9.

. . .

Ago ~

The end of another summer crawled towards Asgard, cooler nighttime becoming the hours in which most were awake and glad of their realm and their lords. Not far away the war yet ebbed and flowed, with refugees still passing through the gates of the city often to be lost in the merchant sea. The nine nights of revels had finally passed to leave only the one, and as dusk cast its twilight cloak over the golden palace, the people waited for its gates to open and for its noble residents to disappear as if ghosts. Many of them were indeed masked to give them a sense of equality, children with silly aurochs faces and fairy paints, unknowables with gleamingly false gemstone eyes set amidst the chaos of feathers and furs, rich silken veils and engraved iron plates.

Odin stood alone, visible at the edge of a balcony centered above the grand double doors, waiting for the sun to bow into darkness before the realm. When he disappeared inside, he would, in metaphorical essence, be gone from Asgard - at least for a little while.

Loki heard the roar of the crowd when the moment came, saw Odin slip within and down the halls. The All-Father intended to lock himself in his private quarters for the night, those towers and distant rooms shared with the Queen - the residences were some of the few parcels of castle territory that remained off-limits. Much of the rest had masked and volunteering guards to guide visitors through so they would not get lost, and for good reasons.

He could have disappeared into the oldest depths of the libraries, hallways gone dusty and cold, where only the most insistent explorer would stumble on him pretending to not be there. It was what he'd considered doing when the festival was announced to the family prior to the people. Now he had something else in mind, a scrap of rebellion caught deep in his throat. Even Thor was sealed away in his quarters, drinking out the night with young Hogun, who had the least interest of all Thor's warrior friends in the festival itself. But Loki was still walking the halls at the knife's edge of his one night curfew, trying to decide if he dared go against the word of kings and, by archaic extension, old gods.

There were many waiting in the palace who had the same freedom now as the people now thronging through the doors below, healers and waitstaff and advisors, many of whom had already donned masks of their own and were drinking rare Dwarven meads and being jovial in the halls, still clustered together in their own knowing kettles.

Loki thought that was rather missing the entire point, but people will do what people will do. He moved through shadows, meanwhile, not having mastered the art of invisibility yet but instead a kind of softer illusion one could call going dim, and he passed by these knots of the palace residents without ever being glanced at.

He dipped into the blackened arch of a doorway as two pairs of footsteps came his way, the sound telling him they were in a hurry and that they were smack enough in the center of the hall to spot him if he didn't move deeper out of sight. He watched from a sharp corner just within the door as the Nornheim sisters passed by him without realizing, Amora with a gold and emerald mask felted into the shape of some kind of fae bird in her hand, Lorelei with a simpler eyemask crowned with sapphire feathers and dangling crystal beads. They were muttering to each other, words he couldn't quite make out. Both looked disappointed by the creak and downward curves of their mouths, and he assumed with a smirk that they'd tried one more time to get access to Thor for the eve - no doubt attempting to play on the solitude and loneliness he and Hogun and a ridiculously large array of beer were absolutely not going to be feeling tonight.

Better luck for the girls than they realized, in his estimation. Loki personally wagered both young men would be passed out well before dawn, if not short after midnight. Not the best way for a pair of young rural noblewomen to spend their last festival eve. He could have trailed them, too, but they didn't warrant his attention enough to consider breaking the old rules. Amora had begun flirting with him, meanwhile, over refugee documentations and useful suggestions on how to handle the survivors, but his mind remained uninterested in her ploys.

Instead he continued to move through the halls, down to where the noises of the crowd began to grow and press together thick as a rainstorm, passing the featureless black mask he'd secretly commissioned from a tailor between his hands and feeling the smooth, perfect void of it under his fingertips. A long silken hood completed it, just as black, and gloves were tucked into the void-black tunic he wore hidden underneath a prince's dark greys and green linens. The rest of him would match, of course. A death's head he'd be if he chose, a haunt. A hole in the night. If he wanted to be lawyerly about it, he could argue that under a costume as empty as this one, he indeed would not exist again until dawn. Only one more nameless shadow drifting among the countless others that filled Asgard tonight.

Go out amidst the night - and best not be caught. Or be the dutiful son of kings and not go at all. His fingers traced the hollows where his eyes would hide, masked behind a silk so fine that he could see through but no one else could recognize those eyes or their color.

He wasn't sure what he wanted from this escapade. Or even if he could pull it off. But a moment later the hood was over his face and his day's clothes were hidden well in a high nook behind one of the great old statues. More than one dusty old toy rattled at his scurry, a testament to how safe his things would be until he returned.

After that, he was lost in a sea of people, testing his own ability to identify others based on their movement and personality alone.

. . .

It was an easier game than he thought. For a while, he followed Eir's familiar rapid pace with her hands neatly clasped together as she silently dipped through the merchant stalls, wearing a thick, viscously red veil that Loki immediately realized was a healer's idea of a bloody joke. She crossed paths with Thor's friend Volstagg, who didn't bother with a mask - and no wonder, with his size and girth, he was going to be remarkable even disguised as one of those stony Kronan marauders.

Loki switched paths anyway, trailing the big fellow back towards home to observe the damage he did to men like the poor sausage vendor who'd opportunistically set up shop not far from the palace gates, and who clearly had never encountered someone like Volstagg before. No one paid any attention him pretending to be a shadow drifting under candles and ancient magelights. He found he liked that. A few hours where who he was and his rocky sense of place in Asgard didn't matter. Just another ghost, answering to no one.

He paused at the edge of the main road, letting Volstagg out of his sight and realizing he was stuck amidst a press of people that moved too quickly, too busily for him to study. It made his heart jump, lost for a moment in the storm of the crowd even though he was still in the shadow of the palace itself. Loki worked himself to the fringes, near a row of hedges, and found himself listening to the recognizable voices of palace staff chattering and then diving into that same crowd. He worked his way to the edge of the hedge to study them, still not seeing what he wanted.

Then he did.

He wasn't certain at first. The girl's long tunic was plain linen, embroidered with small vines, and she wore a white mask painted at its edges with tiny blue flowers. Then she moved, and he was. The Queen's handmaiden passed by him with a glimmer of that same, careful grace she'd danced with, and he realized the bland, handcrafted anonymity of her costume was another ruse. The simple paint was studded with minuscule gems, the vines careful green silk ribbons that took hours to twist and embroider, that linen layered underneath with more valuable and silky blue just barely peeking out to offer a hint to the clever enough observer.

Laughter reached his ears, a knot of girls moving with more familiar gaits. Not the Nornheim sisters; he recognized the other handmaidens instead. Kara slid towards him without intent, not paying attention to the shadow by the hedges or any of the others in the press. Her white mask watched the same gaggle, and he could see the tension in her shoulders.

"She's out here somewhere." Brigida laughed through teal velvet, sour. "Oh, well. I suppose she does have the right."

"Always with the Queen, these days. Makes her special, I wager she thinks. Can't let her get any delusions, now." Mette grabbed the hands of a young man walking with the knot. Loki didn't recognize him by his movement, nor by the glimpse of wide blue eyes behind an owl's even wider ones. Likely a palace chandler or one of the men's ewery staff, not one of his known regulars. "Nothing good comes from delusions."

Kara slipped further back into the hedge, the stiffness in her neck telling Loki she was listening furiously. Still, she was in view of them as they fully emerged into the open night and with nowhere else to hide in case they recognized some trace of her. He shuffled his position, deliberately clumsy, practically falling in front of her like a drunk minstrel.

"No, it doesn't, but really. I'm not going to spend my whole night worrying about one sorry little girl. Ugh, so many people!" Brigida ducked her head out, watching the traffic mill by. "Come on, let's go towards the food stalls. I want a little cake before I shop. Don't you, Helena?"

"Wouldn't mind," said the third wheel, more sedate than the rest.

"Arseholes," said Kara behind Loki, low and meant entirely for her own ears. He heard anyway, his sharper than most. "Twin arseholes with a little power, and the third too frightened to speak up for herself." Followed by a heavy sigh that began to trail off as she moved down the walk away from him. The voice picked up for a moment as he collected himself back upright. "Thank you for shelter, shadow."

He looked after her, catching her studying glance with a tilt of his own head. Loki gave her a small, plain bow, and then, pretending to be nothing more than that shadow he played at, he followed in her wake to a laugh that said she understood his game.

. . .

Loki followed Kara through a cluster of merchant stalls not far from the palace, booksellers and jewelers and sages. Most of which he'd passed by before as a prince and now went unnoticed. A few tried to talk with the handmaiden and she glided away from almost all, although one old man with some dusty, rare rune-tomes of history got a whispered conversation buried under the clang of revels out of her. She left empty-handed, and he couldn't tell if she was disappointed or not. He hung back, a long shadow under the high moon. Polite and in character both. The old man reorganized his books along the long shelf he was using as a display, and Loki marked his face to remember later, out of curiosity.

Now and then she glanced back at her second shadow, the curve of her eyes under the mask betraying a trace of bemusement. But she didn't speak to him, and why not? Mirrors might get a word here and there, but not shadows.

She kept close to the palace, Loki realized. Mostly traveling in a careful circuit, visiting another stall that carried bits of sumptuous cloth, once stopping by a dim little nook operated by a poor-looking woman selling candied treats. Kara bought a bagged handful from her, salted chews and something lemony whose scent he didn't recognize, and with a quick turn, a crinkle of the bag, and a laugh that surprised him, she tossed him a share of both. He caught everything easily, sneaking a bite of each under his mask and found they were delicious.

She lost him once, not long after that. He wasn't even sure how she'd managed it, the crowd ebbing and flowing as a line of bards careened down a thoroughfare, leading hooting and drunken warriors on to the next stop on a particularly profane bar crawl. One moment Kara was there at the edge, seeming to try and not be trampled, and the next she was gone.

Loki froze, scanning the crowd and not finding her. At least she wasn't harmed in the press; no calls rang through the air for anyone injured. Still, she was out of his sight at a crossroads just off the main road. Inns to the left and a riotous crowd to the right. He shook his head and decided to backtrack to the merchants. If she'd slipped him, well, there was nothing he could do about it, and he wasn't inclined to be too much the stalker. He'd played his game, he couldn't ask for more.

He made it halfway back to those first stalls she'd passed when something flew towards him out of a dim alley, threatening to bonk him on the head. He ducked on instinct, sensing it and snatching it neatly out of the air with a black glove. Another salted chew. He stared at it, small and golden in his palm, and then he heard that same laugh from the alley. Kara slipped out from the shadows with a wave of a hand and all but danced back onto her way towards the palace.

Stunned by the trick, he followed in her wake, her silent shadow again.

. . .

Back on palace grounds, Kara crept more carefully, watching for the other girls and moving through those private gardens around the fringe of the castle where even staff normally couldn't go without express permission. She kept her hands folded behind her back as she passed by lilies and roses and strange old things that were not quite crocuses, and Loki followed her, still silent company as the hours of the night wore on. They passed couples and guards, quiet loners and laughing children chewing at candies as big as their small hands. It was well into the small hours with dawn not far off when she finally spoke to him, her white dress still gliding in front of his black. "I can't be that particularly interesting, tall shadow. Poor company, I am. You could have spent the Last Night walking just about anywhere, with anyone else."

He said nothing, of course.

Kara laughed, the sound of it ironic. "But then that's the life of a shadow, isn't it? You go where you must, once fixed to a form. It's natural law, unbreakable." She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he could see her eyes crinkling inside the mask. "Proportions are a bit off, however. You're far too tall to be my shadow."

He said nothing. But he did shrug, a small one.

She stepped back, mock horrified, a hand flying to her chest. Her gasp stayed low, so she wouldn't accidentally draw attention as if there were a real shock going on. "Ye Gods, it has a personality of its own! A possessed shadow after all."

Loki had to fight a laugh at her drama.

"You've given yourself away. Not just a shadow or a ghost, are you?" She leaned in towards him, her voice teasing. "But some creature mild enough to accept a quieter night in a grander festival. Not much of a demon, then, either."

He tilted his head at her, and inside the mask the corners of his lips tightened. She couldn't have any sort of guess who he was, of course. But still, the way she teased, the tone she used…

Kara leaned back again, seeming to let the moment go. Her hand drifted over one of the night irises. "Ah, but never mind. This night, all ghosts go where they will. Even you and me. That's the other natural law, isn't it? Despite what others might tell you." She looked back at him. "That is the paradox. We do what others tell us we must, even when those same people might go on and say free will matters in the eyes of the old and we must be responsible for our own whims." She shrugged. "So which is it that rules a life? Ourselves, or our Gods?"

Loki studied her, remaining silent, thinking about that. There were deep old texts on such thoughts, and everyone had an opinion. He wasn't entirely sure of his own, not yet. Then he shrugged, more dramatically, then lifted one hand in a see-saw motion. Maybe a little of both, the equivocator's safe answer.

"Mm." She clasped her hands together. "Is that it, though?" Then a sharp shake of her head. "But at the same time, how much does it matter?"

He felt troubled. This was a lot of weight for a handmaiden to hold, and not something he typically encountered within the palace. This was for warriors and philosophers, and clockwork creatures like himself.

"I see you pause. I'm sorry. Happens sometimes when the night becomes small and begins to shrink before the daylight, my mouth runs off with my thoughts. Was I supposed to only speak of embroidery and galas?"

He could see her eyes as she studied him, wry and not at all angry. He shook his head slowly, trying to show his seriousness, wishing he dared speak. But if he did, the game would be given away, this small crime of his. Maybe a little of both, he'd indicated - but what the Gods didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Well. Regardless, I probably ought not to ramble. Again, I'm sorry. I don't get to talk to others often. The Queen is her own person and I've not much for company among the other girls, as you've seen." She sighed, ignoring the tilt of his head. "If Helena had a spine… but, well."

Loki stepped closer, catching her glance. Then he nodded, slowly. This was a thing he understood. Books were his good company, but books were not good conversationalists. Then he waved a hand on, trying to guide. There was one more pleasant garden along this path, an all but secret one off the main walkways. A treasure of the palace. Just enough time before the dawn to see it, if she liked.

She laughed, small and quiet, and moved to follow him this time.

. . .

They were pollen-drifters. Small, alien flowers collected by warriors and healers from elsewhere in the galaxy, rumored by the grovekeepers to have a grain of some floating, communal sentience. He didn't know where they came from, not for certain. Rare things, their glowing white seeds kept close by the invisible shield that rippled electric over their skin as the masked pair passed through it. The flowers themselves were a deep, rich blue that dipped into shades that their eyes couldn't see. "Oh," said Kara, reaching out with a cupped hand as the gleaming white pollen hung in the air like stardust. Fading moonlight caught them, twinkling blue and white. "I… didn't know this garden was here."

He still couldn't say anything, couldn't explain that the garden was small and mundane by daylight, easily missed unless one looked for it. The pollen only burst well after moonrise, and the flowers bloomed when they chose. Often in summer, though, so he'd figured tonight was a good chance for it. Loki found this sanctum by accident as a child, roaming at night, playing hide and seek with Thor. He won that round, but stayed almost another hour to watch the pollen drift through the air when moved by his hand, like little sprites following him about. Maybe on some small level, they were.

Now they followed Kara as she moved from one small bush to the next, watching as the pollen gathered close and magnetic around her form only to puff away again on a faint breeze or a slight motion. "I've never seen anything like these, not anywhere." Her voice turned rueful, her words followed with a small laugh. "True, I haven't been that many places yet."

He took over a small stone bench, rustling his voidblack fabric across its surface as he sat, watching her, watching the flowers. She glanced back at him as he clasped his gloved hands in his lap, but he had no guess as to her expression. She said nothing now, but knelt next to one of the brightest bushes, where the pollen gathered the strongest. He suspected it was the original cutting, the mother flower, but that was nothing more than a guess.

"It's peaceful here," she said eventually, still quiet. "There's not many places in the palace that feel calm like this. There's always a whisper of something, some… energy, I suppose, that you always feel aware of. The prisons have their ghosts and the kitchens have their own kind of blood. Voices and drafts and memories." Her voice turned wry. "But it's nice to remember there are those few silent places left."

She looked at him, her eyes half-lidded under the mask. "I didn't grow up somewhere very quiet. It's all I can say, really, but it's a rarity to me. And for that, beautiful."

Loki cocked his head at her, a little quizzical, a lot understanding.

She laughed and turned back to the flowers, leaning back on her heels a bit and clearly not caring about the grass that might already be staining her long tunic. "I like this far better than the rowdiness elsewhere." Silence filled the garden for a moment that felt more like another secret, hidden hour. "Thank you."

He nodded to Kara when she glanced his way again, rising up and brushing grass from knees bare under the white linen. Then she turned her head to look at the way the sky seemed to purple at the rim of the world, the nighttime black giving way to the rising dawn. Only a few minutes left before the morning star itself would cut through, that sharp flare. "Almost over, then," she said, sounding rueful. "Sunrise comes, masks off and daily routines hard-forged for us again."

Loki rose, looking down at her and realizing he needed to go while he could. The flood of people leaving the palace would quickly become a hard swim upstream, and he wanted to be well-hidden near the cordoned-off areas before someone got wise to his absence. She continued to watch the sunrise, not looking at the shadow behind her, and again she surprised him with a wry, if soft-toned tease."You had better go while you can, shadow. Dawn burns your kind, I expect. Thank you again. For the company… and the quiet."

More of the darkness began to flare off, the undersides of a few light morning clouds turning fire-bright, the last warning. Loki hesitated, knowing she was right, wondering what she thought - if she knew, if she suspected - and realizing somehow the questions were irrelevant. What was important was that he left while he could.

Still, he hesitated until she turned to look at him, seeming concerned. He reached out, pulled the top of her mask free from her forehead with one gloved hand, and then, with a quick and not a little mischievous tweak of his own that left most of his face still obscured, brushed his lips past the crown of her hair where it met the smooth skin of her brow. His own silent gratitude for the company.

As ever, it was all he could do. And with that, he was gone with the dawn, in silence, never looking back to see Kara's reaction, and making it back to the secret halls in damn near a dead run.

Worth it. He laughed as the morning servants came to him in his rooms later and saw nothing awry, quiet and for no one but himself.