Destined (Desolation #3) Read Online Free Page B

enough to know how to accommodate himself—and how to tease the children.
    Horonius refused to sit or take nourishment, electing instead to stand behind my right shoulder. I had to angle my body in order to keep him in my line of sight. Since our encounter on the Bridge he had refused to meet my gaze—or anyone else’s it seemed. li’Morl sat across the table, an amused smile on his face and a glint in his eye. When Odin asked Horonius to tell the story of how he came to be standing in Asgard, li’Morl leaned forward, his elbows propped on the table.
    I schooled my features, striving to hide the turmoil in my mind and heart. My thoughts swirled through memories of Helheimer, of the soul eaters, of Knowles, of Loki’s throne room and his cronies. Memories of Desi, both terrible and glorious. Memories of when she glowed with golden light, memories of when she was mine.
    Memories of the black-as-night tendrils that snaked across her skin and the look of death in her eyes when she was under the influence of Loki’s dark poison.
    Memories of that terrible storm that swept across the battlefield on the day she cut Solomon’s Ring from her finger and broke Loki’s hold on her. 
    Memories of the last moment I saw her.
    And now Horonius stood at my shoulder, betraying Helena’s confidences, claiming allegiance to my love, offering me the first real hope I’d had in so long that Desi might yet live. That she still might come back to me.
    For the hundredth time I pushed such speculations aside so I could concentrate on the conversation unfolding around me. It seemed Helena had been rousing the spirits of the inhabitants of both Muspelheim and Svartalheim, making wild promises that mostly involved gifting them each Midgard—a world they could not both possess and was certainly not hers to give.
    “You say she coaxed the Svart king from his castle? I’ve not heard of him stepping beyond its walls since the attacks on his life several eons ago.” Odin leaned forward, his hands clasped before him.
    “Yes, my Lord. Our mistress lured him with a contest he could not refuse—a battle of wit and strength. My brother and I are known throughout all the worlds for our bravery and single-mindedness in protecting our grand mistress.” 
    “I have heard the claims, yes.” 
    “The grand mistress chained me to a platform far above the arena—though had she only commanded me, I would not have strayed from my perch. Perhaps she saw a weakness in me even I did not know existed.” He allowed his eyes to rise from the tabletop but stopped short of reaching Odin’s face.
    “I am sure she knew you would have rushed to your brother’s aide, had you been able,” Odin said in a soothing tone.
    Horonius nodded once before continuing his story. “The grand mistress made a procession to the center of the arena, Helonius at her shoulder. She wore little clothing and made a great show of demonstrating for the eager crowd that she was unarmed.”
    “And in the arena—there is no magic. Is that correct?” li’Morl asked.
    “Yes, Lord.”
    li’Morl’s eyes twinkled. “Fascinating.”
    “Helonius is—was—a brave and fierce warrior. I felt certain he would prevail against any foe. But then . . . then the king of the Svarts ordered the great gate be opened. At first there was no sound, even the raucous crowd had quieted. For several long heartbeats I was sure the whole thing would end with laughter and perhaps a few drinks around the old king’s table. Not once did I consider that I had embraced my brother for the last time.”
    Horonius bowed his head and took several deep breaths.
    “Take your time, my son,” Odin said. 
    A child appeared at Horonius’ elbow and held forward a tray on which sat a cup, its sides glistening with condensation. The Hound at last reached out and drew the cup to his lips, draining its contents in three gulps.
    “My thanks,” he said quietly, placing the empty cup on the child’s tray. She smiled