Stormbringer by Alis Franklin Page B

this place, Usurper.” Forseti’s shoulders are thrown back and tight with a rage and sorrow that pours from him like molten gold. “You will find no solace here, only death.”
    And, okay. It’s not exactly like I was expecting a happy reunion, but still. Death? Harsh.
    I hold up my hands, trying not to notice the way Magni’s looking more and more like he’s sitting on coiled springs, waiting for his lid to pop.
    “No need for that,” I say. “I’m here to tie up some loose ends, that’s all. But I’m not gonna do it standing in the middle of the road.”
    “You will not enter Ásgarðr,” Forseti says. “It is done with your vile ways.”
    I take an experimental step forward just to see how Thor’s brats itch to do the same. The only thing keeping them at bay is Forseti. “Look,” I say. “Whatever you think’s happened, whoever you think I am, I can assure you it’s not—”
    “You are my father’s murderer, twice over,” Forseti snarls. “You, who ate his heart and defiled his legacy. Who brought Ásgarðr to its knees with your dishonor, the
níð
of Hveðrungr and Ginnarr made flesh. I know what ruin you bring, waste of the old era. You who are the last of the filth not burned clean by the fires of Ragnarøkkr, the last of Odin’s deceit. Ásgarðr renounces you, demands justice for your crimes. And justice will be had. I, Forseti, son of Baldr the Betrayed, will see it done.”
    And then he draws his sword.
    I have just enough time to think,
Oh shi—
before Magni’s war hammer connects with the underside of my jaw and the world turns into a rainbow spin of pain.
    The front fender of my car stops me, my spine cracking across the chrome as I hear the engine roar. I don’t get time to right myself, instead feel thick fingers wind through my feathers as I’m hauled upright.
    “Come quiet,
jötunn
curr,” Magni snarls.
    “Unlikely,” I reply, and it isn’t until my elbow is already connecting with the bastard’s gut that I realize his answer was “Good!”
    Escape leaves me with a throbbing skull and Magni with a fistful of orange-red feathers, and I scramble into a crouch before he can descend on me again. I get halfway up before the point of a blade presses against my throat.
    “If you have any honor in you, you will submit yourself to justice,” Forseti says.
    “Fuck you” is my response. Sharp and succinct and punctuated by the snap of unfurling wings. Forseti is knocked back by one, Magni startled by both, and I leap, great gusts of wind whipping across the Bifröst as I propel myself away.
    “Ground him!” I hear. “He will not escape!”
    And then a third voice, Móði, shouting words like gravity, syllables with weight and mass and pressure that pull the air from underneath my feathers.
    Ah. That’s why Móði wasn’t armed; the kid’s a sorcerer. Shit.
    He might know the runes, but I was born from them. I’m better, I
should
be better, but for the fact that I’m slamming back down against the road, the shimmering rainbow cracking along with my bones. Before I can mutter a counter—before I can think of a counter—the car’s engine roars again, this time sounding less like a machine and more like a monster.
    “What is—” I hear, right before the heavy smack of flesh on steel, and my limbs break free of the force that held them.
    I stumble, but it’s too little, too late. My head is spinning and my bones are shattered, and when Magni’s hammer slams against my flailing wing, my scream is enough to shake the bridge.
    “Time for your cage, little bird,” Magni says, right before his knee descends into the small of my back.
    There’s another snap, deep inside, but my howl is interrupted when something thick and hard is wedged between my teeth. The haft of Magni’s hammer, I think, and he holds it like a rider would a bridle, pulling my head back even as he bears his weight down against my spine.
    Somewhere, behind the pain, Forseti is saying: “—leash!