Chapter Fourteen

Though the queen had ordered Klara to rest, she had gotten less sleep that night than on any other night previous. Every time her eyes had closed, the dream had haunted her, following her until she woke, again and again, trying to escape it. She returned to Lady Frigga's chambers irritated that she had wasted an entire day for nothing. She had just set to work taking the curtains down when one of the Einherjar entered the queen's parlor and paused at stiff attention. Klara's throat knotted in a painful lump before she realized that it wasn't Andvari, but Daven under the golden helmet, his brown eyes dancing merrily as he saluted her.

"Forgive me, Mistress Klara," he said in a formal tone that did not suit the smirk on his face, "But you have been requested in the dungeons."

Klara's heart jumped against her ribs, pounding against the sparkling pendant still hidden beneath her tunic. She tried not to panic, but all she could see where those hollow eyes, hear that rasping voice...

"Is anything the matter?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

"Oh no, nothing at all," Daven said, and Klara felt the knot of anxiety loosen in her chest, "In fact, if you are busy I can return..."

"She's not."

Klara jumped. Lady Frigga had emerged from her study so suddenly that she had not even heard her enter. Apparently Daven hadn't either because he jumped too and then bowed low.

"My lady Frigga," he said reverently, "Forgive me, I did not realize..."

But Lady Frigga waved away his apologies impatiently.

"Mistress Klara is not busy with anything that cannot wait until her return."

The queen gave Klara a pointed look and she knew that, even had she wanted to protest, she would not have been able to. She dropped her eyes and clasped her hands demurely in front of her.

"Of course, my lady," she murmured, dropping a soft curtsy, "I will return as soon as I may."

She could feel Lady Frigga's approving smile following her as she stepped out of the curtains and hurried after Daven, through the royal quarters and out into the main halls. Her mind was racing. She had been summoned. That had never happened before. She did not know whether it should worry her or not. Anticipation rolled in her empty stomach. She had been away for three weeks now. What would she find, down in the dungeons?

Daven brought her to the familiar stairwell and stopped, disengaging the lock with a wave of his hand. He turned and must have caught some hint of anxiety on her face.

"Would you like me to walk down with you?" he asked, "It would be no trouble."

Klara swallowed, then shook her head. Daven had many other duties to see to, and this was something Klara felt she could, and should, face on her own.

"No, thank you," she said, forcing a brave smile, "I'll be fine."

Without waiting for a response, Klara walked into the dark, letting the cool air of the dungeon swallow her up, taking her time down the steep stairs, letting her mind acclimate to the feeling of closeness again. She paused only a moment at the bottom to steel her resolve before she stepped into the pale light of the dungeon corridors.

There was a loud chorus of surprised hoots and calls to her left, the Rock Trolls still held imprisoned for their rebellion on Nidavellir. Klara walked past with her head held high, hands clasped behind her, remembering and preparing for what came next. Loud hissing and screeches came from her right as what remained of the Badoon insurgents caught sight of what the Rock Trolls had already seen, but Klara did not grace them with a reaction of any kind. A sort of pride well up inside her that, even after all this time, she could still walk among such fearsome creatures without thought or fear. They were nothing to her, just noise in a sea of noises, no more than distractions.

No. What she truly feared lay beyond these petty monsters. Her steps echoed loudly in her ears as she approached the far cell, glowing as if it possessed a halo of light all its own, though she knew that to be only a figment of her anxious mind. She forced her feet to continue on, even when all she wanted was to slow them down, her eyes fixed on the walkway. She knew the steps by heart now, knew exactly how far she must go before she stood before the golden barrier. She took a long breath in the last few steps and, when she reached the familiar place among the flagstones, she executed a sharp turn, bracing herself for whatever she might find.

He was staring at her. He stood as she did, hands clasped behind him, back rigid, staring at her with an emotionless expression on his face. He was thin, but not skeletal. Clearly he hadn't been eating enough. The tray on his desk held the remains of a half-eaten sandwich. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, but his gaze was hardly listless or dull. In fact, it was so sharp that once Klara realized she was meeting his eyes, she flinched away, sending her eyes skittering over the rest of the cell. She recognized a new addition to the furniture, the bed from Loki's room in the royal quarters, but it looked like it hadn't been touched. Instead, the small pillow and blanket that Klara had brought so many months ago still lay upon the velvet settee, rumpled and clearly used, though fitfully it seemed. He wasn't sleeping well. But he wasn't wasting away.

He wasn't dying.

Some weight that Klara hadn't even realized she'd been wearing lifted from her body. She felt as if she might just rise from the floor and float away. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and let out a long, weary breath. She hadn't realized how very tired she was. It felt like every bit of her strength was needed just to open her eyes again.

Loki was still staring at her, his eyes flickering over every inch, watching every movement with a conscious intensity.

"You look tired," he said, with a sudden sharpness, "And thin."

Klara jerked and dropped her eyes.

"You are mistaken, my lord," she answered quietly, "I am quite well."

The truth was her stomach felt as if it was trying to claw its way through her abdomen. When was the last time she had eaten? But she wasn't about to admit anything to him.

"You should take better care of yourself," he said, "After all, what good are you, to yourself or to anyone, if you are dead?"

The parroting of her own words startled Klara so much that her eyes flew to meet his almost involuntarily. He was smirking, his eyes twinkling as if at some private joke. She straightened primly, not allowing any emotion to show on her own face.

"You sent for me, my lord?"

This only seemed to amuse him further. His smirk widened.

"I was told you were ill," he said, waving a hand and turning away, flinging himself into his chair with an air of boredom, "Clearly I was misinformed."

"Clearly," Klara agreed, her eyes narrowed. Who would have told Loki that she was...?

Frigga. The All-Mother had seemed rather concerned for her well-being the previous day. But why would she have spoken of such concerns to Loki? And, perhaps more importantly, what would it matter to him? Klara set her jaw against such thoughts. It was not her place.

"If you've no further need of me, my lord, I have things I must see to," she said, a crisp snap to her voice that she had not necessarily intended. She was just so tired. She turned to go.

"Do you dream?"

Loki's voice, calm and steady, froze her to the spot. She dared not turn back. She knew she would see only the cell from her nightmares, the broken trappings, the torn pages, the shattered man.

...now I am nothing...

She shut her eyes tight and shuddered, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She could not give him this, could not allow him to hold this power over her...

"When I close my eyes I see the stars."

His voice was closer than before, but still Klara would not turn back, would not open her eyes. The smooth silk of his words brushed over her and she let them, but she would not give him what was in her heart.

"But they burn too brightly and too close, like sharp needles of light to the eye. That's what you see in the vacuum of space, with no planetary atmosphere to obscure their brilliance. I've heard people say they are beautiful. I suppose they are, after a fashion. They are beautiful in the same way a newly forged dagger is beautiful, and cut just as deep."

She could see it. It was like painting a picture in her mind with his words, and for a brief moment she thought this was the closest she might ever come to touching magic.

"But the stars are not alone," he said softly, gently, "Out there in the dark. There are things that live among them, but are not a part of them. Monsters in the shadows of their light, they feed on the dark void, on the screams of the lost."

Something swelled in her chest, some horror that she couldn't place, the deeply ingrained fear that all children feel when they face monsters in their closets or underneath their beds.

"That is what I dream," he said, "Of stars, and monsters in the dark."

Klara felt tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She hardened her expression before she turned to look at him. He was facing her, but his eyes were far away, seeing something that she could not hope to see, nor would she ever wish to. She was reminded of the way he had twitched and shuddered in his sleep and she wondered: Had he been dreaming of these things then? Had that been the thing that haunted his nights and nearly taken his life from him?

"What did you do?" she asked.

He blinked his eyes back into focus and smiled slyly.

"Nothing," he said, "They come and go now though lately they seem to come more than they go. I think it might have something to do with..."

He paused, then shrugged.

"Well, it doesn't matter," he said nonchalantly, "What matters is they do go eventually, Mistress Klara. But I've heard it helps to give them a voice on occasion."

Klara hesitated. Loki waited.

"I..." She paused, then tried again, "My dreams are... are small."

"No dream is small," he said, his eyes boring into hers with a great force that held none of his trademark humor, "Dreams encompass the whole of our reality. In the moment we are dreaming, they are the entire universe of our minds. That is never a small thing."

Klara swallowed.

"I dream of... losing something. Something that I do not even really possess, that I could never... I dream that it wastes away until..."

She stopped, the words frozen on her tongue.

...I am nothing...

"You cannot lose something if you never possessed it," Loki said, with careful deliberation, "If you dream that you've lost it, then you must lay claim to it, even if your conscious thoughts do not acknowledge the possession. Some part of you, no matter how small, has claimed it as your own."

Klara stared at him for several moments. Neither of them spoke, but she could see him trying to piece her together, trying to read her thoughts on her face, trying to interpret the meaning of her words. She deliberately set her jaw and blanked her expression. He could not hold this power over her. She would not allow him to see this part of her, this part that even she did not wish to see.

His smirk returned.

"Very well," he said, as if conceding an argument Klara had not even known they were having, "Keep your secrets, Mistress Klara. I suppose I have enough of my own to make that fair."

Klara felt a flicker of relief as his eyes turned away from her, waving his hand toward the book pile and calling a green and silver volume to his outstretched fingers.

"Tomorrow, bring that table back down, would you?" he said casually, flipping the cover open and thumbing through the pages, "Its absence vexes me."

Klara suppressed a smile of her own and dropped a curtsy.

"As you wish my lord," she said, turning to leave...

"The necklace suits you, by the way."

Klara gave a panicked start and clutched reflexively at the diamond pendant hidden beneath her tunic. She glanced back. Loki was smirking again, his eyes dancing mischievously over the top of his book.

"I knew that it would."

Klara frowned, an irrational anger boiling up inside her. He dared presume...? But she didn't respond, didn't bother with more than a glare. Instead she whirled away from him, striding toward the dungeon stairwell, barely hearing the Badoon and the Rock Trolls over the sound of Loki's quiet chuckle echoing in her ears.

They went on as if nothing had happened, as if the two had never been parted. Klara's appetite inexplicably returned and her sleep patterns rearranged themselves, though she was still often tired (the cleaning schedule Elli had devised was rigorous and long). Lady Frigga did not mention Klara's visit to Loki's cell, and in return Klara did not voice her suspicion that the queen had anything to do with it. Loki never mentioned his mother, though Klara knew the queen still paid him visits on occasion. She became quite adept at determining when one of these had been made. The queen was always distant and distracted, Loki irritable and short, and Klara soon learned not to make her own visits to his cell on the same days if possible.

They did not speak of dreams again, but Loki had been right. Klara's dreams became far more infrequent though they never truly went away. They shifted now, killing him in different ways, not just starvation and exhaustion. The worst was a few days before Andvari was scheduled for a short leave from the Badoon homeworld. Klara dreamed of Loki on the floor of his cell, his throat laid open, his chest soaked in crimson, and Andvari standing over him with a grim smile, his sword dripping wetly on the prison floor. It was the first time in weeks that Klara woke screaming. She had not been able to sleep again afterward.

Andvari returned with his battalion at the end of that week and though Klara was present to meet them at the Bridge, between the ceremonial receiving by the king and the celebration that followed, she did not have a real chance to speak to him. This was to be expected, of course. She had not even intended to join in the merry-making at the tavern that night, knowing Andvari would be far more interested in catching up with his friends in the guard and sharing his good fortune with them, but to her surprise, she was accosted at the end of the All-Father's solemn address by the most unlikely person.

"Mistress Klara!"

The loud, boisterous voice carried clearly over the heads and voices of all others present and, as one, the crowd turned toward the towering giant of a man now making his way eagerly straight toward her. Klara stared, nearly open-mouthed, as Lord Volstagg the Voluminous shoved his way through the gaping onlookers and clapped her so enthusiastically on the shoulder that she nearly stumbled.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, "I believe I owe you a drink!"

Klara vividly remembered their last conversation, of course, down in the dungeons so many months ago, but she had never really thought... had never even imagined...

"Oh, my lord, that really isn't..."

But she was cut off by a good-natured shake of her shoulder that made it nearly impossible to speak.

"Nonsense!" he said, dragging her off in the general direction of the city square, where the closest tavern stood, "I said I'd hold you to it, and I'm holding you to it! You can't have any duties to take you away now, can you?"

He looked down at her and winked. Klara blinked and opened her mouth a few times, but no fresh protests came to mind. She did not, in fact, have any duties that were insistent upon her time right then (though she had hoped to manage a quick slip down into the dungeons, not knowing when she might be able to return again, but she could hardly tell that to Lord Volstagg, could she?) and the big man's enthusiasm was a bit infectious. She would honestly hate to disappoint him. She smiled, albeit reluctantly.

"Very well," she said, "Just one."

Lord Volstagg beamed.

The tavern that night was full to bursting with soldiers, all returned from the last of the Badoon conflicts, all telling stories of their daring deeds and heroics. But none so loudly or as animated as Lord Volstagg, who sat Klara down at the largest table in the center of the room, poured her an ale so tall it would easily take her the whole night (and possibly part of the next day) to drink, and began regaling her with the most outrageous tales of the civil conflicts that had raged on the Badoon homeworld and the worlds adjoining, and his clearly invaluable role in bringing the whole situation to a halt.

"So I told 'em," he said, well into his second tankard and leaning in close to relay the full impact of his words to her, "I told 'em, I said, 'If you have such a problem with 'em, why not just let 'em take the world and go on your own way? That'd make everybody happy!'"

"I imagine they didn't take to that idea too well," Klara said, grinning into her own mug as she took a delicate sip.

"Right you are!" he said, waving his tankard at her and sloshing a bit of ale onto the table, "So I just had to dispatch with the lot of 'em. Took one swing with my axe, it did, problem solved!"

Klara laughed, but only because she knew it to be highly unlikely that Lord Thor would have allowed Lord Volstagg to massacre an entire Badoon battalion for little more than disagreeing with him, even had he been able to. She took another sip of her ale, beginning to feel pleasantly comfortable for the first time in a long while...

"Klara."

She nearly choked. Andvari had appeared beside her nearly out of nowhere, the faint hint of a glower shadowing his face.

"Ah, young Andvari!" Lord Volstagg shouted, waving his now thankfully empty tankard in his direction, "Have a seat, lad! Another round over here!"

The mug hit the tiles of the tavern with a loud crash and the whole assembly cheered. All except Klara and Andvari who were staring at each other. That vaguely unpleasant expression had not left Andvari's face, though he was now smiling for Lord Volstagg's benefit.

"Perhaps later, my lord," Andvari said, his pleasant tone not matching his eyes in the slightest, "I wonder, Klara, if I might speak to you in private."

Klara swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. Andvari had turned down a drink with Lord Volstagg. Whatever he meant to discuss with her, she suddenly had an overwhelming desire to postpone it for as long as possible.

"I fear I am in no fit state to discuss any matters of importance right now, dear one," she said, lifting her large mug off the table slightly, "Perhaps tomorrow instead? I am anxious to hear tales of your battles."

"One of the bravest warriors in the battalion!" Lord Volstagg declared enthusiastically, apparently oblivious to the tension in the air, "He's done Asgard proud, you can be sure of that!"

Andvari nodded with a calm politeness in acknowledgment of this praise.

"I seek only to serve the Nine Realms the best way I can," he said, his eyes narrowing pointedly at Klara, though she couldn't imagine why. Did he not think that she also served the Nine Realms? She was handmaiden to the All-Mother herself!

She opened her mouth to say something that she might possibly have regretted, but was interrupted by a chorus of loud squeals. A group of children suddenly descended on the tavern en masse, swarming around Lord Volstagg who laughed and gathered them all to him affectionately.

"Mistress Klara, my children!" he said obvious pride, "Come I would have you meet them, and my wife also!"

Klara glanced back at Andvari, who bowed slightly in acquiescence.

"I shall call on you tomorrow, Klara."

Then he swept from the tavern, Klara following him with her eyes, feeling a sense of foreboding in his wake. Her dream flashed vividly in her mind and she shuddered.

A small hand tugged on her skirt and she looked down into a pair of wide hazel eyes surrounded by beautiful red curls.

"Is it true that you've seen Rock Trolls?" the little girl asked in a sort of awed fascination.

Klara grinned and leaned over to stare directly into the child's large eyes.

"Yes," she said gleefully, "They are large, hairy beasts and I am told they gobble up children whole!"

At which she reached out and snatched at the child, who squealed delightedly and scampered away, which made Lord Volstagg roar with laughter. And once Klara had been properly introduced to his children and his wife (who came along later, looking harried, but pleased), Klara found it quite impossible to retain her feeling of gloom and she managed to put Andvari out of her mind for one more evening.

But as with all such things, it did not last. Though Klara was busy with her duties all the next morning, Andvari was knocking on her door shortly after the noon meal. Klara answered with that same sense of foreboding, trying to mask it with a pleasant smile.

But rather than invite her out for a stroll in the gardens or about the palace courts as he had in the past, Andvari forced himself past her into the room beyond. Klara stared at him, the door to her quarters still held ajar in her hand. He had never insinuated himself into her space like this, not once. It wasn't like him, this breach of etiquette, he had always been so careful to keep up appearances. But now he paced the room, apparently unaware that he had done anything out of the ordinary, and Klara watched him with a sort of blank stare. He was clearly agitated, frantic even, the scowl on his face plain. Klara stepped toward him, hoping to somehow soothe him, but instead he strode right by her and shut the door, then resumed his pacing, back and forth in front of the doorway, while Klara continued to stare, speechless.

"I thought it was just an assignment," he said finally, a furious mutter that sounded more as if he were speaking to himself, "A task to be completed. Had I known, I would have taken more fervent measures, a firmer hand in the beginning. That's what is needed, clearly, I should have seen it from the first, I suppose you can't be blamed for my lapse in judgment, I should have done more to protect you from him, but now? Now what am I to do? When all the palace whispers of it? It cannot go on!"

Andvari's sudden shout resonated in the tiny room and Klara flinched. His hands waved in wild gestures as he continued to pace.

"I have worked too hard, come too far, to have it all ruined by association with a... a... traitor's whore!"

Klara jerked back as the words stung her, like barbs to the chest, and her legs bumped into the desk at her back. Andvari was still pacing, drawing closer, filling the room with the fumes of his simmering anger. Klara swallowed, dropped her eyes, let her hair drift over her face, tears stinging the backs of her eyes.

"I'm not."

The words came out as a dry whisper, almost too soft for her own ears to hear.

Andvari stopped pacing.

"What did you say?" he said, his voice sharp and smooth as a steel blade.

"I'm... I'm not... his whore," Klara managed to stutter out. Her whole body was shaking. She could feel the pendant hidden beneath her tunic, pulling at her collar, weighing her down, making it difficult to draw breath. She could not even lift her head. She was small, and weak, and she was not made for this.

Andvari took one carefully placed step toward her. She could feel the heat of his glower as he drew himself up, filling the room with his presence. Klara cowered against her desk.

"I don't care-" he growled, "-if you are his cart horse. It will cease. Immediately. You will go to the Lady Frigga, resign your post if you must. You won't be needing it anyway. We can discuss-"

"No."

Andvari jerked back, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly agape.

"What did you say to me?"

He sounded every bit as shocked as Klara felt. The word had slipped her lips in a fit of panic, a vision swimming in her mind's eye, a prisoner, once a prince, once a son, curled in a forgotten corner, wasting away, dying. And she couldn't let it happen. She couldn't. It took all of her courage, every ounce of her strength, but Klara managed to stand upright, to lift her eyes to Andvari's.

"I said... no," she repeated, her voice shaking with the effort it took to speak the words, "I will not go to Lady Frigga, I will not resign my post. It is my responsibility to-"

CRACK!

Andvari's hand came out of nowhere and struck her hard across the face. She could taste iron and knew that she had cut the inside of her mouth. She blinked away the moisture in her eyes and tried to make the room stop spinning, just long enough to raise her head. Andvari was staring at his hand as if he didn't recognize it.

"Oh Klara..." he whispered breathlessly, "Klara, I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't... I didn't mean... I don't know what came over me, I just..."

"Get out."

Klara was surprised by the biting chill of her voice. Her words did not waver. She was no longer shaking. She could feel the hot imprint of his hand stinging her skin. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Klara, please..." Andvari insisted, taking a tentative step, "Please if you would just listen to reason..."

"Get. Out." she said, "Or I shall call a guard to remove you."

Andvari paused, then narrowed his eyes.

"You wouldn't do that."

Klara's head quirked to the side. Then she reached behind her and pressed a button on her console. There was a chime, and a cheerful voice echoed out of the desk.

"Daven of the Einherjar. Hello there, Klara. What can I do for you?"

Andvari's eyes widened and she could see his breath catch. She didn't care. She just glared and waited. Finally, Andvari clenched his jaw and nodded once.

"Klara?" Daven's friendly voice was laced with a hint of concern now, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Daven," Klara said, her voice pointed and forcibly carefree, "I believe I've dealt with the problem on my own. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"Oh that's alright," Daven responded, sounding cheerful again and slightly relieved, "Always a pleasure to hear from you. Call if you need anything."

"Thank you, I certainly will."

She disconnected the comm, her eyes never leaving Andvari, who was still glaring at her.

"Very well," he said, nodding his head in a mock sort of bow, "I will leave you. But you should think on what has been said here, Klara. And know that the actions you have taken cannot be reversed."

Klara said nothing, just continued to glare at him pointedly until he turned and left the room.

It was not until he had been gone for a very long while that Klara allowed herself to shake again. She slid to the floor by her desk and shook until tears came to her eyes, and then cried until exhaustion overcame her, and she fell asleep curled on the floor.