“After all those years, after the pain and anguish, there he was. Looking at her like she was the only thing he’d thought about since he’d left home. Maybe he was her destiny after all.”
—Other Shores, Erna Bjorndottir
More Than A Year Later
I’d tried to read. Really, I had.
Once upon a time, I’d enjoyed those types of books. The romantic sagas of wild, driven lovers, the kind that could leave a girl pining for a properly torrid affair. But now…I’d spent most of the late hours trying to read the same pages over and over, never managing to get very far. Who would tell these poor lovers that love comes to nothing? That there is so much sorrow in their happily ever after?
I drank back the last of my overly large glass of wine and put it back on the dining table. A glance out the window told me how late it was. The boys had been in bed for hours, and it was always the quiet solitude of night that drove me to indulge in a drink to soften my bitter edges.
With a sigh, I closed the book without marking the page. What was the point?
I reached across the table to the cloth bag that had appeared on my step this morning, as it did every month. I pulled on the corner until one of the two apples rolled out, gold and fresh. Each time they arrived, I avoided them. They were necessary, yes, but each time was another reminder of what I had lost. How alone I was.
I’d seen her at a distance. Idunn was better, but something about her had wilted. She frightened more easily, smiled a little less. I wanted to have heard something in passing, to know how she was, but there were no allies to pass us rumours. Not anymore.
The first bite of the apple was bitter. Just touching it to my lips made me nauseous, but I forced it down. Throwing it up wasn’t an option; I didn’t have the guts to go ask for another.
A rustle sounded from outside. Then boots on the step. I didn’t bother to turn to the door. No one came here that didn’t live here. Instead, I stared across the table, into the crackling fire, and poured the last of the bottle of wine. It felt like I’d need it.
The door opened and closed again. His boots made a final clunk as he took them off. I only looked up when he put his travelling bag on the table.
“It’s late.” I took a sip, trying to resist the urge to drink it all at once.
“It’s bad weather.” He brushed the last of the snow in his hair into the washing basin.
Neither of us spoke as he rustled through his bag, pulling out leftover rations and setting them on the table. Once he was done, he went to warm himself by the fire.
“Narvi asked after you today.” Another sip. “He came into the room dressed in his travelling gear and cried that he wanted to live with you in the woods.”
Loki turned his head, looking toward me but not at me. “And what did you say?”
“I told him that you live here and so does he. But that wasn’t good enough. He wants to be with you all the time.” I put the wine down and pushed it away, an attempt at moderation. “He cried himself to sleep again.”
Turning to lean against the mantle, Loki scratched at his chin. “I didn’t put this idea in his head if that’s what you’re thinking. The boys are better off here.”
“They are. Only the Nornir know what you’re doing out there. But he’s desperate for your affection.”
Loki threw his hand up. “And I give it to him. I spend every moment with him because the rest of you won’t speak to me. The last time I asked Váli to go hunting, he threatened me with a knife. So how better should I divide my time?”
I pushed my chair back and got up. “The more time you spend with Narvi while you’re home, the harder it is for him when you leave. How is he supposed to feel about that?”
“I don’t know! I—”
“Quiet!” I hissed. “You’re going to wake them.”
He lowered his voice and came to the table, his hands on the back of a chair. “What do you want me to do, Sigyn? It’s been more than a year, and you still want nothing to do with me. Why would I want to be stuck here every day while you stare holes in the back of my skull because I have the audacity to exist?”
My mouth was dry, but I could feel the warmth and haze of alcohol spreading out across my body. More wine was a bad idea. “This isn’t about me. It’s about your son. He wants you here.”
Leaning heavily on the chair, Loki took a deep breath. His hair fanned out, hiding his face. “The nights I spend at the old cabin are because you don’t want me in this house. I started going further because the place barely has four walls and a roof, and it kills me to be there alone. At least when I’m out in the realms, I’m not thinking about this.”
That was enough to have me reaching for the glass. I tipped it back and swallowed it all.
“Will you stop that?” Loki’s eyes were on me. “I’m trying to talk to you, and you’re getting drunk.”
I set the glass on the table with a flourish. “Unlike you, I can’t just run away from our life. I have the boys to raise. I have to stay here in this city where they spit at my feet in the market and stare daggers at me in Valhalla. Seeing Idunn anywhere is like having my chest ripped open because I want so badly to have one single friend. So this—” I pointed at the wine bottle “—is how I forget.”
Loki pursed his lips and took a breath. “Fair enough.”
“Why are you so calm?” I rounded the table, slowly closing in on him. “Why does nothing bother you?”
He straightened out, stepping away from the chair. “Everything bothers me, but I don’t get to do anything about it. I have to live with what I did and suffer the consequences, just like you wanted.”
“What I wanted? What I wanted was a happy life.” The words came without hesitation. My limbs were loose and so was my tongue. I stepped closer. “You took that from me. I wanted us to live forever, watching the boys grow into accomplished gods. To watch them have kids. To wake up next to you over and over, and to kiss you to sleep every night. To walk proudly with you. Not to feel this cold fucking loneliness that you’ve left me with.”
His face shifted into a look of pure scorn. “Someday, Sigyn, you’re going to have to accept your part in this. You choose to stay angry.”
I grabbed him by the tunic and pushed him up against the mantle.
Loki stumbled, eyes darting to the fire near his feet. “Skít, Sig. What are you doing?”
Tears blurred my vision. I pushed him again, keeping his back against the stone. “Do you have any idea how horrible it is to still care about you and still want you, even though you betrayed me?” I leaned forward, the tears escaping down my cheeks, my face close to his, my teeth bared in a snarl. “It’s torture.”
Loki opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. Instead, his hand found my cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears. Like an old habit.
I kissed him. It was wrong, but I did it anyway.
He startled, but I pulled him back down, a handful of his hair in my fist. He growled in protest, but his lips found mine all the same. Hands gripping my face, his tongue darted against mine as he backed us away from the fire and into the table.
If I stopped to think, I’d have been ashamed, so I didn’t. I balled his tunic up in my hand and pulled him toward me until I was propped on the table, with him between my legs. My hands dove under his tunic, gliding across the once-familiar terrain of his stomach. His body was just like before, but I wasn’t. We weren’t.
I dragged my nails down his chest. I wanted him to hurt.
It drew a hiss from him, but he pressed on, leaning in to bite into my shoulder in return. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard all the same.
This wasn’t the way we had done things. This wasn’t for love.
The frantic press of his hands drove all sense from me. They ran over every inch of me, like I was a craving he was giving into. One hand strayed, pushing my dress up to my thighs and searching beneath. I pressed against him, willing him to find me. There hadn’t been anyone since him, and I yearned for it.
Instead, he pulled me up, my legs wrapped around his hips. He carried me into the bedroom as I nipped at his ear, paying attention to the places I knew drove him wild. He closed the door behind us and threw me onto the bed. He was angry too.
Good.
◦ ● ◦
The wind had picked up outside. It tore against the hall, inconsistent bursts battering the walls. It was cold, and my skin was slick with sweat, but it wasn’t enough for us to touch.
He had known exactly what to do. How to touch me, like he’d never forgotten the shape of me. There was still that smell of cinders about him and a hint of sweetness on his lips. He’d felt hard and lean and strong, and I’d wanted all of it. But now that it was done, I had to force myself to look proud. The anger and lust had faded, and the only thing left was the gaping loneliness that had been swimming underneath.
Loki was sitting against the headboard, furs pulled up over his legs, quiet.
I refused to move, lying bare and tempting, staring at him. No matter how deep the chill went in my bones, I wanted him to move first.
“Did that help somehow?” His voice was little more than a whisper.
I tucked my arm under my head. “It was good, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You know I’m not.” He looked at me and I was suddenly sure that this little tryst had taken all the fury from my body and poured it into him.
Taking a deep breath to stifle the guilt, I propped myself up on the mattress. “I‘m not sure.”
Loki touched the long red welts on his chest. He flinched.
I shuffled toward him on my knees. “Let me heal it—”
“No.” He got up and fished around under the bed for his trousers. He pulled them on. “I think I’ll keep them. As a reminder.”
I knelt on the bed, watching him look for the rest of his clothes. “What do you mean?”
“This was a mistake. It’s too late, Sigyn. There’s no going back.”
I got up, pulling a sheet around my body against the cold. “Of course there isn’t. Gods, I can’t even look at you some days. I don’t know, I—don’t you ever want to go back? Don’t you ever get tired of this? I’m tired and confused and just…maybe there’s something we can fix.”
“Fix? Is that what you call fixed?” He gestured to his chest again before he pulled his tunic back on. “That woman tonight? That wasn’t Sigyn. I don’t know where she’s gone, but she’s not here.”
The words hit me like a slap. “If I’m someone different, who do you think made me that way?”
“You did.” He opened the bedroom door and stormed toward his cloak hanging on the wall. “I gave you a good excuse, and you rose to the occasion.”
“How dare you.” I pulled the sheet tighter around my chest, fearing what the boys might see if they woke. “How can you say that?”
He pulled his cloak over his shoulders and forced his feet into his boots. “The woman I married stood by me through everything. She was gentle and compassionate. She never hurt anyone else. She was better than me, and no one knew why she loved me, but she did.” He looked me in the eyes. “You aren’t her.”
The anger sparked again, new and overwhelming.
I reached for the first thing I could find.