expression, no protest. Vidarr might as well have stated that the elf had black hair and deep blue eyes.

She should have known, just as she should have known that Eric was Loki. She had thought of the two most famous Dainns when she’d first found him but had never seriously considered that he might be one of them.

Dainn Faith-breaker. The only one of his people who had not fought with the Aesir in the Last Battle, because Thor had supposedly killed him for his defection to the enemy. Mist knew few details but those she’d heard in the rumors that circulated in Asgard after the Aesir and Alfar had sat in judgment over Dainn and condemned him to death; some had whispered that it was his last- minute warning that had prevented Loki’s forces from taking the Aesir completely unaware. Some said it was weakness, not malice, which had led him to join Loki, that Laufeyson had deceived him with claims of a desire for peace.

But neither good intentions nor weakness were excuses for the damage Dainn had done in giving, or allowing, Loki to obtain vital information that had weakened the allies. Though neither side had won the battle, what Dainn had done was unforgivable.

Now Mist understood why Loki had reacted so strongly to learning that Dainn was the elf who had met with Mist. He, like she and Vid, must have believed his former ally was dead.

How had Dainn evaded execution? Perhaps Freya had helped him. She should have despised him as much as anyone who had ever walked in Asgard, but now she had set him a task that would require absolute trust in his loyalty.

“ You,” Mist said to Dainn, unable to find words scathing enough to express her horror and disgust.

“Yes,” he said. “I have made many mistakes. I have been foolish beyond any expectation of atonement. But I did not start Ragnarok. I tried—”

“Scum,” Vidarr snarled. “Filth. How do we know you aren’t serving Loki now? And you—” He turned on Mist, pinching his nostrils as if he’d smelled something even worse than Dainn’s rags. “You’re no better than him. Loki wouldn’t have Gungnir if you hadn’t let him fuck you for six months.”

“Don’t go there, Vid,” Mist warned. “I didn’t—”

“Do you really want to take Gungnir back, or are you just pissed at him for making you his whore?”

Mist lunged at Vidarr. Dainn stepped between them again. Vidarr struck the elf in the temple with a bunched fist, and Dainn staggered. He righted himself quickly, showing no sign that he had been hurt at all.

Vidarr was going after Dainn again when Mist got in his way, steeling herself for a blow. Vidarr stopped just as his fist was about to connect with her head.

“I’m going to kill him,” he rasped. “Get out of my way.”

“I can’t let you, Vid. He may deserve to die for what he did, but now Freya has intervened, and she wouldn’t have done that without the agreement of the other Aesir. It’s not our decision to make.”

She could barely believe the words coming out of her own mouth, and Vidarr certainly didn’t.

“You’re defending him?” he asked incredulously. “Has he been fucking you, too?”

Clenching her jaw, Mist tried to let his sordid accusation pass through her. She turned back to Dainn. “How long did you think you could get away with this little charade?” she asked.

“If I had told you,” Dainn said, “you would have left me in the park, or perhaps even killed me..”

“You don’t claim to be innocent of the crimes you’re accused of?”

“I am far from innocent.”

“He admits it,” Vidarr said. “Move, Mist. Don’t make me hurt you.”

“He helped save both of us,” she said. “Isn’t that worth something?”

“He may have saved you, but I never needed his help.”

“Dainn took care of Loki’s Jotunar so they couldn’t come charging in to attack us from the rear.”

“He was responsible for the destruction of Asgard.” Vidarr drew a knife from a sheath at his back. “I will finish what my brother Thor failed to do.”

Mist held her ground. “Why so much hatred, Vid? You may be the god of vengeance, but this isn’t just about his betraying the Aesir. It’s personal.”

Vidarr’s stare was like Gungnir itself, piercing through Mist’s body and burying its point right between Dainn’s eyes. “I’m warning you one last time,” he said. “Don’t interfere.”

“You know the old cliché. If you want to kill him, you’ll have to walk through me first.”

For a breathless moment she believed that Vidarr was going to call her bluff. But he lowered his knife and strode to the door to the bar, walked through it, and slammed it shut.

Mist glanced at Vali. He sank deeper into his chair. “Let him go,” Dainn said.

She faced him, loosing the anger she’d been trying to keep in check. “He was right. Why shouldn’t I kill you?” She slipped Kettlingr from its sheath. “You’ve never stopped lying to me. For all I know, you led me right into a trap.” Her hand trembled on the sword’s hilt. “Why did you go over to Loki?”

“He deceived me, as he did you,” Dainn said, holding her gaze as if he hadn’t noticed the sword at all. “I believed I could help broker a peace between his forces and the Aesir’s.”

“Broker a peace? You mean attempt something not even Odin believed was possible?”

“I had been away from my people a long time, even then. No one remembered me, and so I believed I had a chance not open to those directly involved.”

“But you joined Loki in the end.”

“When I recognized my mistake in trusting him, I attempted to warn the Aesir. I was too late.”

Mist didn’t want to hear any more excuses. She raised Kettlingr and set the blade’s tip against Dainn’s chest. “Where were you, when you were ’away’ from your people?” she asked.

“My memory of those times is incomplete.”

“You like that excuse, don’t you?”

“You said you could tell if I was lying. Am I lying now?”

“Did Freya save you from Thor?”

“The Lady believed I had tried to warn the Aesir. She spoke for me when I stood before the gods and elves.”

“And she sent you here to protect me.”

He sighed. “Yes. I deceived you on that point. But until a week ago, I had no idea what had happened to the Homeworlds just as the Last Battle began.”

“So you never suffered any punishment at all.”

“My own people repudiated me,” he said softly. “Perhaps you will understand how I felt when Freya contacted me, and I learned the Aesir and my people lived. I could no more have rejected the service the Lady asked of me than could you.”

Too little, too late, Mist thought, her anger and disgust far from assuaged. She looked across the room at Vali, who was so lost in his drink that she doubted he’d heard or seen a single thing that had happened since Vidarr had stomped out.

“I’m not buying that that’s all there is to it,” she said. “But I can’t believe Freya would to send an unregenerate traitor to find her daughter and locate the Treasures.” She lowered the sword. “Are you sticking with your story that it was my magical ability at work against Loki, not Freya’s?”

“Look inside yourself, and you will see.”

Mist didn’t want to. She was still afraid of what she would find. But she looked anyway. The Freya part of her was still present, light and gentle as a dusting of pollen on a honeybee’s back. It wasn’t obtrusive or threatening, as it had seemed when it had led her to attack Loki with the smothering power of seduction. It was just there, like a dormant memory waiting to be called up again.

“I still can’t talk to Freya directly?” she asked.

“When you are ready.”

She sang Kettlingr small and sheathed her. “Let’s get a few things straight. I’m no one’s unquestioning servant. Unless I get orders from Odin himself, I’m going to use my own judgment. And you’re going to do what I tell you. No one is going to move me around like a defender on a hnefatafl board.”

“And Vidarr?”

Mist glanced at Vali again. “I’m not going to let him kill you, if that’s what you mean. I’ve known Vid a long time, and he is one of the Aesir. Maybe he doesn’t care much about mortals, but he knows we can’t be fighting each other when Ragnarok is about to happen all over again. And for real this time.”

One of the Jotunar groaned loudly behind Mist, and she realized how completely she’d forgotten about the frost giants. Again. There was a scuffling as one of the creatures began to sit up.

“Odin’s hairy balls,” she said. “We still have to figure out what to do with them.”

“If you do not wish to kill them—”

She flashed him an irritated glance. “You were the one who dealt with them in the first place. What would you do?”

“I would send them to a place where they will be of no further trouble for some time to come.”

Dainn had made it clear before that he was going to need time to recover, but he looked ten times worse than he had before Vidarr had exposed him. “Are you up to it?” she asked.

“With your help.”

“I was afraid of that. I assume it’s the same as before? I think of the Runes, and you—”

“No,” he said, very quietly. “You must let go of your will and let me guide you.”

Her mouth filled with the acrid taste of fear. “You want to control me? I just told you—”

“Not control you,” Dainn said. “Guide only.”

Again and again, it all came down to how much she believed him, and she had even less reason to trust him than she had ten minutes ago. If she agreed, she would literally be putting her life— her being—in his hands. Her part in all this could end today if Dainn had some ulterior motive.

She turned to him again and stood in front of him, toe to toe. “If I find out you’ve meddled with my mind again while you’re in it,” she said, “I’ll—”

“Kill me.” He smiled, flashing perfect white teeth. “Fair enough, Freya’s daughter.”

It was the first time he’d really smiled, and it was a revelation. She could count on one hand the times she’d seen an elf smile in Valhalla. Dainn’s expression turned the dim, dingy room into a candlelit palace. His rags became velvet, his hair as glossy as Sleipnir’s silken mane.

The illusion didn’t last, and when it ended, the room, and Dainn, seemed even shabbier than before.

“I may kill you anyway if you don’t change your clothes,” she said, sharp with annoyance at her lapse. “Did you think you were making yourself inconspicuous when you put those on?”

“I had hoped—”

“It didn’t work. Do you think you can manage to keep the Jotunar quiet for a few more minutes? I’m going to see if Vidarr has any spare clothes in his office. Better that you flap around in his stuff than in those rags, and I’m not going to be able to concentrate with that stink in the air.”

Dainn sank to the floor, settling himself into a meditative position. As Mist started for the back room, he began to sing.

Dainn’s Rune-song died as Mist left the room. The ruined door was propped open, and he knew he would have little time to regain his equilibrium before she returned.

He would need every second. All the peace he had believed he’d found after centuries of searching— the peace not even Freya’s sudden appearance was able to destroy—had been severely shaken the moment he had met Mist of the Valkyrie.

Closing his eyes, Dainn steadied his breathing and reconsidered everything that had happened in the past ten hours. That moment of meeting had been indelibly imprinted in his memory. Though he had never met Freya’s unacknowledged daughter in Asgard, he had been in no doubt that the Lady’s offspring would be possessed of a certain native allure and a striking presence that would affect anyone who saw her.

And she was beautiful, in spite of her obvious unawareness of her beauty. Her appearance was that of a twenty- eight-year- old woman; her candid eyes were gray with highlights of green, her cheekbones high, her lips full and firm, and her hair, fixed in a long braid at her back, was the gold of sun-kissed wheat.

But she was nothing like her mother. She regarded herself as a warrior, blunt of speech and manner. When she had first addressed him, he had actually wondered if she would be suitable for what Freya had in mind.

Mist had proven him wrong. The first time he had touched her flesh, seeking the confirmation of her identity in the tattoo around her wrist, he had already begun to feel it. And when he touched her mind, he had confirmed his impression that she was no mere Valkyrie. She was strong and courageous, to be sure, but Dainn had never had any use for warriors.

It was her inner core of strength, her determination to accept the impossible, that had shattered his preconceptions. She faced every difficulty with her eyes wide open and her mind ready for battle, physical or otherwise.

And that wasn’t all. Very far from it.

Dainn filled his lungs on a slow count and absorbed the oxygen into every cell, feeding his weary body as well as his mind. In readying Mist for her ultimate destiny, he had thought at most he would be dealing with mere traces of Jotunar magic along with a little of her mother’s instincts, and then only for a brief time.

His mistake had been costly. He had truly been unprepared to learn that the Slanderer had not only found Gungnir, but had also been living with Freya’s daughter. The fact that Loki knew so much— and had so flagrantly broken the rules of the game— had been a considerable shock.

Dainn had intended to protect Mist, prepare her and hold her in ignorance of her ultimate fate, as he had been instructed to do. He had deliberately concealed her true heritage. But it had been impossible to keep Mist from following Laufeyson, impossible to prevent her from confronting him. To do so by any means other than physical force might have weakened his control and put her at even greater risk.

So she had come to Asbrew, and it was here that he had experienced an even more profound understanding of her soul than he had ever wished or intended. He had seen under that bold façade. Beneath her confidence lay uncertainty and deeply buried fears, dissonant notes of doubt in her own competence and worthiness to exist. Doubts she revealed to him only in her fear that it was Freya’s power, not her own, that had sent Loki into flight.

Ordinarily Dainn could have played upon those doubts. He had failed, and he had no one to blame but himself.

He shifted position, unable to settle into that calm state of dispassion that had saved him so often over the long years. Freya had swept into Mist’s mind without warning, without informing Dainn of her intentions, before either he or Mist was ready. She had behaved rashly, determined to make her presence known to Loki without regard for the consequences. Now Loki believed she could act in this world through Mist, and he would be ready the next time.

Dainn would not. Because when Mist had fallen under the mantle of Freya’s power, he had seen just what would be destroyed when the Lady came to fulfill her purpose.

And that was when his doubts had begun to take hold. Dangerous, gnawing doubts about his mission, about what he had agreed to do to rid himself of his curse. And he had fallen— fallen so far that he had offered Mist a way out.

“You need do nothing. Walk away, Valkyrie,” he had said, knowing all the while that her acceptance of his offer would mean the end of his hope for salvation.

But he had been saved from his own folly. His warning had fallen on deaf ears. Mist had defended him from Vidarr. She had chosen to continue working with him even though she knew what he had done. Even though she had seen his anger, the seething rage that he should never have allowed her to witness.

As long as all she saw was his anger, he was safe. If she had found the beast . . .

He shook his head, though there was no one to witness his denial save for the man at the table, insensible with drink. She hadn’t found it—or if she had, she’d obviously doubted the validity of her own observation. But she would see it again if he did not take extreme care.

Now that he had a chance to recover what he had almost thrown away, he had to know what the Lady had seen for herself.

He looked toward Vali. Odin’s less volatile son still seemed to be in a stupor, but Dainn couldn’t afford to take the chance. He sang a sleeping spell, woven from the scent of flowers that had grown only in Alfheim, and waited until he heard a loud snore erupt from Vali’s slack lips.

Settling down again, Dainn opened his mind. He sang a new song, a song of primroses, of love long lost, of yearning, of hope beyond hope.

“Dainn.”

He bowed his head, the Lady’s power pressing down on him like the weight of thousands upon thousands of fragrant blossoms, and for a moment he was unable to feel anything but the white heat of her love.

“I hear,” he whispered.

“Where is my child, my Mist?”

“She is well, Lady,” he said.

“And Loki? ”

“He escaped with Gungnir.”

Freya’s disembodied voice caressed him. “Gungnir is of no importance at the moment. I am more concerned with how the Slanderer managed to escape my notice until now. His behavior flies in the face of the rules, and he knows that I am no longer ignorant of it.” Dainn felt her smile. “It’s most fortunate that I sensed what was happening before he harmed her.”

Dainn shivered. He had taken precautions to make sure that the Lady could not read more than his surface thoughts, but even that could be dangerous. It was far better for him to give her as much information as was necessary to allay any concerns on her part. He could not afford to have her angry with him.

“I could not reach you,” he said. “I am grateful your wisdom is so much greater than my own.”

She was much too vain to grasp his sarcasm. “How did she respond after I left?”

“Your daughter believes it was her own magic that drove Loki away.”

The Lady’s sigh was the caress of a butterfly’s wing against his cheek. “You did right to tell her who she is and make her believe she alone won the skirmish. If she becomes suspicious, this will be much more difficult.”

“You overcame her will, Lady,” he said.

“At some risk,” she chided. “I knew she would possess natural talent, but I underestimated the extent of it.”

“As did I,” Dainn said.

“Which is why you must discover the scope of her abilities and make certain she has the necessary instruction to accept me. I cannot waste my magic on fighting my daughter’s mind and spirit when the time comes.”

“I will do my best.”

Her response was almost playful. “Such humility,” she said. “You were not always so.” The lightness left her voice. “I took a great chance in helping you now. I will need all my resources to send my allies to Midgard. I rely on you to see that Mist is not put in jeopardy again.”

Dainn envisioned his mind contracting until there was no possibility that Freya would feel his true emotions. Lie upon lie he had told Freya’s daughter, like many seasons’ worth of autumn leaves piled one layer upon another, awaiting a spark to set them aflame.

“Forgive me, Lady,” he said, bowing his head lower still.

“It is forgotten,” Freya said, so gently that Dainn’s empty stomach heaved with the knowledge of what lay behind that gentleness. “I will not be so generous with my enemy.” She sighed, sending delicate zephyrs wafting around Dainn’s head. “Loki must always have known that Mist was my daughter, even in Asgard. It is unfortunate that he has discovered the strength of the connection between us, but at least he now realizes that he underestimated me, and so long as he believes I can appear in my daughter’s stead whenever I choose, he will not so brazenly attack her again.”

“Even that belief will not stop him forever.”

“He is and has always been a coward. He attempted to escape Midgard with Gungnir, did he not?”

“And found the bridge inaccessible,” Dainn said. “Mist and I also discovered that the one Hrimgrimir used has vanished as well. Did you find a way to close them?”

“Why would I do so when I intend to use them myself?” she asked, the faint scent of primroses turning sour.

“Yet now they are being uncreated,” Dainn said. “Coward or not, Loki still has all the advantages. The plans we made may no longer be effective.”

“Do you still fear him so much, my Dainn?”

Such a tender punishment, Freya’s mockery. She knew what he most feared.

“You have no concern that the bridges may no longer function?” he asked.

“It has always been clear to me that Loki does not have as much control over them as he would wish. I am not Loki.”

Yet they had been one and the same once, Dainn thought. To him. “What of Vidarr?” he asked.

“It is a pity we did not know Odin’s sons were in this city, but he and his brother were never reckoned as players in the game. Do you believe he will interfere?”

“He has no respect for the Lady Mist, and no reason to obey you.”

“He, like Loki, is arrogant. But unless you have reason to think otherwise, I cannot see why he would stand in my way. I come closer to achieving our goals every day, every hour. Your only concern now is Mist herself.” The scent of ripe blossoms changed to one of cloying sweetness, filling Dainn’s lungs and draining the remaining strength from his body. “I have the utmost confidence in you, my Dainn.”

Dainn gasped, struggling for a single lungful of untainted air. “You know . . . that the more I use my magic, the weaker the cage becomes.”

“And you know you must keep control.”

As if to emphasize her words, she pierced Dainn’s heart with her sensuous power, slicing through the twisted, thorny bars of his inner cage as if they were constructed of paper straws. Her magnificent body appeared in his mind, lushly rounded, full-breasted, and blatantly erotic in its nakedness. Golden hair, bright as the Brisingamen itself, drifted around her shoulders as if it had a life of its own.

She could make him desire her. She could drive him mad with lust. She could do anything she chose to him, and his belief that he could resist her charms was no more than a pathetic attempt to maintain some shreds of what dignity remained to him.

“My poor Dainn,” she said, reaching inside the cage. The beast stirred and stalked toward her, the burning crimson of its gaze fixed on her face. “There, there,” she said, stroking the dense black fur. “Would it be so terrible to love me?”

Dainn squeezed his eyes closed, though what he observed could not be shut out even with blindness. “That was not our bargain,” he said.

She fondled the beast’s long, tufted ears. “There is always a chance that you might choose to act against my will.”

“I would never act against your will,” Dainn said, grinding his teeth together to distract himself from the ecstasy of her touch.

The beast vanished, and Dainn felt Freya’s incorporeal hand stroke his cheek and move down his chest, penetrating both clothing and resistance, coming to rest on his painful erection. Her red lips brushed his. The kiss brought him to the edge of release, but she drew back abruptly, leaving him in unrelieved agony.

“I will come to you again when I have further instructions,” she whispered as she left him. “Do not disappoint me. You know that if you fail, I can take from you all of Dainn Faith-breaker that remains.”