A/N-thank you to for reading, and thanks to my reviewers and subscribers! It is such a thrill to know that someone out there likes the twisted workings of my thoughts as I put pen to...well, fingers to keyboard. I hope you like this next part.

We see more of Loki in this chapter, as well as a bit Thor and a peak of two Avengers who will show up again very soon and play a larger role later in the fic.

I've based the Asgard in this story on a map on the marvel wiki ( marveldatabase/images/9/97/Asgard_ ). It lays out the Asgardian continent I use here, and you'll see names of countries on the map mentioned in chapter 1 and in later chapters.

I hope to keep this updated fairly frequently, and I've actually got several chapters written already (though some are rough drafts). *fingers crossed*

And, as always, thanks to guineamania for being beta!


Chapter 1—The sins of the fathers…

Years passed before Asrior saw Asgard again.

During that time, her eyes opened to the world around her in ways not possible when Kagoq had guarded her. She grew to understand how much he'd shielded her from her father's moods and cruelty, and how he had protected her from even harsher realities of life outside of their world in the fortress.

Such knowledge, despite the severity in the getting of it, was worth keeping. It made her stronger.

In those years alone, she'd learned to veil herself in pretense. She learned to acquiesce to her father's demands without question, to embrace his way of living with a forceful outward conviction. This kept his physical reprimands to a minimum, and though she bore many more scars on her body, she still had use of her eyes and limbs. Such a feat was considerable given Valtur's growing instability in the years that followed Kagoq's rescue.

And by acting the dutiful daughter so well, Valtur had shown her a small amount of favor, even giving her a little freedom; it wasn't much, but it was enough so that she began to learn about the demons that drove him.

He, too, was of Asgard, she discovered.

The bastard son of an Asgardian warrior who had had lain with the daughter of a Prince of Svartalfheim for sport, Valtur had been abandoned by his own father while he was still in the womb. That explained his ever-present facial armor—as much as he derided Asrior for hiding her ears as a child, he was ashamed of his own too-pink, too-smooth skin that set him apart from other dark elves. It explained why she herself looked so much of the realm of the gods.

She'd also learned that her mother, Birgitta, was a widow mourning the loss of her warrior-husband when she'd been seduced by Valtur in the years before their people began waging war against the other. Valtur had deliberately gotten her with child, taking her away with him to Svartalfheim upon conception, intent to prove to Asgard how superior the dark elf race was in claiming and keeping their own half-breed bastards.

It was her mother who had left soon before Asrior was born, abandoning Valtur upon realizing the extent of his cruel nature; with the help of a sympathetic servant, she had run away and hidden in Asgard among lonely hills rich with iron. The dark elves' power was made weak by such metal, and the lords of Svartalfheim were most susceptible to its ills. So Birgitta had born Asrior there, going little into the villages around them, and hiding her infant daughter's ears with lace caps, and, as she grew older, her long hair.

That was why she did not go back to the great city of Asgard, why she did not seek out her older daughter, Sif. Birgitta knew well what would be in store for her youngest at the hands of Valtur, so she hid and waited for his defeat or death. And when she'd died so suddenly, it was Asgardian men who'd come to take Asrior from the hills and to her father. Men who were desperate for money or who wanted to protect their own families from the dark elves' constant forays onto Asgard's furthermost borders.

Asrior, desperate for her own survival, came to understand what drove their actions, even if she hated them for it; for in protecting herself, she had assumed a mask of such falseness that she wondered if Kagoq would recognize her if he saw her again. So artful and deep was her deception that she sometimes felt she could be mistaken for the God of Lies himself.

And when the time came that they returned to Asgard, she had passed from childhood and into the time those of both her races aged so slowly as to be almost immortal. And Asrior again spent her days at her father's side, though this time she was formally presented to the court.

Few but the king welcomed the presence of dark elves of Svartalfheim—the majority of the court treated Valtur and his party with the barest of civility, and only a small cadre of suitors made up of more of Asgard's desperate men acknowledged Asrior's presence. Men so hungry for fortune or power or other gain that they were willing to unite with the half-breed bastard of a dark elf to get what they desired.

She played her role in the farce masterfully, enduring the address of those hopeless men with a calm demeanor, and icily ignoring the ill-concealed whispers and hostile eyes of others. She returned snubs with haughty stares, pretended that she did not hear the cutting words slung behind her back; and when even Sif, her own flesh and blood, looked past her as though she were not there, Asrior's expression was one of arrogance and detachment befitting the daughter of Valtur the Unmerciful.

For though she was not content to be alone, she was accustomed to it. She told herself that her sister's indifference did not hurt. And the opinions of the others did not matter. If the members of Asgard's court were quick to judge in the wake of their own shallow pursuits and ill-inclined to consider what existence she'd lived at the hands of her father, it had no bearing on her life now. For Asrior knew the gods were not there to help her, and she was not in Asgard to make merry and gossip and act the friend to those who were not.

All that was important, in the end, were the lessons she'd learned during her years without Kagoq and the things she'd since discovered during her escapes to the Asgardian palace library.

And the items she'd quietly stolen from those disdainful nobles who graced Asgard's grand halls.

Now, Asrior simply needed one thing more. Then she could make her escape.

….

"I have chosen a husband for you."

Her steps faltered slightly at the words, though if Valtur noticed, he most likely blamed the wounded leg that sometimes pained her. But he did not mention her lack of grace as they continued across the grand courtyard that led to the palace's banquet hall.

"Pauulus, son of Jerrik, who was cousin to Queen Frigga," he continued, murmuring as though talking to himself. "It is an advantageous match. I had once thought to connect our house to another on Svartalfheim, but such has happened that a union with certain lords of Asgard is more to my advantage."

Bitter thoughts ran through Asrior's mind at his words. She wanted to ask what about her advantage, her preferences, and which of the desperate, sniveling old men he would have her lay with because it was helpful to him.

But she held those thoughts back. She had loosened her sometimes too-sharp tongue enough that week, and while they were in public now, the reminder of a recent slap against her mouth was enough to stay her words.

"I am happy at the union, if it so pleases you, father," she said instead, satisfied with how sincere she managed to sound.

"Everything will be formalized upon Jerrik's return with Pauulus from Nornheim. I was not sure if we would reach an agreement for a while, for Jerrik was being stubborn about his own interests." Valtur looked down at her briefly, before moving to back his own thoughts. "The family is very much aware of the value of their connections; but as their wealth is in their land, and they require monetary assets if it is not to fall into ruin…"

She made a sound of understanding, wondering if the family's ill fortune was a recent event borne of her father's own machinations; Valtur had gambled heavily during their time in Asgard, winning so often that rumors of cheating were spreading. More than one of her suitors was recently lost of their wealth at her father's hand, paying court to her in an effort to regain some of it through the bride price that would come with marriage.

Noise grew as they neared the hall, and Valtur slowed to a stop, turning his eye to her again.

"You look well, daughter. You do favor to me and to Svartalfheim."

Asrior was wearing armor, as usual, though the dark-colored dress she wore beneath was of silk. She wore no ornaments other than dark ribbons studded with onyx. They were woven through her glowing red hair, which itself was wrapped in an intricate, braided coronet around her head, one long braid falling down her back. It had taken forever for the handmaiden to arrange, but the style had the effect of highlighting her elven ears. It was a look that Valtur favored.

A small group of women walked past then, giggling as they talked excitedly. Their eyes darted to Asrior and her father only briefly, and while a familiar sneer crossed the mouth of one of them, the others were too involved in their natter to fully show the dark elves their contempt.

Asrior did not listen to what they said. She watched them, trying not to show the envy she felt over their bright colored silk dresses, which were flowing and free of the painful restriction of armor, and she wondered what it was like to move so easily in a body not writ with scars.

Her father, however, watched them and listened, his eyes narrowed as he focused on their words.

"Come," he commanded suddenly, a hand at her elbow, sounding pensive. "It appears the king's brother has returned rather suddenly from his journeys. I must…pay my respects." He cast a look at her, adding, "And though he is a prince of the realm, you must avoid him should he attempt to approach you, Asrior. Laufeyson remains the God of Mischief as well as Lies, despite his status. His attentions are not what I need."

Startled, she asked, "Thor's brother? You think…you think he would pay court to me?"

"Long ago, he would for sport, if he thought it would annoy Thor and escape Odin's attention. Now, he'd do it to provoke me," Valtur said, his voice lowering as they entered the crowded hall. Asrior had to strain to hear him over the din of the crowd. "I am not sure as to his mind. There was a time when he played the friend to our kind, but he fought side by side with his father against Surtur, and it is said that Odin's death has changed him. And now that his brother has favored him with lands of his own to rule on the borders of the continent… I must tread carefully."

Remembering the uncomfortable feeling she'd gotten under the dark-haired god's amused stare so long ago, she muttered, "I did not like him when we were here before."

Valtur was handing over his weapons to guards, as was the norm when entering the massive banquet hall. When he turned from the table where his sword and various knives were collected, he scoffed. "No, though you enjoyed gazing upon Thor Odinson well enough." The eyes he turned on her were like stones. "You look surprised. Do you think me stupid, daughter?" He placed a hand at her shoulder, squeezing it hard, a reminder that he was in charge as he warned, "Little escapes my attention. You would do well to remember that."

Ice ran through her at the words, but she told herself that he did could not know about the steps she'd taken or the items she'd secreted away. Asrior forced herself to push such worries aside, however, for Valtur would surely notice if her fears showed upon her face.

She distracted herself by listening to the buzz of gossip that rose around the hall, thankful that for once that it was not centered on them; the arrival into Asgard of Loki Laufeyson, the reformed prince of two realms, had generated such anticipation that, tonight, the chattering masses ignored the presence of dark elves in their midst.

Still, the lack of focus on them made it no less intimidating when they at last had their audience. It was hard to look calm when her nerves were rattling around like a bilge snipe after prey, and it was even more difficult to keep her eyes cast down when it was so tempting to gaze upon Thor. She'd been formally introduced once, but he'd been on a massive throne so large and removed that it was easy to pretend it was someone else she'd knelt before. But here, they were up close, and it would not do to earn her father's wrath or look the fool by staring at the king like a lovesick cow.

So Asrior stared at the glistening white tablecloth that graced the king's table as she fell to a knee, listening to her father's florid words.

"Rise, please," Thor was saying, laughing, though there was an uneasy thread in his voice. "There is no need to be so formal here. We are having a feast, not a negotiation."

She stood as her father answered, keeping her gaze straight ahead at the tablecloth. When a woman's voice spoke, she still did not look up, even when she herself was being addressed.

"And this is your daughter? I'm sorry, I forget your name. What do you think of Asgard? Is this your first time at court?"

Her father answered instead, as was his rule when they were in public.

"Asrior. My daughter is Asrior, Queen Jane. And I can speak for her when I say that her time at court has been most pleasurable."

"You have a very beautiful name, Asrior. Asgardian names are unusual to me, but they are very poetic."

Asrior glanced up briefly in acknowledgement of the compliment, wondering if the queen realized the offense she'd given Valtur.

"We give you our thanks, though my daughter is of Svaralfheim, not Asgard," Valtur answered, his voice grim at her assumption, and he began goading when he said, "Though your conjecture was correct, she does bear an Asgardian name. It was chosen by her mother, and I find it suits her like it does no other. I suppose that is because I find much of this realm to be pedestrian without the touch of Svartalfheim to fully bring out its glory."

The crowd began muttering at his words, and Asrior's stomach clenched, waiting for what she knew would be the king's irate retort.

"And can she speak? Or did you cut out her tongue as well?"

The voice was rich as velvet and as smooth as the words were cutting; and Asrior's head snapped up in shock, for it was not Thor who spoke.

Both Valtur and the queen were making choking sounds at the blunt words, and Thor hissed, "Brother!"

Loki Laufeyson, sitting on the other side of the king, idly reached for a piece of fruit and asked, "What?" He lifted a grape to examine it, his cool green eyes trained on it as though they were discussing the merits of its shape. "I was only joking."

Then the corners of his mouth tilted upward and a quick laugh escaped. And a row of white teeth bared when he turned his gaze to her father. "You understand, don't you? My old friend?"

Beside her, Valtur stood, stiff and unyielding. His hand had wandered to his side as though in search of a weapon. Before he could act, before she even realized she was doing, Asrior spoke.

"It is not my tongue that you should concern yourself with, my lord. That, I still have use of."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Thor move uncomfortably, and her father shifted as well, clearly agitated. The God of Mischief and Lies, however, lowered the hand holding the grape, a brow quirking upward toward his raven-colored hair as he moved his liquid gaze to her. Lifting her chin, Asrior stared back at him, and then at his brother, an angry challenge of her own in her eyes.

Yes, I still have use of my tongue, but only because I am worth more to Valtur with it than without. Do you not understand? Or are you so distracted by your petty quarrels that you not see?

They did not.

Loki was still watching her, now cradling a peach he'd taken from a bowl next to him, and his mouth twitched, as though he were holding back words. But it was the king who spoke next, his smile tight as he offered words of conciliation.

"My most gracious Lord Valtur, you must excuse my brother's games. He grows weary after his travels…

Thor offered more apologies, which Valtur took grudgingly. Asrior turned her gaze back to the tablecloth, willing the king to bid them leave. The distraction his appearance provoked was forgotten; she could still feel Loki's eyes on her, and the bilge snipe had taken hold of her stomach now.

And then her father's hand was on her arm, and they moved from the table. She kept her eyes down as she left, and it wasn't until her father spoke in her ear that she realized she'd been holding her breath.

Valtur did not reprimand her for speaking up, as she feared. Instead, his moved to grasp her shoulder hard as he hissed, "Stay away from him if he approaches you. He is not to be trusted."

….

He wasn't sure what was worse in the wake of the dark elves' leave, the look Thor shot at him—a mix of unease, pity, and fear—or the words that followed.

"Loki… I have to attempt peace with Svartalfheim. You know this. You yourself were the one who counseled…"

"I did not realize that Valtur the Unmerciful was representative of that realm," Loki snapped, interrupting his brother. "I spoke of the Queen Alflyse, not his corrupted house. Why are there no other lords of Svartalfheim at court? You know the accusations against him…"

"Accusations brought by you because of a personal vendetta," Thor bit back, his voice rising. "You bring me words, but never proof."

The courtier, waiting to bring more guests forward, was hovering near the table, a look of anxiety on his face, and those milling around them strained to hear their words. Jane's hand moved to Thor's arm. "Please," she whispered. "Can you have this argument later, Thor? People aren't even trying to hide the fact that they're staring."

"I am not arguing." Thor's jaw set mulishly. "I am simply explaining to my brother that peace with all of the realms is the right thing to do, and I will make peace with Svartalfheim."

"Later," she pleaded, and though she smiled, her embarrassment was evident. "This is not the place to have this discussion."

A thin smile spread over Loki's face as he watched her. He held little regard for the queen; her fragility and yielding nature annoyed him. But on this one night, he agreed with her opinion.

"Your wife is correct, this is not the time," he said, lowering his voice. "And the journey did wear on me. Please allow me to make my excuses and retire to my chambers. We can renew our discussion on the morrow."

Thor glanced at him as he pushed back from the table, and grunted before saying, "There is nothing to discuss. Valtur is welcome at my court, and you will do nothing to cause problems, Loki."

A mirthless laugh escaped his lips as Loki began to rise, and he could not help the bitter sound in his voice as he bowed his head, "As you wish, my king." He stood fully, murmuring, "My dear Queen Jane," and had turned to walk from the hall when Thor spoke again.

"Peace is what Vedis would have wanted."

Jane squeaked, but Loki's only reaction was the jerk of his hands as he paused. Looking over his shoulder, his voice like flint, he warned, "I have pledged my fealty to you, Thor. I have accepted…embraced my role in your kingdom. And though we have forged a kind of peace between ourselves, I warn you, do not push me too far, brother."

Then he left, not bothering to wait for Thor's reply. The crowd in front of him parted, and the whispers grew, but Loki ignored those and their accompanying stares. He kept moving until he was outside of the hall and across the courtyard, only stopping when he saw the face of someone sympathetic to his feelings.

The warrior Sif, who had one time been so antagonistic toward him, was leaning against a marble railing that looked over the lights of the city below the palace. Her eyes were dark in the moonlight, but the knowing expression on the face turned toward him was of commiseration now, rather than of suspicion.

Loki hit his fists against the railing as he stopped next to her, and he glared down upon the lights as though their presence were an offense to the whole of his existence.

"You saw him, then?" she asked, and he made a sound that was a half curse, half snarl before spitting out, "See him? He had the nerve to approach the king's table to offer his regards for my return."

Sif's gaze darkened further. "I don't know what Thor is thinking, allowing his presence at court. Does he not understand that Valtur is not to be trusted? Does he dismiss the continuing raids on the lower countries…"

"All Thor speaks of is his need to make peace with the realms, despite the truth of what is happening on Asgard's borders. It is pathetic." Loki's knuckles were digging into the marble of the railing as he leaned onto it, and the leather and metal encasing him creaked. "He claims I am making this too personal." He paused and gave her a look before continuing, "And yet he is the one who dared mention Vedis and her forgiving nature. As though sentiment would blind me to Valtur's danger."

Her brow rose at the mention of the woman Loki had once thought to wed, and her tone grew ominous. "I know he is king and as such deservers my fealty, but it is Thor's own devotion to the Allfather that weakens us. Peace was Odin's great purpose, but never at the expense of Asgard. And as admirable was Vedis's ability to forgive, I somehow think even she would be not be so inclined if she still lived."

When he did not reply, Sif took a deep breath then, and broached, "And Hogun? Is he…"

"He remains in Ringsfjord."

The words were brusque, as though it were all he would say on the matter, but she pushed for more information. "Does he know of the dark elf presence at court? Has he communicated with Thor? The last time…"

"I know not of Hogun's mind. He keeps his own council," Loki bit out, impatient with her questions.

She gave him a look of reproach, and remembering that she had been his ally in the matter before them, his voice tempered. "I were to guess, I would hazard that if Hogun were aware of Valtur's presence, his loyalty to Thor is great enough to keep him away…for now. It would not be very diplomatic for one of the king's most devoted warriors and oldest friends to cut out the heart of an emissary from Svartalfheim."

Sif turned to stare back at the lights below. Loki pushed back from the railing after a moment, as though seeking a distraction, and his lips curled in a familiar pattern. "You have not yet mentioned the fact that Valtur brings your half-sister to court."

Her dark-blue eyes grew hard. "You more than anyone know that blood indicates lineage and little else. I have but one family now, and she is not in it."

"And yet she looks so like Birgitta," he continued, ignoring her, his want for wickedness bubbling to the surface, "despite the elven look about her. And when she dared to look at me, her eyes reminded me much of yours. Such a blistering glare…"

"Do not mock me about this, Laufeyson," she warned, her voice like ice, and her hand was hard on his shoulder as she pushed him back. "You yourself tried to tend to the dwarf's wounds, so you have seen the scars that still pain him. Do not speak to me of her."

The look on her face stilled the instinctive rebuke that rose at her uninvited touch. "Sorry," he offered instead, taking one slow step away. "I suppose I should also know well how the sins of fathers are visited on their offspring."

Sif grunted, still angry. "She earned her sins by her own hand. Anyone who would inflict such pain is abhorrent to me, no matter how thick their blood runs with mine."

"I was jesting, Lady Sif," Loki said, and he raised his hands as though in supplication. "As is my nature, especially when I am in a foul mood. You should know that by now".

She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders relaxed.

"And…really, you would have enjoyed it if you'd seen it," he continued, trying to lighten both of their moods. "Valtur was dripping mockery, despite his honeyed words, while your…" At her look, Loki amended, "While his daughter glowered and refused to speak, even when Jane tried to draw her out with compliments. So I asked if he'd cut out her tongue too. I assure you, if they were allowed weapons, between the two of them—and, Thor, actually—I'd probably be without my own tongue right now."

Her smirk was reluctant, but it was there, and his eyes gleamed as he added, "I almost asked to see her hands, in case she'd been pilfering again…but the look on Thor's face… I contented myself with counting the fruit to ensure it wasn't stolen." His smile faded, then, and his voice grew grim again. "Valtur wanted to make his presence known to me. He was testing which way the wind blows by approaching the table. And I admit his presence here tears at me; I am torn between staying at court or returning to the borders. I have been too long away from my lands, yet it may be in their interest that I stay close to our enemy."'

"I'm glad to see you returned here," Sif said, and she looked around as though afraid of spying ears. "Valtur's guards are sometimes absent from court for days at a time, doing I know not what, and Thor will not allow us to question him. And she skulks around the palace at odd times, as do others in their party. The servants talk of things disappearing from their masters' coin purses, of jewels missing. You must watch them, as only you can, Loki."

"So now my tricks can be of use? And here I thought brute strength was considered…"

"Stop," she hissed, scowling at the bitter tone entering his voice. "Now is not the time to bring up old offenses. You are the only one who can help. They scheme. I know it, but…"

"…but you have no proof," Loki finished. "A sad tale I am all too familiar with."

The sound of laughter rang out over them, causing them to quiet. They stood silently, watching as a group of warriors drunk with mead rambled past them When they were gone, Loki murmured, "I will find out what is afoot, rest assured. And as loath as I am to have him at court, his proximity is probably useful if I am to uncover his plots."

"And when you find out?"

He thought of Vedis, and then of Hogun languishing in his cottage in the woods; and his lips quirked and a brief laugh escaped. When he finally spoke, his eyes gleamed with malevolence, and his voice was filled with warmth, as though he enjoying the thought of a long-denied treat.

Why, sins must be atoned for. Offenses will be repaid to those who are owed. A penance must be given in full…even if death is in the paying of it."

A small smile touched Sif's lips. "As much as it would have shocked me at one time to feel this, I am thankful you are on Asgard's side, Loki. You…and your tricks."

Loki was staring at the lights below again, his expression dark, and when he did not speak, Sif did not press him for more answers.

….

A boy.

After all of the drunk and desperate men he had paraded before her, her father would have her wed to a boy.

Asrior watched as Pauulus Jerrikson, who was said to be eighteen but who looked younger, raised his goblet of mead to his lips and warily touched the golden liquid with his tongue.

When he made a face, Asrior asked, "Did you not partake of mead in Nornheim?"

He looked startled at the sound, but she guessed that was because she had spoken so little since his formal introduction to her.

In truth, she'd been shocked into silence when she first saw him. When she'd followed her father into the room where she was to become formally betrothed just that morning, the first person she saw was a towering man whose shaggy beard rested upon a rotund stomach. His face was round and florid, his meaty lips stretched into a simper, and he wore a long red velvet cape that he swept aside as he bowed his head at their approach.

She dropped into a curtsey, and when she noticed the look of hunger in his eyes as he leered at her, it took everything to keep her face free of the ensuing revulsion she felt at the thought of lying with him.

"She will give me good grandsons, Valtur," he said, and such was the feeling of revolt in her stomach that it took a moment for the words to register.

But the man was flourishing his cape again, and looking to the side as he said, "My son, Pauulus. My youngest."

It was only then that she noticed the mouse-looking boy standing to the side of him. Small for an Asgardian, he looked as though he stood barely a half a head taller than herself. Where his father was ruddy with sun and use, he was pallid and beardless, with pale brown hair and eyes. His gaze was bashful, too, and he was trying very hard not stare at her ears.

His voice shook slightly as he bowed his own head and said, "It is my pleasure, my lord. My lady."

She was barely able to whisper her own greeting.

And tonight at the banquet table the boy she had promised to marry when she signed the contract was still staring…at the vast and gilded hall, at the king, who sat at a magnificent table to their right, at the mounds of food on the tables, and the beautifully dressed crowd around them. She must have looked much the same when she first journeyed to Asgard as a child.

But when she spoke, he turned his pale brown eyes to her, surprised. "Excuse me? Did you say something?"

"I asked if you had ever…" she began, and then stopped, deciding to hold her tongue. She would have to be near him through the course of the betrothal, and he might even an ally in finding what she needed to escape. So instead, she asked, "What is your home like in Nornheim? What is it like where you live?"

"Oh, it is very grand. Nothing like the royal palace, but most comfortable," Pauulus assured her, relaxing a little. "It belonged to my mother's family, and it was built in her father's time. But my father has made many improvements."

Asrior nodded and tried to form a pleasant look on her normally-stern face. "It sounds very nice."

"Oh, it is more than nice. The stables are magnificent, as is my father's horseflesh," he said, looking relieved at her interest, and Asrior had to hide the shudder of fear that ran through her at the thought of such animals. "Though I am not the best of riders, I enjoy the freedom a horse gives me."

"Why is that?"

"The truth is I venture rarely inside. I am often found in the wood or in the fields that make up our land. I am quite fond of nature." He paused, and looked self-conscious as he admitted, "Jerrik does not like that I am not as strong as my brothers, or that I hold little interest for fighting. He thinks me weak. It is why he sought to join me with your house."

The admission surprised her, but before she could say anything, he asked, "What is Svartalfheim like? Is it green and vast like Asgard? I have heard tales, but..."

"No, it is not the same," she said when his voice trailed off into uncertainty. "It is almost always dark. The forests that are there are thick, and much of the land is rock and mineral. Some palaces are even built in the side of mountains or underground, so prevalent is stone"

"And your home? Is it built into a mountain? Is there any land around it?"

"Valtur's fortress is made of stone, but it is on top of a great hill, not in it. It is…not quite as comfortable as I think your home is."

"And the land around it? Is it rock or do trees grow? Describe it to me," he asked, looking both scared and eager at once. "Please. I need to know."

"There is a plateau that the fortress rests on. The hill itself is mostly barren. Little grass grows, and the rock is grey. The minerals in the rock sparkle when moonlight falls on it, though. It is the land's most redeeming feature." She paused, not knowing what else to say about the place she so detested, but he was listening eagerly, waiting for more. "I don't know about the plant life…a forest surrounds us, but for a road through it, it is said to be near impenetrable. I have never ventured into it. Why do you ask?"

"Well, we are to live there," he said, surprised at her question. "As I said, my father wants me…he wants me to toughen up, to learn to be a warrior. He believes that your father can succeed where he and my brothers failed."

Surprise flooded her, though Asrior told herself she should have known better. She knew that Valtur would not marry her to someone he could not control, so it should come as no shock that he would not let her live away from Svartalfheim.

She wondered if Pauulus and his father understood the methods Valtur would use to harden the boy. Turning slightly to watch Jerrik, she knew in her gut that he would not mind the truth of it. He sat thick as thieves with her father, his mead sloshing over his beard as laughed a crude joke someone was telling, and when he noticed her look, his laughter turned to an ill-concealed lust.

Asrior hastily looked away, disturbed at his attention. She still wore armor and dark clothing, her hair pulled back tightly, and while she knew she was not unpleasant to look upon, she was not dazzling like the brightly-dressed, smiling women that surrounded them. And she was nothing like the tall and graceful Lorelei, the goddess who had flitted between the two men all evening, her bronze-colored hair piled in curls upon her head, exposing her elegant neck, and bare shoulders, and a voluptuous bosom only half concealed by a shimmering white and gold gown.

And then her father was calling them over.

"Asrior! Pauulus…come!" He was standing, beckoning them over. Jerrik and the goddess stood as well, and when they approached, Valtur said, "There is a special troupe of entertainers for the king's guests from Midgard. How fortunate they arrive on the day of your betrothal. Let us go and watch."

The goddess Lorelei's sculpted eyebrows flew up at the mention of the arrangement, but she said nothing, instead taking Valtur's offered arm as they walked toward the middle of the hall. Pauulus gave Asrior a shy glance, offering his own arm, and they followed the first pair. Jerrik lumbered behind them, flourishing his robes of rich purple, and she could feel his eyes boring into her back.

Acrobats were setting up in the middle of the hall, and a crowd of onlookers surrounded them on three sides, leaving the fourth open to where the king's table sat so that the royal party had an unfettered view of the entertainment.

"They are glorious, aren't they?" Pauulus said in her ear, and Asrior saw that his gaze was turned to the king's entourage rather than the acrobats. "I feel almost unworthy to be in their presence."

Thor sat in the middle of the table, looking magnificent. A dark gold crown sat on his head, and long curling hair the color of sunlight lay against his shoulders. The queen was equally as breathtaking, her face glowing as she talked to the man next to her, one of the visitors from Midgard. He looked rather mild, dark wavy hair falling over face that bore a temperate expression.

But the Midgardian on the side of the king looked of Asgard—not his clothing, which was dark and odd-looking, or his hair, which was short, even his beard. He didn't have the height or bulk of this world, either, but the manner in which he held himself was as arrogant and superior as any of the gods he consorted with.

"I felt much the same way the first time I saw them," she said, distracted.

"When was that? I did not hear of your ki…of those of Svartalfheim being at court before."

"It was many years ago," she turned to look at him, explaining. "You were but a child then, as was I. I did not formally attend court, I merely accompanied my father to this realm."

"How old were you when you were here last?"

"I was fifteen."

And odd expression filtered over his face as he asked, "And were you…were you scared? Being among such exalted… I mean…"

"Yes. Quite terrified," she said in as kindly a voice as she could muster, for he looked so uncomfortable. He swallowed, suddenly looking ill, and Asrior put a hand on his arm. "What is it?"

"Tis nothing, my lady," he assured her, though it was obvious he was trying to still his nerves.

"Pauulus, tell me what is wrong. We are to be married, so we must be allies as we go on."

His whisper was strangled as he admitted, "I am but fourteen." At the look of shock on her face, he hastily added, "But I'll be fifteen soon. In a few months… You were at court then…"

Horror coursed through her, but she made haste to conceal it. Valtur was glancing at the pair every so often, a look of interest on his face at how their heads were together in conversation. She must be careful not to attract undo attention from him.

"This displeases you?" he asked, trying to look amused, and his voice filled with false bravado. "I can assure you, my father has instructed me most thoroughly on what is to happen in our chambers once we are wed. My age will not be a hindrance there."

Her heart was beating so wildly that she scarcely heard him. It would not do. He was not even a boy, he was a child, and even though she planned to be gone well before any marriage could take place, having him anywhere near Valtur's influence was evil.

Years at her father's side trained her well, though, for she took control of herself and managed to sound sincere when she said, "I am sure we will manage fine." And she squeezed his arm and drew his attention back to the king's table, trying to distract him so she could think.

"Look at how the one of the king's side sits. He has the look of royalty. Is he a king of Midgard?"

"It is said that he is a man of iron," Pauulus confided, watching them as well.

"Iron?" Asrior's heart leapt, and she took a keener interest in the visitor, who was talking with great animation, his hands moving in front of him as he described something to a rapt Thor. "He does not look like he is made of iron to me. Has he iron weapons?"

Pauulus shrugged. "I don't know. My father heard tale of a metal heart."

Apparently, the man spoke with great humor, for the king laughed loudly and clapped him on the shoulders after a moment, and then leaned over to look at the God of Mischief and Lies, who sat on the other side of their guest.

Loki was straight ahead, his chin resting on his fingers, as though he were determinedly ignoring the others at the table. When the man of iron jostled him with an elbow, grinning, a look of such displeasure crossed the god's face that she half expected him to strike out. The Midgardian noticed as well, and laughed openly before taking a deep drink from his goblet.

Then music began playing so that the performance could begin, and the crowd quieted. Asrior, tearing her eyes from the king's table, paid little attention as the acrobats began to move. Her thoughts turned back to the circumstances, and after a quick glance showed both her father and Jerrik whispering something to Lorelei, she took the opportunity to look discreetly around the hall.

Her eyes darted around the crowd, searching until they found the person she looked for. Sif stood at the end of the hall, alone, and Asrior let her eyes rest on her as her mind raced. If the warrior noticed her sister's gaze, she did not show it, for she continued to stare ahead at nothing, much as Loki had done.

Judging by the "Oooooohhh," that rose from the crowd, the acrobats did something exciting, and Pauluus was spilling mead as he tried to clap. Taking the goblet from him before she was soaked, Asrior stepped back slightly and tried to marshal her thoughts.

Maybe she could slip away through the crowd and simply walk up to Sif. She'd been trying to find out Kagoq's location since her arrival in Asgard, had eavesdropped from hidden spaces even as she'd stolen coins and jewels and the bits of iron she needed once she left. For one desperate moment, Asrior thought she might simply ask her sister where the dwarf now lived.

She almost laughed at the delusion, given what she'd overheard of Sif's hatred for dark elves and her protective nature regarding Kagoq. Still, Asrior backed up a little more and looked around to see if a path were open in the crowd. But it was packed, the air hot with the crush of bodies, and din of the voices growing loud again despite the performance. Two women to the side were staring at her, their hands covering their mouths as they gossiped, and behind her, someone hissed, "I don't know what Jerrik is thinking, getting so involved with dark elf scum…"

"He's not thinking," another voice tittered, "at least, not with the head on his shoulders."

"Lorelei, I can see, she will bed anyone, but…"

"Asrior."

A hand was on her arm, and she looked up, startled, expecting her father to pull her back toward him.

But it was Jerrik who held her, his other hand reaching upward to her face. It was rough and calloused against her check, and when he bent down to speak, his breath was sour with an overabundance of mead.

"You are flushed, my dear." The hand on her face moved, slowly tracing a path along her skin, and he continued in a low, slippery voice. "And you skin burns. Would you like me to take you somewhere away from the crowd? To cool off?"

"No…" she began, wanting to jerk away from his touch, but she took a sip of the mead instead in hopes of making him move. "I'm actually…"

Someone bumped into her, jostling the hand away from her face, and mead spilled over her armor. Asrior automatically looked down to wipe the excess away, and over her head someone spoke.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Do forgive me. I'm afraid I was so focused on the night's entertainment that I find myself lacking my usual grace."

The amused sound of Loki Laufeyson's voice had her head snapping up, and her hand wiping at the liquid stilled. The god was smiling down at her, though the eyes that gleamed above his knifelike cheekbones were focused on the man in front of them.

"You're quite forgiven, my lord, I'm sure," Jerrik said something, the words pleasant and his tone clearly aggrieved. Asrior turned to look toward the king's table, where the god beside her had been sitting just moments before. The crowd was too thick from this vantage point, and she couldn't see. How had he moved so quickly?

"Loki! How good to see you returned," a woman was saying, pulling Asrior's attention back. Lorelei was there, with her father, and as a hand with red-painted nails slid up Valtur's armored arm, she purred, "My gracious lord of Svaralfheim is celebrating. Have you heard the good news?"

"Good news?" The god's lips eyes glittered as he turned his attention to her. "Pray tell."

Valtur smiled, thought it sounded like a challenge when he answered, "I am joining my house with the House of Jerrik of Asgard. My daughter's betrothal was formalized just today."

Loki's eyes slid to Jerrik, then. "Am I to offer my felicitations? I had heard you were looking to wed now that your wife has been gone these ten years."

Lorelei was still stroking Valtur's arm, but her rich brown eyes were moving from man to man as though she were watching a highly enjoyable sporting event.

"You may offer such, but do so to my son." Jerrik was pulling a nervous Pauulus forward. "It is he who is to wed tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

Both Asrior and Loki spoke the word in unison, though no one noticed the shocked rasp torn from her throat over the sound of his louder question. His silken voice had sharpened as he spoke, and when he looked over at Valtur, it was obvious his interest was deeper than social niceness.

"Though things may differ in Svartalfheim, betrothals on Asgard usually last for much longer than a day." The god looked from Valtur to Jerrick, probing. "Is there a reason for haste?"

Her father answered, a smile playing over his face at Loki's puzzlement. "I have been too long from my realm and my land, and my attention is needed there, a circumstance you are probably familiar with these days. Jerrik and his son were agreeable as the schedule fit their own needs."

The people around them were chattering, their voices rising as they openly speculated about the scene playing out. Asrior felt dizzy at the suddenness of the pronouncement, and thoughts battled in her mind at the news. She had thought to have more time. She still needed to find out Kagoq's location, and she wasn't sure if the money she had hidden would be enough to live on once she escaped. And the precious pieces of iron…

"I thought you acted as emissary from your realm," Loki was saying, watching the dark elf closely.

"The Queen Alflyse will send another," Valtur said, smirking. "I do not plan on returning to Asgard."

Asrior looked desperately around her, searching for help that she knew was not there. Sif had disappeared, and the Asgardians around her looked amused, as though these events were part of the night's fun. Her father and the god he challenged were too busy with the other to notice her, as it was when Kagoq's scars were discovered; and for the briefest of moments, she considered tearing the armor from her body and ripping the underdress open so that she could show her scars and hope someone would see and understand, and she could beg them to protect her and to please not let the child she was to marry be laid ruin by Valtur as well.

But her father would stop her before the first piece of armor hit the floor.

Suppressing the hysteria rising in her, she thought that there was a chance she could sneak out before her father woke in the morning, and if she made it to the library… She just needed a map, too, and she could find a place of iron hills to think her next move.

"We leave at first light," Valtur was saying, and it was clear he was done toying with Loki. "It may be a while before we meet again, if ever…my old friend. So I bid you farewell." He turned then, and commanded, "Asrior, come with me. It grows late, and you must be rested for tomorrow."

Her heart in her throat, she made her decision.

"No."

If she weren't so terrified, Asrior probably would have laughed at the suddenness in which the nattering crowd went silent.

"I'm sorry…what was that? Daughter?"

Valtur's eyes were slits, and the goddess Lorelei's mouth had dropped open.

"She is simply enjoying the festivities and does not wish to leave," Jerrik said hastily, as through smoothing things over, and she felt his hand on her arm again.

Jerking it away, Asrior took a long drink of the mead still held in her hands, trying to still the nerves that threatened to undo her. She had spoken with little thought beyond delaying a return to Svartalfheim, and though she would pay dearly for it, it had to be done.

"I meant that I will not marry your son tomorrow. The festivities do not concern me one way or the other."

Though her eyes were defiant, her voice was calm, belying the racing of her heart.

"What is the meaning of this?" Her father was in front of her, his voice low and filled with warning. "You act unlike yourself, Asrior."

She took another gulp of the mead before answering. "I had thought the betrothal would be of longer duration, seeing Pauulus is yet a child. I will not marry a boy of fourteen."

As quickly as it had fallen silent, the crowd noise rose again.

Beside her, Jerrik growled something at her father, who in turn moved to take her by the shoulders. She jerked back from him, ignored whatever words he was hissing, and looked around.

"Where can I get another?" she asked, indicating her now empty goblet, and when her father's hand fell upon her again, she glared up at him, snapping, "What? You dare try to wed me to a child?" She looked at Pauulus, who stood nearby with such a look of shock on his face that it was almost comical, and when she spoke, her voice dripped with contempt. "Will I be expected to tuck him in on our wedding night? Read him a bedtime story? Will he even know what to do, or shall I have to draw pictures for him?" Someone laughed shrilly, and Asrior sniffed, as though bored. "I assure you, I will find him most inadequate as a husband."

"She goes too far, Valtur!" Jerrik snarled, and he hit a fist into his other palm. "I think we can consider our agreement void if you cannot control…"

"What is the meaning of this? What goes on here?"

The crowd parted as the king approached and the voices fell once again.

"Nothing, my lord," Valtur was saying, bowing low. "My daughter partook of too much mead. It is my fault for failing to keep an eye on her."

Asrior barely noticed Thor's approach such was her fear, and when father tore the goblet from her fingers, she did not protest.

"If you will please excuse us, my most gracious king. And accept my apologies, Jerrik. I shall be with you in haste to make amends." His voice turned from oily to grim when he addressed her. "Come with me, Asrior."

His hand was on her shoulder, pulling her away quickly from the crowd. He did not speak after that, and she stayed silent as well, choosing to brace herself for what was to come rather than protest any more. She was treading a fine line, and she needed to ensure she did not push her father too far.

The crowd parted, and Asrior vaguely noticed Lorelei standing to the side with Loki, who bore a look of intense calculation on his face as he slid the side of a finger along his lips. But they did not matter, for their thoughts were on their own interests, and Asrior had to think of her next moves.

She knew the reckoning would be worse than she had had before in Asgard, such was her transgressions, and as they made their way to the chambers in an outbuilding of the palace, she steeled her heart. It had to be done, she repeated to herself. She had to endure it, not just tonight, but the day after. It was the only way.

Be brave.

When they reached their chambers, Valtur pushed her into her room, only then removing his hand from her, and when he did so, he growled for her to take off her armor.

Her hands shaking, she did as she was bid. To defy him now would bring about worse punishment, and too much of the whip would made movement tomorrow impossible. So she dropped each piece onto the ground, one by one, turning when she was done so that her back was to him.

"Put your hands up on the bedpost."

Again, she did as she was told, raising her arms above her head and resting her wrists on the wood, standing still, waiting for the feel of the leather binding her to the post. And when he began to wrap the leather cord around her wrists, he chanted a brief spell, making sure that she would be unable to loosen the knot. His final act as he stepped back was to rip the silk of her dress, exposing her back to him.

Asrior did not make a sound beyond a gasp when the whip hit, though her weak leg would not stop shaking, even when it was over. She bit her lips until they bled, and fell against the post, breathing heavily. But she did not cry out through any of the three strikes against her flesh. And when he was finished, she heard him leave, heard the click of the lock on the door even through the haze of pain she had taught herself to withstand these past years.

She leaned against the post for what felt like an eternity, her mind delving deeply into the memories she hid and used when she needed comfort—a song her mother would sing during the midwinter holiday. The misshapen doll Birgitta had sewn as a surprise, the red yard that made up its hair near the color of hers. Kagoq patiently holding her hand after a bad dream and telling her a ridiculous story about a troll who kept trying, with little success, to woo a light elf of Alfheim.

Then she imagined the future, where she would live without fear or pain. There would be a house where roses twined with ivy on the walls, and a bounty of flowers and fruit would grow beneath cloudless blue skies. Warm lights would shine within the house as the sun sank into stars, and she would keep animals and make a pond for fish and buy as many books as she wanted. And Kagoq would live there, and they would be able to spend their days as they wished. They would live in peace with their neighbors. They would be safe. They would be free.

At some point, she heard her father return to the main room, this time with company; a woman—Lorelei, most like—and the pair did little to disguise the sound of their eventual rutting. More time passed before the woman finally went away, but when she did, her father unlocked Asrior's door, surprising her, for he usually left her standing in pain for longer.

But he had no intention of letting her loose.

When Valtur entered her room, she heard him moving and then the sound of a small creak and then he was rummaging through something; Asrior's heart moved to her throat even before he threw something to the bed and she heard the jangle of coin hit upon the bed sheets.

"You thought you could hide that from me?" He asked, sounding amused, and he sat on the mattress beside the little bag of money she had scrapped together. "Did you think to use this to run away? To escape if I choose a husband not to your liking?"

It was hard to focus on him, such was her pain, but she tried to look him in the eyes, unwilling to cower even though speech was impossible.

He laughed softly, continuing, "Whatever your plans, daughter, they do not matter. I have managed to reach another agreement with Jerrik, no thanks to your insults. You know, he thought to wed you himself when he first approached me, but I insisted upon the son; it would have been nice to have such insurance with us on Svartalheim." He stood again, taking the bag with him. "Thanks to your unbridled tongue, I have had to sweeten his monetary prize, and offer you as well. So you will wed Jerrik in a few days' time, not the boy, as soon as the contract can be amended. And he will not need pictures on your wedding night if you are so concerned."

Bile rose again, but Asrior pushed it back, instead squeezing her eyes shut.

Valtur was moving back toward the door, shaking her little bag of coins. "I almost forgot…Jerrik has agreed to send you back to me as soon as he tires of you. You see, he only really needs my money. He has no real need for a wife or more sons, he simply desires to bed you. And as he was most aggrieved at the embarrassment you caused him by so publicly revealing his deception, I suggest that you gird yourself for the event. He will not be gentle."

And she heard the knob of the door twist and the heavy wood lurch open, and then a pause before her father mused, "Remember Asrior, you will always, in the end, belong to me."

She did not make a sound until the door closed and the lock clicked. It was only when she heard him leave the outer chamber that she began hissing softly through her teeth, giving in a little to the knifelike sting coursing down her back.

She could endure it, she told herself, for the reward would be worth the pain; and she replayed a mantra in her mind:

Be strong. Be strong. Be strong.

Be brave.

Enduring was the only way, for the time for planning was over. The time to act had begun.