“I knew what he was doing. Loki’s too cocky for his own good, so I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse...”
—Brok - God of Lies Revealed
We arrived back in Asgard in the dead of night, one day before the new moon. Loki and I rode in the front, with seven ponies trailing behind us; five for the Dwarven smiths and two hauling the carriages of treasures they’d crafted. They hadn’t let us see inside, but something was rustling around in one of them. The hatch was cracked open several times a day so an armful of food could be shoved inside, followed by yet more rustling and snorting. I didn’t dare ask.
As expected, when we hit the border of the city, the Gjallarhorn blew. The sound of it penetrated my bones. The gods would be on their way soon, despite the hour.
We guided the riding party through the city, up the main road, and straight to the doors of Valaskjálf. The stable hands came quickly, helping our guests with their horses. Some were instructed to take the carriages inside, into Gladsheim. Loki and I followed behind.
“It’s almost over,” I sighed, allowing a small bit of relief to wash over me. I was ready for my life to go back to being calm and peaceful.
Loki stopped so abruptly that it took me a moment to realize it. I turned back to him. His eyes were on the floor, and the knuckles of his fists were white.
“Are you alright?”
He shook his head and came over to me, standing too close. “Sigyn, if things go badly, promise me you’ll run.”
“What?” I stepped back. “A moment ago, you were telling me that everything would be fine.”
Loki closed the distance between us again, his voice a whisper. “Maybe it will be. Maybe everything goes to plan, but maybe it doesn’t.”
I stared him in the eyes, searching for the truth. “What did you do?”
There was something in his face, like he was fighting himself. And then he gave in and sighed. “If the brothers Brok and Sindri win, they get to cut off my head.”
“Loki,” I hissed, hands flying into the air like a question. “Are you stupid?”
“It won’t happen, Sig.” He looked down the hall. Everyone else had already disappeared. “I sabotaged the gifts. No one is going to pick theirs.”
I pressed my hands over my face, exasperated. “Why would you do something so stupid?”
He looked around again, searching for anyone who might be close enough to hear. “I was trying to earn some leverage with Odin. Bring him some shiny baubles in exchange for my being allowed to live. It got… a little out of hand. I’m apparently not popular with either of them.”
“I can’t believe you—”
“Come on you two!” Frey’s voice rang out from down the hall. He was leaning out the door of Gladsheim. “Everyone is waiting!”
Loki walked away immediately, likely happy to have an exit from the conversation. It took everything in me to make my feet move. How could he be so callous? Careless? What about his life? What about me?
A few of the gods were already in Gladsheim when we rounded the corner. Odin was on his throne, with Frigg at his side. Thor and Sif were next to each other, hands clasped, the scarf still tightly wrapped around her head. Frey, Idunn, Baldur, and Hod were all there, along with a handful of others. The carriages were parked close to the dais, one on each side. Both families of Dwarves were whispering among themselves, casting the occasional menacing glance at the other.
I turned my head to the door at the sound of clicking boots. Freya was dressed as if she were ready for a grand celebration in a flowing red and yellow Vanir silk gown that moved against her like living flame. She gave Loki a snide smile as she passed. “Today is a good day to die, isn’t it?”
For once, he said nothing.
When Freya was seated, Odin called for order. The room grew silent. “Loki. Explain this. You were told to fix the crime you committed, and instead, you’ve come back with a retinue of Dwarves.”
Loki cleared his throat. “The Sons of Ivaldi as well as the brothers Brok and Sindri are here to compete for the patronage of Asgard. I’ve commissioned a new head of hair for Sif, as promised, but also a great deal more. Three gifts from each Dwarven family, for Odin, Thor, and Frey, which you will judge the quality of. The most impressive will continue to work with Asgard on future necessities.”
Odin huffed. “Well now. I don’t like to make a habit of praising you, Loki, but it seems you’ve done a good job. We’ll soon find out.”
Brok stepped forward. “Loki’s left out the last piece of our agreement.”
Odin turned toward him. “And that is?”
“If my brother and I win this contest, we get Loki’s head.”
Whispers darted around the room, the shock of the news setting in. Only Freya was grinning from ear to ear. The rest were dismayed, and Idunn had her hands over her mouth.
Perhaps they would veto this. He’d fulfilled his part of the bargain, surely someone—
Odin started laughing, rubbing his hands together. “I expected this would be eventful, but you’ve outdone yourself!”
“Father, please.” I looked up at him, trying to get his undivided attention. “This is ridiculous. The debt has been paid—”
“He made an oath, goddess.” Brok was picking at the forge dirt under his nails, unconcerned. “He’s bound by his word.”
I looked back at Loki, and he nodded, unable to meet my eyes.
There really was no way around it then. We would just have to wait and pray.
“Let’s begin.” Odin stood and descended the stairs to be on even footing with his guests. Frey and Thor went to stand with him.
The Sons of Ivaldi stepped forward. One of them approached Thor and gave him an ornate wooden chest. “As requested,” said the dwarf, opening it. Inside was a gleaming wig of golden hair. “This hair is finer and more beautiful than any in the realms. It’s crafted from the thinnest, purest strands of gold and will bind to the head of whoever wears it.”
Thor motioned for Sif to join him. She stepped forward. Blushing, she removed the scarf from her head. With all the affection of a gentle lover, Thor placed the golden hair on her bare scalp. She winced, but the look of discomfort quickly passed. The hair fell into place, it’s golden tresses sweeping over her shoulders and her back, brushing against the stone floor. She bundled the hair up against her face and began to weep with joy.
Thor ran his hands through her hair. “You’ve brought back my wife’s smile. That’s worth more than any amount of gold.”
That had to be a point in our favour. It had to be.
The middle brother approached Frey, pulling something from the pocket of his travelling cloak. He held out his hand and placed a tiny ship into Frey’s palm. “This is Skidbladnir. She’s small now, but cast ‘er into the sea, and she’ll grow larger than any ship in the nine realms. The breeze always blows in your favour, and when you’re done with ‘er, you fold ‘er back up and put ‘er in your pocket.”
Frey examined the tiny ship and laughed. “What a fantastic idea! And I can already see all the details in the bow. This is fine work.”
“And what do you have for me?” Odin asked.
The last of the three Sons of Ivaldi approached Odin with a long, intricate spear. It was a thing of beauty. Gems had been inlaid in the metal between knotted patterns that ran all the way up to its hilt. The blade looked sharp enough to part a man from his head just by staring at it too hard. “This is the spear Gungnir. It’ll find its target no matter how poorly it’s aimed. It never misses.”
Odin held the spear in his hands, feeling the heft and smoothness of it. “I’ve never seen a spear like this one. I can feel the power in it. This is good craftsmanship.” He looked at the other two gifts, then back to the Sons of Ivaldi. “These are wonderful gifts. Thank you.”
The dwarves bowed and stood back, letting Brok and Sindri step forward.
“Mighty Allfather, we’ve brought you something to please the eye and fill your coffers.” Sindri presented Odin with a golden ring, shimmering and simple. “This is Draupnir. Every nine nights, it will drop eight new rings, identical to the first, to use as you please. Give them as gifts or keep them for yourself. Your wealth will continue to grow so long as you have it.”
Odin inspected the ring and slipped it on his finger. “Now this…this is impressive. A man could buy the realms themselves if he were patient enough.” He stared at it, lost in thought, and I knew immediately that no spear would ever stand up to endless wealth.
My eyes moved to Loki. He was scratching at the skin around his thumbnail. I tried to slip my hand into his, to offer some kind of comfort, but he pulled away immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. I flinched at the sharpness of it, withdrawing my hand. His expression was…nothing. A mask.
Sindri opened the door of the carriage and reached inside. His hand came back with a leash and attached to it was a half-grown boar. Its hide was pure gold. It jumped down and shook itself, the light from the torches glinting off him like sunlight.
Brok stepped forward. “For the god Frey. This beast is named Gullinbursti. It runs faster than any other across air, land, and water. You can travel through any darkness, with its golden fur to light your way.”
Frey knelt down and held out his arms. The boar sniffed at his hand. It hesitated, then nuzzled its way into Frey’s embrace. He hoisted it up—not without a little effort—and the boar nestled against Frey’s chest as if they were long-lost friends. “He’s stunning!” Frey kissed its head, and the boar snorted, drawing laughter from the room. He scratched behind its ears. “And so friendly! Aren’t you? Yes, yes you are!”
I moved closer to Loki and reached for him again, leaning in. “I thought you sabotaged them?” I whispered, panic setting in under my skin.
“I tried,” he hissed. “This shouldn’t be happening.”
The air in the room felt thick. If his plan didn’t work, all of this would be for nothing. Loki would die, and I would watch, and even if they let me live, I’d have to go back to existing without him. And he had done harm, yes, but every single one of my days had been better with him in it, with the exception of this latest catastrophe. I’d gotten used to warmth and laughter every single day, and they were going to take it from me over my dead body.
Brok pulled the last gift from the back of the carriage. It was a war hammer. Both ends were blunt, the whole thing made of cold iron. There were knots etched into the edges, and the surface had been blessed with runes until the entirety of it was covered in them. He presented it to Thor. “This is Mjolnir, a hammer fit for the strength of the God of Thunder.”
The moment Thor hefted it into the air, the flaw was obvious. The handle was half as long as it should have been. There was only enough space for a single hand. Finally, I could take a breath. The hammer was faulty.
“You see,” Loki whispered, leaning toward me. “I took care of it.” But he was sweating, and every bit of that slick confidence was long gone.
Thor took the hammer and held it up, scrutinizing the details of it. “But the handle...”
“Aye, it’s true that it has a shorter handle than most. There was a…complication in the smithing process.” Brok’s eyes darted to Loki. “But it’s a small price for a weapon like this. Mjolnir won’t shatter, no matter how hard you swing it or what you hit with it. If you throw it, it always strikes its target and always returns to your hand.”
Thor’s eyes widened as the dwarf spoke, his enthusiasm growing with each word. When Brok was finished, Thor tossed the hammer. It flew across the hall, above the heads of the gods, each of us scrambling to avoid decapitation. The hammer stopped at the end of the hall, changed direction, and flew directly back into Thor’s hand.
“This is the best gift I’ve ever been given. Absolutely the best.” He sniffed a little as if forcing back a tear, then held the hammer over his head like a trophy. Some of the gods gave an enthusiastic roar.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Odin motioned for the crowd to be silent. “These are all fine gifts. They’ll be put to good use, and for that, we thank you. Your work truly is among the best in the nine realms, but there can only be one winner.” He looked to Frey, who was doting on his new companion, and then to Thor, who had taken to tossing the hammer in the air to test its reliability. “I believe the winner is clear. Brok and Sindri, you’ve earned the patronage of Asgard.”
The crowd clapped politely, but my eyes were on Loki. My heart was racing, trying to escape the confines of my chest. What could I do? There had to be something. I could almost see the calculations happening under the surface, Loki’s alert eyes scanning the room in some false semblance of calm. Then he took a slow step backwards. He was going to run.
I wasn’t the only one to notice.
Brok pointed in our direction. “Don’t let him leave!”
A few of Odin’s guards stepped forward. With a string of runes and a flick of the wrist, I sent them flying back against the wall, trying to buy Loki time.
He made it halfway to the doors of Gladsheim, but Thor was quicker. He grabbed Loki by the tunic and dragged him back to the feet of Brok. Loki thrashed, cursing Thor as he did, but it was no use. Thor was stronger than all of us.
There were a thousand things I could do to Thor—electrocute him, set his hair on fire— but he was still my brother. I wouldn’t risk one death to prevent another.
“Father!” I strode up to Odin, who was simply watching. “Hasn’t this gone far enough? Loki’s done exactly what you asked. You can’t let this happen!”
He stared down at me with his one cold eye. “I thought you had him under control, Sigyn? Shouldn’t you have prevented this from happening in the first place?” He chuckled, as if anything about this was funny. “Loki swore an oath. Asgard is not a city of oathbreakers. It may have been idiotic, but he’s bound to his word. No god will intervene.”
“This is cruel. Look at how you’ve benefited from what he’s done, and you’ll still let him die?” But my words fell on deaf ears. He was already watching the horror that was about to play out in the centre of the room.
“Hold him steady.” Brok pulled a blade out from the sheath on his belt. Sindri had pulled Loki’s arms behind his back, wrenching them so he had no choice but to stay on his knees.
“Don’t you think this is a bit hasty?” Loki’s question was answered by a twist of his arm, and he hissed in pain.
I started toward them, runes on my tongue, but before I could summon the wildfire, Thor’s beastly arms wrapped around me, crushing me to his chest. He hauled me off my feet, destroying my concentration. I kicked, screaming for him to let me go, and when he didn’t, I bit down on his forearm.
Thor wailed and threw me. My head cracked against the floor, and my vision blurred, the world spinning. Everything was muffled, turning, writhing. I tried to push myself up, whichever way that was, and my hand slipped. The only thing I was sure of was the cold radiating from the stone.
“Sigyn!” The foggy shape of Loki had risen to his feet, but someone bigger pushed him to his knees again.
Someone touched me, gentle hands lifted me up, cradling me against a soft chest. Straw coloured hair and kind blue eyes. I blinked, trying to bring the world into focus. Idunn’s fingers ran across my scalp, and I heard her voice through the fog. “She’s bleeding!”
More hands were on me. I fought them off, swinging my arms in all directions, clawing at anything that came too close. My elbow connected hard with something, though I couldn’t see what, and the hands retreated. I rose to my feet, the world still turning, and whispered the runes for wildfire. But the flame wouldn’t come. Everything was too dull, too unfocused. I managed to stumble a few steps forward before crumbling to my knees.
I stared until the world calmed around me, watching the shapes of Loki and Brok and Sindri, willing myself to move but unable to do it.
Then, Loki laughed. The laugh grew into a cackle, his voice full of condescension. “As you wish. If you want my head, take it, but I haven’t wagered my neck. If you touch my neck at all, you’ll have broken the terms of the oath. You want my face for your mantle? You’ll need to think hard.”
A murmur rose around me. Odin stomped his foot on the floor, and there was silence once again. He let out a long sigh, annoyed. “Fine. You may only harm his head.”
Brok was furious. “How do I take his head without damaging his neck? I want the whole head. What good is half a head for mounting above my forge?”
Odin shrugged his shoulders and just watched. As if he should have expected it to go this way.
The Dwarf threw his blade across the hall, livid. “This is treachery. You foul fucking Jotun, there’s nothing in the nine realms I hate as much as you, and someday, mark my words, I’ll have that head of yours.” He turned to his brother. “Get me leather and an awl. I’m going to sew his lying, scheming mouth shut.”
No.
They were going to take his laugh, his smile, his runes, the sound of his voice.
They couldn’t.
I tried to protest, to move, but Idunn’s hands were on me again, holding me fast. I screamed, unable to help. The tears mixed with the slow trickle of warm blood that ran from my hair, staining everything red. The price was too steep for what he had done.
Loki thrashed, futile protests. Brok approached him with the awl and a thin strap of leather. Sindri tilted Loki’s head toward the ceiling, holding his jaw closed. I couldn’t see past their bodies, but I didn’t need to. Loki’s blood-curdling cries were enough.
Idunn held me tightly, whispering things to me that I couldn’t hear, things that were no comfort as his pain spilt through the room. Each stitch changed the sound of his screams as they bound his lips shut. The work couldn’t have taken that long, but it felt like an eternity. And when it was done, the brothers stood triumphantly over Loki as he sobbed, his chest heaving in agony.
“It’s not a head, but it’ll do for now. Perhaps you’ll all get a break from his bullshit.” Sindri laughed. Others laughed as well, some nervous, some triumphant.
Thor knelt down next to Loki and balled the front of Loki’s tunic in his fist, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Remember this the next time you think to disrespect my family.” He growled and dropped him, kicking him in the chest. The single blow was enough; there was no satisfaction to beat out of Loki anymore. Instead, Thor returned to the dais and took Sif’s hand. They left together, her new hair cascading behind them as they walked. The other gods trickled out behind them, gossiping and laughing as they went. Even the Dwarves were busy packing up their carriages.
Just as I looked away, I caught sight of the hem of Freya’s dress passing by, and a glob of spit landed on the stone next to Loki. She didn’t say a word, only grinned like a cruel child who’d just gotten away with murder.
Each of them passed Loki, paying no mind to the broken god bleeding onto the stone.
Idunn released me, and we went to his side. He was struggling to lift himself from the floor, and I caught him just as he tumbled down. Even with what was left of the blur in my vision, I nearly retched. His face…
The leather was soaked red, stitched messily into the skin just on the border of his lips. Not all the stitches had been clean-cut; some stretched thin lines away from his lip, a rip in the canvas of his face. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth, trickling down his neck and staining his tunic. There was madness in his eyes.
I held him to my chest and cried with him while Idunn sat helpless next to us. Her dress was stained red where she had cradled me.
“We’re going to fix this,” I said softly, stroking his hair. Loki nodded and pressed his forehead into my shoulder. The three of us stood, Idunn and I helping to lift him from the ground.
“He needs to go to the infirmary.” Idunn shifted until his arm was around her neck. “I’ll come with you, and we’ll find someone to take care of your head.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m taking him to my hall. I have everything I need there.”
Idunn scowled. “Sigyn, please. You don’t need to take care of everything alone.”
“I have it under control.”
The worry was etched on her face. “And who will take care of you? At least let me help you get there.”
Loki’s head was bobbing down. If he fell unconscious, I knew I’d never get him home. “Fine. We need to hurry.”
We dragged him through the corridors of Valaskjálf as gently and quickly as we were able, his feet barely underneath him. We got him outside and down the path to my hall. As I struggled to pull my keys from my chain, I realized I was having an odd sense of deja vu.
How many of his wounds would I need to heal?
Idunn and I got him inside and set him in one of the chairs at the table. “How can I help?”
“Go home,” I said. “I have this.”
“But—”
“I mean it. Come back tomorrow. He’ll be fine.”
Idunn gave me a wary look, but she also knew from experience that I wasn’t going to back down. So she left me with Loki, who had slung himself over the tabletop, his face staining the wood red.