Chapter 11

Digress

Loki allowed her to kiss him for only a moment. He knew what she was doing. Words failed her, so she turned next to her womanly charms. While fair and quite convincing, it was blatant manipulation, and he'd have none of it.

He pulled away from her with a low growl, strolling with purpose to the edge of the balcony and leaning on the railing. He did not hear her follow.

While her actions toward comforting him were a noble attempt at flattery, he couldn't quite figure out why she wished to do so…

Why gain his favor? There could be absolutely no advantage in it for her. And what was all this business about pride? Why should he be proud of his mischievous title? In any case, all of Asgard was out to chastise him for his so-called crimes. What made her see it all so differently? As a master of schemes, he could spot one from the farthest of the nine realms. And this seemed to have "plot" written all over it.

"Wherefore do you become so visceral?" he heard from behind him, in a slightly agitated voice. "Will you accept no endearment from anyone?"

He licked his lips in aggravation, and spun to face her. "Why, you ask? Why?" He scoffed, turning his back on her again, leaning against the railing a second time. His anger calmed as an answer came to mind, one that had been echoing in his mind since the mortal had spoken the words to him all those days past.

"…it is in my nature," he said solemnly. He gripped the railing so hard his knuckles whitened.

"No it isn't," she replied quickly, appearing suddenly by his side. Her dresses billowed as the winds crashing against the building swirled about the balcony. Her blonde hair whipped across her face, but her attention was turned only to him. "Mischief is in your nature. This distant, impassive vessel is newly acquired."

She paused, and moved closer to him again. He raised an eyebrow, aware that she was manipulating him with her femininity again.

"Loki, you may not know me, but I know you. I have known you long. Since Horfin. I watched you then, and ever after. You are not so emotionless as you would have me believe…" she sighed, laying a hand gently on his shoulder.

He decided to allow it, but only to see if he could turn her own game upon her. "So, what?" he began, turning only his head to peer at her over her spindle-like fingers that still rested on his shoulder. He couldn't deny that it was nice to feel her close, but the scheme he saw behind it broke the fantasy. "You think I am behaving thusly to conceal something, hm?"

"I do," she said, her fingers tightening on his shoulder. The wound beneath burned for a moment, but he didn't react. "Fear. Or pain. Or both. You will not have me, or your father and brother, see weakness in you. And you deem fear and pain as weakness. But I see them as something else…"

He raised an eyebrow questioningly. How could fear and pain be anything but weakness?

The hand on his shoulder moved to the lapel of his undershirt, and pulled it down his chest. He did not pull away this time. She had already discovered them. Hiding them now would just prove her point.

Her fingers traced the pin-prick mark that resided on his throat, one much like those piercing his shoulders… chest… heart. The mark burned with a slight ache as her small fingers made contact. He did not pull away, but the wince was unavoidable. And she noticed.

"Does it pain you?" she asked, pulling her hand away.

He could find no way around her questioning. He had led himself down this road by allowing her closeness, and now he was trapped. Honesty seemed the only route. For now.

"Occasionally," he replied quietly, taking in a deep breath of the warm wind as it blew his hair from his face.

"Are there more like them?" she asked, trying to look him in the eyes. He avoided her. He feared she would see too much in his features.

He paused answering, his mind suddenly aware of every wound the Leviathan had inflicted. Eleven in total, and all of them suddenly glaring as he thought of them.

"Many," he replied heavily, wringing his hands uncomfortably.

Sigyn considered for a moment. "What are they?"

The infliction rang clear as day in his mind as he thought on the question and he shuddered. Sigyn obviously noticed, but did not comment.

"They are the stings of a Leviathan. They use many tentacles to dig into your body and hold you like a puppet. It is demeaning and excruciating. And, I suspect, a perfect subjugation for someone you wish to manipulate."

Loki could see that she was staring at him through his peripheral vision. He refused to give her the satisfaction of tempting his gaze. That he would control. If, at least, for a small while.

"So it was the Chitauri, then?" she asked in a whisper.

So… she had figured it out by herself. Perhaps there were Asgardians as clever as he.

He did not answer, nor did he look at her. He merely inclined his head and swallowed hard, knowing the tell would affirm her question.

He heard Sigyn sigh, and felt her hand close around his wrist. She began to pull him inside, but he was disparate to leave the streets unwatched.

"Come, Loki," she asked kindly. "The streets are stone. If a hoard of mounted guards makes way toward us, don't you think they'll be heard from inside?"

She made a good point. And he had left his wine inside.