Chapter Twenty-Four
Rey
I check the time on my phone. My ass hurts from sitting for the last ninety minutes, and I’m a nervous wreck.
How did it all seem so much easier only twenty-four hours ago? Wake a sleeping Giant. Threaten him or whoever necessary to get him to lead you to Mjolnir, steal it back, get away clean. Done. Oh yeah, and do it all in seven freaking days.
I silently groan. As plans go, that might be one of the worst ever.
First of all, the blueprint of the “wake a sleeping Giant” plan could be anything from feeding him kiwis to setting him on fire. I vote fire.
Secondly, stealing a mythical weapon that is apparently sentient is just…ridiculous. What if it zaps me unconscious when I touch the handle? Then again, according to my father, it responds to our bloodline so I should—should being the key word—have nothing to worry about.
Because, of course, I can trust everything my father says.
And finally, and most importantly in my opinion, what on the Gods’ green earth did I think would happen if I managed to actually steal the hammer and secret it away from the Eriksons?
I’d be the first person they’d assume stole it, and they would come for me.
There would be nowhere Laufey and I could hide from their wrath.
I’d have finally freed us from one bloodthirsty man only to get us killed by another. Super.
In summary: shit discovery plan, shittier theft plan, and a retirement plan worthy of a Darwin Award.
I squirm in my chair and mentally chuck the entire plan. I need a new one.
I start to stand, ready to sneak out a side door, eager to use my time plotting Sigurd’s demise rather than listening to him wax poetic about honor and education.
“And that’s why I’d like to ask my grandson to say a few words,” Sigurd finishes, and I stiffen. My gaze lands on Aric’s narrowed eyes. It’s not obvious, but I can tell he had no idea he was going to be asked to speak.
I settle back into my seat, a genuine smile spreading across my face.
“This should be entertaining,” Ziva murmurs.
I’ll give him credit, he gets to his feet and approaches the podium with minimal prodding. “Fine. Welcome to Endir.”
The crowd goes absolutely wild. Cheering, catcalls, the occasional “Dude” shouted like he’s their idol.
I glance at Ziva, but she just rolls her eyes and mutters, “Fucking Eriksons.”
Aric lets out a heavy sigh and, no joke, says literally ten sentences. It’s almost like bullet points. Family legacy. Endir pride. Job placements. Test scores going into masters’ programs. Let’s have a great year.
He looks like pure violence and sounds like he wants to be anywhere but here. And then I notice his grandfather standing to the side of the stage.
Sigurd’s arms are crossed, and he’s looking at Aric, his smile frozen. Interesting. Not what I’d expect from a “doting” grandfather.
Strange. As strange as the fact that Aric is his own celebrity here.
I narrow my eyes.
It’s obvious that he hates the attention.
Suddenly, it occurs to me.
Aric’s a puppet on a polished stage. Just like me.
Don’t feel sorry for Aric just because he’s as trapped as you are, I remind myself as Aric finishes what might have been the shortest, angriest speech ever delivered. I’m grateful for the renewed chatter around me breaking me out of my swirling thoughts. I need to focus.
Remember where I am.
And why I’m here.
And figure out that damn plan B.
“Sorry I’m late. What’d I miss?”
I whip my head around at the familiar voice, feel my jaw drop open as I take in the sight of the absolute last person I ever expected to see here. “R-Rowen?”
A genuine smile I don’t even try to hide overtakes my face. Rowen. Is here. Smiling at me.
The one person who might actually have a plan that isn’t total shit. Gods help me, I’m beyond glad he’s here.
I just wish I knew why.