She made herself look at him, stunned.
“Are you a bit warmer?” he asked, regarding the flames.
She opened her mouth. Nothing.
“Come closer to the fire,” he beckoned offhandedly. Marina couldn’t move for a long time, but when he didn’t say anything else, she ventured through the door and into the little library. Carefully, she drew up next to him, feeling the heat of the very real fire swell across her legs and start to thaw them out.
She peered up at Loki’s flamelit face as he frowned down at the mantel. The light glanced across his gray eyes and touched the edges of his chestnut hair. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his lips were colorless.
“You came back,” she said.
He blinked, and looked sideways at her.
“I said I would.”
She couldn’t answer. His frown deepened.
“I said I would,” he repeated.
“You disappeared,” Marina countered. He lifted an eyebrow, incredulous.
“Did you expect me to be of any help to you like that?” he asked, straightening and folding his arms. “You did see me, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I saw you—”
“I had nothing—no provisions, no shoes, no clothes,” he interrupted. “No way to keep either of us warm, to feed us or to set us in the right direction. So I left for half of a healing spell and to fetch Festning, here. I was gone for ten minutes. But in that time you decided to go trekking off to who-knows-where and get yourself pulled into toothpicks for wolves. Brilliant plan.”
“It was not a plan,” Marina shot back. “You left.”
“I promised I would help you,” Loki retorted.
“That doesn’t mean very much,” Marina said, wrapping her own arms around herself. “I’m aware of your reputation.”
He considered her a moment, then laughed quietly and shook his head.
“My reputation.” He turned back and glanced across the bookshelves above the fireplace, and shook his head again, his mouth tightening. He fell silent. Marina took a low, careful breath.
“Tell me what happened.”
“What happened when?” Loki asked.
She hesitated.
“To Bird.”
He faced her.
“No.”
Marina’s eyebrows went up.
“You said you would.”
“Well, now I’d rather not,” he answered flippantly.
“You gave me your word,” Marina reminded him.
“Ah, so now you expect me to keep my word?” he remarked. “You know, it’s always been painfully obvious what you think of me, Twig. If I cared about it enough, I might be offended.” He shrugged. “But, though I don’t wish to mince words here, I’ve now saved your life. Our contract has been fulfilled. I could honestly throw you out into the snow right this moment and go do whatever I wanted.”
Marina’s gut tightened.
“Will you?”
He thought for a second.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
He smirked coldly. His eyes darkened.
“Because I’m curious.”
She gave him a narrow look.
“About what?”
“About what you’re going to tell me in the morning,” he strode past her, ducked through the door into the entryway, then faced the stairs. “Go on, then,” he pointed upward.
She stayed where she was.
“Go on where?”
“Oh, and you were so anxious to explore earlier,” he jabbed. He reached up and rubbed his eyes. “It’s just a bedroom. And I swear, there’s not a troll up there anymore.”
Marina had no idea if he was serious. He dropped his hand and gave her a pointed look, then gestured impatiently toward the front door.
“Or, by all means, sleep outside if you’d find that more comfortable.”
Marina swallowed, and stepped out of the library onto the fur rug. She cast an uneasy glance up the skinny stairs.
“Where will you be?” she asked.
“Why? Are you afraid you might need me if you have nightmares?” he sneered. She glared up at him. He snorted.
“A witch used to live here, so you should find enough womanish clothes and brushes and everything you think you need up there. There’s only a few good sleeping hours left,” he warned her. “Go.”
She turned away from him, grabbed the banister and started up. Her feet creaked loudly on each step—a different note each time. She reached the landing, and looked back down to Loki…
He watched her for a moment, his face solemn and pale. Then, he turned and re-entered the library. Marina gripped the railing. Then, she lifted her head and assessed the cherry door in front of her.
A garden scene had been carved into this one—a little bridge over a stream, stone walls, and a cottage hung with ivy and roses. She reached out and touched the brass handle, then worked the latch and pulled the door open.
It gave way without a sound. She stepped inside.
Stopped.
“Oh…”
It was huge. Well—at least as big as her room back home!
Dark wood walls and ceiling, wood floors padded by thick furs, a curtained four poster bed just to her right, with its head back against the right-hand wall; a hearth with a bright, live fire in the far corner; a wardrobe just across from her, a vanity next to that, and a large trunk at the foot of the bed. A lamp in a hurricane burned on a nightstand next to the bed. The whole room smelled like cloves and cinnamon. She finally ventured further in, and shut the door. She moved through the room, studying it all, catching sight of more of those faces peering out from the walls—but these had their eyes closed, and looked much more smooth and elvish. She knelt in front of the ornate chest at the foot of the bed and lifted the squeaky lid.
Inside, folded neatly, lay a soft, white fleece nightgown and knee-high soft-wool socks. That was all. Marina gazed at them for a while…
Then stripped off her soggy clothes, laid them out on the rug in front of the fire, and quickly donned the nightgown and socks. Warmth and softness enveloped her.
The next second, exhaustion hit her in a wave. She swayed—had to reach out and grip the cool post of the bed. She took hold of the thick down comforter, pulled it back, and pulled the sheet back as well. Sighing heavily, she dragged herself into bed, underneath those heavy covers, and barely summoned the strength to blow out the lamp before she sank down into the warm and fell asleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Well…Who is this?”
The creaky female voice made Marina frown, and slowly open her eyes. Thick blankets buried her, and delicious warmth wrapped all around her. She sighed deeply, then shifted and peeked up over the edge of her covers.
“Good morning!” came the scratchy voice
again—
And Marina caught sight of a wooden face sticking out of the center of the mantle off to her right. An old woman’s face, with big eyes, spiky hair, pointed chin, a hooked nose and only a few teeth—which Marina could see because she was grinning widely. In afterthought, Marina noticed that the window directly across from the foot of her bed had been blanketed with Jack Frost, but bright morning light filled the room.
“Good morning,” Marina managed hoarsely, swiping her hair out of her face.
“Ah! A young lady!” the wooden face gasped, her grin broadening even further. “The young lady I thought I heard come over the threshold last night! Marina is your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Marina nodded, sitting up further and rubbing her eyes, trying to wake up.
“It has been so very long since anyone has slept in this room!” the wooden lady went on. “Is everything in order? Did you find what you needed?”
“I…” Marina dropped her hands and looked around. “I found a nightgown and socks in the chest, but I haven’t had time to…”
“Oh, yes, certainly, certainly, and—But where are my manners?” the wooden lady interrupted herself. “You may call m
e Bestemor, if you wish to call me anything at all! I am the heart and secret-keeper of Festning.”
“Festning?” Marina repeated.
“That is the name of this little house!” Bestemor replied, chuckling like sticks rubbing together. “Did Loki not tell you?”
“He…may have,” Marina confessed. “I can’t remember.”
“He’s a dear boy,” Bestemor said. “Even if he doesn’t scrub out the flue like he ought, or dust in the corners. But what can one expect from a Jotun, anyhow?”
Marina kept her opinions to herself, only half-smirking.
“If you’re ready to get up, you’ll find underclothes, trousers, a dress and boots in the chest,” Bestemor told her cheerfully. “And through the wardrobe will be your washing-up, as well as brushes and everything else!”
“Wait—through the wardrobe?” Marina sat up. Bestemor’s wooden eyes widened.
“Oh, no, he’s in the kitchen. I must go see to it that he doesn’t burn anything.” And at once, her face dissolved, leaving a plain wooden mantle in her place. Marina stared for a moment, then finally threw off her covers and got out of bed. She hesitatingly stepped up to the chest, wondering what Bestemor had meant. There hadn’t been anything but the nightgown and socks in there last night…
She bent, and opened the lid…
And lo and behold—there lay undergarments, a fitted pair of black trousers, a long-sleeved, velvety green dress and stockings.
“Ha,” she remarked. Carefully, she reached down and touched the soft sleeve of the dress.
Yes, it was real.
“Ha,” she said again, smiling. She pulled the clothes out and laid them out on the bed, then took off her pajamas and socks and got dressed. The new clothes felt wonderful—snug, comfortable and fitted as if they had been made for her. Even the knee-high black boots. After rustling the skirt of her dress and smoothing it, she faced the wardrobe. Smiled wryly.
“I shouldn’t be surprised at anything now, should I?” she murmured. She stepped up toward it, and worked the little brass handle. She slowly pulled the heavy door open…
She laughed out loud now, and then covered her mouth as delighted chills raced all over her skin.
Inside the wardrobe waited a cream-colored bathroom. A clawfoot tub with faucet stood off to the left, a beautiful side table covered in brushes, combs and teeth-cleaning supplies stood to the right, and a mirror and sink hung on the wall straight in front of her. Wood paneled the walls, and a fleece rug covered the floor. She stepped inside, careful to leave the door wide open, and gazed, awestruck at her own clear reflection for a long time. Finally, she addressed herself frankly.
“This is impossible, you know.”
“Oh, not at all,” came a smooth, refined feminine voice. Marina jumped.
Another face appeared, blooming out of the wall just above the mirror. It was a beautiful face, with billowing hair, large eyes, a perfect nose and full mouth. She looked like she was made of delicately-carved maple.
“Hello,” Marina said cautiously.
“Good morning,” the face answered. “I am Skjønnhet, and this wardrobe is my domain. How are you this morning, Lady Marina?”
“I’m…doing well,” Marina managed. Skjønnhet smiled.
“Very good. Shall I draw you a bath, or are you wishing to prepare for the day quickly?”
“I think I’d better get ready,” Marina decided. “Though a bath does sound really wonderful.”
“I shall draw you one later this evening, then,” Skjønnhet said kindly. “Please use whatever you like here. And if you need anything, you need only call my name.”
“Thank you,” Marina said, meeting Skjønnhet’s eyes—and suddenly finding that she did mean it.
“Have a delightful day, Lady Marina,” Skjønnhet bid her, and melted away.
Marina, her long hair brushed and braided, her teeth cleaned and her face washed, finally emerged from her bedroom and paused on the landing. She listened, trying to figure out where Loki could be in this little house. Bestemor had said he was in the kitchen—could that be the door with the witch on it?
Gingerly, with her right hand on the wall the whole time, Marina picked her way down the steep, narrow staircase, and stopped in front of that door. Setting herself, she grabbed the doorknob and twisted it. Opened the door.
Stared into a large, fully-stocked larder. Blocks of cheese, bags of potatoes, garlic, onions, carrots, flour, and sugar packed the wooden shelves, and salted meat hung from the ceiling. Barrels of mead and wine lined the floor. Marina eased inside, but it was dark in here, and abandoned. Frowning, she drew back and shut the door. She stood there for a while, hand on the doorknob, then stepped across to the library. She didn’t have to go in to see that, though a fire burnt in the fireplace, nobody was in there. She took a breath, but stopped herself from calling out loud. Had he gone outside? She started toward the front door.
“Oh, haloo.”
Marina spun around as the witch door abruptly opened and Loki stuck his head out.
“What—Were you in there?” Marina demanded, putting a hand to her heart. He raised his eyebrows.
“I’ve been in here,” he said. He wore a loose black shirt with its collar flung open, black trousers and boots. Strands of his curly dark hair hung across his white forehead. His eyes still looked bright and gray, with shadows under them. He glanced Marina up and down, then shoved the door carelessly aside. “Come in and have something to eat.” He turned, and re-entered the room…
The room that was not the larder.
It was a kitchen.
A very small one. Straight across stood a wooden counter and washing station. Cupboards hung above it, all carved with forests and vines. An iron wood stove sputtered in the far corner, and in front of it were a little square table with two benches. It all smelled like burning pine, and bacon grease.
Marina couldn’t move.
“Ah, there she is!” a familiar voice cried. Marina twitched and glanced past Loki to see Bestemor’s face grin out from one of the cupboard doors.
“Come in, dearest!” Bestemor called. “Come in and eat!”
Mutely, Marina obeyed. She ventured into the little space, edging around Loki toward the table where a plate of bread, cheese and bacon had been laid out, along with a cup of milk.
“Yes, yes, sit down,” Bestemor urged, swimming across the wall to rest by the stovepipe. “You look starved! Eat something!”
“Thank you,” Marina murmured, and eased down onto the bench. She watched Loki, who stood at the counter. A front window, to his left, let in bright morning sunlight, only slightly filtered by white cotton curtains. Loki quickly put a loaf of bread back into the breadbox, then set to washing and drying another dish, cup and knife. He didn’t look at her. So, Marina picked up the cheese and ate it, and then the bread and bacon, swallowing each bite with gulps of milk. It all tasted very good—made from scratch, she could tell—and rich. She had just finished the last sip of milk when Loki turned and crossed his arms. His gaze cut down through her, and she stilled as she sat, her hand on her cup.
“So,” he began. “Would it be possible for you to tell me why it is Hel and Fenris are chasing you?”
Marina held his gaze and pulled her hand back down into her lap.
“Not until you tell me what happened to Bird.”
The edge of his mouth curled up. Marina’s gut tightened.
“Ah, you see…” He flashed his eyebrows. “Now that I’ve saved your life, given you a place to sleep and food to eat—sanctuary, if you will, I no longer owe you anything. And…” he stood away from the counter and took a step toward her. His lean form loomed over her in this tiny place. His eyes flashed. “If I lose my patience, I’ll just get the information from my brother and sister in exchange for you.”
Marina swallowed.
“Loki, you oughtn’t treat our guest that way,” Bestemor chided. Loki glanced at her.
“Give us a moment, please, Bestemor,�
� he said—but his polite words carried an edge. The spindly face blinked, and her mouth downturned, but she reluctantly faded away. Loki leaned back against the counter and folded his arms, then regarded Marina.
“So,” he said again. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Why should I trust you?” Marina wanted to know.
“I never said anything about trusting me,” Loki replied. “Just use your brains. Tell me what I want to know, or I’ll toss you over to the wolves. Simple as that.”
Marina studied him. He watched her with a look of ice.
“I…” Marina finally started, glancing down at her empty plate and trying to scramble her thoughts together. “When I was in Asgard, Bird told me that he’d been having dreams that he’d be killed—but he didn’t know how or when it would happen. So he asked me for my help, and he said I would know what to do when the time came.” She risked a look up at Loki.
He gazed back at her, his eyebrows drawn together, his eyes deep blue. He said nothing. Marina went on.
“And so I…I didn’t have any idea what he was talking about, until she came to my door, and said something about his tears, and bringing him back…”
“What?” Loki cut in. “Back?”
“That’s what she said,” Marina insisted. “And I still didn’t understand until…” She trailed off, suddenly feeling foolish.
“Until what?” Loki pressed, leaning toward her, his eyes lightening back to gray. “What?”
“After you left, I went further up into the cave,” Marina said, squeezing her left hand with her right. “And when I sat down to rest, I saw…”
“What did you see?” Loki asked softly, intently. She looked up at him.
“A mountain,” she said. “A mountain with two peaks. And there was a cave in between the peaks. Inside the cave was a gold-colored stone. And then I saw Bird lying there. It looked like he was dead. But when I came closer…his eyes opened. And I got this feeling, all of a sudden…” She swallowed. “That I had to go out and…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.
Loki’s eyes narrowed.
“When you were in Asgard…did Bauldr kiss your forehead?”
Marina’s cheeks flamed. But she nodded once.
Bauldr's Tears Page 13
