“The official registration for the marriage of Loki Laufeyjarson and Sigyn—redacted—dottir has been received. I recommend leaving it with the divorce records to save time in the future.”
—Note to Archivists
“Is that the last of it?” I passed the crate out the door, laden with books and clothing.
Loki took it from my hands and put it onto the back of the sled, where he strapped it onto the others. “The last of what’s worth taking.”
I looked around Loki’s little home. The walls were bare, each book, ornament, and cup piled into the back of the sled. A century of his life in a few crates, though I had a feeling it was just a sliver of what he’d seen.
I couldn’t help but remember that one odd night. Me, sleeping on what was now the bare mattress in the corner, him on the bedroll on the floor. It seemed so long ago. So much had happened since then. My hand went to my stomach. It still felt no different than it ever had, but our child was in there, and everything had changed.
When I went back outside, Thor was sitting on the snowy ground, scratching behind the ears of his pet goats, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr. They were enormous as far as goats were concerned. One had thick, curling horns, while the other had one straight horn and one jagged stub. “You can’t have much in there. This cabin is as large as my latrine.”
Loki raised an eyebrow. “Exiles usually don’t get given a hall, do they?”
“I don’t know. I never got myself exiled.” Thor stood and brushed the snow off his cloak. “Tell me it’s finished. If someone doesn’t feed me soon, I’ll have to kill one of the goats to eat, and then we’ll be here all night waiting for it to come back to life.”
Loki rolled his eyes and went to lock up the cabin.
It was a slow walk out of the woods as we found the path of least resistance for the goats to pull the tiny sled along. But Loki knew how to get around, and eventually, we made it out to where the horses were waiting.
As I climbed on my horse, Loki dashed over to offer unneeded assistance. “Don’t ride any faster than a walk, remember?”
I looked down at him. There was an air of urgency in his eyes, more begging than asking. “I know, the shaking isn’t good for the baby. It’s just so… slow.”
“When the baby arrives, you can race from here to Hel and back, I don’t care. For now, you have to be gentle with yourself.”
“When exactly did we change roles in this relationship?”
“When Eir gave me the extended list of what could happen to you and that child.”
“Loki.” I glared at him, impatience bubbling to the surface at being treated like a flower. “Get on your fucking horse.”
For a moment, it looked like he might get angry with me, but he just grinned, shook his head, and did as he was told.
Loki and I rode while Thor steered his goats toward Asgard. We laughed most of the way back, arguing all the reasons why we weren’t going to name the baby Thor, and no, not Thora either. When we drew closer to the wall and its builder, the discussion stopped short.
“Skít,” Loki cursed. “That’s going to be a problem.”
The builder had just finished placing a stone onto the wall, wiping his gloved hands on his trousers. And right behind him was his enormous black horse, balancing on his hind legs, carrying a stone between his front hooves. He put it on the wall next to the other and trotted away like any other horse.
“This is seidr. It has to be.” Thor pulled the sled up closer to our horses. “How can that be possible?”
“I don’t know.” Loki was still staring, nearly lost for words.
“What if he does it?” The tone in Thor’s voice was quickly turning to panic. “What if he finishes the wall? You’re the one who said, ‘let him use his horse, it’s just a horse’.”
Loki turned on Thor like a whip. “How was I supposed to know it was a magic horse?”
“We have to tell Odin,” I said, trying to remain calm.
“Even if it is enchanted somehow, it’s a horse,” Loki said. “How could it possibly build an entire wall around Asgard before the first day of summer? It’s only six months. It can’t. It won’t.”
But if there was anything I’d learned about Loki, it was that his anger and impatience rose to the surface when he was afraid. When he didn’t have some careful plan or crafted lie in place.
I looked away from Loki. “Thor, go ahead to Gladsheim. Make sure Father knows. He can decide for himself what to do.”
Thor gave me a nod and cracked the reins. The goats sped up on their way to the centre of the city, all of Loki’s possessions in tow.
“It’s going to be fine,” Loki said. And I could almost believe it, if it weren’t for the clench of his jaw and the white-knuckled grip he had on the reins.
What Odin decided to do was… nothing. He already knew, and like Loki, he assumed it would be fine. Just a horse, just a man. And so, it was discussed in whispers at dinner and in corridors and away from the ears of the Allfather. How the wall kept creeping higher and higher, how it barely seemed like a challenge at all. Mostly, we did our best to forget about it.
Loki and I had work to do. We moved his last possessions into my—our hall. Books were crammed into shelves in the library, old clothing washed and hung with the rest. All his little treasures found a place next to mine.
We spent time in the market, commissioning new pieces for the spare room we dusted off and put to use. As we shopped, women often stopped to ask questions. When was the baby due? Was the sickness gone yet? Had the other gods blessed its birth? And inevitably the stories turned to the children they’d born in Midgard during their living days. The ones who had survived and grown, and the ones that hadn’t. Babies stolen by forest spirits or born broken and left to the elements. I knew that Asgard wasn’t Midgard, and that my baby was safe from so many of their hardships, but I held my belly and cried with the women anyway.
Slowly, the new things arrived. First came a bearskin rug. Then a chair. Then a tiny bed. A bassinette was made for our bedroom, carved in pale wood and lined in green linen. We bought diapers and clothing and tiny boots and toys too old for a baby that Loki couldn’t live without. Months passed and my stomach grew, and our home began to look like a place for a child.
Storms raged and left again, snow dropping and whisking around Asgard and the realms. It kept us inside, near the fire. Near each other. Then the snow became less frequent, and the realms began to warm again. The full dark of winter gave way to the sun’s return.
And despite the sleet and ice and snow, the wall was nearly complete.
◦ ● ◦
“I think you should leave Asgard. Go somewhere safe.” I ran my hand over the large swell of my belly, unable to look him in the eye.
Loki kept eating his breakfast. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s his bargain, not mine. It’s going to be fine.”
I brought my food to the table, one hand on my aching hip. I sat down across from him. “You’ve been saying that for months. Do you really believe it?”
He bristled, the same irritation that came over him every time we talked about the wall. “I said it was fine. And I—”
A rapping came from the front door. Not a knocking, not exactly. Scraping. An unnatural sound. I started to get up, but Loki signalled me to sit back down. And well enough, since this baby was weighing on me like a boulder.
He opened the door and on the other side was...no one.
Something screeched, and a pair of shadows bolted inside, swooping down onto the table. The ravens hopped and skipped across the wood, kicking up egg and meat and parchment with every step.
“Stop!” I swung my arms at them, trying to shoo them away, but they landed out of reach and stared at me. “What do you want?”
Loki left the door open and came back to the table, arms crossed over his chest. “Let me guess. Odin wants to see us.”
One of the ravens squawked, though whether it was Huginn or Muninn, I didn’t know. It hopped towards me and shook its leg. A note was bound to it with string.
I sighed and fumbled to untie it. “Stop moving. We’re not friends, you and I. You’re lucky I don’t snap your leg clean off.”
“Ymir’s breath, Sig.” Loki was looking at me as if he didn’t know who I was.
“These two used to follow me around Asgard, peeping in my windows with their beady little eyes. Didn’t you? Telling Odin everything I did, everywhere I went. If Frigg hadn’t told Odin to stop, they’d still be spying on me.”
I managed to get the string untied and uncurled the note: Gladsheim. NOW.
“I’m shocked.” Loki trudged over to grab our cloaks from their hooks.
I sighed and wagged a finger at the raven. “Tell that one-eyed old man we’re on our way. Now get out of my house. Everything about you bothers me.”
The bird screeched and clawed at the table, leaving furrows in its surface. The other left a foul, wet mess on the wood before taking off and flying out the door.
Loki turned up his nose at the raven shit. “I think I’m done eating.”
◦ ● ◦
“Do you realize what day it is?” Odin was pacing the floor in front of the dais, his face red and sweaty. “The wall’s nearly finished! You swore it was impossible!” He stopped in front of Loki. “How are you going to fix it?”
“How am I going to fix it?” Loki snapped. “You knew for months that something was wrong and ordered us to do nothing. It’s not as if you didn’t notice him out there all winter, stone after fucking stone.”
“And did you know what he might be?” Odin sneered.
“After you put him to work?” Loki shifted his weight to his other foot. “Yeah, I had a feeling. He doesn’t look much like a Jotun but not all of us look alike, do we? He’s clearly used to the cold, but he didn’t exactly put that in his job references, did he?”
Odin took a step forward, nearly nose to nose with Loki. “You did this, didn’t you? Making pacts with your people. You plan to destroy us from the inside.”
My eyes darted from between them, cautiously drawing up energy for what seemed to be an inevitable explosion.
But Loki looked almost bored. “Ah yes, my people. I grew up here and Laufey was Aesir, but what does that matter? The Jotnar must be my people. Loki, destroying everything that Odin built! It’s a great story, isn’t it? Believe it if it helps you sleep at night.”
Odin huffed, like a bull getting ready to charge. He wasn’t watching the details. A teal flame cupped in Loki’s hand, ready for a fight. Loki wouldn’t win, though. Not in Odin’s own home.
“Please.” I put on my deepest pout, let the sadness seep into my eyes. My hand went to my stomach, drawing my father’s attention to the baby, my other hand reaching out for him. A play for compassion. “Don’t hurt him.”
Odin looked down at me. The rage in his eyes dwindled like a candle snuffed out. I couldn’t be sure what he saw or what he was thinking, but there was pity there. More pity than the situation deserved. He took a step back. “Fix it,” he mumbled and turned to saunter up the stairs to his seat.
Loki snuffed out the wildfire and smoothed the fabric of his tunic before turning to leave. He looked forward, head up, striding like a proud elk toward the doors. I couldn’t help myself. When I turned to look back, Odin was slumped forward on his throne, his head in his hands.
◦ ● ◦
It was my turn to be angry. “You can’t meet this Jotun alone. You have no idea what he’s capable of!”
Loki plucked a golden apple from the table and threw a thin brown cloak over his shoulders. He pulled his hair out from beneath, and it cascaded over the cloak’s fur collar. He ate, as calm as could be, smiling as I berated him at length.
“Say something!” I slammed my fists onto the table, and the baby shifted, kicking me in the side. I winced and slid down into the closest chair.
“There’s nothing to worry over, darling. I’ll return by nightfall.” He tossed the core of the apple out the kitchen window and wiped his hands on his cloak before coming to kneel next to me. He ran his hand across my stomach and pulled my head down for a long, slow kiss.
I pushed him away, wagging a finger at him. “You won’t distract me so easily with that silver tongue of yours.”
He laughed. “Oh, but I love the way you say it. Be patient, and later I’ll remind you what this silver tongue can do.”
I blushed and crossed my arms, not wanting to show cracks in my resolve. “Go then. If you’re not here by dark, don’t bother coming back!”
Loki snickered and kissed my cheek. “I’ll see you soon. Keep the bed warm for me.”
He opened the door and walked out into the crisp air. I watched his long, confident strides until he was out of sight.