Loki's Gambit, page 35
part #1 of I Bring the Fire Series
She stands motionless, transfixed, in the swarm of swirling, glowing butterflies as people continue to murmur in wonder.
Forget worrying about developing a crush on Loki. She thinks she might have just fallen in love.
It is early afternoon on Wōdnesdæg, Odin’s Day, the first day of the week. Loki is walking down the long path in the royal gardens that lead home, passing a few lovers, friends in conversation, and children at play as he does. They don’t acknowledge him; he doesn’t particularly care.
It is customary for Odin’s Day to be a day of rest for Asgardians. But Odin and the Diar, the twelve judges assigned the task of helping Odin rule Asgard, were working on the final wording of a new treaty with the dwarves. They’ve been working on it nearly nonstop for the past month. Loki had been forced to be present the whole time, as he is, even in the words of his enemies, exceptional at finding loopholes.
He really should have told them the wording of the treaty was fine. Then he could have had the day off. But Loki has difficulty not pointing out the shoddiness of other people’s thinking.
Now the sun is beginning its downward decline as he passes through the last copse of trees, turns a bend, and Anganboða Hall comes into view. Originally designed as a hideaway for Odin’s mortal lovers, it isn’t particularly large. When Loki won it in a wager with Odin, it had only a rather ostentatious boudoir, enormous bathing area, small kitchen and a few small servants’ quarters. It had been in horrible disrepair—Frigga had been cracking down on Odin’s trysts on Asgardian soil at the time.
Anganboða had occupied most of the early part of their marriage in restoring the place, procuring and placing magic rocks for the hot water heater, knocking down walls between the tiny, narrow, prison-like spaces that were supposed to be sleeping cells for servants they didn’t have, managing the dwarven contractors fixing the plumbing, and painting the interior with her own hands.
On the outside it wears the same architectural style that is the fashion right now. It looks like an Alfheim country cottage, with walls of white gray stucco between beams of rough hewn logs beneath a curvy roof. Loki’s not a fan of the current look. He thinks it resembles a small cluster of mushrooms. But it’s theirs. Or Aggie’s, ever since that unfortunate gambling incident.
As he approaches the home, Fenrir comes loping round the corner. Loki gives the wolf a scratch behind the ears and then walks up the steps illusioned to look like they are made out of living rock covered with green moss. He lets himself in the heavy, round wooden door, an illusion of a tree’s cross section.
His wife isn’t at the door to meet him. Nor does she call his name. She has been tired of late. Before this business of the treaty with the dwarves Loki had gone to Jotunheim with Thor to reclaim Thor’s hammer. He was away several weeks. He thinks it’s reasonable after such a long absence that Aggie might be tired....and yet...he’s been home over a month. She shouldn’t be sick; she does have rights to one of Idunn’s apples every year.
Tilting his head, he shuts the door and says softly. “Anganboða?”
Helen will be napping at this time, and he doesn’t want to wake her.
Aggie doesn’t answer. Loki wonders if she’s asleep. He walks down the hallway and enters their room. Aggie sits up quickly on their bed. Her cheeks are streaked with tears, her eyes are red.
“Oh,” she says. “You’re home.” Smoothing her dress, she drops her gaze to the floor. “Would you like some tea—or some mead?”
Loki tilts his head. “Has something happened, Aggie?” His voice comes out sharper than he means it to.
She drops her eyes to her hands. “Not really. Nothing unusual.”
“Aggie...” He swallows. He hates...these things, but he has to fix this. “You’re alone out here too often. Odin has kept me so busy.”
Her friend Sigyn comes as frequently as she can, but she is a lady in waiting to Frigga and is often busy. Odin has also allowed her cousin Gullveig to visit a few times But Gullveig is a powerful sorceress, a chieftess in Jotunheim’s Ironwood, and apparently threatening to the All Father. Odin finds reasons to deny Gullveig admittance to Asgard...and Loki finds it uncomfortable to have her under his roof. Gullveig looks so much like Aggie they could be sisters, but she radiates power. Loki finds the yoke of fidelity even more difficult when she’s about.
Loki lets out a tense breath. “You know, we have money now...” He’s been too busy to gamble, so instead of feast or famine Aggie’s been able to keep the household purse at a little more than full enough. “Why don’t you hire a servant?”
Aggie bites her lip and begins to laugh, or sob, Loki’s not sure which. “Oh, haven’t you heard, Husband? I’m a witch and a troll woman, mother of monsters...” She turns her eyes to him. “No one will work for me.”
“No one?” says Loki dumbly.
“I have tried,” says Aggie, looking away again, her face empty.
And suddenly he can imagine it. He’s heard Baldur say she is obviously ‘touched’—why else would she wed Loki—and see how he’s cursed her with his cursed spawn? He’s heard the ladies whisper how ‘unfortunate’ her situation is; but didn’t she deserve it, not letting the little one go? He’s heard the men about the court say Loki himself is bewitched by Anganboða; why else would he keep a woman who has borne him nothing but trouble? No matter how bad it is for Loki, it’s worse for Anganboða, because it is the woman’s soft heart that is ‘always’ responsible for babies like Helen not being ‘taken care of’.
Loki goes and sits on the bed next to her. He pulls an illusion of a flower out of her nose. She stares at it but doesn’t even smile. “Aggie,” he whispers, kissing her forehead. “We’ll take care of this.”
He puts his hand on her back, strokes the line of her spine through her dress. He feels like she is slipping away from him, but to where he can’t imagine. It makes him want her more. Leaning in, he kisses the shell of her ear. And then Helen begins to cry.
He pulls away. He and Aggie both let out a breath. It’s been too long.
Aggie closes her eyes. “Loki, I can’t take her out today...” She swallows.
At three Helen can’t walk or even crawl. She can only drag herself along on the floor. Aggie says she speaks and understands many words, but what comes out of her mouth is mostly garbled to Loki’s ears. Besides finger food, she is incapable of feeding herself.
Nonetheless, Loki insists that he or Aggie take her out at least once a day. He will not be ashamed of his daughter, and he won’t let anyone dare think he is. It is, of course, argr for a father to be out for a stroll with a child so young alone, especially a little girl. But when has he ever been one to let being argr bother him?
“Of course,” he says. He wants to kiss her forehead, but Helen’s cry becomes a wail. Standing up, he whispers, “I will think of something, Aggie...”
Helen’s wail rises and Fenrir whines. Loki hurries down the hall.
Whatever Helen’s physical limitations, her mind is sharp. It is a blessing and a curse. She is easily bored, and just because her body is weak doesn’t mean she will lie passively in a chair or bed all day—if neglected too long she will rage. Taking her outside every morning and afternoon feeds her mind and relaxes her.
Helen has a wheeled-chair built by Uncle Hoenir that Aggie uses to push her about. But Loki carries her. He likes the weight of his one beautiful creation in his arms. It reassures him that she is real. As they walk through the forest, Helen clings to his cloak with her good arm, and with her spindly blue arm she points to birds, animals and insects that even Loki doesn’t notice.
The gardens are filled with plants and animals from all the realms, and quite a few from Hoenir’s imagination. There was even a unicorn for a while, that Helen and the other children adored. But after it gored a member of Odin’s elite Einherjar guard, Hoenir had coaxed it to leave. Still, there is plenty left to keep Helen entertained.
Something nags at Loki, and at one point he tries to go back. Helen bounces in his grip, presses her face to his shoulder, whines her displeasure, pointing down the trail where she wants to go. Loki might have ignored her, but at that moment, some young warriors walking through the gardens look askance at Helen and that eggs him forward.
They are quite a ways from home when Sigyn emerges on the path, a blanket and a basket on her arm.
“Loki?” she says. “Where is Aggie?”
“Resting,” says Loki tersely. Sigyn may be Aggie’s friend, but Loki doesn’t feel comfortable confiding in her.
Sigyn’s brow furrows, but she says, “I brought a blanket. We can put it in the grass. Helen will like it. There are tiny violets just blooming; if you get down on the ground you can see them."
At her words Helen starts rocking in Loki’s arm, and that settles it. They spread out on the blanket, Helen in the middle. Loki makes the violets appear to sing and dance, much to Helen’s amusement. Some ladies pass, whispering, and Loki’s eyes meet Sigyn’s. It suddenly occurs to Loki that he’s just given one more thing for the gossips to wag their tongues about. The court will have declared Sigyn Loki’s mistress by the end of the day.
Sigyn turns to his daughter. “Come on, Helen, I want to see your mother. Let’s go home.”
Helen whines, but Loki picks her up anyway, suddenly anxious to be home.
“You don’t mind if I come, too?” Sigyn asks. “I am worried about Anganboða lately.”
“No, no, not at all,” says Loki, but he doesn’t slow his movements and Sigyn is forced to run to catch up to him.
Helen is not pleased to be leaving the gardens, and Loki finds himself making trees sway and rocks sing along the way. He also makes the keyhole belch, and the door open with a sound like a fart. Helen finds both delightful, Sigyn somewhat less so.
As soon as they enter, Sigyn says, “I’ll go find Anganboða.”
Loki nods, relieved that Sigyn is there. She’ll know better what to say than Loki ever would. He sets about to entertaining Helen. He is just about to stand on his head when Sigyn screams.
Scooping up Helen, Loki half walks, half runs down the hall. Sigyn comes out of his and Aggie’s bedroom, shaking her head, hand on her mouth.
“Don’t take her in there,” Sigyn says.
Only half listening, Loki tries to run around her, Helen whining fearfully. Sigyn stops them with her body. “Give Helen to me, Loki. Don’t take her in there.”
The command in her tone makes Loki pause. He meets her eyes and sees the beginnings of tears. Wordlessly he puts Helen in Sigyn’s arms and goes into his and Aggie’s bedchamber.
Aggie is lying on the bed, facing away, just the barest hint of her profile visible. She looks almost peaceful. But the bedcovers are stained crimson and there is a long red gash running up her arm that crisscrosses first at her wrist. He screams for Sigyn to get Eir, the most gifted at healing of all Frigga’s women, but when he sits on the bed and pulls Aggie to him, her body is already cold.
The cremation a few days later is a lonely affair. Aggie is laid out on a simple boat on the river Iving. Odin cannot make it. He is negotiating with the dwarves in their own land. Sigyn is there with Helen. Hoenir is in attendance, with Mimir mounted on his staff. Thor is there as well. And more surprisingly, Baldur with his most frequent companion, Tyre.
Loki is too empty to protest the attendance of the crown prince. Lighting the logs that lie beneath Aggie’s body, he pushes the boat with Thor’s help out onto the river. Helen is mercifully sleeping in Sigyn’s arms.
He watches the flames leap into the air as the boat gets caught into the current. It is only when he can’t see it anymore that he turns from the water, Thor and Sigyn beside him.
Coming forward, Baldur moves to block Loki’s path. “This is all your fault, Trickster. You destroy everything that is beautiful, everything that is good. It is folly on my father’s part to let you remain here! ”
Loki is too shocked to be angry. Baldur is so...sincere...he can feel it as surely as he smells the smoke hanging in the air, or see the blue mist of Helen’s magic.
The crown prince’s face twists and he spits in Helen’s direction. “If you hadn’t given her that brat and made her keep it...”
And then Loki is angry. His fists clench and the air shimmers, but before he can do anything, Thor steps between Loki and Baldur.
“That is quite enough, Brother!” Thor rumbles. “This jealousy does not become you.”
Thor is defending him? Against Baldur? No one speaks ill of the crown prince.
Baldur’s mouth drops and for a moment everyone is silent, perhaps even the birds in the trees. And then Baldur takes a step toward Thor. “You dare talk to me thus? You...you...bastard. It is only by my good grace that the court accepts you. My word could have you cast out!”
Thor’s lips curl in a cruel snarl and he lifts Mjolnir between him and his half brother. “You could try. But I think you’ll find my hammer is more valuable than your pretty face!”
Baldur backs up, eyes wide.
Thor tilts his head. When he speaks he sounds almost uncertain. “You look pale and unwell, Brother. Perhaps you should leave.”
“That might be wise, Your Highness,” says Mimir softly.
Baldur’s eyes flick between the members of the party, and fall last on Helen. Without another word he departs.
Loki stumbles out of the restaurant. It’s dark and chilly and the street is busy but not crowded. He catches a few curious glances in his direction just before he closes his eyes and massages his temples.
It’s been so long since he last saw his daughter, he thought Helen’s and Aggie’s faces had gone blurry and indistinct with the years, but Abby looked so much like his own little girl...
Or maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she just made him feel the same way. He clenches his jaw. The whole scene played out like something from his own life, and yet...
He hears familiar footsteps behind him.
“Hey,” says Amy softly.
His hands ball into fists, and he scowls out of habit.
“You did great back there,” says Amy. “Everyone thought so.”
...and that is where the similarities to this scene and so many more end. Because on Asgard what he just did would have been an example of deviancy. And here...
Amy slips an arm into his and squeezes. He stares down.
...and here his deviancy earns him the affections of the fair maiden. He almost smiles at the irony of it. Raising an eyebrow, he meets her eyes.
She swallows nervously, and her lower lip actually trembles. Her feelings are so amusingly transparent.
She bites her lip. “So...” she says a little breathlessly. “You think you could make all the credit cards in the pockets of those jerk business guys look blank?”
It’s a lovely idea, and Loki actually laughs. He pulls her close—because he can, and she is soft, and willing and here. Closing his eyes he concentrates, feels magic taking hold, feels it wanting to maintain its grip on the illusion he’s cast. “Done,” he says and opens his eyes.
Amy’s staring up at him and he feels his smile fade, his jaw harden and his skin heat. She is delicious and clever, and it would be so nice to have someone. Pushing a tendril of hair off Amy’s face, he leans closer. The uproar it would cause at ADUO would be hysterical...but he’d have to finagle another way to repay her. He drags his thumb across her lower lip and smiles at the short shallow intake of breath it elicits. And oh, how bringing her home would distract him from Cera; he can hear her whining now.
Loki drops his hand and stands up straighter. Actually...why can’t he hear her whining? She’s been silent and invisible for hours—and left him blissfully headache free.
“Loki?” says Amy.
“Shhhh...” he says. He creates projections of his consciousness across the city. Cera’s physical presence is beneath the Board of Trade, but her mental presence is gone. He narrows his eyes; he thinks he knows why.
Pulling away from Amy, Loki hails a cab. One screeches to a halt and he opens the door for Amy to get in. Eyes on the sky he says, “Tell your handlers very bad things are on the way.”
Chapter Eight
Steve and Amy are sitting in front of the fountains on Van Buren again after Amy’s post Alinea debriefing. Steve invited her out for coffee afterwards. Now they’re both holding their hot drinks in chilly hands. Huginn and Mungin, who Amy has dubbed, “The Angry Birds,” are sitting on the fountain a few yards down. Steve’s told her to ignore them. It’s hard. They’re eyeing the blueberry muffin sitting between Amy and her boss with greedy eyes.
“Anything else you want to tell me?” says Steve.
Amy thinks about how she was sure Loki almost kissed her, how his pupils had darkened like they do when he’s blue, how her heart had sped up, how her skin had felt electrically charged....and decides she’ll just keep that to herself. “No,” she says.
“So no idea where he went.” Steve sighs and takes a sip of his coffee.
Huginn and Mungin begin chattering between themselves. Amy narrows her eyes and lifts her cup to take a sip. A black shadow comes hurtling toward her muffin, but she snatches it away just in time.
Whichever raven it was gives an aggravated squawk and soars into the air.
Amy looks at the raven still on the ground and suddenly has an idea. “Hey, birdie...do you want a muffin?”
Steve meets her eyes. He smiles. “Mmmmmm....I know I’d want some muffin. Still warm and everything, I bet.”
“Yep, it sure is,” says Amy. “Real blueberries, too.”
The raven in the sky loops downward and lands beside its partner. They both hop forward.
“You know,” says Amy eyeing the ravens, “I’d be willing to share some of this muffin if you told me where Loki is.”
“Ha! You think you can trick us!” says one of the ravens.
“It’s not a trick,” says Steve. “It’s a bargain. Your master gives you some discretion in accepting those, doesn’t he? Or is he not as smart as I thought?”
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