I hope no one notices my expression change, and change again, as I hurry away, hoping for the shelter of my own rooms. But my luck has deserted me; a hand darts out of the shadows, clasping my wrist roughly.
It's not Loki.
I know it's not Loki, couldn't be Loki, though the smallest girlish part of me wishes it were him. I crush that part and look at Eyvindr, whose grip on my arm has not eased.
"Yes?" I say, cool and quelling, and favour him with the merest arc of an eyebrow.
A smile curls above his red beard. "Where are you off to so early, Synne? The night's but half over, and you're no longer whoring for the Silver-tongue, so stay awhile." His eyes are dark and hard in his narrow face, fixed on mine.
"I do have other matters to attend to, Eyvindr." I want to carry on, to spear him with words of disdain, but anything I say he'll twist, and I've no patience for it tonight. I want to be away from here before Loki appears.
I thought I was ready to see him again, but just the knowledge of his presence in the shining city has my nerves twitching. Or am I ill-at-ease from Eyvindr's rough handling of my person? He jerks my arm now, dragging me a step closer, and lays his other hand along my face. I slap it aside. "Don't touch me."
"What, is a mere skald not good enough for you after fucking a Prince of Asgard? Don't be so arrogant, woman; know your place." He leers at me, a far cry from Fandral's frank and admiring appraisal of women. It's hideous.
"And what might that be?" I snap.
"My bed, if you like," he murmurs into my ear. I shudder, which he takes as license to stroke my neck.
"I don't like," I say plainly, pulling away from his touch. "Let me alone."
He's already angry, but now a frown creases his brow, and he starts to crush my wrist. "Then I'll have to teach you, won't I? Fucking the liesmith let you get above yourself. You're not Asgardian, Synne, no matter what Loki Silver-tongue led you to believe, and you don't have him to protect you anymore." His other hand is around the back of my neck, now, and I'm starting to think I'll have to hurt him.
If he weren't holding onto my wrist and neck, I would leave a fetch for him to flyte with and try to manhandle, but it was too late for that the moment I stepped blindly into his grasp. I try sweet reason once more. "Eyvindr, let me go."
His response is to spin me round, to try to twist my arm up behind my back. Abruptly, he stops moving, freezing in place.
"I wouldn't do that, were I you," Loki hisses. I can't see him, still awkwardly held by Eyvindr, but I know that tone in his voice. It means all wagers are off, and someone is likely to get hurt.
I don't know what to think. Was Loki seeking me out? His timely arrival would suggest it, but I have trouble believing it. I'm also not entirely sure to whom he was speaking. I may be the one in the most danger here.
Loki's next words disabuse me of that notion, at least. "Release the lady, as she asked." A beat, two, Eyvindr doesn't seem to move, and Loki continues silkily, "Or perhaps you'd prefer I cut your hands off?"
I'm freed with alacrity, now, and hastily turn about to see Loki with a dagger to Eyvindr's throat. I relish the look of fear on the skald's face; a little fear is only what he deserves for his cruelty. I open my mouth, but Loki speaks first, not looking at me.
"What have you to say for yourself, skald?" Loki's tone turns the title into insult, as if the word were a worm in his mouth. The dagger never moves, and Eyvindr is breathing very carefully.
"I d-don't know what you mean, my lord," he stammers. He watches me, eyes huge and face pale. I'll not help him, though.
"Beg the lady's pardon," Loki answers. A little blood appears under the dagger's edge. "In fact, kneel and beg properly." A long-fingered hand in the red curls forces Eyvindr to his knees before me.
"Please, Lady Synne, forgive me."
Loki prompts, "For?"
"Hurting you. Forcing you. Insulting you."
Loki smiles maliciously, and a swift swipe of the dagger shaves off about a third of Eyvindr's beard. "Was that so very hard?" Releasing the other man, he pulls a long curl taut and cuts it near the scalp. "I'll just take this as a token of your surrender. Now get out of my sight!"
The humiliated skald barely bothers to get to his feet before he's moving down the corridor in his haste to escape. A flick of his wrist and Loki makes the dagger disappear, finally looking at me. "Are you hurt, my lady?"
Yes, I want to answer, hurt by your deliberate distance, but I know why. I know why. It's the same reason I didn't want to see him tonight. "No, I'm not hurt," I say instead. "Thank you."
His smile softens into warmth, bringing the sparkle back to his eyes. "I'm glad. Do you wish an escort to your destination?"
I swallow carefully. This is very much not what I had expected, and I'm at a loss. "I - no, thank you."
"Then I bid you good night," he says, quiet, and offers me a courtly bow before striding off. I can only stare after him, wondering.