by Mackenzi Lee
But it reeled backward unexpectedly, letting out a roar of pain. Amora was somehow no longer sprawled on the floor of the alcove, but behind the beast, plunging a shard from the Mirror into its back. It swiped at her with a six-fingered hand the size of her head, but she ducked, rolling under its legs to Loki’s side.
“What is that?” she cried, her voice almost lost in the roar of the creature.
“The Lurking Unknown.” The struck Tuning Fork must have summoned it. He had seen it before in the arena where the warriors were tested before they joined the ranks of the Einherjar. It was summoned by a note from the Tuning Fork, able to form and wither away and then form again and again, whenever called. The Lurking Unknown was the final test for the Einherjar, meant to show off both their skills in combat and their ability to face their enemies with stoic calm. “It feeds off fear,” he shouted to Amora as she gathered a charge of energy between her hands. “The more afraid you are, the more it grows.”
The third arm the creature had sprouted looked more shriveled than it had a moment before, as though calling it by name had weakened the creature’s hold on them, but Loki still felt a strong whoosh of air as the Lurking Unknown swiped at them with it. Amora sent a blast of hot blue energy toward it in return, but the flame was extinguished against its skin. Loki scrambled for his second dagger. His hands were shaking; the monster was growing, and it was his fault—his fear’s fault. All the power he had felt flooding him moments before suddenly wilted.
You are not powerful. You are weak. You are afraid. You are beyond your own control.
“How do we defeat it?” Amora called to him, fumbling to pry out another one of the Mirror shards buried in the wall.
“You fight it without fear,” Loki replied, though the words felt impossible. “Until it fades away.”
But the Lurking Unknown was not fading. It was growing. A fourth arm sprung from its side, windmilling through the air and catching Amora across the face, sending her flying into the wall. Then it rounded on Loki and seized him by the throat. He choked, struggling to get his own hand up to the creature’s neck. As soon as he felt his fingers brush the ropy cords of muscle in its throat, he conjured his knife and stuck it hard. The monster reeled backward with a scream of pain, dropping Loki as thick black blood coursed down its neck.
Loki landed in a crouch, gasping for air, but he hardly had time to collect himself.
The Lurking Unknown had already yanked the dagger from its neck and flung it at Loki, who dodged, but not fast enough. The knife clipped his cheek before it struck the wall and clattered to the stone.
The creature raised a hand to strike again, but Amora leaped high enough to wrap her legs around its neck and use the momentum of her jump to toss it to the ground. The whole vault seemed to shake as it landed on its back. Amora stood tall on top of it, her heels digging into its chest hard enough to draw more of that dark blood. She conjured another shock of energy between her hands and sent it barreling toward the creature’s face. It screamed again. Its body seemed to shrink and grow at the same time, Amora’s calm battling Loki’s fear.
But once again, the energy from her blast seemed to absorb into its skin. It grabbed Amora by the legs and whipped her off her feet, tossing her across the room like she weighed nothing. She struck one of the columns along the wall with a crack, collapsed at the bottom, and lay still.
Suddenly Loki felt a different kind of fear entirely—his fear for Amora greater than his fear for himself ever could be. And the creature was growing, the dull bricks of its teeth becoming sharper and another arm sprouting from its back. It made a hulking lurch toward Loki. He stepped backward, his foot catching the edge of the walkway, and he slipped down into the space between the path and the wall. The stone crumbled beneath the creature’s foot as it took a few lumbering steps toward the door.
Loki heaved himself back up onto the walkway, the turned-up stones tearing his clothes. If there was a spell to stop the Lurking Unknown, he didn’t know it. The creature let out a howl, then threw its shoulder into the door at the end of the vault, splintering it. A second hard shove burst it open. Loki heard the shouts of the surprised soldiers beyond it.
Amora was suddenly at his side, her face spattered with blood from a gash in her forehead. “You’re bleeding,” he said.
“So are you.” She threw out a hand to him and dragged him along. He felt the pull in his rib cage. “Come on.”
Outside the vault, the creature had continued its rampage, and with each shocked soldier that it met, it grew, feeding off their fear until its shoulders were straining against the ceiling, knocking chandeliers from their hooks. Fighting the Lurking Unknown in the sparring ring was one thing—it was another entirely to fight it without warning. It snapped the tops of the Einherjar’s spears as they jabbed at it, their calls to each other feathered with panic as they tried to step into an attack formation, only to find themselves cut off by the stone-crushing footfalls of the Lurking Unknown. One of the soldiers must have managed to break away, for the gong warning of an attack began to bellow through the hall, drowning out the scream of the monster.
From the doorway to the vault, Loki watched, frozen, as the creature smashed an Einherjar—one of Loki’s sparring teachers, the man who had taught him to hold a sword properly and to keep his knees bent when he parried—into the wall, and he slumped, lifeless. Loki didn’t know what to do.
Then the creature let out a scream of a different sort than its hulking battle cries. The sound bore the same crystalline resonance of the struck Tuning Fork. Its body began to shrink, shriveling and curling in on itself. Loki stared at the writhing creature as it shrank to the floor—Loki’s size, then half his size, then small enough to fit in his hand, and then...nothing.
Loki looked up.
Karnilla and Odin were standing at the top of the stairway, Karnilla with a hand still extended from the spell she had cast to stop the Lurking Unknown. She started toward them, her skirt reshaping into trousers so that the train didn’t drag through the blood of one of the Einherjar that was dribbling down the steps. Odin stayed where he was, his arms folded and his face still, his anger betrayed only by his reddening cheeks. Behind him, his personal guard of Einherjar stood, their spears extended. The two in front looked as though they were trying very hard not to let the horror show on their faces. Behind them was Thor, his eyes fixed on Loki.
Odin signaled to his men, and they trotted down the stairs, joining Karnilla as she examined the fallen soldiers, checking for injuries that would require a healer, and those already beyond help.
“Loki,” Odin called, and his tone was like the misplaced step that cracks the surface of an icy pond. Loki raised his head and met his father’s cold stare. He felt a trickle of blood run down his cheek and resisted the urge to wipe it away. “Explain this,” Odin demanded.
Loki glanced over at Amora. She was staring at Odin with the sort of unapologetic ferocity that Loki wished he could turn on his father. But under Odin’s stare, he crumpled. “I’m sorry, Father.”
“Why did you come here?” Odin demanded, his eye still on his son, and Loki knew that whatever he said next would feel trivial and feeble. Odin had the power to make anything seem stupid just by hearing it.
“We came to look into the Godseye Mirror,” Loki mumbled, trying to keep his chin raised, though he was sure everyone could sense the hollowness of the gesture.
“And what happened when you looked into it?” Odin asked coolly.
Loki swallowed. “We destroyed it.”
Whatever Odin had been expecting, it was clearly not this. The stony set of his face slipped for a moment, and raw shock coursed over his features. Shock and fear. “You did what?”
“It was an accident.”
“You destroyed the Mirror?”
His father didn’t sound angry—he sounded afraid. Loki felt his own heart, still slowing itself after their fight, pick up speed again. His father was afraid of him. Afraid of his power. Afraid of any
one who was strong enough to destroy an artifact like the Godseye Mirror. The same realization—I am powerful—this time left him cold. Now Odin knew the truth, knew the extent of his son’s gifts, knew he was too powerful to be unleashed. Powerful enough to lead an army against Asgard.
Perhaps Amora sensed it too. Perhaps that fear chilled her. Perhaps she knew Loki would never be a contender for the throne if the court understood how deep his power ran. Whatever it was that made her act, she stepped forward, her shoulder brushing against his, and faced Odin. “It wasn’t Loki who destroyed the Mirror,” she said. “It was me. I channeled energy into the Mirror, and I was too strong, and I destroyed it.”
At the base of the stairs, Karnilla froze. Amora glanced at the sorceress, and Loki thought she looked proud of herself, like the power that had shattered the Mirror had been hers alone, and she relished it. Odin’s face changed, shifting back into its set of anger, though Loki caught a flicker of relief that made him sick. Odin sighed, running a hand over his face, then nodded to the Einherjar soldiers at his back. “Arrest her.”
The color drained from Amora’s face. “What?”
“No—” Loki called, but the Einherjar were already upon them. One of them, in an attempt to seize Amora, crashed into Loki and knocked him to the ground. They grabbed Amora by the elbows, and when she fought, they wrestled her arms behind her back and forced her to her knees. Amora shrieked in surprise and pain, trying to squirm out of their grip, but before she could conjure a spell to free herself, the Einherjar had her bound with a set of the chains they used in the dungeons to suppress magic in foreign prisoners.
“Father, please!” Loki cried, struggling to his knees, hating the look of supplication but unable to stand fast enough without tipping over. “I’m complicit as well.”
Odin did not look at him. “Stay back, my son.”
“Then arrest me too!” Loki cried, his voice breaking. “I was trespassing; it was my idea!”
“I said stay back!” Odin roared, then shouted to the soldiers, “She’ll await judgment in the dungeons.”
The Einherjar began to drag Amora away, but she dug in her heels, trying to fight their grip. When her legs gave out, they kept dragging her so that the raw stones torn up by the Lurking Unknown slashed her trousers until blood ran down her legs. “Let go of me! Karnilla, please! Karnilla, don’t let them do this to me!”
Karnilla turned away.
Loki wanted to follow Amora. He wanted to chase down the soldiers, demand her release, or throw himself into the cell after her, surrendering the protection she had just granted him. But he couldn’t move. He was pinned like an insect to a board, caught in his father’s gaze as Odin started down the stairs, taking in the wreckage with a weary expression. “Thor,” he called behind him. “Take your brother to your chambers and wait for my instructions.”
Thor edged forward, skirting the banister like the Lurking Unknown might spring to life again from wherever it had vanished. He extended a hand to Loki, but Loki didn’t take it. He stood on his own. It was a halting stagger more than an actual “stand.” Not the defiant gesture he’d hoped for.
As they left the vault, Thor tried to pull Loki’s arm over his shoulder, but Loki jerked away. “What are you doing?”
“You’re hurt.”
“Yes, but I’ve not lost a leg.” Loki touched a hand to his face before wiping away the thin trail of blood. It had dripped all the way down his chin and stained the collar of his tunic. He walked ahead of Thor, his stride wobblier than he would have liked.
“Loki.” Thor easily stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Loki asked, folding his arms even though the gesture sent a sharp burst of pain across his ribs. “That you missed out on all the fun?”
“I’m sorry for what I said.”
“Good, I’m glad you’re so worried about my impressionable heart.”
“I didn’t mean it. What I said about...” Thor rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “You’d make a fine king.”
“I would, wouldn’t I?”
“And you’d never betray Asgard. No matter what Father saw.” Thor’s gaze darted from Loki’s, glancing across the hallway and the ceiling, and then he said quietly, “What did you see?”
Loki swiped the back of his hand over his cheek again, though the cut had stopped bleeding. “You and me and mother and father all together at the end of the world. One big happy un-treasonous family.”
“Please tell me.” A note of desperation punctured Thor’s voice.
“Worry not, brother,” Loki said, pushing past Thor. “It wasn’t you.”
“Am I dangerous?”
Frigga’s fingers stilled upon the small bag of herbs she was packing. She stared down at them for a moment in silence before she looked up at Loki, folded in the window seat of her chambers with his legs pulled up to his chest. His bruised rib cage burned, but he didn’t move. It felt safer to stay this way, tucked into himself.
“Why do you ask me that?” Frigga said.
Loki looked out over Asgard. The smoky dusk sat low over the spires, and at this hour, the whole city seemed to emanate light. Everything gold and shining. He rested his chin on his knees.
Amora had been arrested because of power that was his. If she was thought dangerous for that strength, then he was dangerous. But that same power, before his father had condemned it, had made him feel strong in a way he had never felt among the other warriors, or standing beside Thor.
Loki pressed his forehead into his knees. “Everyone is afraid of me.”
“They’re not afraid of you,” Frigga replied.
“They’re afraid of magic. Of people like me.”
“And me?” she asked, pulling tight the drawstring on the pack of herbs.
Loki opened his mouth, then closed it again as Frigga raised the bag to her lips and mumbled a small spell into it. The scent blossomed in the air, flowery and medicinal. There was no one in Asgard as beloved as his mother. So it wasn’t magic. It was him.
“Here.” She crossed the room toward Loki, and he pulled up his tunic so she could press the bag against his bruised ribs. The pain eased, and he took a deep breath. It was the first time his lungs had felt full since he and Amora had faced the Lurking Unknown in the vault. “Keep that in place,” Frigga said, crossing back to her dressing table to retrieve the cloth and bowl of water resting there. “It won’t take long to heal.”
Loki shifted his grip, pressing the herbs in place with his elbow and leaning backward against the windowsill.
Frigga dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out between her hands. Loki watched the water fall and tried to take another breath, but this one was a struggle in a way that had nothing to do with his sore ribs. “Come here.” Loki melted off the window seat and moved to where she stood and took a seat on the stool next to her before she asked him to. She dabbed the cloth against his neck, mopping up the blood that had dried below his ear.
“What did Father see in the Mirror?” Loki asked, trying to keep his tone innocent. “He fled the feast like the hall was on fire.”
She pressed the cloth against his face, prying the flakes of dried blood from his skin. “You know your father. He has such grand reactions to the smallest things.”
Loki leaned into her hand, letting her push his hair behind his ear as she washed out the cut. He remembered what Amora had said, and asked before he could stop himself. “Is he afraid of me?”
Frigga smiled. “Such heavy questions.”
“They shouldn’t be.” He sat up, and her hand fell away from his face. His shoulder was damp from the dripping cloth. “They wouldn’t be if Thor asked you.”
“But you are not your brother.”
His temper flared, and he stood up so fast he knocked the stool over. “As if I’m not reminded of that every day.” He started to cross to the door, then realized he didn’t actually want to leave her, because where would he go?
The last thing he wanted to be was alone. So he turned back to his mother, standing before her dressing table. “Why won’t he let me study sorcery?”
“Loki—”
“He knows I can’t compete with Thor on the battlefield, so why does he insist on placing me in races I will never win when I could best him easily in other fields? He wants me to fail.” His voice was rising. “He wants me to look weak. He wants me to look unfit to be king so he can rest easy when he chooses Thor for the birthright instead of me because I’ve proved myself unfit. If I cause Ragnarok, it will be his fault. I don’t want to hear your riddles and your vague excuses for him, I want the truth. Answer me!”
He was shouting. He hadn’t meant to shout. Frigga set the bowl on her dressing table, then waved a hand and the stool righted itself. Loki watched her, wanting to reach out, but his hands stayed fisted at his sides. Frigga sat down, her palms pressed against her thighs, then looked up at him. “Who told you that you will be the cause of Ragnarok?”
“I...” He fumbled. “It’s what he saw, isn’t it?”
“Did you see it as well?” she asked.
His ribs were still hurting. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep for days. “No. I heard him say it to you.... Thor and I were listening.”
Frigga pursed her lips. The city light glowed on her skin, making it shimmer like she was fashioned from the dusk. “Your father,” she said at last, “saw his son leading an army of soldiers risen from the dead. He believes it to be a vision from the end of the world.”
