by S. E. Babin
“Never,” said Loki, though I noticed his attention less on our conversation and more on the sign above us. “What is this?”
I pushed open the door to my most cherished possession and inhaled the scent of mulled cider, baked goods, and the deep scent of hops.
His face lit up in delight and a deep chuckle burst from his chest as he stepped in. “Brilliant. This is absolutely brilliant!”
It was a bar. My pride and joy. Brewing was always a secret pleasure of mine but I was forced to sneak down to the lower towns to practice. Odin always thought work was beneath us, that we should sit on our thrones and issue edicts to the people with absolutely no involvement. I’d never agreed with him and it was easy enough to defy him. With all the out of Asgard trips and the skirts he felt the need to chase, I was able to leave the palace quickly and quietly, leaving a young girl who looked enough like me to pass muster from a distance in my place. In return, I ensured she was paid a healthy wage, food was delivered to her family on a weekly basis, and she never wanted for anything. She was both humble and grateful, and I adored her. I’d whisked her and her family away from Asgard before I left Odin. Brenna was quietly setting up the home I’d built for her at the back of town because she’d only asked me for one thing: access to the back part of the forest for foraging, which I had gladly given her.
Loki stepped further into the place and ran his elegant fingers across the burnished, yet scarred tops of the wooden tables I’d set up. He spun to me. “Is this what Valhalla looks like?” he asked.
I nodded, though I was not allowed to tell him more. I was the only one allowed into the realm of female warriors.
A sigh escaped him. For someone as curious as Loki, it pained him not to be able to know or even envision what Valhalla looked like. “Can you tell me anything else?”
He knew I couldn’t but he always pushed anyway. “You know the answer to that.”
“One day I shall claim you as my own and Valhalla will be laid bare to me.”
I blinked in surprise. And sometimes Loki wasn’t quite as mild as he appeared. I knew this but when he proclaimed things like this it did funny things to my insides. “Not even Odin was allowed into Valhalla,” I said quietly.
“That’s because Odin is a raging dick,” Loki murmured as he kept to his exploration of my new place.
Laughter burbled from me in spite of myself. Loki usually wasn’t one to curse.
“Valhalla is closed to all but females, Loki, though I appreciate your persistence on this.”
“Mmm,” he said, which told me he had no intention of dropping it but thought he could eventually wear me down. He wandered over behind the massive bar and trailed his fingertips over the multiple glass bottles of liquor I kept there. “Where is your mead supply?” he asked.
I grinned and motioned him to follow me. There were two things our people loved: Ale and mead, not necessarily in that order. But there wasn’t a lot of choices in Asgard. We had dark beer, a stout usually because that’s what Odin preferred, and a honey mead...again, because that’s what Odin preferred. Wine was in low supply because again...Odin hated wine.
I led him down the back stairs into a dark corridor. We turned the corner and stopped in front of a massive wooden door carved with protective Futhark runes. I whispered the words of release and laid my hands against it. The wood warmed and glowed a bright red before the lock clicked open and the door released. I pushed it open and with a loud groan the door moved. With another whispered command, the sconces in the room lit. I had regular electricity, but I preferred to keep this room as dark as possible. Hundreds of vats and pipes sat before us. Everything was meticulously labeled and was set to age perfectly in the next few days, just in time for the masses of people scheduled to be here. Odin’s last bout of cheating had come at a perfect time.
Unfortunate for him. Perfect for me and the copious amounts of beer and mead we were all set to consume in celebration.
Loki’s hum of appreciation made me smile. “You have been planning, little witch.”
He’d called me little witch for ages, but it had only stopped rankling me over the last few years. I was a practitioner of an ancient magic called Seidr, fate magic, though I only practiced when things were dire. I hadn’t done a Seidr ritual in ages, but Loki liked to rib me about it a little. My husband was also a practitioner of the magic, though his was held in esteem, and mine in secret. Loki only knew because he’d accidentally walked in on a ritual. Embarrassing yes, especially since fate could only be woven or seen in Seidr while practicing skyclad - nude. Women in Asgard were strong warriors and powerful goddesses, but there were still some things we weren’t allowed to do. It always rankled me, so I stifled this side of my magic and let Odin do most of the work. My Seidr was different than his, more respectful. I chose never to change fate or influence events unless I saw no other way. Odin was a puppet master letting the chips fall wherever they may.
“I told you I’d planned this. Odin’s days with me have been numbered for a long while.”
I lit a ball of magic in my hand, soft enough to highlight the labels scratched into the vats. I had dark beer, light beer, stouts and IPAs, Pilsners, lagers. Anything a god or goddess could ever want, I had. I let Loki walk through the vats and explore for awhile.
I checked on my newest wine, a mulberry and boysenberry sweet red. It looked like it might not be ready for opening day, but that was okay. No one besides Loki knew this was here so I wasn’t too worried about it.
A bark of surprise extinguished the ball of light in my hand and I rushed over to see what had taken Loki aback. He peered closer at one of the vats, an expression of genuine surprise on his face. “Rhodomel?” he said mostly to himself. When he realized I was standing there, he stood and peered at me. “You have a Rhodomel mead?”
“I do.”
“What kind of roses?”
“Darlow’s Enigma,” I told him.
His brow crinkled.
“It’s an heirloom rose that will grow in full shade. The blooms are small, tightly packed and white, and the bush they grow on can be massive. I have one in my private garden. Maybe one day I will show you.”
A hint of surprise and something else flickered in his gaze. “I would love that.” He mulled for a moment in his thoughts. “I should like the first taste of this, if I may ask for a boon,” he said.
“Of course.” I gave him a mischievous grin. ”It’s ready now, if you’d like to try it.”
He blinked in surprise but produced a small silver cup right away. “Yes, please.”
I took the cup from his outstretched hand. “Come on back. I’ve already bottled some and have it set out to condition. I can give you an entire bottle if you’d like.”
He followed behind like a puppy. “I’d like very much.”
We walked past the massive vats and into a smaller room off to the right. Stored in here was all the mead I’d bottled and stored. Some of them had been sitting for many, many years. I flicked on the light switch and the buzz of the lights overhead made the room sound electric. I headed over to the right side of the shelves not telling Loki it was all alphabetical for fear he’d make fun of me, and reached up and pulled down a medium sized red bottle labeled in my own hand.
I dusted it off with the bottom of my hand and slowly peeled the wax from the cork. “It’s made with rosehips from my private collection of roses, my own homegrown vanilla beans, an ancient honey recipe sourced from an old friend and hibiscus flowers from a Valkyrie’s garden.” Once it was opened, I poured Loki a generous amount. He took the cup from me with reverence and inhaled the floral, deep scent of it. His green gaze flickered to my own with an unreadable expression.
I held my breath with anticipation. I never knew anyone who appreciated Rhodomel mead as much I did and this was my own recipe so I was curious to see what he thought.
Loki lifted the cup to his mouth and took a small sip. He was expressionless, but I watched as he rolled the mead around in his
mouth for a moment before I saw him swallow, the powerful lines of his neck moving as the liquid slid down his throat.
He closed his eyes.
And he sighed.
“Freya.” He said my name like a prayer.
“Yes?”
“Wonderful. Beautiful.” He tipped the cup up and took another sip. “I haven’t had anything like this since the age of the Romans.”
“Odin only likes honey mead,” I reminded him.
“We all know how I feel about Odin,” Loki said, “but there are some things in life that should not be set aside. This is one of them.” He stared at all the bottles I had labeled. “And all of this is Rhodomel?”
I nodded.
“Incredible. How far back does your supply go?”
“Far,” I answered, not wanting to tell him exactly how much stock I had.
“Fair enough.” His lips twitched in amusement. “What can I do to convince you to save this stock for me?”
My gaze narrowed. “All of it?”
“All of it. You’ve done an incredible thing here, even if it was behind your husband’s back. Maybe especially because it was done behind his back. The people will flock to you. They already have. When you show them what you’ve built here, they will never return to Asgard.” His gaze flicked over all of the shelves he could see. I squirmed as I hoped he wouldn’t be able to see through the illusions that kept the contents below concealed from us. “I don’t want anyone else drinking this beside me.”
One of my eyebrows went up. “What about me?”
“I suppose the creator of it should be able to imbibe when they wish.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Once a month, I’ll be able to sell a bottle of Rhodomel in the bar.”
“Once a year,” he countered.
“Psssh. You haven’t even offered anything for it. You’ve just asked me to save it for you. Loki, Giant of Asgard, one of the Aesir, what will you give me for such an offering?”
His gaze went calculating as he looked at me over the rim of the cup and I couldn’t help but notice his lips curling. Loki loved a lot of things, but he loved a bargain most of all.
“I’m not sure you’re ready to hear what I shall offer you, little witch.”
I swallowed hard. I wasn’t sure either. But I wasn’t going to keep a supply of Rhodomel captive in the cellar without something in return. “I’m sure I can handle it,” I said and I was impressed with how steady my voice was.
He lowered the cup from his lips. “Tell me you will save this for me. Make an oath upon your honor and I will swear my fealty and loyalty to none other than you, Queen Freya. My sword will be your sword. My honor will be my bond and my vow. I will protect you, stand beside you, fight for you, and spill my immortality into the sands of Midgard if required.” He paused. “There will be no other, and though I am of a fickle nature and mercurial by blood, I swear to you that I will be yours from now until the end of time.”
Silence, taut and tense, stretched in the room. Whatever I said now would tip the scales for both of us. “Loki,” I began but stopped. I cleared my throat and studied him, looking for any hidden amusement, any sort of joke or humor I might have missed. Anything to tell me this was a light moment that he was waiting for me to laugh off.
I found nothing. No pretense. No sparkle of amusement in his eyes.
“Tell me, Freya,” he said quietly in the dark of the cellar. And no longer were we gods. We were a man and a woman and his heart was lying on his sleeve for me to take.
Or to crush.
I wasn’t ready to do either.
“This is just mead,” I said and licked my lips in nervousness.
He stayed silent for a moment. “This is much more than mead, don’t you think?” he asked.
“I’m not ready,” I whispered. “I’m not sure I ever will be.”
He set his cup down on one of the shelves and gently lowered himself to one knee. “I have been ready for years.”
A huff of laughter escaped me. “All of this for mead?”
Loki rolled his eyes at me. “I would have done this anyway, but now that I’m standing in a cellar full of Rhodomel mead, I figure I ought to try to get something out of it.”
Tears shimmered in my eyes. “You can’t make a promise like this to a woman who never knows if she will be ready for a commitment like that.”
“I know my heart, little witch. I know my loyalties. I know where I belong. It’s here with you.” I started to speak, but he held up a hand. “Whether you give me the mead or not, I’m making this vow.” His gaze held my own. “But if I’m going to die in your service, I’d really, really like to have access to your cellars beforehand.” He shut his eyes. “And cellar is not a euphemism.” He opened them and a devilish glint appeared. “Unless you want it to be.”
I snorted in amusement and stared at the man I’d been around for so very, very long. “Thor is going to lose his shit over this.”
Loki rolled his eyes heavenward. “I’m pretty sure you’re forgetting about Odin.”
“He loses it all the time.” I studied him, his handsome face, the ever changing green of his eyes, right now the color of a mossy meadow. “Why?” I asked softly.
“Because you fear nothing, Freya. You love beyond measure. You see the good in people.” He bowed his head. “You saw the good in me far before I could.”
“I will release you from this bond as soon as you ask me to,” I said.
“I will never ask.” Loki was still on his knees, his head tilted up to me.
I blew out a deep breath, tucked a reddish curl that had escaped behind my ear, and frowned at him. “I am not the woman you think I am,” I said finally.
“I know. You are so very much more.”
“Your timing is terrible.”
“I’m well aware of how poor my timing is, but you throwing away your kingdom and showing me a cellar full of ancient booze wasn’t exactly on my schedule today, either. Are we doing this or not? My knees are hurting.”
“You’re immortal.”
“I know, but the floor is cold. Have pity on me, mistress of my heart.”
I sighed. “Your loyalty is too much. I have done nothing to deserve it.”
“You’ve done everything.” He let out a sharp laugh. “You know me well enough to know I am not taking no for an answer.” He waved to his head. “Touch me, soak it all up, bind me, then let’s get hammered.”
“I’m not ready,” I said for the third time.
“We’re immortal. I’d wait forever and a day for you.”
With his head tilted up and his neck bared to me, I exhaled and placed a hand on his head. For a moment I stifled the magic within me and just allowed myself to feel the softness of his thick, dark hair. “Please don’t regret this,” I whispered as I allowed the first trickle of magic to soak into Loki’s skin.
“Bound to you, Freya? Never.”
I bent down to whisper the words of binding in his ear, but Loki’s hand crept up and gripped my wrist. The heat of it made me stumble over my words. Magic poured from me into him, but his magic, the green and fecund of Midgard mixed with the unforgiving winter of his birth place, Jotunheim, melded with mine. This was more than a bind. I started to pull back, but Loki’s grip prevented me.
“Finish it,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Loki.”
He shut his eyes. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
I allowed his magic to pour into me even as I poured mine, the red of war, the pink of love, and the white of the Valkyrie, into him. The cords of his neck stood out against the assault of it, but his neck tipped back in exultation.
Loki responded by pushing against my magic. His slipped through the mental bonds I had locked firmly in place, crept through my veins and pulsed at the dark point of the bonding magic of Odin and my union.
Slowly, with my arm gripped in Loki’s hands, his magic broke through.
The bond between Odin and me, the immortal u
nion shattered.
Tears slipped from my eyes when it was over. “How?” I whispered.
Loki collapsed to the floor. “Your bond was weakened. He would have found you this way, Freya. It was the only way to keep you safe.”
I sank to my knees.
It was really over.
Asgard wept inside of me.
3
One week later, the first settlers of my new community walked into the portal. Upon seeing Loki, newly bonded and full of Rhodomel mead, everyone had the same reaction. Confusion, suspicion, then, when realizing he wasn’t going to do anything weird or mischievous, eventual acceptance.
Our bonding was unusual. Never before had something like that happened. Part of me knew I was to blame, but the other part of me knew Loki was as well. We’d poured our magic into each other, shattering the marriage bonds between me and Odin, and created something...different within us. At first there was nothing unusual other than the hum of Loki’s magic inside of my blood. When we woke up the next morning, both of us were sporting a brand new vine tattoo that crept from our wrist all the way to the tip of our left hand ring fingers. This gave me a freak out first thing before coffee and ended with me scrubbing my hands with a scouring pad to get it off.
I only realized Loki had the same thing when he burst into the bar at 8 a.m. with wild hair, wild eyes and waving his hand around like a crazy person.
“By Odin’s beard!” he shouted as he shoved his hand in my face. “What the hell is this?”
By then I’d realized whatever was on my wrist appeared to be permanent. I shoved his hand away. “I’m not sure but I know it’s your fault.”
He blustered. “How is this my fault?”
“You’re the one who interfered in my binding ritual.”
“I didn’t interfere,” he protested. “I merely ensured my oath to you. The bond between you and Odin was dangerous.” He rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. “Or did you think blowing up the palace was just going to tickle him pink?”
