Page 29 of Valhalla is Full of Hunks
Even without my second sight, I can see this is sus.
“My sword is locked inside the chest,” Surt slowly replied, as if he were speaking to a small child. “Laevateinn is the only weapon that can kill Vídópnir. More powerful than Odin’s spear and Thor’s hammer—”
“I thought it wasLoki’ssword?” I interrupted, completely uninterested in his showboating. “And on what planet does it make sense for theroosterto provide the key needed to unlock the weapon that can kill it?”
Mythology is so weird.
Whatever tiny crumb of patience Surt may have unearthed to deal with me had officially withered and died. But while he looked close to exasperation, Fen was clearly fighting back a smile.
“Yes, it was my father’s sword,” the wolf calmly explained. “He created it from a twig retrieved from the gates of Helheim—the land of the dead ruled by my sister, Hel.”
“Creative,” I dryly remarked.
Surt sighed heavily, but Fen wasn’t done with his Scholarly Sven routine. “However, I agree with you. There’s no logical reason for Vídópnir’s feathers to be what unlocks the chest holding Laevateinn. So it must be…fate.”
I couldn’t resist teasing. “But I thought you didn’tbelievein fate. Since your own went so horribly awry.”
All humor left Fen’s face as he observed me with an unreadable intensity that almost burned. “I don’t. But a believer could be made of me yet.”
Oh?
“None of that matters,” Surt brusquely interrupted what was clearly a precious moment. “I require the sword, and you will get it for me.”
THIS guy.
“Mmm… maybe,” I murmured, focusing all my outward attention on my manicure. “But only if you tell me what you plan on doing with it.”
Surt threw his enormous hands into the air. “Kill Vídópnir! Haven’t you been listening, seer?”
Ah, yes, because it’s all so clearly explained…
I didn’t dare ask what the point of killing the Ragnarok alarm rooster was when the end of days had already occurred. But I woke up choosing violence most days, so decided to at least annoy the giant a little more before we were finished with today’s thrilling meeting.
That could’ve been an email.
“What doesLaevateinnmean?” I sweetly asked. Surt squinted at me—probably trying to guess my angle—but I simply batted my eyelashes and gave him my most vapid smile.
Nothing to see here.
Just me and my empty head!
He cleared his throat, his gaze shifting away from mine. “Why does it matter what Laevateinn—”
“It means ‘damage twig,’” Fen smoothly replied, the smirk on his face broadening by the second.
“DAMAGE TWIG?!”I howled, practically falling off the high stool in absolute joy.
“Ooh! What are we laughing about?” Jör appeared, wearing Hawaiian board shorts and a tiny crop top that said ‘I [heart] Swedish boys.’
Same, monster, same.
The big guy beside me was attempting murder with his glare alone, but before I could bring Jör up to speed, Fen came in with the assist. “We were explaining to Iola how much Surt enjoys plowing through fertile fields swinging his enormousdamage twig.”
Tag team!
“I beg your fucking pardon?!” Surt sputtered.
Jör’s cheeky grin appeared—the brat ready to join the action. “Oh, yes, his damage twig is quite large. Sometimes I wonder how it manages to fit.”
