Chapter Six
The next morning Klara returned to the dungeons with a new tray, only to stop dead in her tracks just a few feet from the stairwell. There, in full Einherjar regalia, glaring from under his gleaming helm, was Andvari.
She had been expecting this. Now that she was ordered to visit the prisons at least three times a day it was inevitable. But she had not expected it quite so soon. She swallowed and straightened herself, approaching the dungeon door with as much poise as she could muster. Andvari watched her approach with a cold, steely gaze, and for a moment they just stood, staring at one another in the deserted hallway, the early morning quiet ticking away from them. Finally, Andvari's eyes flicked down to her burden and his expression turned something just short of livid.
"So," he said, in a cold, clipped tone that did not match his face, "Now you bring his meals to him."
Klara tried not to flinch, but she wasn't sure she succeeded. It was difficult to tell if she was flinching or trembling.
"I..." she began, but her voice came out as only a small squeak. She swallowed and tried again, "The lady Frigga has ordered..."
Andvari's hand shot into the air, silencing her.
"Do not," he bit out, his fury finally seeping into his tone, "Throw the burden of this onto your duty. Are you a slave to the queen, that you have no say in your tasks? In what is acceptable?"
Klara did flinch then, unable to help herself against the fury of his words, soft though they were.
"Do you not see how this must look to others?" he hissed, leaning toward her. She dared not lean away, "Do you not know how the whispers already spread about you, growing like vines? Soon they will be long enough to..."
He cut himself off and leaned back, his eyes once more steely gray.
"You will return to the Lady Frigga and demand reassignment. Today."
Klara felt a little jolt of panic, but she tamped it down hurriedly. She only nodded, her eyes cast down. Trying not to allow her voice to tremble, she spoke meekly.
"I am still ordered to deliver the tray..."
She could feel Andvari's anger, like a hot wind against her skin. She barely resisted shrinking back from it. After a tense moment, he nodded once, and threw his hand in a sharp motion toward the lock. It clicked and the door swung open in a much calmer manner than the gesture had suggested.
"Go," he said curtly, "But remember what I said."
Klara nodded again and hurried away, the tray in her hands rattling slightly with every step she took down the slick stone steps. More than once she feared she might slip, but she managed to make it safely to the corridor floor, hurrying toward the gleaming white prison cell, her mind racing even faster than her feet. What was she to do? She could not abandon her mistress, not when this was so clearly important to her. But she could hear Elli's words echoing back to her:
...and just when I thought Andvari might...
Might... what? Klara thought she knew. But if she continued down this path, a path filled with harsh words and impatient glowers, she knew that nothing would ever come of it, of any of it, of Elli's hopes for her, of her hopes for herself. When had she so thoroughly lost sight of all she had wanted? Those things seemed so dull now, like a dream she had woken from, fading away and ridiculous in its lunacy. How could she have ever hoped that someone, anyone might... well, anything with her? Even her position with the queen could not hide the fact that she was... different from other Asgardians. Her embarrassing condition was constant proof of that. She had tried to compensate, in obedience, in her work, in her every waking moment she endeavored to be more than what she had been born to. But always it lingered, everywhere, in the kitchens, in the libraries, even in the rooms where she served, constant reminders that she was different from the others. If only she knew why...
She had reached Loki's cell almost without realizing it. He was watching her from the center of the room, back straight, hands clasped behind him, a small smirk on his lips. For a moment, Klara could only stare at him, lost for words in the maelstrom of emotion swirling inside her head. Loki quirked his head to the side, his brow slightly furrowed.
"Why Mistress Klara," he said, in a tone of faux concern, "You seem troubled this morning."
And then she remembered where she was. Her emotional barriers came screaming up around her, and she straightened with an intensity that almost made her spine snap into place.
"No, my lord," she replied haughtily, lifting her chin, "I'm afraid you are mistaken. If you would please step back."
Loki grinned and Klara realized with a jolt that he seemed in much better spirits this morning than he had the night before. He stepped back and allowed the biolocks to lock him into place.
"I do hope you've brought lefse," he said with a mockingly conversational tone, his head leaned back on the wall, his eyes closed, "If we're taking a stroll down memory lane that would be a favorite."
Klara hesitated, tempted to speak, but thought better of it and instead entered the cell silently, leaving the tray in the same spot as the night before. She removed the cover and a warm, sweet smell filled the cell.
"Ah," Loki sighed, sounding nearly content except for an edge of smugness, "Honey porridge. Well, I suppose that would do as well."
Klara said nothing, turning to collect last night's tray from where it had been left beside the settee. It was empty, the toast gone, the bowl wiped clean. She allowed herself a small, pleased smile, but then quickly wiped it away. She should not be pleased. She should not be anything. She should not feel... She slammed the lid back over the empty tray and turned on her heel, barely restraining from slamming her hand against the golden barrier. She hated it. She hated the magic that so thoroughly vexed and frustrated her daily existence. She hated Loki and his appearance that she could not help but pity. She hated the life that she lived, always striving to be better and always falling short. She hated that she did not know herself, could never know herself because her parents had the indecency to leave her on someone's doorstep as a squalling infant, to be raised by strangers in a world that did not belong to her.
The barrier snapped shut behind her and the tone sounded as she released the biolocks, but Klara did not turn to face the cell. She remained where she was, trying to relax her shoulders, to steady her breathing, to school her features before she faced the prince's sharp gaze again. She had to be careful. She had to remember who she was speaking to.
Traitor...
Usurper...
Prince...
Son...
Her breathing calmed and her heart stopped pounding. She took one more steadying breath through her nose before she turned.
Loki had not moved. He was watching her, his gaze sharp and inquisitive, the tray on his desk clearly forgotten.
"Something is troubling you, isn't it?" he said, no hint of a smirk on his face now, "But you won't tell me, of course you wouldn't. Still, I wonder..."
He slipped off the back wall and edged a little closer, his feet gliding over the smooth white floor of the cell, his eyes fixed on her. Klara did not back away. She stood her ground and met his eyes and willed her face to show nothing, to give no clue...
"What troubles you, Lord Loki?"
He jerked back, staring, and Klara stared back, her mouth still a little agape from the shock of the words that had just left it. She quickly closed it up again, but for a moment they only stared at one another. Then, before Loki could speak again, Klara thought of Andvari, waiting outside, likely checking the time, making certain she didn't linger. She dropped a short curtsy as more words fell tumbling from her mouth in a heap between them.
"I... I will inform Lady Frigga of the lefse, good day my lord."
She spun and fled the dungeon, her feet flying over the flag stones, her head in more of a rush than it had been when she'd entered. She could not linger, she could not stay to hear his answer, to hear any answer to any question she might ask him, if she dared...
...an Abjurate...
She fled up the stairs, and almost forgot the tray in her hand until Andvari grabbed her arm as she rushed past, nearly dislodging it from her grip.
"Remember what I said, Klara."
Before she remembered herself, Klara shot him a glare, much like she reserved for Loki. Andvari jerked back, his face a mask of startled fury. His grip on her arm tightened until it pinched and brought her back, reminded her that she was not this person outside the dungeons. She was meek, she was soft, she was obedient. She dropped her eyes and relaxed her tense muscles. Andvari's grip on her arm relaxed too, until finally he let her go.
"This has not been good for you, Klara," he said, his voice now kind, concerned, "I worry about you, about what this continued influence might do to you. I only want you to be safe. You know that."
Klara sighed and felt even more of the anxiety and anger drain from her.
"I know," she murmured, "I know you do. I will do my best, Andvari."
"I know you will."
He took her chin in his hand and lifted her eyes to his. They were soft now, like gray velvet and his smile was gentle.
"Tell me what she says," he said, "When you make your request. Tell me what she says and we will work together to free you of this. I promise."
Klara nodded and managed a small smile, but inside her stomach had clenched into several painful knots. Andvari released her and she dropped her eyes again, slipping away into the quiet morning, beneath the silent pillars, back toward the kitchens to return the empty tray.
"You have encountered opposition."
Klara swallowed hard, but did not answer. Her gaze remained firmly fixed on a point just above the All-Mother's head. The queen sat at her desk, hands folded, staring determinedly at Klara, eyes narrowed, as if she might be able to see right through her if she only concentrated.
"Someone you know," the queen said slowly, "Someone whose opinion you value. Possibly someone you care about."
Klara stiffened, but still did not speak. Lady Frigga did not make it a habit to inquire into the personal affairs of her servants. She did not know Andvari, except as a palace guard. Finally, after several moments, Lady Frigga sighed and rubbed her forehead.
"Yes," she said, sounding tired, "I suppose it was only a matter of time, I had hoped we would have more... but we must go on, I suppose."
She sounded resignedly resolved and Klara felt her heart start to sink. She had hoped... what, exactly? She did not even know. Some sort of resistance? A bit of a fight? Some way to postpone, to hold back, to prevent...
"I am naming you the head of my household and my personal lady-in-waiting."
Klara jerked and stared down at the All-Mother, straight into her clever blue eyes, all thought of decorum and obedience vanished and be damned.
"What?" she blurted out, dazed.
Lady Frigga's expression was sly and quite pleased.
"Let the naysayers say what they like now," she said, "You've more than earned the position. And under my direct and all-encompassing command, any order I give you cannot be questioned. You can hardly decline the position..." She leveled a playful mischievous grin at Klara, "...though you may try, if you wish."
She paused. Klara gaped for a moment, completely abashed. She was being offered the highest ranking position in the queen's household, a place reserved only for her most trusted subjects. It was often a place given over to lesser nobility. Not to foundling servant girls. Some small part of her knew the gossip-mongers at court would be beside themselves for weeks, perhaps months, at this strange turn of events, but that was certainly the least of her worries. Fulla would be nigh impossible to deal with now, but again, Fulla was relatively low on her list of concerns. Elli would be suspicious, but she was unlikely to question the appointment too closely, for fear of bringing anything to light about Klara that might be considered unfavorable and therefore depriving her of the security Elli had so long worked to ensure. But Andvari... It would never work. He might be pacified for a time, perhaps using her new-found position to secure a better position for himself, but eventually... Or... Or perhaps...
Klara met the queen's eyes again, this time with purpose rather than flabbergasted awe.
"I accept the position, All-Mother, and gladly," she said, and Lady Frigga smiled, "However..."
Klara hesitated, suddenly unsure. She had no doubt that her request would be granted. It would be no trouble at all for the queen. But something within her, some tiny voice, whispered that if she took this path she could never return to the life she had led before, to those dreams that were fading further and further into the distance of her mind, being steadily replaced by gleaming white walls and glimmering golden light.
The queen's smile turned inquisitive.
"What is it, dear?" Lady Frigga asked, "What troubles you?"
Something inside of Klara shifted. Something in the words, in the way they were spoken... spoken by a different voice, but with the same hint of concern coloring the tone.
Something is troubling you, isn't it?
Her arm twinged where Andvari had grabbed it and she resisted the urge to tug at her sleeve. And then she decided. She could not go back.
"I have one request to make, my lady, if I may?"
Lady Frigga nodded, and the deed was done.
When Klara met Andvari for the noonday meal, she told him the wonderful news, of how pleased the Lady Frigga had been with her service, so pleased, in fact, that she had been offered a new and more prominent position in her court, the head of her household, a lady-in-waiting. And just as his eyes had begun to narrow, just as she sensed he was on the verge of asking what these new duties might entail, she gave him the best news of all: a roll of shiny parchment, embossed with his name in a script that glimmered with brilliant colors the moment it left her hand. His new commission. He was now under Lord Thor's command.
And his battalion left for Nidavellir in the morning.
Andvari was so anxious to report to his new commander, so filled with thoughts of battle and glory, that he barely spared another thought for the frivolous duties of a simpering lady-in-waiting. Klara watched him leave the great dining hall with something verging on nervous anticipation. It would not be the last time she would see him. There would be revelry at the tavern tonight, all of his friends celebrating his good fortune, and of course she would see him off in the morning, watch him ride across the Rainbow Bridge toward the gleaming new Observatory, watch with jealous awe as the Bifrost opened for him, carrying him to faraway lands she could never hope to see, to save a people she could never hope to know, from creatures she knew she would never encounter.
But for now, she was alone. Alone with her thoughts, alone with her kind betrayal of a man whose only sin had been trying to protect her from the monster that lurked beneath their feet.
Quietly, she cleared away their lunch things and made her way down to the kitchens to fetch Lord Loki's lunch tray.
"So," Loki said, from his place locked against the far wall of his cell, "What have you brought me now? It is not a stuffed boar, or it is a very small one."
Klara's jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed but she did not rise to the prince's taunt. She only pressed her hand to the barrier and watched it flash out of existence, never taking her gaze from him. His eyes flashed with the barrier and some sort of gleeful delight curled his lips, but he quickly quelled it. She stepped over the threshold and his eyes never left her, even as the barrier snapped back into place. He followed her with an almost unnerving intensity as she placed the tray carefully on the desk and lifted the lid to reveal a steaming bowl of vegetable soup and a hunk of bread. His nose lifted to the air and he sniffed.
"Ah," he said, his smirk widening, "We have moved on to one of Mother's favorites. She always was trying to get me to eat more greens."
Klara did not answer, though she bristled with indignation at the flippant and callous tone with which he referred to his mother. She was sure his sharp eyes could not miss the signs of her displeasure each time he spoke this way, and yet he persisted, almost certainly hoping to provoke her. So she ignored him, and instead moved to collect the morning tray. It was not empty as the last one had been, half the porridge remaining, but it was obvious an effort had been made. And he was clearly feeling well enough to make quips. That was enough for now.
She turned and exited the cell, the dull tone echoing against stone as Loki was released from the biolocks and approached the tray, leaning over it with a sniff. Klara straightened and clasped her hands more firmly on the empty tray.
"If there is nothing else, my lord..."
"I do not sleep."
Klara's mouth snapped shut. Loki wasn't looking at her, still making a show of inspecting his lunch, but his fingers were tapping anxiously on his clenched fist behind his back. When she did not answer his brow creased in a small expression of frustration and he whirled away, pacing the length of the cell swiftly back and forth, his eyes roving everywhere but still not meeting hers.
"You asked what was troubling me," he said shortly, "I do not sleep. The food is adequate, the drink enough, the books fine diversions," He waved a hand carelessly in the direction of the untidy pile still heaped in the corner, his pacing growing quicker, almost frantic, encompassing every inch of his cell, "But I do not sleep. Ever since I have come here I can find no rest within these accursed walls!"
He slammed his fist into the golden barrier with such force that Klara jumped. The crisscrossed light sizzled and then flashed, tossing his hand back at him, throwing his thin frame back a step into the room. He glared at the barrier as if it had assaulted him, and not the other way around. Klara stood silently where she was, the tray in her hands nearly forgotten. He closed his eyes and took a breath through his nose, relaxing his fists and clasping his hands behind him once more.
"So," he said, no trace of the frustrated anger in his voice any longer, "Now you know."
Klara hesitated, tightening her grip on the empty tray.
"I... can ask for a requisition for a more suitable bedding arrangement, if you think..."
He snorted and turned away, his fingers once again tapping an agitated rhythm against his hands.
"And what?" he asked, "You will return with a rug next? I asked for a bed, you gave me this."
He waved his hand at the crimson settee.
"Granted, better than the boulder I was provided with, but still I..."
He paused, drew up short, swayed momentarily on his feet again. Klara resisted the urge to step forward.
"My lord?"
He turned his head back to her, just so his profile was visible.
"Go," he said, "Leave me. I would be alone for a little while."
Klara dropped a slow curtsy, not certain that this was the correct action, but knowing there was nothing else to be done. She took her leave of him, but the words he had spoken echoed in her mind, repeating with the cadence of her steps on the stone.
I do not sleep...