“Loki was too cruel to have the company of anyone for very long. Prone to acts of bitterness and contempt, he was only ever concerned for himself.”
—God of Lies Revealed
I slept like the dead. The sun was already low in the sky when I woke. My pulse beat inside my skull, thump thump thumping. There was nothing I wanted more than to sink back into the sweet oblivion of sleep, but my stomach clawed at itself. I forced myself to sit up. It had been a very long time since I’d felt like this, and I hadn’t missed it.
When I opened the door to my bedroom, I was immediately graced with the savoury scent of broth and smoke. The boiling pot was hanging over a small fire in the hearth, the water inside slowly simmering. I shuffled over, my body protesting every step, and pulled the ladle out. Venison, potatoes, a mix of root vegetables. It seemed nearly done.
I went to the counter and put a cup underneath the pipe that ran to the basin. I whispered a rune and tapped twice on the metal. Water rushed into my cup until I tapped it again to stem the flow. I gulped it down and went back for more, then turned to take in the room. The floor in front of the hearth was clean, the bloody furs gone. My eyes went to the table. There was a permanent stain where Loki had lain over the surface, but it was clean. Papers were scattered nearby, all in Loki’s sharp scrawl, and next to them was a quill pen. A bowl with fresh golden apples sat next to a platter of pastries.
Fingers straying to the papers, I shifted one after the other off the pile. A one-sided conversation, paper by paper.
Speaking proves a bit difficult yes
It comes and goes. It’s worse when I try to sleep
Please don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.
I mean it Idunn, stop
She’s alright. I think. She’s been sleeping since sunrise yesterday.
Yes, she’s breathing.
Because I checked!
It’s only rune fatigue. I’ve done it to myself before, ignoring my limits.
I will. I owe her that much.
The front door opened. Loki startled when he saw me, his arms full of quartered firewood. He gave me a glare and nodded his head forcefully down. When I didn’t properly interpret his meaning, he pulled out a chair one-handed and nudged me until I sat.
He settled a piece of wood onto the coals, stacking the rest neatly against the side of the hearth.
I pointed to the papers. “So you’re not speaking?” He shook his head. “Can I help with—” A throb burst in my head so suddenly and violently that it took my breath away. I leaned against the table.
Loki knelt down next to me, trying to catch my eye. He cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t know what you want,” I groaned, pushing my forehead against the tabletop. He reached over me. There was the ruffle of paper and the scratch of a quill. I looked up to see him holding a paper.
Are you alright?
“No,” I whined. “I’m sore and hungry, and my head is pounding.” I kept my head pressed against the table, the pressure serving as a kind of relief. His boots shuffled across the floorboards. The ladle scraped against the iron pot. Then the subtle splash of water and the tapping of boots coming nearer. Something clunked down next to my head. I peeked up. A bowl of stew.
I wanted to cry. No one had served me dinner in my own home for a very long time. “Thank you. You didn’t need to do this.”
He tapped his finger twice on one of the notes.
I will. I owe her that much.
A blush ran to my cheeks, and I deigned to eat instead of speak. The stew was delicious. There was a rich, thick flavour to it, something that I hadn’t tasted in Asgard before. Certainly, nothing the cooks in Valhalla would know how to do. I ate it as quickly as I could manage. Loki came back to the table and set a steaming mug of something next to me. I pointed at the empty bowl. “That was fantastic. And what’s this?”
Loki faked a wince and held his forehead, like a man suffering from a headache.
Whatever it was, it smelled like something from the infirmary, bitter and piney. I blew on it, hoping to cool it enough to drink. It was still hot, but I was in too much pain to wait. It tasted exactly like a tree. I gulped it down and slammed the mug on the table, making a face. “Horrific.”
Loki huffed, a laugh on the corner of his scarred lips.
I pushed back my chair, trying to ignore the wobble in my legs. I reached up and took Loki by the chin, pulling his face closer so I could see the damage. The wounds that had still been open yesterday were redder than I’d hoped.
His eyes were impatient as I twisted his chin back and forth. I touched one of the wounds as gently as I could, and he hissed. “This needs more healing. You’ll get an infection if you’re not careful.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I mean it. Sit down so I can help you—” And then the room started to spin.
Loki held me steady, his fingers digging into my shoulders to keep me from tumbling over. He shook his head and gestured impatiently back to the seat. I ignored it, holding onto his arm for balance, just aware enough to blush. “Fine. Go to the infirmary then.”
He shook his head, brows narrowed.
I sighed, not feeling well enough to fight him. “Alright. There’s poultice mixture above the water basin. Moisten it and use it on the wounds.”
His head lulled to the side a little, rolling his eyes as if I were talking to him like a child. He started to pull me back toward the room, but I stopped him.
“You should stay here for now, until you’re better. I can keep an eye on the wounds. Make yourself a bed in one of the guest rooms instead of sleeping in that chair.”
A thin smile spread across Loki’s wounded lips. It was broken immediately by a wince. He sighed, nodded, and walked me towards my bedroom. It was taking real effort to stave off sleep, and I knew there was no sense in fighting it.
He brought me to the bed and lowered me down, his arm the only thing keeping me from collapsing entirely. I’d barely hit the mattress before I lost myself to dreams once again.