“Thjazi was killed, and Idunn was returned to her husband. The city was quickly put back in order. Despite the discord, everything returned to the way it had once been.”
—Asgard Historical Record, Volume 25
If it had just been Loki and I, it would’ve been an easier choice.
It was tempting to toss him out. Just change the locks and banish him for good. But we had two children. I couldn’t look at him, but did that mean that Váli and Narvi were better off without a father? One didn’t seem to equal the other. We’d never planned for something like this. We’d been in love; why would we have been ready for anything but love?
It wasn’t me who’d chosen to throw it all away.
The gods asked me to weigh in on a closed-door trial to decide how Loki would be punished. They had shouted at each other over whether he should be allowed to live or die. They asked me, and I told them I didn’t know. And that was true. I loved him too much to see him die, but he had done something I would have dismembered anyone else for doing. Ultimately, it was agreed that for better or worse, he was one of the Aesir; if the realms saw division, if they saw a god killed, it would create an opening. A certainty that the gods’ reign could end—and at each other’s hands no less.
They’d asked if I’d wanted a divorce.
I told them I didn’t know.
And while they talked about punishments, I remembered having promised them, once, that I could keep Loki out of trouble.
What a silly, ignorant thought.
They stopped speaking to me after that. That day and every day after.
Loki was stripped of his right to be present in Gladsheim—not that either of us had had a seat—and forced to do menial labour in the kitchens: scrub the pots and pans, clean the caked-on grease from the roasting grates, wash the flour from the aprons. There was seidr for these things, of course there was; it was too large an army to clean up after by hand. But Loki wasn’t given such a luxury. He was to grind his fingers down to the bone serving his people. Any instance he was caught cheating, he would be given another day of work. Doubtless, he would still try.
With my own pots clean, I looked out the window. Loki was outside, sitting on a chair he had hauled outside, picking at his dinner. His bowl was on his lap, carefully balanced. His hands were wrapped in thin bandages, and there was a stiffness to them that gave him trouble with the bowl and the spoon.
Good.
“Mama, I’m finished. Is Father coming inside this time?” Narvi brought his bowl to the counter and put it next to the washing basin.
“No, darling, I don’t think so.” I had banished him out there days ago. Just having him inside stripped me of my appetite. But I couldn’t tell Narvi that. It would break his heart.
“I miss being together at supper. Father was funny. Now it’s just quiet.”
I dried my hands on my skirts and bent down. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ll try to be funnier, I promise. I could help you work on your energy channelling tonight if you want?”
Narvi swayed on his heel, looking at the floor. “I want Father to do it.”
I swept his hair back from his forehead. It was getting so long. “Of course. You can still ask him anything you want. Things are odd, I know, but nothing between you and your father has changed.”
“I guess that means he’s coming in?” Váli was scraping out the last of his stew, eyes trained on the table.
“I’ll get him, yes.”
He hauled himself out of his chair and slammed down his cup. “Fuck him.”
“Váli! He’s your father, and you still need to treat him with respect.” I stared him down, hands on my hips.
Váli looked me in the eyes. “No, I don’t. And you can’t make me talk to him.” With that, he stormed off to his room, the slam of his door shaking the pots hanging on the walls.
I took a deep breath and released it, then turned back to Narvi. “Go on, get your things. I’ll talk to him.”
His smile spread from ear to ear, and he sprang toward his room like a deer.
I pulled on my shoes and summoned all my patience before going outside.
Loki’s head didn’t move up at the sound of the gravel, but his eyes shifted, confirming it was me. He dropped his spoon back into his nearly empty bowl and waited.
“Your son wants to spend time with you.” I crossed my arms over my chest, keeping enough of a distance that there was no danger of him reaching out to touch me.
“Which one?”
“Narvi.”
“Váli still wants me dead, I suppose.”
I huffed. “And whose fault is that?”
“Please.” Loki held up a bandaged hand. Tiny specks of blood had seeped through in places. “I’m exhausted. I don’t want to fight with you. If you’ll let me come in, I’ll sit with him.”
I nodded my head toward the door. “Go on.”
Loki rose and walked past me, bowl in hand.
I took care of the last of the washing, listening to Loki and Narvi talk at the table over a book of Narvi’s notes. Hod had sent him home from the archives with some reading about basic runes, and he was barely stopping to breathe as he showed them to his father.
All seemed well, so when the washing was done, I went to the bedroom to give them some space. I left the door open just a crack, enough to see out of, and went about reorganizing the room.
I’d packed Loki up and moved him to another bedroom, but there were still so many of his things tucked in the corners. I pulled a pair of his trousers from under the bed and crumpled them into a ball, the start of a pile I’d rather burn than give back. It would feel more comfortable when it was gone, I told myself. Then I could stop crying myself to sleep in a bed that was too big for me alone.
I hadn’t washed the sheets yet. They still smelled like him.
“You’re learning so quickly. I’m proud of you.”
I tiptoed back to the door and peeked through. Loki was leaning over Narvi and the book, the two of them tucked close together. Loki turned the page, and Narvi reached out to take his hands. Even from my hiding place, it was plain to see how delicately he was holding them.
“Does it hurt?” Narvi asked.
Loki shook his head. “I’m alright.”
“But you’re bleeding.” Narvi turned them palm up. He found the tail of the bandage and started to pull it back.
I already knew what was underneath. They were red and calloused, the flesh between his fingers dry and cracked, broken open along the lines of his palms. The others thought it was good for a laugh, talking about Loki the scullery maid, but in reality, it was an indirect form of torture.
Loki kissed his son’s temple. “It looks worse than it is.”
Narvi unbandaged his other hand, and Loki’s face twitched despite his effort to keep the pain from showing. Narvi’s hands were small underneath his father’s. His lips began to move, and his father’s brow furrowed. Knowing better than to interrupt, Loki waited.
A moment later, his jaw dropped.
Narvi was healing him.
It didn’t last long. It was the first time he’d used runes in front of either of us, and seidr took years to master. But—
“You did it.” Loki held up his hands and turned them around. “Ymir’s breath, look how well you’ve done.”
From the door, I could see that some of the wounds were closed. The skin was still pink and raw, but it looked as if he’d been resting them for days.
Loki pulled Narvi in for a hug, holding him as tightly as he could. “You’re going to be so strong.” He released him and put his hand on Narvi’s cheek. “But you can’t do that. They’ll know, and it’ll be worse for me.”
Narvi frowned. “But it’s the right thing to do.”
“Maybe. But you can’t get into trouble because of me.”
“It could be our secret. I could help you.” Narvi squirmed closer. “I won’t tell. I’ll just do it a little. For practice.”
Loki’s lips pursed, staring his pleading son in the eyes. “Just a little. Sometimes.” He kissed him on the forehead. “I love you more than life itself.”
I stepped away from the door.
My sweet boy with the kindest, most generous heart. Even for those who didn’t deserve it. Would he be able to remain so good when there was so much evil all around?