“The mind alone knows what lives near the heart;
alone it sees into the soul.
Worse for the wise than any disease,
finding nothing that makes one content.”
—Hávamál 95
The night faded under my watchful eyes, the sun coming up on the horizon. I’d like to lie and say I slept. I wanted the pride of having gone back to my room without any weight on my shoulders, without the taste of his lips lingering in my memory, the feel of him under my hands, but that’s not how it went. The tension under my skin wouldn’t let me lie down, let alone rest. I went to the door a dozen times, ready to race back to him, but I didn’t. He had woken my body with his stupid hands, and it wasn’t until I used my own to quiet it that I had any peace.
Finished with pacing the floor, aching for him, I laid in bed dreading the consequences of that kiss. It was hard to say which felt worse. They were both tiring, and neither let me sleep.
For the first time since Loki had been staying with me, I was the first to the kitchen. I gathered meat and bread and cheese from the cellar and set to work cutting, slicing, cooking. When the door opened, I didn’t turn to look. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” His steps made no sound, but he soon appeared in my vision, kneeling next to the hearth to take the skillet from the fire. As I wrapped the rest of the bread back in its cloth bag and set it aside, Loki set the skillet on the potholder.
Plate the bread.
Set the table.
Put the cheese away.
Fill the pitcher with water.
Bring the cups.
Silence.
It had been quiet since his lips were sewn shut, but this was worse than any of the silences we’d had before. The other kind had been punctuated with turning pages and casual touches and gentle company. This had a weight to it, heavy with all the things I didn’t know how to say.
When I ran out of reasons to stay standing, I slid into my chair, keenly aware of how much closer I was to having to confront things. Loki gestured to the food, and I took my share, scraping things onto my plate with slow, deliberate actions. He waited for me to take mine, then helped himself.
He slid a knife through the middle of his bread and began to lather it in salted butter, not looking up. “Did you sleep?”
The question stopped me. “I…no.”
“That makes two.”
I skewered a piece of bacon and brought it to my lips, trying to buy time. Chewing slowly, I kept my head down just far enough to see the movement of his hands around his plate.
“Thank you for cooking.” He still hadn’t taken a bite of anything. He was delaying too.
And how long could we keep up a dance like this?
There was still a flask of mead between my stacks of books. I snatched it, drank straight out of the flask, then set it down in the middle of the table. Loki ignored it. I tapped my fingers on the table, drumming up the courage. “Alright. Neither of us is going to pretend it didn’t happen, so I guess we’re talking about it.”
Loki put the second half of the bread on what was now the top of a very strange, anxious-looking sandwich, butter on every layer, bacon and cheese covered in salt and jam. Inedible. “I’d prefer that.”
My guts were twisted. The things I wanted were clashing with the things that were trying to protect me. I wanted to accept whatever it was he was offering last night, but love left so many scars. I was already covered in them.
“I’m sorry, Loki. What I did wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have.”
He stopped toying with his ungodly creation and finally looked up with disbelief. “Yes, you should have.”
I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“You really don’t see it, do you?” Loki pushed his plate aside. He hesitated for a moment, his finger sliding across the scars on his lips. “Every single time you get near me, my heart stops. And when you do touch me, it’s more than I can stand. I’ve been waiting for that kiss since…gods, I don’t know.”
That made me look up. “Since when, Loki?”
He hesitated, picking the skin around his nails. Nervous. “Two nights before your trial with Odin.”
“Why then?”
He looked up at the ceiling, clearly uncomfortable. “We’d all had a few drinks, and you just…laughed. You were so happy.” The corner of his lip twisted up as he paused. “You snorted. Your guard was down, and I could see you without all the weight on your shoulders, just yourself, and I knew I...That was it.”
It was too simple, wasn’t it? It sounded so pure.
I leaned my face into my palms, struggling for the words. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to help me earn my title, and I would help you get your place back in Asgard. We would respect each other, and it would be a mutually beneficial deal and… My father is going to feed us to his wolves.”
Loki leaned forward. “Is that what this is about? Grimnir?”
“It’s about everything.” I couldn’t look at him. “You know what happened with Alruna. Every time I reach for something for my own, someone takes it from me. Usually him. I can’t do that again, Loki. I’m tired of getting hurt.”
He got up and came to sit in the chair next to mine. Leaning in, he forced himself into my line of sight, his hair sweeping down over his shoulder. “He doesn’t have to have that power over you, Sigyn. He thinks he controls everything, but he doesn’t. When I stopped letting him manipulate me, he had me exiled, but that didn’t change anything. I was still me. What happens between us isn’t about him. It’s about us.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. If I opened my mouth, I’d fall apart. It never mattered what I wanted. Never.
Loki reached out, his fingers finding my chin, directing my gaze at him. The kindness on his face was more than I could bear. “Sigyn, you belong to yourself.”
In almost a century, had anyone ever said that to me?
The tears started with a desperate hitch of breath. I fell into his arms, face pressed against his chest as the fear bled out of me in sobs. I wanted so badly to belong to myself, to be worth something that no one could take.
He held me tightly, whispering affirmations in my ear. I was tucked so deeply against his chest that I was barely on my own seat, and he slid an arm under my legs to hoist me onto his lap. It startled me but pressed up against him so tightly...I felt safe. This man who had come out of nowhere and believed that I was capable and powerful and valuable. He planted hurried kisses on the top of my head, trying to soothe me. I arched my neck, and the kisses slowed, moving to my temple and down to my cheek as I turned my head to receive them. Before I had time to tell myself no, I was kissing him, my fingers lost in his hair, his thumbs brushing the tears from my cheeks.
If I’d had no need to breathe, I think I might’ve kept kissing him forever. Our lips parted, and I rested my forehead against his. His eyes were so full of life. I needed that spark to keep my own fire burning.
And he was watching me, still so unsure. Like he was waiting for me to change my mind. Part of me wanted to, but…
“I want this,” I whispered against his skin. Making a choice.
He placed a kiss on my lips. “So do I.”