I'm feeling more stable by the time pre-dawn paints the solar's floor-to-ceiling windows gray. A little loose around the edges, sure. Maybe a bit jumpy. But the shadows look like shadows again, and I'm no longer in danger of waking up from Asgard to find myself back in my horrible little Chitauri cell.

My Alfr mage has rigged a command center in a dozen holographic divining scopes, which glow eerie orange against the opaque, fishbowl windows. The nearest displays Asgard's staging area with its dark energy generators, filled with our bristling, armed and armored legions set for transport to Vorsgard. The rightmost is aimed at the fleet hovering silent over our city's night-lights, ready to teleport at Tyr's signal. The leftmost peers through the single chink in Vorsgard's ward network to blasted mud. The remaining nine are tethered to chieftains within my joint army, including Prince Thor. I get to watch Prince Thor save the day. Again.

Oh, goody.

"On your command, Allfather," Tyr says from Display 5. "Fleet is ready."

"Ground is ready," Thor agrees. His golden face swings into view on Display 4, so I switch it off. "Upon your command."

"War Leader is ready." Lord Aumdyn's voice comes from a speaker below these shiny glowing scopes. I don't need to see into the Red Tower, because the only people in the Red Tower are feeble old men far past their fighting days. Oh, and Aumdyn. He of the glittery hair must stay behind to provide oversight along with the Elder Council—alas, the horror of being Tyr's right-hand man.

The bastard.

Of course this is how the war begins. Thor will be a hero. I've been cheated out of a shot at glory . . . everybody hates Loki . . . All is right and true with the universe.

"Proceed," I command. And close my eyes as every able man and shieldmaiden except for me—and Aumdyn, but who cares—vanishes from Asgard.

The dark energy generators fill my ears with a delayed hum—and I can hear my Alfr mage switch over Display 1's scope to show some other view.

"Ground force is away," Councilor Yri states, from my left. I wonder if he thinks he's being honored, being stationed here at Odin-King's side. He's an unimportant fifth-millennial from an unimportant family, bald and snub-nosed, more gizzard than face; I don't remember what honors he might have earned when Bor still reigned over an empire seven realms strong, but he's sure to have done something impressive to earn his red cape.

"Clear! Prince Frey, take your Vanir to. . . ." Thor's voice booms from the blacked display.

"Ground is landed," Councilor Yri tells the War Council, who likely have the same displays on similar divining scopes, which makes this update absolutely pointless. "Warded Legions One-through-Three proceeding to coordinates given by Princess Smirna. We are having technical issues with Display Four."

My Alfr mage startles from his work sorting tracker data from the troops on Vorsgard, and helpfully switches on Thor-o-Vision. My not-brother's friendly smile makes me want to put a fist through his eye.

"Nibelung," Thor says. "Give alert at the first sign of Chitauri movement. They will have to bring the Tesseract to this point in order to open a world-gate. Do not let them pass."

"Don't waste stolen air worrying about my warriors." The Dwarven King laughs like a rusting gate, from Display 7. "Your daddy only put you in command because you're his piss-pants little son. Or so your mother claims."

I smile. That makes everything better.

"Perimeter secure," Prince Frey of Vanaheim reports.

"Drop point perimeter secure." Lord Aumdyn says. "Fleet, you are clear for dark energy transport."

"Fleet is ready," Tyr states.

"Proceed." I close my eyes.

With the Black Tower under quarantine, we have to rely on Alfr mages to work our generators. There's a moment's pause—then the generators' hum reverberates through the palace. I open my eyes to see my own false face sneering at me from the opaque glass.

"Fleet is at destination," Yri says.

"Good." I force my attention to the divining scopes. "Thor, from fleet sensors I'm seeing a tunnel five kilometers northeast. No enemy movement above ground. A fast march through a salt pan will get you to it in—"

The bifrost goes off, tearing apart the pre-dawn through my windows with a razor beam blast of color. For half an instant the opaque glass light up—and then there's solid gray outside as darkness descends once more.

What the hell was that?

"—Father?" Thor is saying.

"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty," Lord Aumdyn cuts in. "We did not hear the last part. My readings suggest a march through that terrain will put Legions One-through-Three at target in just under an hour."

The bifrost goes off again, launching another rainbow between realms.

"Is this what your scopes are reading?" Aumdyn presses. "Your Majesty?"

I chew my lower lip, staring at the window. "The bifrost is activating. Mage?"

"I am here, Odin-King." Yes he is; he's watching the legions like it's a Sigurd show, all wide-eyes and open mouth.

"Open a connection to the Observatory," I say, while Aumdyn and Thor fall silent. "What is Heimdall up to?"

The Alfr boy scrambles to make this happen.

Another flash from the bifrost.

"It is here, Odin-King." The mage pushes a voice pad into my left hand.

"Is this him?" I speak into the pad: "Heimdall? Heimdall, what is going on out there?"

The bifrost discharges a forth time.

"In the name of I who am Odin Borson, Allfather and High King," I say, "Heimdall, you will answer me."

Heimdall is not responding.

A chill slithers up my spine. That can't mean anything good. And in the prelude to a massive troop deployment . . ?

I drop the pad. "Lord War Leader?"

"Sire?"

"Send an Einherjar warband to the Rainbow Bridge. Someone is at the Observatory without royal permission."

Spy.

My heart lurches backward. If Heimdall has been incapacitated, he's been incapacitated so that someone can use the bifrost without authorization. What is being brought into Asgard without authorization? "Make that all Einherjar warbands," I command. "Sound alarm. We have multiple intruders on foot—four bursts from the bifrost will give up maximum thirty-two persons. Treat as thirty-two hostile enemies on foot."

"What?" Thor snaps.

"Sir!" Yri grips my left shoulder. "If I may. There cannot be an intrusion. Only the Guardian or the royal family knows what runes will activate the bifrost."

"Obviously not."

The War Council bellows orders across its speaker.

I tell my Alfr mage, "Recast a divining scope to give me a view of the Bridge. Let's make it—oh, Display Number Four."

"But the Prince—" Yri says.

"Fetch me Gungnir," I command, to shut him up. "Bring that to my possession. And get the Queen to safety."

He races for the door.

"Odin," Tyr says. "You don't think you are acting with too much haste?"

Odin is acting in haste. Loki smells a plot.

It's an electric feeling that runs deeper than my bones. Little details that add up into bigger details, until a sense of wrongness is so pervasive that I feel it looming even if I can't see it just yet. Possibly because I am a backstabbing bastard I can't help but see a pattern that might otherwise look almost innocuous.

Almost but not quite. It's the almost that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

If it were me . . .

What would my game be? Who would I try to slip into the city? Not Chitauri. The Other? No, that isn't its game. Jotunheim? That makes no sense at all, unless someone's been making friends at the same time I have. But if the Other could contact Jotunheim, it could get the Tesseract off Vorsgard. Smirna says it hasn't, so . . . it hasn't.

Yri is right, however much I am loath to admit. No one but the royal family and Heimdall could get the bifrost working.

Has someone put Heimdall under mind control?

Display 4 refocuses on the the Bridge. It's empty. At least—it looks empty.

"Scan all light spectrums," I order. My Alfr mage lashes spells at the scope. Still nothing.

"Scan for thaumic signature," I say.

Nothing. There is nobody is on the Bridge.

"Sire," Lord Aumdyn cuts in. "The Einherjar Cheiftain reports that our wall is secure. No persons have entered Asgard."

That isn't right. I don't understand. The bifrost illegally discharged four times and Heimdall is not responding. Every warped fiber of my being—

There is another possibility.

It's not one I'd like to consider. Once I think of it, I can't shake it loose.

Blood rushes my head. I put a hand flat on Odin's solarium bookshelf to keep myself upright. With my other hand, I gently, carefully, switch off my speaker's pickup. A tremor tries to creep up my arm. "Mage?"

"I am here, Odin-King?"

I wet my lips. "Is that a question or a statement?"

"I am here, Odin-King."

He is. A slender, dark-skinned youth in an Alfr cloth-of-gold dress. He looks real. He looks solid. He's casting a shadow on Odin's bookshelf, which is good enough for now.

I make myself smile. "Did you see the bifrost—a multicolored light—flash through the window, over there—just now?"

"Yes, Odin-King."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, Odin-King. You said it true: four times."

Then I'm not hallucinating. The bifrost discharged, but nobody came through.

I don't know if I ought to be terrified, or relieved.

I switch on my pickup. "Check the Observatory."

"En route," Lord Aumdyn says.

"What is happening?" Thor's voice is muffled, coming through the council speaker where his tracker is still displayed.

"The bifrost made four unauthorized transports," Svaldir says.

"What does this mean?"

"We are not yet certain."

Aumdyn raises his voice. "Sire, the Einherjar Cheiftain reports Lord Heimdall is unconscious. Uninjured otherwise, that he can tell."

"So someone got past him to use the bifrost, but nobody came through?" Thor demands.

"It could be a diversion," Aumdyn says.

A diversion for what? What could it mean if nobody comes through?

I know. In an instant, I know.

Cold sweeps over me, rattling down my arms, through my chest, turning my knees to slush.

I grab for the speaker. "Recall the warriors," I gasp. "Now."

"Old friend, I advise against this," Tyr says. "If this is a diversion, it is a dangerous diversion. If we leave Vorsgard the Tesseract may be lost."

"Aumdyn!" My voice climbs half an octave. I shove it down, into Odin's range. "Recall our fleet. Recall all warriors."

"Father, what makes you say this?"

"What of the Tesseract?" Aumdyn demands.

"The Tesseract is already lost." In the dead place in my head I can hear Asgard inhaling. Odin's solar is too close around me, too quiet. I scrub my hands over my jaw. "Thor, it's the bifrost. No one was coming through, someone was leaving. There's nobody on the Bridge now because someone got past our Guardian to leave. You can rig a tracker spell to smuggle messages from Asgard; the only reason anyone would bother to physically leave is if they were trying to escape. No, not escape—evacuate."

There is a hellish pause.

"But what makes you think—?" Tyr begins.

I snarl, "Why would anyone bother evacuating the city now when it would be most noticeable? With the city on full Nine Damned military alert? What is so dire that someone wants to escape Asgard at all cost right now? What do they know that we don't?"

"Chieftain," Aumdyn says. "I believe he is right."

"Transport position," Thor and Tyr shout at the same time.

Aumdyn says, "Opening a channel to dark energy subchamber. Enchanters, target lock all fleet all ground personnel."

Then he yells. It's a wordless, nameless curse.

"War Leader?" I snap.

Quiet. A shuddering exhale over the speaker cold and dark.

Cold seeps up my skin. "My lord?"

"Aumdyn!" Tyr booms. "Speak! You worthless gold-plate shame of—"

"They are gone," Aumdyn says. His voice is halting, muzzy, childlike with wonder as was the Alfr boy's. "Oh, holy Fates. The enchanters. The dark energy subchamber is empty."

I exhale in a rush. "Mage?"

"I am here, Odin-King."

"Display Number Four to dark energy generators, would you?" And then all the little details add up, and understanding slots into place. Dark realization brings a rush like freefall. My fingers come unglued from their deathgrip on the speaker. The speaker slips free and crashes off Odin's floor. "Oh." I'm a fool.

A twice-damned fool.

"Sire?"

I sigh. "Elegant."

Aumdyn curses again. "Searching area. No sign of our enchanters."

There won't be any sign of our Alfr enchanters. I suspect they used the generates to evacuate the city shortly after Queen Daina's court did.

I sit down in Odin's high-backed chair. The Alfr boy refocuses Display 4 on the staging area's abandoned dark energy subchamber. A weird yellow shine coats the air above the generator rows, flickering at the edge of my vision.

My Alfr mage flaps an urgent hand on my shoulder. "Odin-King! Odin-King!"

"Yes?"

"That is magic, look. It is a residue from a spell for making illusions. The glow, yes?"

Is it? My magic is more sophisticated than that.

"Might be they are not gone," the Alfr boy says.

Oh. Damn.

What does it mean if the mages have hidden themselves to play with our generators?

"The Einherjar are en route to the Black Tower," Aumdyn says. "To summon Aesir mages."

A hum rattles the palace.

"Father!" Thor's still muffled coming through his display over the council speaker. "Section Three is gone!"

"We are under attack?" Tyr snaps.

"No sighting!" Aumdyn hisses at them. "I cannot confirm."

"The Elves have vanished," Thor says.

My Alfr mage gasps.

A smile slices across my face. Of course they've vanished. Our 'missing' Alfr enchanters have just transported them back into the staging area, under cover of that illusion! "Lord Aumdyn? Change in plans."

"I am listening."

Another hum. The Alfr warriors are transported again, I suspect, from Asgard to Alfheim.

"Forget the Black Tower," I say. "By the time you get Aesir magicians to the dark energy subchamber you will find the generators destroyed. Reroute all Einherjar to the city streets. We need to get the civilians inside the palace and raise the shields."

"What in all of Helheim are you talking about?" Tyr snarls.

Fates! Isn't it obvious? I shout, "In the name of your High King, last living son of Buri the First God, do as I command!"

"Odin—"

"We are trying to contact Queen Daina and the Alfr princess," Svaldir says in the background. "She needs to be made aware of what is happening on Vorsgard."

"You won't find her," I snap. "I expect they were the first through the bifrost."

A null follows this. The speaker and the displays go silent once more. I can hear breathing from our warded legions on Vorsgard. Outside my windows the sky is still grey. I'm fizzing. My skin is full of ants. The solar's air thickens into a noose around my neck.

What did Smirna say?

—Alfheim's loyalty was already assured before you sat down to speak with my mother. Oh, Smirna. Lying, lovely Smirna. You always did like playing games by telling the truth. —Our Queen might have played you otherwise. . . .

A panicked shouting match picks up between Tyr, his War Leader, and the old men in the Council chamber. Thor is yelling at Prince Frey about retreat to the drop point. Thor is an idiot; there is no one in the subchamber now and I can see smoke rising from the generators.

My Alfr mage prods my elbow. He's about twelve, all arms and knees and an earnest, hopeful disposition. "Do you think our beloved Queen is all right?"

I give him a great big grin. "Don't worry. I'm sure she's fine."

Armored footsteps clap the marble outside my solar. Four, five, six warrior by the sound of it. Their boots are almost noiseless. Elves.

"Have you done as I ask?" I prompt Aumdyn.

"All Einherjar warbands are redirected to the city," he relents. "Allfather, should I sound the general alarm?"

"Yes. And don't bother me for a while. I'm about to be assassinated."