The blond man took a deep breath. “Evaldsson is on the phone. Lord Ti is in the museum.”
Balthazar snatched the phone from Thorsson’s hand. “Evaldsson, you had better give me an update on where the hell Eva is.”
“My lord, Miss Haraldsdóttir is out of the museum. Svensson’s been killed.”
He closed his eyes. “Fucking hell.”
“She still has the communication link on.” A pause. “She’s on the run.”
“Get her out of there!”
“She won’t tell me where she is.” Another pause. “She’s told me where to pick up the artifacts.”
“Eva has to be in the area. Get over there, grab her, and get back here.”
“Yes sir.” The phone disconnected.
“You know Miss Haraldsdóttir made a wise choice in separating herself from the artifacts,” Thorsson said quietly.
“She was stupid to go to the museum without telling me!” Balthazar threw the phone at Thorsson.
“Wait.” Thorsson touched his ear. “She’s still wearing the com link.” He was silent for several moments. “She doesn’t see Lord Ti. She’s also told me that the vase holds the clue.”
Balthazar moved closer to listen, his keen hearing picking up Eva’s frightened voice. By Odin, had she found his scale?
Another voice, deep and all too familiar, suddenly spoke over the com link. “That’s Ti,” he said flatly.
Thorsson’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you certain?”
Balthazar nodded. His body slumped in defeat—it was too late.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Thorsson whispered into the com link. Moments later, he yelled and quickly pulled it out of his ear. Loud, screeching static echoed around them.
“He’s destroyed Miss Haraldsdóttir’s com link,” Thorsson said, tossing his own onto a table.
Balthazar headed for the door. “I have to get to the city.”
“No, my lord.” Thorsson crossed his arms. “It’s suicide.”
“And I’m supposed to let Ti kill her?”
“Thorsson’s right and you know it.” Lancelot had appeared at the top of the stairs. “You can’t fight Ti without getting yourself killed, and with the Equinox almost here, you’re a prime target. Don’t give Ti the satisfaction of finishing you off.”
Balthazar roared in fury, which shook the house and made Thorsson stumble around wildly. “I want Eva back, no matter what it costs.”
“Don’t you think Ti might know that?”
He looked at his brother, fear flooding his body. Eva a hostage?
***
Evaldsson’s jeep slipped into the back garage, and he pulled out a large garbage bag when Balthazar and the others arrived. “I couldn’t find her, sir,” he said. “But she had time to say that Lord Ti was with her.”
Balthazar couldn’t fathom what his brother might do to Eva—kill her and dump her body somewhere, or as Lancelot had suggested, use her as a hostage to demand terms. Either way, even with Lancelot’s help, his chances of remaining alive and keeping her safe were slim to none. “What’s in the bag?”
“A vase, shield and some bronze and gold plates.”
“Bring them inside.” He looked in the direction of Reykjavík. It shouldn’t be long before Ti showed up—with or without Eva. The thought chilled him to the bone.
In the foyer, Thorsson took the artifacts out and arranged them carefully on the floor. “Miss Haraldsdóttir mentioned the vase,” he said.
Balthazar picked it up. It certainly was a beautiful piece, the colors vibrant and detailed. He stared at the scenes as he turned it around in his hands, the memory of that fight haunting him even now. Whoever had drawn this must have been there to witness it—possibly one of the stick figures painted near the bottom. When he saw the stick figure bent over his scale, his shoulder throbbed in pain. He turned it over—there were several runes at the bottom, which he read, but they didn’t make any sense to him.
“I don’t see anything.” He handed the vase to Thorsson. “I don’t see any clues at all.”
Thorsson stared at the vase for several minutes before giving it to Lancelot.
“Did Eva say anything else at all? Anything?”
“No, my lord. She didn’t have time. Only that the vase held the answer.”
Balthazar’s gaze skimmed over the remaining artifacts. Then in a fury, he picked up the plates and smashed them onto the floor. The shield followed, splintering into thousands of pieces. Something slashed his cheek, but he didn’t notice the pain.