“Witnesses said he begged for mercy as Thor pummeled him, beating him within an inch of his life. Mercy was more than he deserved.”
—God of Lies Revealed
When I returned in the morning, I found Loki still asleep. He had his pillow in a loose embrace, his head on its upper half. His breathing was shallow, and a book lay cover-up on the bed next to him, the open pages pressed against the furs. Asgard: A History.
I closed the door gently. He didn’t stir. I tiptoed to the bed and carefully picked up the book. The cover was worn, its edges frayed. It was open to a page that had seen more use than the rest, the glue of the binding breaking. On one side was a drawing of a woman, each line of her face sketched with black ink and a thin point. She had long hair, a finely angled face, and kind, piercing eyes. The runes beneath read Laufey. After a quick inspection, the inside of the cover also said Property of the Archives of Asgard.
Feeling intrusive, I set the book down on the side table, open to the picture of his mother, and set a hand on his shoulder. He inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering open.
“Good morning.” I leaned over him. “I need to check your wounds.”
Loki yawned and uncurled himself from his pillow. He moved to stretch but stopped short, hissing through gritted teeth.
“Well…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve felt better.”
“Lie on your back.”
There were still faint bruises on his face and a slight tear in his lip, the same as the night before. I ran a gentle hand over his chest where the bones had broken, and he flinched, crying out. I muttered an apology, trying to remain clinical and ignore how tight my chest was as I moved my fingers along his skin. That, and the intensity on his face as he watched me.
“Your neck—”
“Is fine,” I interrupted. I’d already seen it, the yellow and green bruises that the collar of my dress had left under my jaw. It was tender, but Thor was capable of much more. I was lucky.
Loki pursed his lips and let the topic slide. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine.” The truth was, I’d barely slept. I was exhausted from head to toe, but my mind had run circles all night. Ethics, morality, duty, pride. I’d spent my life walking the razor’s edge of Odin’s approval, trying to keep my every action in line with his expectations, and in a single day, I’d thrown it all out the window. So much of what had just happened pressed against the boundaries of what I knew was right and wrong. Too many contradictions fighting for attention and not enough answers.
But it barely mattered. We had a handful of days before the new moon. If we didn’t do something quickly, we’d both be dead soon.
So I’d heal him, and we’d go off and save our own lives. We didn’t have time for being tired. I pulled a brush and inkwell out of my bag and set it on the side table.
“You brought a catalyst?” Loki asked.
“I did.” I uncorked the inkwell and glanced back at him. His face was set with concern.
There were several kinds of catalysts, ink being the most common. Most catalysts were used preemptively, to keep a völva from expending too much energy at once. Ink was one of the staples of infirmary work, letting one practitioner help twice as many patients as they could without it. Loki was smart. He would know that using it after the fact meant I was trying to conserve what little energy I had left.
He watched as I dipped my brush in the ink and scraped the excess on the side of the jar. I carefully drew runes along his ribcage, each one a small piece of a long string. The black was a stark contrast against his skin.
“Where did you get these scars?” I asked, the silence too uncomfortable.
He looked down curiously, almost as if he had forgotten he had them. “Ah. That one” —he pointed to the long scar that snaked across his stomach— “was a close call with a knife and an Elf. The claw marks are a gift from your brother.”
I stopped writing and looked up at him. The scars were vicious, three jagged lines running over both shoulders like pauldrons. “Which brother?”
“Heimdall, when I took Freya’s necklace. The man is obsessed with morality. He didn’t think it was ‘right’ or ‘honest,’ so we had a scuffle. Did you know he can shapeshift into a bear?”
“I think I know that story.”
He winked. “I’m a thing of legend.”
I sighed, refusing to reward him with a laugh. “You know that he hates you, right?”
“I know. Maybe that’s because I won.”
A smile snuck onto my lips. “That’s not the way I’ve heard it.”
“Skít,” he cursed in Jotun. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
With the last rune finished, I held my hands over his chest. The runes were the same ones I’d used yesterday, but the ink made the weight of it different, easier to bear. The longer I whispered, the fainter the ink became, sinking down into his skin, disappearing a little more with each repetition. Then slowly, the lines and cracks in his face mended. The last of his bruises faded, and hopefully, the pain would go with them.
The exhaustion had been building as I worked, weighing on me like a rock around my neck. My legs were weak, threatening to give out under me. I slumped down onto the mattress. Loki moved quickly, making room for me on the bed, and I let myself collapse onto the welcoming softness of the furs, my head at his feet. My body was so very heavy.
“And what will we do now?” I mumbled.
“Go to Svartalfheim.”
I squinted, trying to make sense of it. “You’re running away?”
Loki ran his fingers through his hair and found it tangled. He reached for the comb on the bedside table and started working out the knots. “Never. The Dwarves can make anything. A new head of hair isn’t even a challenge for them.”
I did the math in my head. “That’s three days ride from here, and the new moon is in 10 days. If you want to get back in time, we’ll have to leave—”
“Today.” He’d finished brushing his hair and was working a thick braid into the side of his head, just above his ear. “I hope you don’t have anything pressing to do, since your father decided I need a chaperone.”
“You do need a chaperone.” I yawned, covering my mouth with my palm.
“Maybe.” He caught my yawn and looked out the window. “Odin’s hanged body, Sigyn, it’s barely even daylight.”
I murmured a response, something I was vaguely sure hadn’t made sense.
Loki leaned forward, pulled a spare fur from the bottom of the bed, and threw it over me. “You can’t ride all day with rune fatigue. Go to sleep, and don’t wake me until it’s well past noon.”
I wanted to argue, but I was already slipping under. I took the pillow I was offered, and the last thing I felt was the shake of the bed as Loki rolled over, back to the comfort of sleep.