1. Dark Shadow
The messenger told Natasha she had to come directly to court, and so she had no time to change or even wash. As a result, after a hurried ride from her forest the huntress stood, still wearing her leathers, at the back of a crowd in the throne room. She lurked behind two countesses glorious in gilded finery, not wanting anyone to see her.
"What have you gifted the new queen?" The question came from the lady on the left; she had dark skin and hair so fine it looked like moonlit water.
"Two baby monkeys and an ell of silk banded with opals and gold. She managed to catch the king's eye quickly enough, wouldn't you say?" The speaker tossed gold curls off her shoulder and the action caused her to brush against Natasha's legs; the young countess looked at the huntress, frowned, and twitched the purple brocade of her skirts away.
Natasha checked a sigh and longed for a bath. When the visit to the palace was concluded at last, she planned to ride to the stream near her hut and swim under the stars with no thoughts of fashion, manners, or possible suitors. The huntress couldn't afford the first, grew impatient at the next, and longed to slash the last with her sword.
A door at the far end of the massive throne room opened, and the crowd jostled forward as one massive creature in the usual manner of throngs. Natasha was able to slip further to the back, a position that suited her perfectly – there she was able to observe not only the main actors of the little piece about to unfold on the raised dais but also the audience goggling from the floor.
King Odin appeared first and took his throne. He looked haggard, careworn; marketplace gossip had it he had never truly recovered from the death of his first wife. Even Natasha still felt Frigga's loss keenly, although she had never known her personally. The Queen had been well-loved within and outside of the palace; it was difficult to believe her kind, intelligent face would never be seen in Asgard again.
The king beckoned, and the doors opened again. Natasha felt a rush of interest go through the assembled courtiers, and the young countess with gold ringlets stood on tiptoe to get a better look at the new queen.
Queen Lorelei she was now, and that was all anyone knew of her. The woman had arrived from a foreign land as claimant for Odin's hand in marriage; five months later they were engaged.
The young queen entered, her chin held high. She sat next to Odin, and very strange it was to see someone other than Frigga in that chair. Natasha remembered meeting the former queen when she was a girl; the woman struck her instantly with her low-pitched voice and air of calm authority.
Queen Lorelei was much more difficult to read. She turned to her husband, accepted his words of welcome and introduction, and inclined her head sharply as a sign she accepted the position as his wife and ruler of the court.
The woman was lovely; her perfect oval face put even the golden countess to shame. Long chestnut braids framed high cheekbones and a wide-set gaze; she smiled at something Odin murmured to reveal teeth like matched pearls. Delicate pink suffused her cheeks when he took her hand in his. In short, she was perfect.
However, as she stood and delivered a charming speech thanking all in the palace for her welcome, Natasha felt a shudder wriggled down her spine. Looking at the new queen was like watching a snake grow arms and legs, a little jeweled serpent who stunned with its beauty before sinking poisonous fangs into soft flesh…
Natasha gave herself a thorough shake to rid her mind of the disturbing image. She had spent all day among the trees near the lake trying to rout out a draugr in a silted lake, and perhaps her efforts had made her tired and dreamy as a result. Still, she desperately wanted to escape the crowded throne room; she had no idea why she had been summoned in the first place. Perhaps nobody would notice if she crept into the hall and caught her breath.
The guards stared ahead as she slipped outside into a silent passage lined with archways, and hurriedly she stole through one. She emerged in a long chamber lined with paintings, full-length portraits of the king, the former queen, and their two sons.
She, however, didn't notice the tell paintings of royalty in ornate clothes. Her attention was caught instead by a pile of books on low table wrought in gold; instantly Natasha forgot the reptilian queen and the supercilious crowd. She stole forward and couldn't resist running one fingertip down the back of one volume worked in tooled leather; the title was picked out in silver letters: Ragnarsdrápa. Skaldic verse was one of her favorite things to read, and Natasha couldn't resist taking down the book from the shelf, opening the heavy cover, and turning to the first page. Her lips moved with the familiar words; "Battle is called Storm…"
"What are you doing in here?" The voice, so loud and filled with fury, made Natasha start. Quickly she covered her surprise and turned to see who had interrupted her.
By the Gods, it was the young Prince himself. Instantly she fell into a deep curtsy (very difficult to achieve in leathers) and bowed her head to look at the toes of her mud-splattered boots. "My apologies, your Highness. I grew faint in the crowd and came here to regain my breath in the fresh air."
"Nonsense." Prince Loki, a pale figure in silver and black, strode forward to grasp her chin and tilt it up as he flicked his gaze over her. "You aren't the type to 'grow faint', as you put it – as a matter of fact, you don't look the type to be here at all." With a sudden movement he released her. "Are you an intruder?"
At that Natasha lost her temper. "A messenger came to my house to fetch me at once, and as a result I had no time for bathing or fine clothes. I make my living hunting game in my woods, and thus you must excuse my dust." She folded her arms, quite prepared to continue the argument if he insisted.
But instead Loki's lips quivered, and he indicated the book in her hand. "Behold an original! A woman in breeches who seems to enjoy tales of war on the side. 'And that baleful Witch of Women, Wasting the fruits of victory, Took governance on the island…'"
Natasha grinned; she loved that passage. "…All the Ship-King's war-host Went wrathful 'neath the firm shields.'"
Loki stabbed the air in the direction of the throne-room. "The lines are fateful, are they not? It seems to me the Witch of Women is now holding the fruits of victory in her soft hands, and they were handed to her willingly by my father." His eyes grew hard as chips of glass.
The door to the passage was still open; Natasha quickly went to the arch and closed it. "My prince, these words are dangerous should they fall on the wrong ears," she murmured. "Although the guards may not understand the lines we quoth to each other just now, any serpent may slither in hidden corners and suspect treachery where there is none."
"Serpent," he repeated. With another of his sudden movements, Loki seized her wrist in his long fingers. "Why do you describe danger thus, I wonder?"
They stared at each other, and something hung between them. Perhaps it was his desire to find someone who understood, Natasha reflected; obviously the prince trusted the new queen no more than she did. Moreover the court gossips told of his overwhelming sorrow when Frigga was killed; to lose a parent was heartbreaking, and to see another in their place unforgivable. When that place was the throne, the sensation had to be that of poison on a sharp tooth under the skin.
However, she was a huntress and he was a prince. Their situations yawned between them like a gulf.
Her lips parted to give a sensible answer, one hiding her true thoughts, but impatiently Loki waved away her unspoken words. "Do not attempt to hide behind etiquette and morality," he hissed. "By my troth, I nearly stifled on the atmosphere in the throne room – all those courtiers goggling and jostling to be the first to get into Lorelei's good books."
His statement, a reflection of her own feelings, made Natasha gasp. "But I experienced the same!" she couldn't help saying. "It's why I ran here - I was choking for lack of air." He nodded, and she was emboldened to continue. "The books intrigued me, and I simply had to take a look – for this I beg your forgiveness." She handed Ragnarsdrápa to the prince and made as if to leave, certain she had fulfilled her duty to the royal messenger who fetched her to the court in the first place.
Loki detained her by tightening his grasp on her wrist. "Do not go just yet," he ordered. "The entire palace is filled with jesters and gape-harlequins. To meet someone who has a mind of her own is like breathing the fresh mist of the forest. If I may borrow your own analogy?"
Natasha felt her face dimple with irrepressible humor. "You may."
A tiny tug pulled her closer to his side. "And do I exaggerate if I guess you feel Queen Frigga's loss as keenly as I do?"
She stared into his eyes, so close she could see her own face inside his pupils as a dark shadow. "Frigga was…" A block of salt seemed to get stuck in her throat, and she couldn't finish.
The tiny reflections of her face wavered in his pupils, and abruptly he let her go. "Yes, she was. And so much more – you have no idea. In a topsy-turvy world spinning around me, she was the core."
And now she is gone. Natasha didn't speak the words; Prince Loki looked close to breaking point, try as he might to present a calm front. "Are these books from her library?" she hazarded.
The question earned her a small sign of humor, a mere curve of his lips. "Why, yes, they are. Many evenings we sat together, and she taught me her lore or read her favorite books – she loved Ragnarsdrápa as well, Huntress." A slight frown creased his brow, and he blurted, "What is your name?"
"Natasha Romanov, my prince."
"Ah, I have it now. The ward of Ivan Petrovitch, no?"
"Just so." The thought of Ivan tossing with fever in a hospital a few leagues hence, make her chest burn. Her guardian, so gentle and dear, had to get better – he simply had to. No need, she thought, to tell that to the prince – it was her own business. Hers and Ivan's.
"And thus you earn your porridge? By setting traps and selling the skins?"
"Not only that." Natasha flung back her head; he was the taller by several handspans, and she wanted to keep her dignity despite the muddy leathers. "Sometimes I am hired to dispatch an errant bilgesnipe. This very day I went in search of a draugr in the lake."
"And did you ensnare him?" The prince seemed fascinated.
"It was a female, Highness. Alas, she was more slippery than I bargained. Tomorrow brings another day of schemes to win the creature into my nets. It has already stolen several children and the livelihood of the village already, so I suppose this quest has become a personal challenge."
His head dipped lower as if to catch each word. "Yours must be an existence fraught with danger – perilous and exciting at once."
"Exactly." Natasha allowed her eyes to flash with the passion she felt for her trade. "Indeed I could never be a miller or brewer, each day the same as the next with only the passage of seasons to make life different."
Prince Loki laughed, a deep-noted chuckle resonating in her very bones. "No, I could hardly imagine you atop a windmill heaving sacks of flour to market. But what of reading, huntress? What of that?"
"It is my second life," Natasha admitted. "Although danger is my lot, it will be spent in the boundaries of Ivan's woods. The pages of stories such as this bring me to new realms and keep me satisfied." She held out Ragnarsdrápa once more, and he took one end so they both held the book between them. For a moment, it embodied a new bond.
"What of adventure, then? Suppose you had the chance to sail on a blood-red sea and never look back?"
"Why, I should run with open arms to the opportunity, should it ever arise and I were free to pursue it. But of course it will not, and so I content myself with my little hut, Ivan's forest, and the few books I do own." She pushed the book into his hand and stepped back; it was time to put some space between her and the young prince.
Perhaps it was already too late; as if he had become the pursuer, Prince Loki closed the gap once more; she felt his breath fan her cheek as he whispered, "You are more like me than I ever could have imagined. So long I have been alone, it nearly unmans me to think I could find a …"
The door to the library opened with a crash. One guard stood in the arch; he stood aside and bowed.
Lorelei, the new queen, wafted past the man into the room. "There you are," she trilled. "Huntress, I sent for you. Come to my chambers now so you may attend me."
Without waiting for assent, she left the room. Her ermine-trimmed cloak swirled after her; ambergris perfume hung in the air even when she was gone.
Prince Loki's eyes narrowed, and his expression grew hard. "I see," he declared. "By the Gods, you are the finest hunter it has ever been my privilege to meet! Still, you'll not have me as tonight's catch in your little trap. Enjoy meeting the new queen."
"Prince, I had no idea she wanted my presence," Natasha tried to protest. However, it was already too late. He strode out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
She was left alone, surrounded by ancient tales and lost loves pressed into the pages of forgotten volumes.