Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, Book 3: The Ship of the Dead

He looked like a normal guy—orange T-shirt, jeans, battered white leather Reeboks. If you saw him walking down the street, you wouldn’t think, Hey, look, a demigod son of Poseidon! Praise the Olympians!

lot of einherjar who had never met their parents. Face time with the kids wasn’t a priority for Norse deities—maybe because they had hundreds or thousands of children. Or maybe because the gods were jerks.

Moments don’t last. You’ve got to enjoy each one for what it is.

Also, I kept thinking about Alex Fierro. You know, maybe just a little. Alex was a force of nature, like the snow thunder. She struck when she felt like it, depending on temperature differentials and storm patterns I couldn’t possibly predict. She shook my foundations in a way that was powerful but also weirdly soft and constrained, veiled in blizzard. I couldn’t assign any motives to her. She just did what she wanted. At least, that’s how it felt to me.

Then, before I even knew what was happening, she kissed me. She could have bitten off my mouth and I would have been less surprised. Her lips were cracked and rough from the cold. Her nose fit perfectly next to mine. Our faces aligned, our breath mixed. Then she pulled away.

“I wasn’t going to die without doing that,” she said.

The world of primordial ice must not have frozen me completely, because my chest burned like a coal furnace.

“Well?” She frowned. “Stop gaping and let’s move.”

“I know. I think the hardest thing we can ever do is see someone for who they really are. Our parents. Our friends. Ourselves.”

I thought about Mallory and Halfborn’s constant arguments on the ship. I did not understand their relationship, but I knew they needed each other as much as Hearthstone needed Blitzen or our Viking boat needed to be yellow. It didn’t make much sense. It wasn’t easy. But it was just the way things had to be.

Yikes! I thought. Yikes, yikes, yikes!

I am eloquent in times of danger.

Besides, killing a ring dragon is a very personal thing. You would have to wield me yourself. An act like that affects your wyrd.”

I frowned. “You mean it affects you weirdly?”

“No. Your wyrd.”

“You’re weird,” I muttered.

Sometimes you lie to deceive people. Sometimes you lie because you need the lie to become the truth.