Chapter Nine - Orphaned
This must be how my father felt in his last moments, thought Sigyn. Ice crackling over skin and veins. Searing cold, then numbness. Her lips could barely form the question.
"Why?"
Loki rose slowly to his feet, watching her. "It was not by design."
"Tell me," she said. "You may as well. We both know you will not let me live to betray you."
Loki turned away. He gazed into the distance, but not absently; there was a keen purpose in his eyes that made her think of Heimdall.
"I went to Svartalfheim," he said, "knowing I would likely die. I felt my life drain away in my brother's arms, and I knew the peace of absolution."
"But that was not the end."
He shook his head, gaze still far away. "Something brought me back - magic, the hand of fate, stubbornness - and I found myself alone, discarded like rubbish on a blighted heath, I knew not why. I only knew that redemption's grace had been stolen from me. I could not be certain of welcome in Asgard. I had seen, after Thor's banishment, how quickly my people assume that each cruel twist of fate is my design."
"And so you decided to prove them right?"
"I only wanted to know. To see if my death was mourned, my sins forgiven - or if Father was relieved to have his most grievous error wiped out at last. I returned in the guise of a soldier, and reported my death to the king." Loki stopped, white-knuckled, a muscle in his jaw working. "He saw through my illusion. It was not my death that broke him, but my cruelty. That I should willfully add to his burden of grief when his wife's ashes were yet warm."
"He died of a broken heart."
Loki nodded, his expression relaxing. "Now do you see? I - born a monster - tried foolishly to die a hero." He smiled. "But fate intervened to remind me of my role. I did not murder my father, but Asgard yearns, no, needs to believe such things of me. And what I did is near enough to murder that a good man would bow his head and accept the sentence. I, it seems, am not a good man."
"Where is the king's body?"
"I disguised it as a guard's and had it moved to a stasis chamber, claiming that the guard's wife had been delayed. Then I cloaked it from sight."
"Are you certain he is truly dead?"
"Sentiment tempts me to deny it. Flies, however, lack sentiment, and crawl the corpses of gods and rats alike." His eyes took on such a sudden emptiness that Sigyn reflexively stepped toward him, but he moved away. "Keep your place," he said in a dangerous tone. His hands twitched, then relaxed. "You have what you asked for. The final moments of Odin All-father."
"And are these to be mine?"
Loki let out a dry laugh, and a small blade shimmered to life in his hand. "What a pity I am so young and hale," he said, studying it. "Would that my heart were feeble enough to drop me where I stand. Alas. Stubbornly it beats on, in pieces."
Sigyn frowned. "I do not believe my loss would break your heart."
"No," he said, smiling. "You are nothing to me. But I cannot bear to kill the man you love. There is but one realm where he exists, and I must run a blade through it."
Tears rushed to Sigyn's eyes. "If you let me live," she said, "I swear on my life, one day you will see that man in the glass."
Loki searched her face. "You do not deny that you love me."
"It is true." The secret had taken root in her like ivy; now that it was torn away, her heart crumbled.
The blade in his hand vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. "Then I have nothing to fear from you," he said, turning away. "A lover does not willingly bring ruin upon her beloved."
She does if she loves a mad dog, she thought, but did not say. "Then you will let me live?"
"Do you want to live?" he asked, approaching her.
She lifted her chin to meet his eyes. "Of course."
"Enough to kneel before me?" he said, running the edge of his thumb down her jawline. "Enough to beg?"
Sigyn gritted her teeth and turned her head away. "If my bended knee is truly all that will buy your mercy, then you have my permission to kill me."
For a flicker of a moment Loki looked so lost that something stirred in the rubble of Sigyn's heart. But then his eyes burned with rage. "Remember," he said, "that this could have ended simply." He turned away and strode toward the lift without a backward glance.
After that veiled threat, the sunroom was the last place Sigyn wanted to be. But she was one of two people who knew that a murderer was on the loose, and the other was a raving madman.
By the time she returned, the morning performances were over, and some of the women had stepped out to see their families. Dagny and Jora were absent; Berit and Aesa lingered to socialize. There was a somber mood in the room, and the subdued conversations yielded nothing.
When Dagny returned, still dressed in her bridal finery, a hush fell. Everyone turned to look at her with expressions ranging from reverent to accusing. As she passed, the crowd parted like water. She hardly seemed to notice.
"Your Highness," she said as she hurried to the prince. "I'm so sorry!"
Loki eased back a half-step, wary-eyed. "For what, my lady?"
Dagny blushed and unfolded her ever-present fan, giving it a nervous flutter toward her face. Sigyn couldn't help but admire the picture they made, her lacy whiteness, the rich black of his hair and coat.
"My song distressed you," she said. "I don't know what you heard; I never do. That's the weakness of my gift."
"I know what it is to be burdened with an awkward birthright," he said. "You have elven blood?"
"On my mother's side," she said, blushing more deeply and fanning herself. "Not dark elf, though," she added hastily. "The other kind."
Loki gave her a tepid smile. "I am not offended."
"Oh good," she said, fanning herself even more energetically. "Falki's been asking for you, and I didn't know what to tell him-"
Loki moved in urgently as though to whisper to her. But the moment he took her arm he stopped. He turned it over in his hand and looked down at it with an expression of horror.
"You're warm," he said.
Dagny giggled nervously, fanning her flushed cheeks.
Loki dropped her arm and turned to the nearest servant. "Fetch the healers," he said. "NOW." The servant bolted.
Dagny shrank slightly at Loki's tone, but then she hesitated. "Yes... I do feel a bit..." She looked up at him, her face pinched with terror. "You don't think- no!" She panicked, suddenly dropping her fan and hyperventilating.
One of Aesa's friends was backing toward the door now, dragging Aesa with her. Most of the other women were heading for the exit as well, displaying varying shades of panic. A few, Berit included, stood staring like poleaxed cows.
"It's all right," said Loki. He helped Dagny to a nearby sofa. "Try to relax."
"I can't!" Her eyes brimmed with tears.
"Breathe."
"I'm trying," she said with a little sob. "I'll try." She took in a slow deep breath, then cringed. "I can't! It hurts!"
"What hurts?" said Loki. "Where?"
Dagny screamed in pain. The horrible high gurgling sound was echoed by the shrieks of the remaining women, who fled in short order as blood bubbled from Dagny's mouth to splatter on the white lace of her dress.
Dagny's frail body was wracked with wet, choking coughs; Loki seized her by the arms as though he could somehow hold her together. Red sprayed his face, splattered his coat, streamed down Dagny's chin to pool in her lap. She convulsed against the grip of his hands; her face went gray, then blue. Her coughs faded into labored gurgles, then stilled altogether as she gave in and drowned, going limp in Loki's arms.
For a moment the prince sat motionless, looking down at the body, his face mottled with blood. Then he bared his teeth, drew in a deep ragged breath, and roared with an animal rage that raised the hairs on Sigyn's arms.
She turned and fled.
"It's not your fault," Katla said, giving her a gentle shake. "Stop saying that." They sat huddled together in their shared sleeping quarters, where Sigyn had stumbled for refuge. Katla, caught in the midst of washing breakfast dishes, had taken one look at Sigyn's face and followed her.
"It has to be Berit," Sigyn mused. It had taken nearly an hour, but she'd finally told Katla everything short of the All-father's death. "Jora wasn't even there. Unless - she could have done something to Dagny before she entered-"
Before Katla could reply, Valda burst into the room.
"There you are!" she said. "Gunnar's outside; he says the prince wants to see you immediately! At the guest quarters. You're to put on your formal uniform."
Sigyn and Katla exchanged a wide-eyed look of dismay. "Don't go," Katla begged her.
Sigyn laid a comforting hand on her friend's freckled arm. "He can't harm me; the guest quarters are filled with people."
Katla frowned. "All right, but if you feel even a little bit afraid, promise me you'll run straight for the bridge."
The guest quarters were connected to the palace only by an arched, enclosed footbridge made entirely of Alfheim crystal. Far beneath the bridge ran one of Asgard's busiest avenues, and when there was movement to and from the palace on the bridge, at times the road became clogged with the horses and carriages of gawking citizens.
Crossing over the bridge gave Sigyn a qualm of unease; there seemed to be nothing between her and the avenue below. When she caught sight of Loki waiting for her at the far end, she'd have given a great deal for solid earth beneath her feet. He'd cleaned himself up since the ordeal in the sunroom; he wore a calm expression and a semiformal coat that fell past his knees.
"I am sorry if I frightened you," he said by way of greeting.
"In the sunroom?" Sigyn said. "Or upstairs?"
"Either or both," he said. Despite the apology, there was a stiff formality in his manner.
"Very well. What is your command, Highness?"
"I have an unpleasant task ahead of me. I need you to accompany me and assist if necessary."
Sigyn was beyond bewildered, but Loki's demeanor did not encourage questions, so she simply followed him through the grand arched doors of the guest hall. Inside there was a general air of subdued panic, and the guests scattered at the sight of the prince. If he noticed, he did not respond; he headed directly for a room toward the end of the main hallway, which he entered without knocking.
Inside on a small amber-upholstered sofa sat an elderly woman, clearly blind, and a white-haired old man who looked vaguely familiar. Both had puffy, red-rimmed eyes; suitcases stood packed at their feet. The old man took his wife's arm, and they both rose, then knelt before the prince. Even as it dawned on Sigyn where she was and why, a small boy emerged from behind the couch. Falki.
"Is it time to play birds again?" he said to Loki. "I want to be the raven."
Loki looked down at him. "Not today," he said quietly. "I must speak with your grandparents."
The old man turned his bleak gaze upon the prince; the woman merely continued to stare blindly ahead. "You honor us," the old man said dully.
"Please, rise," said Loki, and they obeyed. "This is my handmaiden Sigyn, a great admirer of your daughter's, who wished to pay her respects." Sigyn curtseyed solemnly. "You have my sincerest condolences on your loss," he continued. "I assure you that every effort is being made to determine the cause of her death."
"Thank you, Your Highness."
Sigyn glanced at the little boy; he had sat down on the floor and was attempting to remove his shoes. His grandfather made a curt, quelling noise at him.
"Is there a way to contact his father?" said Loki.
The old man shook his head. "The boy never knew him. I - dueled him, when - when - it happened, with my daughter. Fate was on my side that day, but has turned on me since." He spared a glance for his blind wife, who found his hand as easily as though she could see. "I do not know how I can care for them both," the old man said, his eyes filling.
Loki hesitated, and flicked a glance to Sigyn. Her cue to assist him.
"Love gives us strength we never knew possible," she said softly.
"I want mama," said Falki, a bit petulantly.
"He doesn't understand," said the old man.
Loki moved to the boy, sinking to one knee. "Falki," he said in a bracing tone. "Listen to me. I lost my mother, not long ago."
Falki looked up at him knowingly. "You have to hold her hand," he said.
Despite himself, Loki's mouth twitched. "Well, yes," he said. "I should have, but I did not. And now she is gone." His mouth twitched again, but this time there was a tremble in it. His eyes closed, and he put a hand over them.
"Don't be sad," said Falki. "You'll find her." He moved to hug Loki unselfconsciously, even as his grandfather winced. Loki passively accepted the child's embrace, his hand still over his eyes.
"Grandpa, why is the king sad?" said Falki, letting go. "Are we saying goodbye?"
"I'm afraid so," said his grandfather, rough-voiced. He began to pick up their bags, handing a small one to his wife.
Loki drew his hand away, seeming to have found control, though his eyes were bright with tears. "You are welcome back any time," he said to Falki in a slightly unsteady voice. "We'll play again." Loki stood, then, and addressed the grandfather. "I will see that a sum is sent to you regularly; he will have whatever he needs. He may come here for training as often as you are able to travel."
"Thank you, Your Highness," said the old man. He and his wife both bowed again to the prince, and then the old man barked for Falki to follow him. Sullenly, the boy obeyed, leaving Sigyn and Loki alone in the room. The door drifted slowly shut behind them.
Loki sat down heavily on the couch, staring vacantly at the door. Sigyn hesitated, then sat down beside him, leaving enough space for a third person between them. "Your Highness," she said gently. "Do you need-"
Loki's inner support structure seemed to collapse; he listed toward her, then fell upon her and wept. Sigyn's hands hovered helplessly over him for a moment, and then settled: one on his hair, the other arm wrapping firmly around him.
There was nothing left in him now of the silver-tongued trickster prince; he was a child, lost and awkward and broken, and the sounds that tore from his grieving throat were more animal than human. His hands clutched at the fabric of her sleeves, bunching it between his fingers.
Sigyn had no words to comfort him; she only murmured his name.
After a time his sobs quieted, and he rested with his head against her heart. It almost seemed he would fall asleep, and she wondered how long she would hold him, if he did.
The answer came to her, with a sharp pang. Forever.
But he did not sleep, and eventually he drew away from her, scrubbing his hands over his face, not meeting her gaze. When he lowered his hands she reached to turn his face toward her. Something wary flickered in his eyes.
"It's all right," Sigyn said. "It's only me."
His expression sharpened. "Don't say 'only' - that's my fault." He leaned close, rested his forehead against hers, reached up to slip his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck. "I'm so sorry," he said. They both went still, and Sigyn closed her eyes.
She felt something hovering between them, but she did not take it. After a moment he eased closer, testing her; she could feel his breath against her lips. But she was patient. Even when his mouth brushed hers - a wordless question - she did not lean in to answer him.
In the end, it was he who weakened.
