Page 55 of Tyr

“Tyr. I can’t remember the last time you came looking for me,” said Heimdall.

“I think it was back on Asgard,” Tyr replied. “I was?—”

Heimdall cocked an eyebrow.

“Of course you remember. You remember everything.”

Heimdall chuckled.

And, of course, Heimdall knew why Tyr was there, too.

As if on cue, Heimdall held out his hand, and Tyr pulled out the envelope and placed it in his palm.

“Isn’t it cheating?” Tyr asked. “Considering you already know the outcomes of all the races.”

Heimdall shrugged again. “Are you chastising me for taking money from demons who should know by now that if they race against Herm, they are going to lose?”

He had a point.

Heimdall’s gaze turned to Celeste, and Tyr tensed. He laid his hand on Celeste’s thigh and squeezed. She slipped her fingers into his.

Heimdall stared at her for several seconds. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Celestine, daughter of Sylax.”

Daughter of only Sylax? No mention of Celeste’s mom at all. Interesting.

“So, is it true, then?” Celeste asked. “You can see everything? Everyone’s past and future?”

Heimdall nodded.

“Can you see my dad? Do you know where he is?” Celeste held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask. You probably get asked things all the time. That must be so hard.”

Heimdall’s brow crinkled, and the side of his mouth quirked upward. “Thank you. Your gift is hard, too, though.”

“Yes, but the difference is I can tune out my gift. And if I wanted to tell someone what I am hearing I can try to help. But you have to sit by without interfering, right?”

“Most of the time.” He nodded.

“How do you do it?”

Heimdall thought for a moment, his eyes darkening. He twirled his empty mug on the table. “I learned at a young age that interfering caused more problems than not.”

For a split-second, Tyr wondered what Heimdall referred to, but when Heimdall’s gaze flashed to him, he knew it would do no good to ask. The pain lingering in Heimdall’s eyes was enough for Tyr to realize for the first time how hard Heimdall’s life must be.

Celeste opened her mouth to ask another question, but Tyr squeezed her leg, and she closed it.

“Would you two like something to drink?” Heimdall asked.

“No, thank you,” said Tyr. “We are about to go grab something to eat.”

Tyr wondered how Heimdall did it. How he carried on conversations when he knew what the answers would be.

“Of course.” Heimdall nodded.

“I thought you were getting me some honeyed mead?”

“Yes. I forgot. It’s on the downstairs side. I promise we’ll get some on our way home.”

Home? Had he said home? Not estate. Not the house. Not compound.Home. Yes. Yes, he had. Because it was now home. With her, it was home. For as long as she wanted. The thought made him warm inside, and suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to christen every room of theirhome.

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