by Mackenzi Lee
Thor laughed. Loki grimaced. Wonderful, now there were two of them.
“My father sends his regards,” Thor said, as Loki straightened, every bone in his spine making itself heard in the cold. “And his gratitude for welcoming us into your court.”
“It is our honor,” Asmund replied.
Amora would have been amused, Loki thought. She also would have started calling him Prince Lonely—she would have found that hysterical. In her absence, he sometimes found himself imagining her there with him, what she would say and how she would laugh. She would have said it was funny that no one cared about the Norn Stones until they disappeared. What a strange thing it was that became more frightening when it was no longer in sight.
Amora. He felt her absence every day like sand beneath his skin, an irritating grain that rubbed up against his every thought, every spell that built upon his fingers. Where was she now? After her banishment, she had fallen out of Heimdall’s sight. No one knew where she was. Perhaps she was dead. Perhaps Midgard had drained her strength and magic so fast she had withered into nothing. Perhaps she was hiding in some corner of the cosmos where those who did not want to be found harbored each other. He clung to that hope, that someday, if he was crowned, he could find her and bring her back to Asgard to serve as his sorceress, as Karnilla was Odin’s. It was a foolish fantasy for a whole list of reasons, the first being that Amora likely had no powers left. The second being that it was deeply unlikely he’d ever be king.
But who would he be if Amora had not been cast out? A stronger sorcerer? A better contender for the throne, with her imparting knowledge from Karnilla’s classroom? His mother’s lessons in sorcery had strengthened his control over his own power, but she would never push him to test himself like he knew Amora would have. Perhaps he wouldn’t be in Alfheim, his knees cracking loudly as he rose from his bow, with Thor giving him a look like he was the embarrassing one.
Asmund said, raising a bony hand to gesture down the hallway behind them. “We have a feast prepared.”
“We have not been sent to feast with you,” Thor replied. “Only to brief you on the situation—”
“But we can speak over dinner. Come, follow me, you must be famished. I insist.”
“We would be happy to join you,” Loki interrupted, and when Asmund’s eyes slid to his face, slow as a glacier, he bowed again, though not so low this time. He was afraid he’d never be able to get up if he went all the way to the floor. “By Your Grace’s leave.”
Both Thor and Asmund looked at him like he was something stuck under their shoe. Loki did a metaphorical throwing up of his hands and decided to abandon all the protocol he had studied. Apparently, the court of the Ice Elves cared only selectively for manners.
The Ice Elves served them twelve courses, each one colder than the last, with talk solely permitted between them, so that the only sound during the meal itself was wet chewing, which entirely ruined Loki’s appetite.
Thor fidgeted beside him the entire time, wolfing down his food and then doing a poor imitation of waiting to discuss the business they had come for. Across from them, Asmund ate slowly, licking his fingers and nibbling at the bones of the snowy hares that had been served to them skinned and whole, finding things to pick at upon his plate until the next course was prepared so no one was permitted to say a word. Even Loki was struggling to hide his frustration at this obvious delay. He stared up at the ceiling, the vaults angular and shimmering like fractals of a snowflake, each imbedded with blue orbs that gave off light but no heat. The walls of the banquet hall looked as though they had once been dripping water that had been frozen midstream, with scenes from Alfheim’s history carved around their bases. How furious the artists would be, Loki thought, if the climate suddenly changed and all their hard work melted. It almost made him want to set a fire.
As the last course was finally cleared, Asmund wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin, then folded it into careful thirds. Its lace edges were stained faintly from the meal. “So. The business that has brought you here, Sons of Odin.”
Thor leaned forward, elbows on the table. A vein in his forehead was throbbing from the effort it had taken to keep silent. “No doubt by now word has reached you that a set of Norn Stones has been stolen from the sorceress Karnilla.”
Asmund raised a hand for his glass to be refilled, and Loki noticed the glistening rings that adorned his fingers, each spiked and sharpened so that his knuckles were lined with icicles. “Ah, yes. Karnilla’s Norn Stones. The most powerful magical amplifiers in the Nine Realms, them.”
Loki glanced at Thor, trying to read if his brother was getting the same creeping feeling of dread he was. “Indeed, Your Majesty.”
“And she managed to misplace them.”
“She’s lost a set,” Thor said. “Five of many.”
“And she hasn’t lost them,” Loki clarified. “They were stolen from her.”
“And she has not been able to sense them?” Asmund asked.
“Only if they’re used,” Loki replied. “And their intrepid thieves have not yet used them.”
“But we are here at the behest of our father, to discuss with you Asgard’s plans for their reclamation, and how you and your people might aid us in that.”
“And what will happen to them, once the Norn Stones are reclaimed?” Asmund asked.
“They will be returned to Karnilla in Nornheim,” Loki replied.
“From which they were already once stolen.”
“No fortress is impenetrable,” Loki countered. “But security has been increased since the theft.”
One of the servants stepped between Loki and Thor, a silver decanter in hand to refill their goblets. The white liquid looked like icy slush. Loki had only had to sniff his own cup to know the drink was far too sweet for his tastes.
Asmund puckered his lips, his finger tracing the rim of his glass. “If Asgard requires our assistance to reclaim the relic they lost, then we would like to discuss spreading the Nine Realms’ dangerous artifacts around more liberally.”
“You want the Norn Stones?” Thor demanded.
Asmund quirked an eyebrow. “Just a set. Every realm should possess one, so that we are able to amplify our own powers and protect ourselves, rather than allowing Asgard to do it for us.”
“You are safe under our father’s protections,” Thor replied.
“But the Norn Stones aren’t?”
“Asgardians are protectors of the Nine Realms. That’s how it has been for centuries. We did not come here to discuss a major shift in political powers. You are being told what will happen after an incident that may affect your realm, in hopes you will be able to better protect yourself for it. It’s a courtesy we did not need to afford you.”
“What my brother means,” Loki argued as Thor’s hand flexed at his side, “is that the Norn Stones belong to Asgard.”
Asmund took another sip of his sweet wine. “They belong to Nornheim.”
“A province of Asgard,” Thor snapped.
Loki gritted his teeth. “The Norn Stones are safeguarded by our royal sorceress as a way of amplifying her power so that people across the Nine Realms may benefit from it.”
“It also means that Asgard possesses magic that can be projected to my kingdom,” Asmund replied. “Into any kingdom.”
“An Asgardian sorceress has never used her magic against another realm,” Thor interrupted. This was likely the single piece of information he had woken from their history lectures long enough to retain.
“And yet she managed to lose a pouch to a common thief.” Asmund stared at Thor, then smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you understand the power the Norn Stones possess? They are limited only by the imagination of their wielder. They can reshape matter, create portals between realms, cast illusions, magnify abilities, raise the dead. Why should Asgard’s sorceress have all those powers for herself? Keeping the Norn Stones all in one place makes them too powerful for any one realm. Their power sho
uld be divided.”
“And you think your realm is worthy of possessing them?” Thor asked.
Asmund’s face remained placid, but Loki saw the line of his jaw sharpen as he clenched his teeth. “As worthy as Asgard. I have the support of the southern court of the Ice Elves as well, and our delegation on Vanaheim has assured me they will join our cause.”
“So there is a union of the Nine Realms assembling against Asgard,” Thor said. “Have you summoned us here only to entrap us?”
“If Odin wishes to discuss the subject further, he can come himself rather than send his two boys.”
“We speak for our father,” Thor replied.
“Your father would never be so forceful and clumsy as you have been, Sons of Odin.”
Thor stood up, his legs ramming the table so hard that it jolted. That ice-white wine sloshed from the glasses onto the table, soaking through the lace table runner. Loki stood too, grabbing his brother by the arm—like that would do anything to stop Thor, but his presence alone had sometimes been enough. He said a small spell, one for slowing a heart rate, calming someone in distress. Thor took a deep breath, the skin along his arms shuddering.
Asmund had not flinched. His goblet was still in his hand, and he took a delicate sip. “You are welcome in our court for the night, Sons of Odin. Perhaps we might discuss the matter further tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Loki said over whatever protest Thor began to raise—beneath his hand, Loki felt his brother’s muscles flex again. “Thank you for your hospitality. We’ll be retiring.”
He turned from the table and ran straight into the captain of the guard, who had been approaching in case Thor actually did overturn the table. They both grabbed on to each other to keep from falling.
“Apologies,” the guard murmured.
“My fault,” Loki replied with a smile, then turned to his brother. “Thor? Coming?”
Thor stared at Asmund, his eyes narrowing, then stalked away, pushing past both Loki and the guard and storming from the room, the dining hall doors clattering against the wall with the force of his exit.
“What is this madness?” Thor demanded as they followed their escorts down the hall to their chambers. Loki was struggling to keep up—even with the spikes on the bottoms of his boots, Loki found it hard to find his grip on the ice floors. “Those Stones do not belong to Alfheim, or any other realm. They belong to Asgard!”
“Technically, Nornheim,” Loki replied.
“A province of Asgard.”
“Yes, I heard you the first time. Good to know you listened to the first five minutes of our geography class. Your tutor would be so proud.” Loki’s feet slipped on the ice floor and he skated a few steps, nearly toppling over. Thor grabbed him, hauling him upright, though the thoughtfulness of the gesture was undermined by the tightness of the grip and the glare that accompanied it.
“Don’t test me, Loki. I am not in a sporting mood.”
“You seemed to be feeling very sportsmanly as you rubbed yourself all over the elvish royalty.”
“I was being friendly.”
“You were being informal. Didn’t you read the brief from the librarian?”
Thor made another growling sound and swatted the air like he was batting that sentence away. “I do not have the time for reading.”
“I know, necking with Lady Sif between the stacks must take so much out of you.”
For a moment, he thought Thor might slam him into the wall, and wondered if that would count as an interdimensional incident or a domestic one. Did a squabble between brothers mean more or less of a crisis if it took place off their own world? Thor had shoved him plenty of times without it inciting some sort of war.
“My lords,” one of the guards interrupted, and Loki realized they had stopped in front of a door.
When the guards let them into their room, Thor stomped past them without a word and Loki followed, sparing the men a brief nod of thanks. The room had the same angled ceiling as the banquet hall, though the walls were smooth and lined with thick tapestries. Loki imagined this must be the room for guests who were not accustomed to the cold. The beds were layered with snowy gray pelts, with a window built into the wall across from them. Thor flung himself onto a bed, ignoring the thump of his head hitting the ice headboard. Loki didn’t dare hope his brother had actually knocked himself out and he would get some peace to think. He crossed to the window and looked out over the courtyard and the guards patrolling the grounds below.
“Wasn’t this meant to be simple?” Thor asked suddenly. “Father said this would all be simple.”
Loki replied without looking, “There are no simple assignments from Father.”
“Not when you’re involved there aren’t,” Thor snapped.
Loki’s eyes flitted to Thor. He knew his brother well enough to discern when Thor was being mean simply for the pleasure of getting a rise out of him, and knew the most infuriating response he could give in return was a calm, even tone. “You mean because those assignments don’t involve punching your way out of trouble?”
“I have...other skills!”
“But using multisyllabic words isn’t among them.”
“Then you can be the one to return to Father and tell him in as many syllables as you choose that we left with instructions to articulate a plan of reclamation and returned with an interdimensional war,” Thor snapped.
“You’re so dramatic.”
“What will we tell Father?”
“We needn’t tell him anything if the Elves agree to drop this ridiculous proposition on their own accord.”
“And how do we convince them to do that?”
“We prove their Prism is nowhere near as safe as they claim.”
“Their Prism?” Thor repeated.
“The center of the palace—the most secure location in Alfheim. Its magic is used to power the entire court and creates heatless light. Really, at least skim the briefs, won’t you?”
“And how do you propose we make our way into the Prism chamber?”
“Let’s start here.” Loki reached into the pocket of his coat, withdrew a set of heavy keys, and tossed them onto the bed beside Thor.
Thor sat up, staring at the keys, then looked up at Loki. “Where did you get these?”
“They were a gift.”
In truth, when Thor was putting on his show at dinner, Loki had waited until the guard had passed behind his chair before starting to make his exit so he could smash straight into her. She was high-ranking—she had a plume on her helmet that none of the others wore, and the hilt of her sword was more ornate. When they collided, she was distracted with apologies and keeping her balance and the Elves’ natural distaste for physical contact. Loki had taken the keys he had seen bulging in her pocket and replaced them with his cutlery set from the feast table so their weight wouldn’t be missed. He wasn’t certain when their absence would be noted, but so far no alarm had been raised. She’d probably be too embarrassed to admit the oversight for at least another day. She’d make her fellows use their keys, search clandestinely. If Loki was feeling generous, maybe he would plant them somewhere to be found later and the guard would never have to admit she’d misplaced her keys.
The moment Asmund turned the talk against them, Loki had begun to plot what they could do next. Thor might not have seen the turn coming, but Loki had felt it brewing in the air. The Elves wouldn’t hear their arguments and were clearly using the missing Norn Stones as a means of starting a fight they had long wanted to pick with Asgard, so the only way to stop them would be to prove their shortcomings. Force them to retreat quietly without his father ever knowing there had been rumblings of an insurrection.
He could not afford to fail this assignment. Perhaps Thor could, but Loki had far too much to prove, and far fewer chances to do so.
“We can continue our negotiations tomorrow,” he said, “reach a tense impasse with the Prince-General, and return to Asgard to tell Father that we allowed the Prince-General
of the Ice Elves—a man whose entire puny kingdom could barely fill a closet in the Asgardian palace—to push us around, and also there is apparently some sort of inter-realm coalition forming against Asgard’s ability to keep its relics protected, calling into question our authority across the universe.”
“Or?”
“Or we prove that, even at their best, the Ice Elves’ security pales in comparison to what we have on Asgard. They could not protect the Stones—let alone any other relics—the way we can. Asmund is put in his place, and we return to Father with the compliance of the Alfheim Prince-General in assisting in finding the Norn Stones.”
Thor didn’t answer.
“But if you aren’t willing to take control of the situation,” Loki prompted, “that’s fine. Perhaps your next assignment will be more negotiations with the Ice Elves. Though I imagine Odin will oversee them this time, as we failed alone. But Father will stand with us. For us, actually. We probably won’t be permitted to talk, since we mucked this up.”
Thor kneaded one fist into his open palm. Loki swore he could hear him thinking—it was a rusty, crunching noise. “Stop baiting me.”
“I’m telling you the reality of the situation,” Loki replied. “Those Stones are the property of Asgard. They are powerful and dangerous, and should not be in the care of a court whose captain of the guard doesn’t notice her keys have been taken from her own pocket. So if not us, who will be the next thief to gain access to them? If the Ice Elves had a set of the Norn Stones, they’d be on the black market of Svartalfheim before the next feast day.”
Thor snatched up the keys, tossed them in the air once, and caught them. Then he smiled at Loki—certainly the first smile he’d given his brother since they’d arrived. Probably in longer than that. “This was supposed to be an easy assignment.”
Loki pulled his fur cloak back over his shoulders. He could feel a spell sparking at his fingertips. “But wouldn’t that be boring?”
The hallways of the Ice Court were all coated in a layer of fine snow, but it turned crunchy and frosty the closer Thor and Loki drew to the center of the palace. They had waited to leave their chambers until darkness fell, but the orbs trapped inside the ice floes along the halls still emanated an eerie blue light. It was, Loki thought, the perfect light for sneaking around.
