10 Ivan
"I have a surprise for you." Astrid slipped over the palace wall and beckoned to Natasha. "Had to time things just right, but all should be well if you make haste." She held up the long, swaying boughs of a willow; underneath there was a cart with two patient mares hitched to it. The larger of the horses stamped one hoof and blew a quick huff at Natasha's approach.
"This will be difficult to navigate through Milkwood…" Natasha's voice died out with surprise. Lying in the bed of the cart in a nest of pillows and thick eiderdowns was Ivan himself. He tossed fitfully among barrels and crates of what looked like enough food for several months, cheeks marked with the red of high fever. "Astrid, how did you manage it?" Natasha blinked a few tears away. The last occasion she had wept was over Ivan's illness, ages past, when he first fell into a fit during one of their hunts.
"Prince Thor says you have a place of safety." Astrid sucked a molar and lifted her chin at Natasha. "Take care of him and my Loki as well, will you?"
There was something wrong. Natasha leaned over the cart; some evil lay within, and she could sense it like a poisonous flatworm burrowing through the contents. There was no time to investigate, however, and she had to release the guardswoman to her duties. "I'll do my best," Natasha promised. "With a rabid queen on the throne there isn't much security to be had in Asgard."
"Aye. Sad times, but we'll make it all come aright. Do you need more help or a sharp sword, ask for me from any of the palace guards. They'll aid you, sure as eggs." Astrid peered into the cart and sniffed. "Ugh, the smell of that slop the healers use! It felt good to move him away from those bloodsuckers. Three died at their hands just yesterday, and another this morning."
"My thanks." Such small words for so much emotion! Awkwardly Natasha patted Astrid's shoulder; with a hoarse chuckle the woman pulled the huntress into her arms.
"The gratitude is mine for rescuing my prince. Such a small, dark sprite he was as a boy, grown so tall in what seemed a day. And generous with it, if you ever found the way to his heart! Granted he has a violent temper, but I say Loki is good underneath it all, and no one can convince me otherwise."
"I should go," Natasha said with regret; she wished she could stay and talk longer to the guardswoman and hear her stories – not only of Loki and Thor's childhood but also tales from Astrid's lifetime as a guardswoman. No matter, she told herself, when this is all over I will take her to the finest inn and buy her ale so we can speak at our leisure.
Astrid nodded and watched Natasha mount the cart, pick up the reins, and guide the horses forward onto the flattest piece of grass she could find. The guard followed a few paces; when Natasha looked back she saw the woman raise one arm in a salute, her gray hair shining like pure silver in a shaft of early sunlight like a spear thrust through the trees.
Ringlets of ivy had grown around Ivan's hunting lodge, cascading over each window and both doors; entering the place was like being inside a green bubble or living under the surface of a moat. Natasha frowned as she settled Ivan in a downstairs room while Loki hovered outside. As soon as she emerged into the hallway he gripped her arms. "You are worried – why is that?"
"Yes." She shook her head. "I can smell something on Ivan. At the healers I sensed it before - an herbal smell. And it was on the bag I had to bury in your place, in the unmarked grave."
Loki exclaimed, pulled the door open, and with two long strides crossed to Ivan's pillow. He bent over the man, took in a long breath, and his voice became very grim. "You are right. I sense dittany, with rue and foxglove. This could kill him in hours, perhaps minutes…" He added a curse and pressed his ear to Ivan's chest.
For the first time in her life Natasha felt entirely useless. All she could do was watch as the prince examined her stepfather; his eyebrows drew into a deep frown. At last he rose and motioned for her to go into the hallway where he joined her and spoke in a low, serious voice. "His heart beats too slowly, and he is warmer than I would like. I'll need to go into the wood and find some plants to try and heal him."
She shook her head. "You cannot. As soon as Ivan's disappearance is discovered, the guards will be sent out in full force. We may have Astrid on our side, but her men are sworn to uphold the throne – and Lorelei now sits there."
"You would gamble your stepfather's life for mine?"
"Listen." Natasha pressed her hands to his shirtfront. She recalled waking next to him in her little bed that morning, clasped to his chest by the sleeping prince. Tempting it had been to stay, perhaps to wake him with a caress. The result would have been an enthusiastic tumble, she was sure of it, but instead Natasha had dutifully tiptoed away to meet Astrid while he slumbered on. "Could you describe what you need? I know every inch of these woods, and if the plant grows here I will find it."
"Better than that – I'll draw them. Do you have parchment and lead?"
Natasha dashed to the tiny kitchen, dark and smudged with smoke from countless ancient fires. Ivan kept old notebooks in one drawer as well as the stumps of a few pencils. Instantly Loki seized one and began to sketch quick strokes on the rough paper with long flicks of his wrist. "We'll need foxglove – yes, I know it was in the poison, but I can use it to quicken his heartbeat again. Willow bark, you know what that is. Mallow. Wild garlic. Devil's Snare for his breathing – spiked leaves with pale purple flowers shaped like tubes."
"Yes, I've seen them," Natasha said. "I know exactly where to go to find the plants." She watched his intent expression, enjoying the way he frowned slightly over the drawing. It was strange to see Loki focused on something other than her or his books.
One last instruction and he whipped the paper at her. "There. As quickly as possible." She took it and headed to the front door, before he shouted, "Natasha!"
"What is it?"
He stood in the doorway, one hand on the lintel. "For the sake of the gods and my sanity, take care."
When Natasha returned with a filled pouch, a long ribbon of curses unfurled from the kitchen as soon as she opened the door. "Bloody fire!…Bloody kettle…bloody chimney!" For the first time in days she felt laughter bubble through her like stars in Milkwood stream, and she followed the sound of Loki's furious voice. She found him in the kitchen, covered with soot. He wielded a poker in one hand, an old kettle in the other; as soon as she appeared he wheeled on her. "What does it take to light a fire in this house? A welterweight of cannon?"
"I suppose the chimneys are a bit backed up…"
"Backed up! I wouldn't be surprised if your draugr built her nest inside this mantel. I'll be damned if I can get the smoke to stop filling the entire ground floor as soon as I approach with a match." As if to prove the justice of his statement a large cloud belched forth from the hearth, and Loki flung one arm at it in angry triumph. "There. You see?"
"Why do you want to start a fire in any case?"
"For the medicine. I can't just wave the ingredients over Ivan's chest and recite an incantation."
"Fair enough." Natasha swallowed her mirth and pushed him gently to the door. "Go have a look at your patient, and I'll start the fire."
"Ha! I wish you luck and wager you cannot have it going before the turn of the hour."
"I'll take that bet." She gave him another shove. "Go on, and brush some of the soot off before you go near the new bed-linens."
When Loki reappeared looking somewhat cleaner, Natasha had the fire lit, the kettle steaming on the hearth, and the supplies from Astrid's cart stowed away in various cupboards and drawers. Strangely there were few traces of mice or rats, even though no one had been in the house for months. The plants were laid out on the table, arranged neatly by species.
He raised his eyebrows, and Natasha felt a chill in her heart. "How is he?" she asked.
"Weak, and getting weaker. Get me some of that boiling water in a pot, a knife and a mortar if you have one." He examined the limp leaves on the table and nodded. "Yes, these will do."
Natasha handed him the items, and Loki went to work. As he chopped the willow bark, slit open the foxgloves, and crushed the Devil's Snare, her curiosity grew until she could bear it no longer. "Where did you learn to do all this?"
He looked up in astonishment. "Books, of course. And – and from my mother." Instantly he resumed his preparations. Once all was ready, Loki had Natasha load a large tray with a variety of teas, salves, and drops made from the ingredients.
In the bed Ivan lay whey-faced with fever. The prince immediately started to work on him, demanding one concoction after another. Natasha responded as soon as Loki spoke, moving with the prince as though they stepped the measures of a complicated dance together – first tea, then steam, then ointment rubbed into Ivan's chest and his upper lip. In the middle of an intense bout of coughing her stepfather gasped, expelled a long sigh, and turned blue from lack of air.
Natasha froze, but Loki bent over the man, pressed both fists to his chest, and began to pummel the skin over Ivan's heart. "Breathe for him," he panted. "One hand over his nose and blow into his mouth – now, huntress!" She shook off her daze and rushed to do what he commanded. She expelled a long stream of air into the parted lips and saw Ivan's lungs expand, contract.
"And again."
Repetition. More breaths, more pressing on the old man's chest. Again. And again. Something in the old house rustled, and in that strange, green light Natasha feared it was Ivan's spirit preparing to take flight.
Just when she was about to cry out it was too late and she had lost her childhood hero, the man who rescued her when she was a bewildered child caught in the web of constant degradation at the hands of the two boys who abused her, Ivan seemed to gulp and took in a long breath on his own. The man's eyelids fluttered, and Loki nodded. "His heart. I can feel it, Natasha, beating on its own under my hands. We have done it, you and I."
The miracle was complete but healing just begun. All through that long night Loki and Natasha worked ceaselessly over their patient, coaxing him to swallow more tinctures and receive yet another of what Loki classed 'a thorough steaming.' It involved heating water over the sulky fire, plopping in a careful mixture of herbs, and holding a cup of the stuff under Ivan's chin. Throughout the fight for the man's life, Natasha heard a series of slight thumps upstairs, a series of scratches. Was the place haunted? If so, she determined to battle with the ghosts for her protector's soul.
Any interactions with the prince consisted of nothing more than muttered commands and acquiescence – Fetch me another pot of water this instant, Natasha and Don't knock it over, Prince Clumsy - and yet Natasha felt she and Loki were closer than if they lay skin to skin in her old tree house or her maiden's bed. Her eyes burned with exhaustion; her knees shook from carrying the heavy kettle back and forth. She knew she looked a fright with her hair curling from the steam and face singed with the eternal soot; it was most unfair that Loki looked quite as elegant as usual, only purple bruises under his eyes to betray his exhaustion.
Long after midnight Ivan fell suddenly into a natural sleep, and the prince and huntress looked steadily at one another. Loki beckoned to Natasha, and she followed him into the passageway, unable to hold back a tiny sob of relief.
He removed the cup of tisane from her hands and placed it carefully on an old hall table. His lips drew back in a snarl as he seized her arms and jerked Natasha to his chest with violent passion. In the room above, something scrabbled in the eaves: scritch, scritch, scritch; intent on each other, they both ignored the tiny sounds.
There among the ivy and soot of the old house, Loki kissed Natasha's lips, hands, and neck as though he could not bear to stop.