Chapter 6

Revelation

Sigyn waited until she heard the Allfather and Thor fade from the hold to move forward. Already, Loki seemed to have disregarded her. He fell back, sitting shakily. Sigyn couldn't help but notice that an unsteady hand went to his throat, as if assessing its condition.

She walked to him, and he then tossed a glance full of malice up at her, which caused her to pause.

"Why are you here, woman?" he asked sharply. Sigyn was not used to the informal and insulting address, but hadn't expected any higher from him.

She knelt before him, and he narrowed his eyes questioningly. "The… the words I spoke to Thor were true."

"So you pity me, then?" he said bitterly, his hand still on his neck. Sigyn had seen similar actions from men assessing the damage of battle wounds.

She was silent for a long time, watching him. His limbs twitched at random intervals, and his hands jerked to them, assessing damage in the same manner he had on his neck.

"I know desperation when I see it, Prince," she said, using the safest title she knew.

The anger that flashed across his features was staggering, but she knew it. It wasn't anger directed at her specifically; it was cast at her knowledge. He was apprehensive that she had figured something out. Now she just had to figure out what it was.

A thought crossed her as she watched him shudder. She moved to sit next to him, which seemed to confuse him, but he did not pull away. She pulled the drape from over her shoulders and wrapped it about him. She knew his shudders were not from cold, but perhaps the confining safety of it would help.

He was obviously trying not to show any outward reactions, but she saw a slight relaxation as he stared forward at the turned back of Heimdall. He did not thank her, but she hadn't expected him to. She let him sit for a moment before making her move.

She knew she would have to be fast, but quick movements would threaten him. So she shrouded her moving hand as a comforting one to his shoulder. It was obvious he didn't like it, but allowed it. She felt pre-dawning guilt over her next move.

Her fingers snapped to the collar of his shirt, pulling the lapel down from his neck. She saw the tiny bruised pin-prick mark just before he reacted.

He snarled as, in one fluid movement, he tossed the drape off of his shoulders and spun his arm over her head to wrap the chain around her throat. She yelped as he pulled her back against his chest, yanking the chain tight around her throat.

Within seconds, Heimdall was inside the cell, his great sword raised to Loki's face, which jutted from behind Sigyn's right shoulder.

"Release her," he demanded.

Loki made no moves, but she felt his lips moving her hair as he leaned in next to her neck.

"Do not… touch me… again," he hissed, the chains tightening.

She held up her hands in surrender to quell Heimdall, and nodded to Loki as best she could. "My apologies."

He held her for a while longer, his hands shaking on the chains as if he was having trouble deciding whether to release her or strangle her.

"Release her!" Heimdall demanded again, shoving the tip of his blade closer to Loki's face.

Loki sighed, shoving his hand forward and unraveling the chain from her neck. Sigyn flexed her shoulders, but did not gasp. She had a feeling weakness would not be taken kindly by Loki.

"I'm alright, Heimdall," she said, rubbing her neck and realizing it was the same move Loki had made. "My mistake."

Heimdall didn't seem the least bit convinced, but lowered his weapon regardless. "Milady is mad to think this a good idea," he finished, stepping from the cell. "Are you sure you wish to stay?"

"I am," she said, and she heard a disapproving noise from Loki.

Heimdall closed the door, but this time decided to face them as he stood guard. Sigyn nodded to Heimdall in appreciation, and turned to face Loki.

She was surprised to find him on the ground again, his body looking weary and tired. His face shown the same emotions. His hands had gone to the neck of his shirt and pulled it higher—a purely self-conscious move.

"It's a scar, isn't it?" she asked boldly, deciding to remain standing if her questions angered him.

He ignored her, and wrapped his arms around himself like a child. "Your other injuries have healed, but that one hasn't."

He was rocking, obviously uncomfortable with her questions. But she was determined to get to the bottom of his terrors.

"Anything powerful enough to scar you would have to be excruciating," she continued.

He tossed her a warning glance.

"There are more like it, are there not?"

"Hold your tongue!" he snarled, pushing away from her and continuing to hold himself. His eyes were distanced, as if thinking of something far-off… a memory… a pain.

She knelt before him, and he was at the limit of the chains; he could not back away any more.

"They tortured you," she said.

He swallowed harshly, averting his eyes. But the prodding seemed to be working. He was cracking. He would either admit to her, or strike again. And she wouldn't be so lucky a second time. She just had to trust that he wouldn't.

"They threatened to do it again," she said, and his head jerked, as if he was pulling away from someone unseen.

"Shut up," he snarled, his hands going over his ears to drown her out.

"That's why you fear exile," she concluded.

He snapped. He dropped his hands to the ground forcefully, the chains clanking. "I fear nothing, you miserable wretch!" He pivoted on the spot to avoid her and curled in on himself. "Leave me!"

And so, she finally knew.