“What little we know of her, we know this; Sigyn was unwavering, at her husband’s side for eternity. Dutiful, patient, faithful.”
The last written entry about
—Sigyn—redacted—dottir
If Skadi herself had strode back into that cavern and offered me a hot meal and a warm bath, I’d have happily cut off my own arm in trade.
There was nothing to eat, nothing to drink, and nothing to do besides sit and while away eternity. My stomach howled for a scrap of bread. I was constantly thirsty, and I smelled like a sack of mouldy onions in a ragged bloodstained dress. The hot springs were so close. I tortured myself, scheming over the idea of scooping up just one bowl of that water, just to have one fresh splash on my face. I could stomach the sulphur if only for one mouthful to quench my thirst. But every moment spent at the water was a moment condemning Loki to suffer, and I just couldn’t do it.
There were moments I wanted to. In this endless, tedious span of time without sleep or distraction or anything at all, we fought. There were moments when he blamed me for being too lenient, too trusting. When he snapped at me for casting him out after he’d helped kidnap Idunn. If I had done things differently, we wouldn’t have been stuck in that cavern, our sons wouldn’t be gone.
And for every piece of blame he laid on me, I had another for him. I cursed his dishonesty, his inability to let things go. If he had just been content with what we’d had, if he’d stopped aggravating every god he came across, we might be in our own bed right now. Happy.
We used our words to tear each other apart. And yes, at my most furious, I thought about dumping the whole bowl of venom onto his face just to shut him up.
There was no leaving the fight. No walking away, taking space to clear our heads. Just him and I, minute after minute, forever.
But we didn’t always fight. More often we sat in silence with our thoughts. And sometimes we talked. Love or hate each other, we were all the company we had.
◦ ● ◦
I stretched my arm, balancing the bowl overhead. “Do you remember the night Váli carried Narvi home drunk?”
Loki chuckled. “I do. That was Gersemi’s fault, I think. She and Váli kept filling Narvi’s cup every time he looked away. He was as sick as a dog the next day.”
“I can’t believe she went along with such a dirty trick,” I laughed.
Loki stared away, replying in a whisper. “She would’ve made a wonderful addition to the family. She’d have been good for us.”
We sat in silence for a moment. “I don’t know if it was like that between them. Romantic. Freya never would’ve allowed it anyhow.” I stifled a yawn and leaned against my arms.
“You should try to sleep,” Loki whispered, pity in his voice.
“I’ll try to get a moment or two, but if I start to drop the bowl, wake me.”
He nodded. Already the venom had burned thick lines into his face, swollen up like wax dripping along the curves of his cheek and forehead. Some had come dangerously close to his eye. We’d been able to confine the damage only to the right side of his face, but it didn’t make any difference to the pain.
I bent over the stone and laid my face in the crook of Loki’s neck. I must’ve fallen asleep instantly.
I was standing in our kitchen. Narvi was sketching runes in a book at the table while his father leaned over him, his hand resting on the boy’s shoulder. So proud of him. And across from them was Váli, cutting an apple with his hunting knife, teasing his brother while he ate slices from the tip of the blade. It was perfect, every simple moment of it.
When I woke, my face was wet with tears.