Stealing Brísingamen.
The damned necklace that clung almost possessively to Freyja's neck, as if it had a will of its own.
No matter how many plans I devised, each one ended with the same dismal outcome: either I would be killed by whatever power her damn necklace unleashed, or I'd barely escape alive—empty-handed and no closer to saving my mother.
I'd spent days thinking it over. In the entire week I'd been here, I had never seen Freyja without that necklace. Not even once.
"Do you know what powers her Brísingamen possesses?" I asked Cleenah, pacing around the garden.
[
"Dwarves?" I stopped, glancing toward the sky as if searching for answers. "You mean the race that vanished without a trace centuries ago?"
[
Her reluctance to elaborate was clear, but I didn't press.
Whatever.
