7.

. . .

Loki was barely past the prison guards when he stripped the illusions from himself, already exhausted from a scant hour of morning meetings. Being the King meant he could call his duties to a shortened end, playing at irritation and private demand. He would try to nap through the afternoon, after this visit. Lord Eirund's stupid matter still needed to be handled at soonest opportunity - and he had a potential concern there, depending on how this visit turned out - but Lord Eirund could wait. The King's prerogative was his to claim, meanwhile.

He flung the king's golden cape over his shoulder, freeing his right arm as he approached Heimdall's cell. He'd known, the watchman. His vague warning at the end of the last meet. That threatening smile. The same smile was on his face now, though under it the man looked a bit less pleased than he had before. There was a knife sheathed at Loki's waist. They both knew he wouldn't use it. He let it hang there anyway, a testament to his anger. "And here I am, Heimdall. Still alive, as it happens. How's the food now?"

"We don't get everything we want. My Prince."

"Did you enjoy what you watched?"

"There are fewer weevils." Heimdall inclined his head politely, his golden eyes never leaving the false king. "You kept your word. My prince."

"Who are they?" Loki began to pace in front of the cage, the long and loping steps of a panther trying to tree its prey. "I know you can still see. How did they access the palace? How do they know the palace?"

Heimdall's gilded eyes watched him move, his expression changing just enough to begin to flash the tips of white and gleaming teeth against dark lips. "How could I know? They go masked. Your Highness."

"You play at this, you know you're undermining the security of the very kingdom you swore to defend! Damn my skin, you know full well what they wanted. And they could have gotten it, too, were our tangled fate not a strange and cruel beast. Would you like leaving a path in place for some other person to be slain? Some other king after me?"

"And is that noble concern truly your first concern?" A slow, desultory lean back as Heimdall pretended to remember his manners. "My prince?"

Red began to veil Loki's vision, the raw frustration from too little sleep, from the strain on his body from running through the halls in the dead of night, cloaked invisible by costly magic, frightened when he ought not to have been. He focused it all on Heimdall, there on the other side of the bars, winning against a king despite his imprisonment and Loki stopped in his tracks to wrap long fingers around the bars of that cage, hard enough to scrape his own skin. His voice boiled out in a roar. "Tell me!"

Heimdall stared down at him through the bars and the energy veil of prisoner's gold, still with that small white smile peeking through his dark brown lips. He said nothing. Every second he said nothing, he would keep winning despite the cage that would hold him until he died, if Loki had his way.

There was nothing else Loki could do to him to balance the score. Even torture would gain nothing, if he dared that much evil. Loki continued to grip the bars in fury, feeling the bite of enchanted iron in his palms, tearing at them near to bleeding, and he stood there and stared at Heimdall for so long that unreality snaked over his eyes and told him it was once again himself locked inside that cage instead. He realized he was panting for breath, forced himself to let go. He stepped back, still staring at the watchman. "It isn't me they want," he rattled, the only real knife he had left in this fight. He already knew the tip of it wouldn't land.

"If we're fortunate before the eyes of our gods, it'll be you they take." Heimdall clasped his hands in his lap, a scholar alone at his lectern. "My prince."

"Damn you."

Heimdall watched him and said nothing more. Still with that little smile that hid all the things he knew and wouldn't speak of, and with that smile, he watched Loki leave the prison again, empty-handed and defenseless.

. . .

Loki didn't return to Odin's quarters. He commandeered a little reader's nook, buried deep within the palace with but a single, smaller window that looked out on what seemed to be a well-patrolled walkway. The sort of place he might have hidden away in when he was younger, with rich canvas chaises and long desks and the smells of old incense and the papers of the nearby library filling the space. There was a guard outside, but only one. He couldn't very well ask for half the army to protect an afternoon lair without explaining why, and too many guards meant the odds went up they'd walk in to see what his attacker had the eve before.

If he slept now, securely, he thought he would be able to cadge a little extra time to lay in wait that night. All to see if the masked hunter came 'round again that quickly. Loki suspected they might. The heat in their questions about Odin spoke to an obsession, and he remained the only logical source to slake it by. Leaving obvious traps wouldn't work, not if they were typically as competent as their chase suggested.

But in the meantime, a little extra sleep to make up for what he'd lost the night before. There was a thick, warm blanket folded and hid away under one of the lounges, and it puffed the smell of old, heady incense into the air when he dug it out. Dry musks and the almost bloody red incense Frigga liked for her private magical meditations. His fingers curled into it, breathing in the nostalgia, letting it carry him into dreamless, exhausted sleep as the noontime sun dragged on low towards the hot reds of the evening.

. . .

Ago ~

"Oh, but my prince, I simply don't understand." Lorelei held firmly onto Thor's arm as they passed by a small garden of blood-ruby flowers. She made them both pause as she studied their petals, seeming startled by their saturated richness. "Goodness, the colors…"

"Eir's work, mistress. Something medicinal, as it happens. Not bred for prettiness alone. She likes to use them for poultices as the soul forges cannot be in all places at all times. She packs them away for the field healers." Thor glanced at the flowers, not as interested as she. "Staunches the blood flow. Loki would know more."

"Of course he would. Wise is your younger brother." Lorelei beamed up at him, seeming to forget the garden the instant she looked into his eyes. "Why, I don't think there's a thing that goes on in this palace he doesn't know about."

Thor chuckled. "There might be a few secrets."

Loki, lounging up above in the balcony and watching the refugee maiden do her damnedest to woo his typically oblivious brother while not a little bemusement curved his lips, arched a single eyebrow in doubt at Thor's words. He hadn't planned on eavesdropping on their casual walk, but, well, the opportunity presented itself practically wrapped in a bow. It wasn't in him to resist.

The sisters had found themselves a place in local society with the efficiency of a springtime whirlwind. To their credit, his guess that they might be able to help keep the survivors of the Nornheim war organized was a good one - Amora spent afternoons keeping track of new arrivals, regularly sending information up the chain to himself, Eir and the All-Father's council, and Lorelei administered deliveries to those in need with the help of a handful of palace staff she'd charmed into assisting. A good use of their day's time, while the realm attempted to strangle a war that meant they couldn't safely go home yet.

And in the rest of that time, the pair were becoming very familiar to the royal family. Loki reached down for the goblet of wine he'd picked up on his walk, taking a sip as he continued to listen to Lorelei natter cheerfully at Thor. "But I must confess, I simply don't understand the festival entirely." She squeezed his bicep as Loki watched, starting to grin. "My rural upbringing fails me here. The city is so bright and so much… more than I realized."

"It's a rare festival, Lady Lorelei. One meant entirely for the people and not for us family." Thor patted at her hand and kept walking. They'd be under a different balcony soon. Loki gracefully slid off his bench and followed them, wondering if he'd drop in just to be a bastard about it, or if he'd merely keep listening. "Father's words are simple enough for once, there's no need to look too deeply at it."

Lorelei chuckled, ignoring the accidental insult that could be buried in Thor's words. Loki rolled his eyes as he skulked along above. He was not always what one would call 'emotionally savvy,' his brother. "So it's as plain as that - the feasts and the merchants and the artisans, and then, leading to what? One final hurrah here in the palace?"

"The Lastnight revel, correct." Now something caught Thor's eye. Warriors practicing in the western fields. He took his arm from Lorelei's hand and went to brace both his palms against the railing, grinning as two sets of golden armor slammed against each other. "Now there's a good fight. The one on the left is a brawler, hardly needs his weapons. The other, a bit quicker, but if he gets disarmed, he'll be in the thick. Right now he's on the defense, trying to keep his blade. That's the fight right there - if he holds on, he'll win."

Lorelei's lips quirked in a disappointed moue that made Loki grin harder to see it, now somewhat better hidden behind a handful of ornamental bushes that dotted the pathways above. You're flirting with a stone wall, young lady. You're going to have to be more blatant than that.

Ask poor Sif.

"And this night festival, all can attend?"

"Correct. The palace belongs to the people, in the end. Not only us in the family. And while there are a handful of exceptions, mostly for the people's security and not our privacy alone, it is their right that all should have a night to come and see all of Asgard." Thor sounded distracted, even though like Loki, it was his responsibility to be clear about the welcomes every citizen deserved. "Oh, now that was a blow! Still he holds his blade!"

"Then whynot can you attend with me, Your Highness?" Lorelei wrapped around his arm again, careful to not try and block his view of the duelers. She was savvy enough to dodge that pitfall. "Oh, it would be the moment of my life to see the culmination of one such grand festival at your side." She smiled with charming ease, downplaying herself with a blatancy that made Loki roll his eyes, fully knowing it could work on Thor. If he noticed. And that was a big if. "As your friend and ally, of course."

Thor glanced down at her, then back at the fight. "'Tis the tradition. I simply cannot, nor my brother, nor the king and queen. For one night, it is as though we do not exist. Only the people, who may mask themselves as they like, if they like."

"Masks? Now that sounds like a call to… deeper urges, if one asks me." Lorelei sniffed primly, as if she'd never thought of such urges in her life. Loki laughed hard, silently and unseen. "People not showing who they really are?"

"It's to ensure all feel a little more equal, lady Lorelei. The royal family are not unaware that there are sometimes troubles between those who feel richer and those who are not. Those who are trueborn Aesir, and who in our realm are not. Even in the city streets closest to the palace. The masks mean a visitor to the palace that night may for once go where they choose without such challenge. Only the Gods may see who we are."

"Oh, I suppose that's fair, then." She stepped back with her hands daintily clasped together as Thor started to lean on the balcony rail, now fully consumed by the fight as it heated up towards its conclusion. "And here I thought you might not attend because my sister already won your attentions."

"Hmm?" Thor didn't budge. For a long, privately hilarious moment, Loki would have bet his three favorite spellbooks that his brother had temporarily forgotten who Amora was. Thor cupped his hands to his mouth, shouting as loud as he could across the fields. "Oh, come on! You've got him on his heels, lad! Don't let him undercu-aww." His shout trailed off as the light caught the spark of a short blade tumbling from a warrior's hand. "There he goes, he's about to lose the damn fight entire."

"My prince?"

Thor shook his head as the disarmed warrior bowed in defeat, mentally rejoining himself on the balcony. "Amora? I don't recall any such matter, I'm sorry."

No, she just cornered you for half an hour after dinner night before last, doing that doe-eyed stare they've both got mastered right into your eyes. To be fair, Volstagg was singing that damn song of his that you love about the goat and the groomsman at the time, so you were a wee bit distracted. Loki leaned against his own rail, almost pushing himself into visible range and no longer really caring. Thor's obliviousness was becoming, frankly, depressing.

"Well." Lorelei tossed her hair over her shoulder, the loose, burgundy-ribboned braid tumbling across a bare arm with elegant flair. "I was mistaken. All the better for me, my lord, for my sister is sweet but a little too of her own mind. Her attentions of late have been more intellectual."

The fight over, Thor started moving again, still mostly in his own thoughts himself. "My brother speaks well of her capability in the city. She - and you, of course - have been most invaluable to the war need."

"Oh, of course!" She clasped her hands together. Loki tilted his head as he followed, noticing the trace of something familiar here. He'd had a sense before of some competition between the sisters, but thus far it had harmlessly come through to the people's benefit - each fighting to do better by their fellow refugees, which he couldn't help but praise. That both were also trying to catch themselves a prince wasn't surprising, but the undertone of rivalrous heat in Lorelei's voice on the topic was new. He supposed he understood it, a little. "It is our absolute honor to serve, and it's also been a joy. To see the people safe and comfortable."

"We are lucky to have you both." Absently, Thor took her hand and bowed over it, setting off an utterly delighted smile that didn't have a trace of falsity to it. Loki rolled his eyes again, nearly downing the rest of his wine in a single shot. That wedge in the door would work against Thor later, whether he remembered the moment or not. "My apologies about the festival. I am certain you and your sister will enjoy it near as much without us."

"Nearly, of course. Only nearly." Lorelei slowly took her hand from his, clasping it together with her other one and following it with a curtsy. "Now come on, let me pour you a fresh glass of wine and I'll be on my way. Evening ministrations, I've some deliveries to make."

"Certainly, mistress."

And with that, they were going to pass out of Loki's view. He weighed the situation, then decided he wasn't going to have any more fun crashing their little two-person party than he'd had listening in, and resumed lounging against the balcony railing.

Two sisters, plying and playing as siblings do, for the affections of a noble house. It wasn't the first time he'd seen such things, considering an affair he'd watched from a distance a few years back that involved some cousin of the Queen, but it was now the closest version of such adventure. Intimately close. He looked into the bottom of his empty glass and considered, muttering to himself because he could. "Amora might be the elder, but by sheer persistence, I almost feel like the younger holds a little more sway here. Interesting."

A moment of sympathy for Amora hit him. Certainly she was being more helpful intellectually at the moment. The bookkeeping and the more arcane details of the refugee work would normally have been shouldered almost entirely by him at this point. Having the help allowed him considerable more free time during the start of the festival season than he'd expected. And the given reward for the lady was being left in the dust by her more ebullient younger sister.

He shook his head and shoved himself away from the railing with a little more force than he intended. In the end, like that poor handmaiden's fight the morning before, it wasn't his problem, and nor did he have any real solutions. For now, he would be best off minding his own business entirely.