Chapter 4: Black Flame, Silver Dagger.

Burning yellow blazed across the inside of her eyelids, and scrunching up her face, Sigyn pulled the soft copper silk over her face, a low gravelly growl coming from under the covers at the sound of happy whistling.

"Must you do that, Kyaer?" Sigyn mumbled as she threw the bedcover down and sat up, a deep scowl wrinkling her brow.

The balcony's drapes had been pulled back, revealing Asgard's blazing dawn. She had not slept enough, not even close. After Loki's seething exit from night meal, to her great shame, she'd sulked and excused herself from the company of Thor's friends and had rushed to her chambers to fetch her longbow and arrows. Firing the weapons into the burlap covered dummy had been soothing. And then Thor had shown up.

Despite Thor's unexpected brotherly affections somewhat soothing the sting of Loki's bite, she'd wanted him to leave. Something deep within her soul had told her this is wrong. Despite their quarrel, she'd felt close to Loki, and allowing his golden brother to wrap her in his cloak had felt treacherous. When the glass of the library window had shattered, the look of betrayal on Loki's face had been heart breaking. She felt as though she'd been that window which now lay in the garden, broken beyond repair. Maybe Loki felt like that, too. He really had wanted her, hadn't he? She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of Loki thinking even for a second that she had entertained the possibility of a romance with his brother. She cringed. Nothing about Thor was romantically appealing.

Kyaer gave her an apologetic smile. "Forgive me, Lady Sigyn, but I could only let you sleep in so long. The queen expects you in less than half an hour."

Sigyn's eyes blew wide.

Oh shit.

She threw her feet over the side of the bed and ran to the washroom. She relieved herself, splashed water on her face, and finger combed her hair. Kyaer held a silk gown out to Sigyn when she hurried back into the bedroom. Oh this dress was so pretty, and Sigyn thanked her before realizing that the dress was ...

Black?

Oh so now they give her something black. She spoke through her teeth. "Where was this last night?"

How utterly frustrating! She really could have used anything other than the green she'd sported, but everything else had been so horribly pastel. That horrid dress had been her downfall with Loki. Distracted momentarily at the thought of his beautiful face, she played with the neckline of the dark garment while Kyaer tied the fastenings on the straps.

"I informed the queen that perhaps you preferred dark fabrics, and she had this, along with a dozen similar dresses, sent here after night meal. You can check the armoire later, if you like. I replaced the old ones." Kyaer's cheeks were pink when she bowed her head as she backed away from Sigyn. "I'm so sorry that it wasn't available for last meal."

Feeling terrible for having snapped at her, Sigyn gave her a quick hug. "It's fine. I'm fine. We're fine. But I am late. I'll see you later this evening, Kyaer," she said as she stepped into her shoes and slung a charcoal colored leather satchel containing her spellbooks across her body and then dashed out the door.

Kyaer let out a nervous breath and began making the bed. She yelped, a hand flying to her mouth when Sigyn came running back into the room.

"Forgot breakfast," Sigyn said, out of breath as she grabbed an apple from the tray of food Kyaer had put on her dressing table and turned on her heel to run back out.

She stuck her head back in, scaring Kyaer again, and shouted, "And thank you for the dress!"

Chomping into the fruit, she waved bye to Kyaer who gave her a nod, and she took back off into the hall, not bothering with an apology as several servants dodged her to keep from being knocked over.

Hearing a light knock on her door, Frigga flicked her wrist, a light golden mist shimmering around it, and the doors swung open, bidding a frazzled Sigyn to step in.

"You are not late, dearest. Do not fret. But," Frigga smirked, "you almost were."

Sigyn let out a little chuckle and smiled at the queen. She could see a hint of Loki in the woman's smirk, and it made her chest ache a little.

"How are you this morning?" Sigyn asked.

"I am well, my dear. Now, let's get straight to it, shall we?" Frigga gestured to a plush steel blue arm chair. "Tell me which magical gifts you possess. Freya was so secretive."

Taking the seat, relieved that the queen was not upset, Sigyn relaxed, speaking plainly. "I think it's called eldur flutningsmaður? Is that right? Fire magic. I can manipulate fire, but I cannot conjure it." She lowered her eyes, suddenly self-conscious in the company of the mightiest sorceress in the nine.

The queen raised an eyebrow in question. "What is wrong, dearest?"

Shaking her head, Sigyn chuckled nervously. "It's just...I'm a bit embarrassed. I call myself a sorceress, and yet I can barely remember magic terminology."

Frigga nodded her head and flipped to the introduction of the book she'd been holding. "I sent this same book to your chambers last night. I assume you brought it?"

Nodding, Sigyn reached into her satchel and retrieved the thick black velvet bound book, opening it to the same page.

"You need to know the ancestral language for spell casting. I will translate. You write." Smiling warmly, Frigga handed her an endless ink quill. "Seiðr, Seiður. Sorcery, sorcerer, or in my case, and yours, sorceress. And you were correct. One who has fire magic is called eldur flutningsmaður. You are incorrect, however, when you say that you can only manipulate fire. Fire magic is, in a sense, mind magic, which is called huga Seiðr. And if you are able to command fire to do your will with only your thoughts, then you are certainly able to create it with your thoughts, as well. It's just a more advanced skill. It might be helpful to speak with my son. Loki is quite talented in all forms of mind magic."

"Is that so?" Sigyn said, feigning ignorance and forcing her eyes to stay open, despite wanting to close them and just day dream about him.

Even the mention of his damn name made her warm. Frigga eyed her, and Sigyn wondered if the queen could also read minds. Is that where Loki learned it from? Oh gods ...

Clearing her throat, she looked down at her notebook so her hair could fall forward and hide the deep blush spreading from her cheeks and down her neck. After the previous night, she was well acquainted with Loki's talent for mind magic.

If Frigga could read minds, she at least spared Sigyn from the embarrassment of further discussing Loki and said, "You do realize that fire magic can be quite dangerous?"

All too familiar with the dangerous properties of her own magic, Sigyn slowly raised her eyes to meet Frigga's and half smiled. "I'm aware, yes."

Three hours went by in the queen's chamber and Sigyn still hadn't successfully conjured even a tiny flame. Frigga, of all people, should have been able to teach her, should she not? Surely she was just distracted by you know who. She couldn't even think his name. Seriously. This was going to be a problem.

Utterly humiliated, and fairly certain Frigga could read minds, Sigyn gathered her things and excused herself when the lesson ended, thanking the queen for her time. What a pathetic excuse for a sorceress she was. Returning to her chambers, she fell face first on the bed, pounding her palms into the fabric angrily. He had returned to the forefront of her mind. In truth, he'd never left the forefront. He refused to leave her thoughts for even a moment's sanity. It was shameful how much she wanted him after the way he'd treated her. Had she no respect for herself at all? Rolling to her back, she sighed heavily and threw her arm over her eyes.

Set your sights lower.

She'd been damn near close to retrieving the tiny black dagger she kept strapped near the top of her thigh and slamming it into Loki's hand, the very one that had provocatively squeezed said thigh, when he'd said that to her. And yet she still wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and feel his lips on hers. She hated the mix of emotions. She couldn't decide if she wanted to run away from or toward him. And if she ran toward him, would she stab him or kiss him? The more she thought of him, the angrier she became, and as her anger grew, the dying embers in the fireplace roared to life, moving out from the hearth and spreading across the rug.

Shit!

As heat and smoke filled the space, painful hacking coughs ripped from her throat. Calling on her Seiðr, which had failed her miserably that morning, she held her hand out, palm down, over the nearing flames. Dark mist dripped from her fingers, hovering above the flames, drenching and snuffing them out instantly, and soft black tendrils of smoke coiled up gracefully at the loss of their source.

This was not good. No, this was terrible.

Her eyes swept across the ash covered and smoke filled room. Asgard was full of candles, torches, fire pits, and hearths. If she continued losing control of her magic every time she was angered, the entire palace would go up in flames. She pushed her hair back from her face and grabbed her longbow and arrows. Violence was the best medicine for her rage, right?

Right.

Leaving her quarters, she made way for the training arena.

If Loki spent every night tossing about like he had last night, he would have permanent black circles under his eyes. Seeing Sigyn with his brother had taken his rage to new heights. Honestly, from the library window, it had looked like Thor was romancing her, but then her eyes had met Loki's, and there was no doubt in his mind that Thor had been unsuccessful in his attempts, if that was indeed what he'd been doing.

Loki had slept not a wink, laying there in the black sheets of his huge wrought iron bed, staring at the posters fashioned as serpents with jade eyes coiling up ten feet. He hadn't wanted to snuff out the green candlelight glowing dimly from the emerald crystal chandelier because the flames had reminded him of Sigyn. He'd hoped the flames would persuade his brain to dream about her. So much for that theory.

When he arose mid-afternoon, his hair had been thoroughly tangled, matted with the cold sweat that covered his naked body. He'd been so hot with rage after breaking the library window that he'd barely closed the doors behind him before stripping nude and throwing himself on the bed, pale skin turned fever red. He didn't bother with a bath now, but instead washed quickly under the glass encased shower in his bathroom. Turning off the water, he yanked his towel from the shelf and dried himself before grabbing his armor.

Once he was dressed, he went to his balcony and breathed in the cold air, letting it wash over him and bring his temperature down. Normally, he awoke with the dawn so he could get to his magic studies as early as possible before the responsibilities of the day took over, but he'd been lazy today. Well, not lazy. Just overwhelmed to the point of not knowing the point of getting up at all. Looking out across the palace gardens, he was thrown off by the shadows. They were in all the wrong places. And he could hear the clanging of swords on shields from the arena. Speaking of the arena, he needed to have a little talk with his brother.

Turning on his heel, he walked straight to his desk and grabbed his weapons. He sheathed his dagger in his boot along with his set of throwing knives which he hid snugly within the leather of his outer tunic. He wasn't sure what his plans were for Thor, but he needed to be prepared for a fight.

Volstagg brought his heavy ax down on his hay filled enemy and frowned at the lack of resistance. Fighting with practice dummies was as exciting as it was bloodyーthoroughly and disappointingly not.

Sif gripped her sword, swinging at Hogun with a huge smile plastered on her face. Offensive, defensive, and evasive...every technique had been burned into the inside of her skull long ago. Fighting was her first love. Well, that wasn't true. Thor had won her heart long before she'd held her first weapon.

Volstagg laughed as Hogun came at him. "Yes, Hogun, spar with me! You've outdone Sif! And these sack adversaries do not fight back!"

Annoyed, Sif blew her hair out of her face. Her favorite sparring partner, Fandral, was busy with another soldier, so she turned in a circle, looking for a challenger. Spotting Loki descending the stairs, she smiled. Honestly, the dark prince was her true favorite, more so than Fandral. His fighting technique was unlike any other she'd met, and his clever and sarcastic retorts during a fight were entertaining.

As Loki drew closer, though, she frowned. Something was off with him. He looked positively murderous. She followed the direction of his eyes. He was focused on his brother. Thor was engaged in a battle without the aid of Mjölnir. She looked back to Loki. He was picking up speed. She didn't see a weapon, but she knew he had a dagger sheathed in his boot, and her chest tightened, her tear ducts filling quickly. He often looked as though he would kill Thor, but this was different. She'd never thought he really would kill his brother before, but he had murder in his eyes now, and without Thor's hammer in his way, Loki stood a chance of being successful. There was no way in Hel that she would let Loki get any closer to his target.

She ran toward him, her sword at the ready and stopped directly in front of him. "Loki."

Coming to a sudden halt, he glared. "Sif."

What the Hel did she want? Did he look like he was in the mood for sparring? Seeing the pleading look in her eyes, he guessed it had something to do with his brother. Coming to the oaf's defense again? Good gods, that woman had the worst taste in men.

She inched closer to him, feeling small next to his long frame. "It's not worth it, Loki. Whatever it is. He's your brother for Valhalla's sake. When will you two stop this?"

He tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips, seemingly considering her words, but she knew better. Loki listened to no one. Even less so when he was pissed off.

He closed the gap between them in one step, one hand wrapped around her throat, his grip just tight enough to suggest the seriousness of the situation, but not tight enough to cut off her air supply. He spoke through his teeth.

"Let. Me. Pass."

Holding her sword steady with one hand, she grabbed his wrist and twisted it off her throat. He tried to shove past her then (truly he had no wish to fight her) but she put a hand on his chest and shook her head.

Blowing out a hot breath, Loki swiped his hair from his eyes. Did she really think to stand in the gap for Thor? Was she really that idiotic? Did this insipid woman really think she could best him? Side eyeing her, he unsheathed his dagger and reminded himself to not use his magic because that really would kill her. Despite her best efforts to hide it, he knew she was scared of him in that moment. He could actually hear her heart pounding.

"You can still back out of this, Sif," he warned, watching her through narrowed eyes as she steadied herself for a fight against someone who she knew could do some serious damage to her.

"As can you," she countered, trying to control her shaking voice.

"I can," he said, his voice low and threatening, "but I won't."

She responded with a cry of anger and then lunged at him.

Sigyn ignored the soldiers staring at her as she ran down the steps into the training arena. The Crimson Hawks, Odin's finest warriors, were a burly crew of huge intimidating men and had nary seen an armed female, save for maybe Sif, but she was the only exception. She didn't care what anyone thought of her right then. No, all that mattered was the anger ripping her apart from the inside. She needed to shoot some arrows, or all the torches all around the arena would explode.

Her quiver, delicate evergreens carved into the painted black wood, hung at her back. Twelve razor sharp black arrows, jade and silver feathers molded carefully into the ends, peaked out the top. The curved longbow was slung across her body, left shoulder to right hip. She hiked up the long black skirt as she crossed the uneven terrain to spare it from the wet field as best she could.

She then heard a woman crying out, and it drew her eyes away from her original destination. Searching for the source of the sound, her eyes blew wide, and her jaw dropped upon seeing the man who had caused her fitful and sleepless night locked in a fight with Sif, and they were most certainly not sparring. No, this was a true battle, and Sigyn knew that Sif hadn't acquired the title Goddess of War without merit. Gripping her bow strap tighter, her eyes stung with tears as she watched Loki drop to the ground, just barely avoiding the tip of Sif's sword.

Hel. No.

If Loki were injured or worse, she would end that woman herself. Despite her better intentions, Sigyn felt the dangerous magic flowing through her veins and the accompanying black coils of smoke appeared at the hem of her dress.

Loki moved to a low squat, one arm outstretched in front of his body, the other across his face, just below his eyes, and had a palm grip on his dagger, pointed at Sif.

"You cannot best me, Sif. You never have."

Sif held her sword as a staff, close to her body, as she rocked from one foot to another. "The blade I wield has bested many men twice my size."

"Perhaps, but you know well that there are no men like me, Sif, so take care with your words. My magic hurts far more than my dagger. Don't make me use it."

Spoken through clenched teeth, his words were as sharp as his knife. Sure he'd told himself he wouldn't use his magic, but Sif had chosen the worst time, probably in all of his life, to pick a fight with him. Not to mention, Loki was fairly sure that Sif was literally trying to kill him, not just hurt him, what with the blows she was attempting.

Which was insane. Did she have any idea what Thor would do if she killed his only brother? Every hope she'd ever had of being Thor's paramour would be shattered.

He was going to end this childish game, and in that moment, he didn't care if Sif was seriously injured in the process. He was done caring. Everyone always came to the defense of his golden brother, and Loki was far beyond just sick of it. As though Thor of all people needed a champion.

He kicked forward, the sole of his foot nearly colliding with her chest, but she dodged the blow by falling to the side, one hand on the ground. She quickly corrected her vulnerable position, placing her other hand over her head, sword still in her hands, and flipped herself over sideways, returning to her original low stance. She tried to pierce his side with the end of her sword, but he bent, his hands making contact with the ground, twisted his torso and brought a long leg down on her weapon, knocking it out of her grasp.

Eyes blown wide, she arched back to retrieve her only defense, but Loki didn't allow it, flipping his body, back facing her front, pulling his knee back, his foot making painful contact with her face. She heard the crack before the blood spewed from her nose. Stars appeared behind her eyelids in her temporarily stunned state, and she planted her feet firmly on the ground. She hadn't seen it, but the blade with the serpent handle had found its home between her ribs, Loki's hand wrapped tightly around its end.

She heard the sound of her own scream, glass shattering, ear piercing, and saw him tear the dagger away, drenched in the same blood that was now pouring out of her open wound. Even wounded, she still tried to strike back, and he had to give her credit for it, but this was just ridiculous.

He was done with this.

Loki dropped below the swing of her sword, and balancing on his hands, his body hovering parallel to the ground, he swung both legs behind her knees, kicking her legs out from underneath her, and she crashed onto the hard ground. He sighed heavily at the sound of her bones (hopefully just a few ribs) cracking under the weight of her heavy armor, and pushed to his feet. Only then did he realize that all around him, soldiers had stopped sparring to watch Loki and Sif. Had the men been afraid to break up their fight? For the life of him, he couldn't understand why they had just stood there and watched as their sister in arms got her ass handed to her. Swiping his hair out of his face, he dusted off his sleeves and peered at Sif. She wasn't getting up. She also didn't appear to be breathing.

His eyes blew wide. No, no, no he had not just killed one of Thor's best friends. That had not happened.

Oh shit.

Far on the other end of the arena, he heard his brother's gut wrenching cry, and Loki ducked instinctively, thinking Mjölnir would collide with his chest at any moment. When that didn't happen, he stood to his full height and turned to face his brother, who was running toward him faster than Loki had ever seen. Knowing his dagger wouldn't be enough, Loki sheathed it and forced the magic in his veins to flow faster, green light sparking at his fingertips. A different voice sounded from across the field, then, pulling him from his how do I get out of this alive thoughts.

"LOKI!"

It was the voice Loki had heard when the window shattered last night. The voice that sent shivers down his spine. He turned to see Sigyn running toward him, faster than Thor even, and black smoke was trailing behind her. As she neared, the smoke whipped around in front of her, and he felt the heat. It came upon him painfully quick, and his skin suddenly felt aflame beneath the heavy leather of his garments. Equal parts horrified and amazed, he gaped as Sif's body lit on fire.

What the f-

Sigyn's usually light eyes turned black as she continued toward him, and he heard her scream 'NO!' as her hand flew out in front of her face. Black mist shot out from her fingers, flying twenty feet through the air as fast as Mjölnir and enveloped the flames overtaking Sif's torn and broken body, snuffing out the fire in an instant.

Loki was stunned. He'd never seen such a powerful display of magic in his nine hundred years. She had created and commanded fire right before his eyes. Chest heaving with some odd mix of fear and arousal, he gazed with hooded eyes at Sigyn.

Lips parted, she was breathing hard, one hand clutching her chest, the other holding her hair up off her neck, damp with sweat. Her skirt had torn all the way up her right leg, exposing her knee high black boots and a black dagger strapped to an oh so defined and smooth thigh as the wind tossed the fabric aside. When his eyes came back from her thigh to her face, he realized she'd been staring at him, too.

He was poised to run to her, to drop to his knees in front of her and slide his hands up her legs (yes, with everyone watching because he did not care), but before that little fantasy could play itself out, Thor was upon him. Blessedly, he wasn't trying to rip out Loki's throat but rather just push him out of the way to get to Sif. He fell to the ground pulling her wounded body up into a tight embrace and calling for the healers.

"What have you done, Loki?! How could you?! How could you?!"

Loki barely heard his brother's words because he was far too focused on Sigyn standing not ten feet from him. Thor turned toward Sigyn, his blond hair whipping into his face, and shot her a searing glare when she looked at him.

"When Sif wakes, if she wakes—Eir willing!—I will send both of you so far into the depths of Hel that Odin himself won't be able to drag you back!" Arm extended, gripping Mjölnir, he flew, disappearing from their sight, Sif wrapped in his free arm.

Sigyn froze, staring at his red cape as it disappeared from her sight. Thor's words were a broken record in her mind. What had she done? She recalled seeing Loki and Sif engaged in deadly battle, the silver of their sharp enchanted blades glinting in the sun. Fear had sprung up within her as a mountain top exploding, fiery lava spewing from its broken dome. Her imagination had run wild. She'd envisioned the end of Sif's sword skewering Loki's gut. When her vision had, thankfully, not come to fruition and instead Loki's dagger had torn into Sif's flesh as easily as a letter opener through paper, she'd praised Odin, silently hating herself for doing so. It had been the sight of Thor coming at his brother, death in his eyes, that she'd realized her worst fear in that moment.

Loki dying.

Good gods, she barely knew the man, and that was her deepest fear? She knew of Thor's love for Sif, and Loki had left his brother's friend, bloodied and gasping for breath, lying in the dirt at his feet. The thought of losing Loki, just when she'd found him, had nearly paralyzed Sigyn. It had been fear that had caused her heart to drop into her stomach, and the magic had taken over. She hadn't aimed for Sif. She hadn't aimed at all! Shit, it had just happened! She didn't have control of it. Yet. Sif had just been within the damage zone and didn't have the ability to escape. Sigyn slammed her eyes shut to keep her tears from streaming down her face. She was going to Hel for sure.

Guilt wracked her body, and she shook uncontrollably from the mixture of magic and adrenaline. She felt the presence of someone behind her. She didn't need to see him to know who it was. Slowly turning on her heel, she looked up into emerald eyes hypnotizing her into an unnatural calm. Reaching a hand up, she pushed a loose strand of raven hair behind his ear. Loki closed his eyes at the contact, relishing in the heat of her fingers grazing the cold skin of his cheekbone. Daring to grasp the back of his neck, she took a step forward, not a pebble's width between them, and he bent his head toward her face. She felt his hand, fingers splayed, flat against the small of her back, and her heart raced at his close proximity. He was a magnet pulling her to him, bending her to his will. Resistance was futile, and she exhaled heavily as their foreheads touched.

Just breathe, she thought, and she knew he'd heard it when he smiled in response.

His hand moved up to the space between her shoulder blades as his other arm wrapped around her waist, molding her body to the elegantly tall and lean frame that was his. Her eyelids closed, the last sight having been his parted lips moving achingly slowly to her own mouth. They ignored the soldiers scattered throughout the arena, gawking at their open display. Lost in the moment, they did not hear the cawing of two ravens circling over them momentarily before flying to the palace.

"Prince Loki! Lady Sigyn!"

Loki's head shot up, eyes wide, pulling away from what would have surely been the most passionate kiss of his life thus far, when the guards approached. Sigyn groaned at the loss before realizing the voice had been that of one of Odin's personal guards. Cautiously turning to face the yellow caped warrior addressing them, she willed herself to stand tall.

Those ravens, of who she'd been vaguely aware, had been Huginn and Muninn, Odin's personal seers and messengers. They'd seen Sif's mangled body, Loki standing over her, dagger in his hand, her blood on his leather armor. They'd seen Sif's body burst into flames, the smoke having shot out of Sigyn's hand. They'd seen all of it. They were the Allfather's eyes when his body was not present.

"Odin demands your presence in the throne room."

Loki and Sigyn separated from each other and followed the soldier who'd spoken. Two more flanked their sides and four followed behind, swords at the ready. Sigyn watched as Loki stepped gracefully across the rocky terrain, head held high. Either he had no fear, or he was a very good actor. Probably both. He was the God of Mischief, after all. He'd probably been scolded by his father thousands of times.

Well, she had never been scolded by Odin, and she'd never been more terrified in her life. Focusing on holding the ripped skirt together so as not to give everyone a show, she did not see him looking at her, his eyes suddenly moist. He reached for her hand curled into a fist at her side, his fingers grazing her knuckles. She looked up at him, and seeing fear written on his pale face, she uncurled her fingers and grasped his hand tightly.

Maybe he was afraid of his father.

Dark clouds collided, and an icy torrent of wind whipped about them as a wretched cry pierced through the storm. Looking toward the sound, they saw a red caped figure bent over, hands covering his face, on the balcony of the healing rooms.

Frigid Playlist:

4. "Save Me" The MVI

**FYI: Spells and magical language are Icelandic words**