by C. Gockel
The queen brings a hand to her temple. “Odin hears the prayers of Spain. He has already planted Einherjar warriors on the boats that sailed for England, and among the reinforcements the fleet plans to gather.”
Loki’s eyes meet Sigyn’s. He has visions of an Einherjar blade slicing the belt that holds Nari’s magic scabbard—and then the blade going to his son’s throat.
Loki bows his head. “My Queen…would you like me to stand beside the Englishmen?” Not that he plans on helping the English, he’ll just cast an illusion over his son, and spirit him away. His fists clench at his side. He’ll just have to come up with a clever lie to lure Nari away from his misguided convictions…
“I’m not a fool, Loki,” Frigga says, sounding more weary than angry.
Loki lifts his head.
“You seek your son.” Frigga smiles ruefully. “You’d never save him, he’s too foolhardy to abandon the cause.” Her jaw hardens. “The Spanish must never be allowed to land in England.”
Loki almost argues. But then he remembers Frigga sees the present nearly clearly as the Norns, and even though no one sees the future, she sees the possibilities more clearly than most. His fists clench at his sides. For his sons’ sakes he needs to hear her out. “How precisely do you expect to accomplish that?”
Frigga stares at him for a moment, as though she doesn’t recognize him. And then she says, “With treachery and magic, of course.”
Reaching into her cloak, she pulls out a letter sealed with wax. “Njord sits in his boat off the coast of Ireland waiting for Skadi to come to him. The Spanish will pass that way soon.”
Njord is a king of the Vanir. He is capable of summoning storms. Skadi is his Frost Giantess ex-wife. Magical beings are only allowed to go to Earth on prayer summons, but Njord would break the rules for Skadi; he is still madly in love with her.
Sigyn voices Loki’s unspoken question. “But why would he think that? Skadi has no interest in him—she hasn’t in centuries.”
Meeting Sigyn’s eyes, Frigga says, “Because I told him she would.”
“Ah,” says Sigyn.
Loki’s lips purse, and his eyebrows jog up. Sometimes he wonders why, out of all of Asgard, he’s the one with the moniker of “God of Lies.”
Frigga hands the letter to Loki. “You will deliver this to him.” Loki takes envelope and opens it. Frigga sniffs and says, “Now I will have to reseal it,” but Loki ignores her. Sigyn peeks over his shoulder.
His brow furrows. The letter is from Skadi, saying how she won’t be coming to meet Njord after all.
“Why don’t you just have Gna deliver it?” Loki says. Gna is Frigga’s messenger. Her steed’s speed is second only to Sleipnir, and capable of traveling over land and water.
Frigga sighs. “If Gna delivers it, Njord will think it’s simply a misunderstanding. He will be hurt, perhaps cry and make a little rain, but that will be the end of it.”
Sigyn snorts. “But if Loki delivers it, Njord will think it was a trick perpetrated by my husband from the beginning… He’ll try to kill Loki.”
“Precisely,” says Frigga. “Doubtlessly with storms great enough to destroy an entire armada.”
Drawing back slightly, Loki narrows his eyes. “Where will I be during these storms?”
“Probably in the boat you used to meet Njord,” says Frigga.
Loki stares at her a moment. Sighing, he says dryly. “I can’t imagine how this plan could be any more perfect.”
Smiling tightly at him, Frigga says, “Heimdall will have his eyes on the Einherjar aboard the Spanish ships, so he’ll see your presence. You’ll doubtlessly find yourself on trial.”
Loki snaps his fingers, releasing a small burst of flame. He could walk the In-Between as soon as he delivered the message—but he’s not sure he wants Heimdall to know of that particular skill.
“But I will say it was on my orders,” says Frigga.
Loki’s mouth twists in a thin line. It is the best way to help Nari. It will be dangerous, cold, wet, and it will be against Odin’s favorites. He opens his mouth, about to agree anyway.
Frigga, seeing his expression, must expect a no, because she says, “You have my oath, I will stand beside you.” He detects no lie, but isn’t exactly pleased. Frigga and Odin have had spats before, and in a domestic matter, he would expect her to win. But this is about the fate of nations.
Snapping his fingers, he releases another burst of flame. He opens his mouth again, ready to agree.
Again, Frigga must doubt his intent, because she says, “And I will give you this.” She pulls a vial from her cloak and presses it into Loki’s hand.
Loki immediately feels the thrum of magic on his palm. He stares down at the vial. It is no bigger than his thumb, and where a cap should be it is completely sealed. At the top is a ring with a strip of black leather strung through it. The leather cord is long enough to hang comfortably from Loki’s neck.
Loki holds the vial up to the light. The inside is murky, holding something that looks exactly like—
“Clouds,” says Frigga. “Break the vial and you’ll have enough to cover an entire sea or mountain range with them.”
That is farther than the reach of any of Loki’s illusions. The gift of the life of his son and this… Loki stares at the vial in wonder. “I accept,” he whispers.
x x x x
Standing next to Bohdi, Amy whispers cryptically. “Loki went to the tower for the Spanish Armada escapade, but Frigga kept her word and got him out…” She gulps. “It only took a little over a year.”
The Tower? He has no idea what Amy is talking about, but it doesn’t sound good. Bohdi’s eyes snap to her in alarm.
She winces and shrugs. Bohdi looks behind them. The asshole who wanted to separate Bohdi and Amy is standing backed by armed guards—now blocking the path to the window.
In front of them, Frigga and the women trailing her are blocking their escape. Bohdi slips his knife from his pocket. “Well?” he whispers.
Before Amy responds, Frigga’s voice rings down the corridor in English. “You will sheath your blades!”
The guards start to put their swords away, but then head Asshole says something in Asgardian. The guards stop. Beneath their visors, Bohdi sees them look to one another, eyes wide and confused.
Chin held high, slender body ramrod straight, Frigga says in English. “Who besides my husband may sit on my husband’s throne?”
Asshole says something in his language, and Frigga snaps, “Speak so my guests may understand!”
“Yes, My Queen. You, My Queen,” says Asshole, his voice starting to tremble.
“And who rules the Nine Realms when my husband is indisposed?” Frigga demands.
Asshole gulps. “You, My Queen.”
“And where is my husband now?” Frigga shouts.
“Asleep,” Asshole murmurs.
“Then who rules the Nine Realms?” says Frigga, her voice suddenly soft.
“You, My Queen,” says Asshole, his voice quivering so much Bohdi might almost feel sorry for him.
“Then why are you still standing?” says Frigga.
Asshole bows his head, drops to one knee, and thumps his hand over his chest. The Other Asshole immediately follows suit, as do the guards.
Frigga’s eyes slide to Bohdi and Amy. She raises an imperious eyebrow. The processor in Bohdi’s brain must be overwhelmed with other input, because it takes a moment for him to realize it’s probably a hint that he and Amy should be kneeling, too.
“Um,” he says.
“Oh,” says Amy.
The ladies following Frigga narrow their eyes at them.
“Should we?” says Bohdi.
Frigga sighs. Raising her chin, the queen proclaims, “On Earth, customs toward royalty have changed much of late. Since Miss Lewis and Mr. Patel are our guests, I will not insist they kneel.”
Offering a slight nod of her head, Amy whispers, “Thank you?”
Not acknowledging her statemen
t, Frigga snaps some commands in Asgardian. Asshole and The Other Asshole thump their chests and then bow and take off down the corridor they had attempted to lead Bohdi down. The guards part and stand at attention, lining the hallway.
Turning toward the opposite corridor, Frigga says, “You will follow me.”
With that, she strides past Bohdi and Amy, head held high.
For a moment, Bohdi and Amy stand stock-still. And then, nodding pointedly at Amy and Bohdi, one of the members of Frigga’s entourage says, “After you?”
Bohdi exhales. Amy nods. Muscles in his body he hadn’t been aware were tight uncoil. Together they follow the queen. Her entourage and the maids of the palace-castle-alien-bed-and-breakfast-whatever trail behind.
Chapter 21
Frigga leads them through two double doors nearly as large as the doors in the Norns’ lair. But they do have doorknobs, so there’s that.
“I hope you find this to your satisfaction.”
Bohdi blinks around the room they’ve just entered. It’s enormous—as large as an entire floor of Ruth and Henry’s house. The walls are plaster, not marble, painted a nearly gleaming white. Large windows line one wall, tapestries another. Butterflies flutter on the sills and throughout the room. There is a sitting area with a couch and little round ottoman thingies near the other wall, an unlit fireplace with elaborate molding behind it, and a table and chairs a few steps away. A gauzy curtain separates the sitting area and table from two stairs that lead up to an enormous round bed.
That’s where Bohdi’s mind starts to spin. One bed. And then his shoulders sag, remembering Amy’s look of hurt when she’d realized what he’d been up to, or almost up to, with the Norns…Biting his lip, he looks over to her. She’ll suggest they split up, and that idea makes his stomach churn. There was something about the tone of The Other Asshole when they were being led here that he didn’t like. And he didn’t like the way Amy had turned too sharply—or the silence of the maids.
“It’s fine,” Amy says without missing a beat.
Bohdi’s body sags a little with relief. She doesn’t think he’s that kind of ass… It makes him feel ridiculously grateful.
Frigga nods. Her eyes meet Amy’s and then Bohdi’s. “You must stick together.”
“Why are you helping us?” Amy asks.
Frigga’s lips purse ever so slightly. “You are our guests.”
Bohdi doesn’t feel a desire to sneeze…but…there is a definite tickle on his upper lip.
Dipping her chin, Frigga says, “Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” says Amy.
One of the other women says something in Asgardian. Amy’s eyes go wide, and she bites her lip like she’s fighting a smile. Bohdi catches her reaction…but he doesn’t feel like asking her any questions until they are alone.
Frigga raises an eyebrow in Amy’s direction and says in English, “Miss Lewis and Mr. Patel are acquainted with flushing toilets, Gna.”
Amy puts a hand to her mouth as a smile blooms on her face. Bohdi has to stifle a snort.
Frigga motions in the direction of a small door. “It’s right through there.”
The woman who first voiced the question says, “But they don’t have magic on their world?”
Frigga sighs. “And yet they have running water…and…” the queen looks at Amy and Bohdi almost curiously. “Lights at night.” Turning to Gna she says, “They use electricity.”
“Really?” says Gna, hands coming together in front of her chest. “How charming. I’d love to know more.”
“Later, Gna,” says Frigga. “Our guests are tired.” She looks at Bohdi and her lips quirk. “And they are in need of clothes.”
The women behind Frigga titter. Even Amy looks amused.
Bohdi feels his cheeks heat. Even if he’s not ashamed of what’s exposed, he suddenly feels outnumbered.
With another nod at them, Frigga turns on her heel and strides from the room. Her entourage follows. But the maids stay.
One of them, clutching what looks like clothing, stammers, “Follow.”
Bohdi and Amy follow her and the other maid through a pair of ornate double doors into a steaming room with an enormous bathtub.
“Ah,” says Bohdi, drawing to a stop. “I’ll just wait outside, while you—”
“That’s fine,” says Amy, eyeing the maids. The two women look slightly frightened.
“If you need me—” Bodhi says.
“I’ll scream,” says Amy.
Walking back out the doors, Bohdi says, “Right.”
As the doors swing shut behind him, The Assholes come through the double doors from the hallway. Slipping his knife from his pocket, he flicks it open and makes a show of wiping it on his pants.
Glaring at him, one of The Assholes sets some clothes and some towels on a chair. And then the two go about fluffing the pillows on the bed and drawing back the sheets.
Bohdi thinks of falling into the bed…and then he thinks of falling into bed with Amy. They’d sleep, but when they woke up maybe…
He bows his head. She’d remember him running like a fool from the Norns’ lair.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he gestures toward the couch. “Yo, guys,” he says. “Would you get a pillow and blankets for me over here?”
The two servants freeze in place.
Bohdi smiles, showing all his teeth. “I’ve got to protect my lady’s virtue, after all.”
The two men’s eyes slide to each other, and then the head Asshole, says, “As man to man, we should warn. No virtue. She was Loki’s…”
The Other Asshole finishes for him. “Whore.”
Bohdi’s vision goes red. For a moment, he stands immobilized. And then spinning in place, he hurls his knife, not seeing or caring where it hits. It lands with a rip and a thunk. He turns back to The Assholes.
Looking beyond Bohdi their eyes are wide. One of them is shaking.
“Get out,” Bohdi whispers.
Neither man moves.
“Get out!” Bohdi says again.
Nodding, they scamper from the room, bowing all the way.
Mouth curled in a silent snarl, Bohdi goes to retrieve his knife. And sees why his outburst had such an effect on the two men.
His knife has ripped the tapestry and embedded in the wall. Run through by the blade is a butterfly.
Pulling the knife from the wall, Bohdi catches the dead insect in his hand.
Turning it over, he studies its delicate, shimmering wings. He swallows, backs over to the couch, and falls down into it. He stares down at the dead insect in his hand and starts to shake.
x x x x
It’s the sort of nightmare where Amy knows she’s dreaming. She’s only half asleep. She can feel the exquisitely silky fabric of the Asgardian duvet beneath her fingers. Her head is on a soft pillow. She’s dry, and warm, and the world smells like spring.
Still, the screams from the baby spiders in the dream make all the hairs on her neck stand on end. Her eyes open fast. She is curled in a fetal position on the bed, a bit of duvet in a death grip in her hand. Her mouth is open and gasping, the world is a blur. The shrieks, so much like those of a human infant, are ringing in her ears.
She closes her eyes. It isn’t strange that the spider children sounded so human. They were small and had small trachea, doubtlessly. Rabbits that Fenrir has cornered in the back yard made similar noises before dying. That the sound leaves a chill isn’t strange either—hundreds of thousands of years of evolution have made humans easily distraught by the wails of infants.
Which is why it isn’t wrong for Amy to hurt remembering the cries of pain of the creatures that tried to kill her.
Amy opens her eyes. The world is a blur. But then shapes within the blur converge and she’s staring at Bohdi. He’s standing a few steps away from the bed, bent down so his head is level to hers.
“Are you all right?” he asks softly.
Amy nods. “Just a nightmare.”
Bohdi’s eyes
go down. “I heard…I didn’t know if I should wake you.” He says it like someone might say, I’m sorry.
It’s the most he’s said since Queen Frigga brought them here.
Amy’s eyes clear a little more. She sees the couch where he’d been lying. The blanket is thrown haphazardly over the back. His pillow’s on the floor.
“I’m fine,” she says. If she says it enough, she knows it will be true.
He ducks his head and walks back to the couch. The new clothes he’s wearing are slightly wrinkled after his nap, but otherwise fit him well. Dark blue fitted trousers, with buttons down the outside ankle over brown leather boots. A collarless shirt that’s more a tunic, and a gray vest over that—but this vest is more Han Solo than Chippendales. Thankfully.
Amy sits up, and Mr. Squeakers, who’d been sleeping on the headboard, hops on her arm. Across the room, Bohdi flops back down onto the couch. He pulls out his phone from his pocket and powers it on. The screen flickers to life. Amy sees a photo flash on the screen before he powers it down again. She knows which picture it was without asking.
She wants to ask him if he’s all right.
In Nornheim, as they floated down the river, Bohdi had woken from a fevered dream, looked up at her with surprisingly clear eyes, and said, “It’s like the Life of Pi.” And then he’d grinned. “If I’m Pi, are you the tiger?” Amy had laughed, equally with relief that he was alive, and at the joke. She was so not a tiger. But summoning up her courage, she lifted a hand, pretended to paw the air, and said, “Rawr?” Bohdi had burst out into a guffaw before his head lolled to the side again and he’d fallen back into unconsciousness.
He’d joked while he was dying. Now he’s withdrawn and sullen.
Standing up, she slips on the ballet slippers she was given. She starts to walk over to the couch, but her clothes catch awkwardly under her armpit, and she stops with a huff. The clothes aren’t actually that bad—they’re modest at least: the thin sleeveless pale green dress she wears is covered by a knee-length fitted coat. The coat is a Vanir linen, cool, and comfortable, but not as wrinkly. It wasn’t meant to be slept in, though. The buttons that are supposed to run straight down the front are twisting around toward the back.
