Thunder, Blood, and Goats

Tales of the Nine Worlds

Lyra Wolf

Ravenwell Press

Contents

1. Have Goats, Will Travel

2. Desperate Times

3. A Crown of Holly

4. A Bone to Pick

5. Silk and Steel

6. A Proposition

7. By the Sword

8. Here There be Dragons

9. A Promise

Excerpt from “Truth and Other Lies”

Thank you!

Also by Lyra Wolf

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Copyright © 2021 by Lyra Wolf

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Ravenwell Press.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Dominic Forbes

Ravenwell Press

eBook ISBN: 978-1-944912-38-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-944912-39-0

First Edition

What is a rebel? A man who says no.

— Albert Camus

1

Have Goats, Will Travel

Eons back, long before Thor had his hammer, and Loki was still new in Asgard…

Alfheim

“You just had to take the goat drawn chariot,” I yelled over the crack and snap of splintering pine branches.

Thor ground his teeth beneath his fiery beard and tugged the reins of his two goats, jerking us left, avoiding a tree limb hitting me square in the chest by an inch.

“Shut up and let me concentrate on steering,” he said.

Another yank and we swung right, skimming the treetops, stripping them bare of their pine needles.

“MAAAAAHHH!” the goats screamed.

“You consider this steering? You have the navigational dexterity of a slug.” I ducked, grimacing at the whoosh of another branch grazing the top of my head. “Give me the reins.”

Laughter burst out from Thor’s lungs.

“Trust you with driving my precious Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr? I’d sooner share a pint with a frost giant and spend the afternoon chasing butterflies,” he said. “Only I know how to handle these goats properly.”

We jolted up higher over the forest, glimpsing the Whispering Mountains to the South. Thor wrenched the goats’ heads back. We plunged into the darkness of the packed pine, my stomach remaining somewhere high in the night sky.

Yes. He handled them splendidly.

This would have all been great fun if it didn’t come with the risk of ripping half my face off my skull. I was rather fond of my face, with its sharp points and angles and excellent bone structure.

If I lost it in a freak goat chariot accident…Thor would pay dearly.

Branches smacked the sides of the chariot, scratching deep into the paint and whacking us back and forth. Each strike produced a thousand more plots to swim in my mind of ways to get back at him for this mess.

“Had you not taken that wrong turn at Mount Erbis, we would be there by now,” I said.

“Had you not kept chattering about trivial things like east and west and everything in between I wouldn’t have missed.”

Always my fault.

“We would have been to Afethemar by now, decidedly less cold, and with fewer splinters wedged into our cheeks.” I pulled a sliver of wood out of my flesh and rubbed away the sting. “That dragon has probably eaten half the village by now.”

Thor growled and snapped the reins, urging the goats faster. More enraged cries followed, but from the goats or me, I wasn’t sure. I gripped the edge of the chariot harder, digging my nails into the woodgrain.

This dragon was supposed to be a quick jaunt.

The Elves had been entreating Asgard for our assistance for weeks with their little dragon problem. Apparently, the monster had grown quite the taste for sheep. And cows. And Elves.

Of course, I immediately volunteered to lend a helping hand to our Elvish neighbors.

I was a beacon of generosity.

…And the fact it presented the perfect opportunity to prove myself, freshly arrived in Asgard and a new god, didn’t hurt either.

I’d wipe those sneers off their smug Aesir faces. They’d learn chaos was not to be underestimated. And not to brag, but I knew my way around a blade. Killing one measly dragon wouldn’t be a problem.

The problem was Thor, who also found a spot of dragon killing a fine idea, and just like that, I found myself in a goat drawn chariot, being struck by every pine tree from Asgard to Alfheim.

Thor clapped the reins again.

And again, the chariot bobbed and swayed, rising over the forest. A river glistened near the horizon, cutting through snow-covered hills and a patchwork of fields and clusters of trees. Moonlight swathed the soft landscape in blues and grays and shadow.

We coasted through cold air.

Down we sped.

Down faster, heaving around trunks and through crackling twigs.

Out we popped into a clearing, aiming straight for a woodcutter’s shed.

“Thor…”

The shed drew closer.

“I know what I’m doing.”

But did he?

We went faster, feet from the shed.

“Thor! SHED!”

“Just let me land in peace!”

The chariot bumped and ground into a foot of snow. Thor twisted and wrenched the reins, making the goats bleat, swinging us around and skidding us directly for the shed. My future sped past my vision, a future of splinters and pain and broken bones.

I closed my eyes and braced myself, grinding my fingers until numb on the edge of the chariot.

The reins squealed in Thor’s grip, stretching and twisting.

The chariot tapped the shed with a gentle plink and we came to a stop.

I cracked open my eyes.

Had I survived?

The shed creaked. I looked up. I tried to leap out of the way.

Piles and piles of snow sloughed off the roof and dumped on my head and lean frame, crushing me beneath a mountain of wet, cold bullshit.

I clawed my way through the snow, cursing in every language I could.

Thor laughed, shaking the forest with his thundering baritone.

“You look ridiculous,” he said, shaking a bit of frost off layers of furs draping his bulky shoulders.

He chuckled, grabbing me by my collar and hoisting me out of the snow.

“Let me go,” I snapped. “You’ll stretch my tunic with your big, oafish hands.”

He laughed louder.

“You are a prickly one,” he said. “I thought Father insane when he brought you to Asgard and told us what he did.” He pointed at my arm, where a scar hid beneath my sleeve. “But you are hilarious!”

This again. Why was everyone so surprised by Odin and my blending our blood and swearing an oath together? I might be a trickster, but I was quite capable of upholding a promise.

Especially to someone like Odin.

He offered me a chance.

More than I ever got in Jotunheim, rotting away. My talents wasted. Sure, I kept busy with the odd assassination or some light thievery, but I was so much more, and Odin saw my potential.

I slapped Thor away and pulled pine needles and twigs from my red, copper hair that fell in waves just past my shoulders. I brushed clumps of snow from my cloak and furs.

“There are better modes of travel.” I picked a pinecone off my backside. “Ones that smell far less.”

I threw the goats a nasty look.

The goats looked back, growling from deep within their bulbous bellies. Tanngnjóstr ground his harness between his teeth, not breaking eye contact with me. He tugged and stretched at the leather as if determined to make me eat my words. Cantankerous, hateful things.

Thor stomped over to them and removed the harness from Tanngnjóstr’s mouth. The goat continued to stare daggers—or whatever goats fancied murdering you with—into me.

“There, there.” He pushed his thick fingers through their fur, caressing their necks and sides. “Loki didn’t mean it. He doesn’t understand how special you both are. Yes. Who are good boys? Your daddy loves you!”

Gods.

I turned away from the cooing and looked out at the forest, gauging where we were. My toes were already ice.

Jumping on a boulder, I looked out into the dense pine and rocky forest floor. There was a lot of land to cover, and we were at least ten miles off course from our target. Finding this dragon would be like finding a needle in a haystack. A very angry needle.

My enthusiasm about this mission surprised me, but then, this wasn’t just about proving myself to the gods and giving them the most sublime of middle fingers. It was also about proving Odin right in choosing me.

Ever since I arrived in Asgard, I inspired nothing but glares and whispers and barbs. As if judgement had been passed and I was declared the ultimate fiend.

I thought me a pretty cheerful fellow, myself.

I had to show the gods how wrong about me they were.

I owed it to Odin.

Fat flakes of snow fell faster.

Thor plodded towards me, ice crystals clinging to his red beard, covering it in silver.

“Where is this blasted dragon hiding?” he said.

Sucking in a breath, I looked down. I smiled.

“Don’t move,” I said, putting out my arm to him.

He stopped, one knee bent, shaking and trying to keep balanced. I dragged my hand down my cold face.

“You can lower your leg,” I said. “Look under the rock.”

I pointed.

He inched closer.

His small eyes grew twice the size and filled with mirth.

Dragon tracks as wide across as I was tall trailed to the right, heading into the forest.

I jumped off the boulder, the snow crunching beneath my boots.

“This is perfect,” Thor said, swinging his massive axe over his massive shoulder. “I can’t wait to bury my blade into its skull.”

He started off, nearly skipping into the forest.

Say what you will of Thor, but I did appreciate his love of adventure, although I sometimes wondered if he knew what death was. I think he believed death was just something that happened to other people.

* * *

The moonlight made the forest glow a vivid blue as we trekked several miles over slick rock and along snow-packed paths. We grasped onto bushes to keep from sliding down slopes and yanked on tree branches to fight our way up steep hills.

Then there were the surprise cliff edges, which mixed well with slippery trails.

I already couldn’t feel the tip of my nose, and the thought of plummeting fifty feet was something I really could do without.

The snow thickened, filling in the tracks hour by hour. I could barely make them out through my frost coated eyelashes as time and weather worked against us.

If we came all this way for nothing…

We trudged on, the hard winter silence only broken by the squeal of snow against our boots and the hoot of a snowy owl somewhere in the distance.

I breathed in cold air mixed with moisture from the Cartha Ocean that lay to the north, and it gave the air a nasty bite that burned my lungs.

Just as my calves burned, lifting my legs high to pass through the snow.

Thor groaned.

“Why are we doing this at night?” Thor said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Wouldn’t light make this easier? And warmer?”

I forced my leg out of the snow and shoved it back in, achieving one step forward.

“Yes, but if you’d know anything about dragons, this particular kind sleeps at night in its den. That makes it easier to find if it isn’t roaming about. Plus, irritable things are better to kill while they are asleep.”

He scoffed.

“But not as fun,” he said.

He had a point there.

But this wasn’t about fun.

I stopped.

A slice of black cut through a mound of rock and roots of trees twisting between crevices and stone.

A small cave.

And the dragon tracks led right inside the mouth.

Thor bounded towards it. I grabbed his steak of an arm and tugged him back, which took every ounce of my strength to keep me from flying off my feet.

“What?” he said. “Let me at it!”

“And wake it up?” I said. “No thank you. This requires finesse.”

Thor scratched his head.

I forgot that word was not part of his vocabulary, or his being. Thor was more of a smash and, well, smash type of personality.

“We need a plan,” I said. “If we approach the cave quietly…gently…from the right, I can…Thor?” I snapped my fingers in front of his wandering gaze. “Hey, eyes on me.”

“Huh. Oh. Right. Plan.” He yawned.

His brain always overpowered anytime the word plan was mentioned.

“I will approach from the left. It will be surrounded. Then—”

He eyed the cave mouth again.

“Thor, pay attention. Then—”

A twig snapped, echoing through the silence.

“Dragon!” he bellowed. “Die foul creature!”

He flung his axe towards the sound. The axe spun, hurtling through the pine and lodged itself neatly in a trunk.

SQUEEE!

A squirrel fell out of a branch, landing in the snow with a soft thud.

It stood on its haunches, shook itself, and scurried off into the forest, hissing and snarling a litany of squirrel curses at us.

I rolled my eyes.

“Good job, Thor,” I said. “You sure showed that big, bad squirrel who is king.”

Thor grumbled, walking to his axe to retrieve it.

“Stupid dragon. Lousy axe. I need a better weapon. One that comes back to you after you throw it. Damn tedious this is.”

The wood groaned and bark crackled as he wiggled the axe head, trying to dislodge it from the trunk.

Something growled.

Deep. Warning.

The ground rattled beneath my feet.

“Thor, please tell me that was you,” I said.

Thor yanked out the axe.

“I thought it was you.”

A puff of hot breath saturated with the stench of a hundred rotting sheep corpses blew out of the cave, blowing my hair straight back and flapping my cloak around my arms and legs.

Red eyes opened in the darkness.

2

Desperate Times

I pulled out my daggers at my hips, loving the rush of steel against leather.

I ground my footing and my blood lit.

Finally, I could start enjoying myself.

The dragon tore out of its den, all green scales and muscle and a jowl full of sharp teeth. It flapped its small, useless wings—which would have made it look laughable, had it not been for the glob of venom it spat at my chest. I jumped out of the way, avoiding the mass of liquid by inches. Steam rose around the purple puddle, hissing as it sank and melted the snow where I had stood a second earlier.

That definitely was a sensation I wished to avoid.

Thor swung his axe at the growling beast as it writhed between the pines, stomping its short legs into roots and brambles, pounding them into mulch. He missed, burying his blade into a tree root instead of its flesh. The dragon flung back its head and roared, spittle and venom flying all over the forest floor.

I ran to Thor and helped him pull out the axe.

A shadow fell over us.

We looked to the right at something big and black hurtling towards us. A solid tail whacked Thor and me in the stomach, knocking the breath out of me. We hurtled a dozen feet through the air and struck our backs into frozen ground. I skidded through the snow, gasping for breath.

Thor landed on a boulder and slid down, pressing his palms against his gashed forehead.

Well, this wasn’t how I saw this going.

The dragon bolted for the forest.

I shoved myself up and out of the snow. I wouldn’t let it escape.

I couldn’t.

A flash of movement rustled in the tree branches above me. Was that—?

No. Impossible. We were alone. Anything else was absur—

A cry between a grunt and a scream boiling with frustration split through the cold air.

An Elvish woman dressed in leather armor and layers of blue wool jumped out of the pine and landed in front of me, blocking my path.

“Get out of my way!” I shouted.

“Shut up!” She held her ground.

She set her gray eyes on the dragon running deeper into the forest and held up her crossbow. She aimed. She shot.

The bolt zoomed through the pine trees. It struck the dragon’s hindquarters and clinked off its scales, dropping into the snow.

“Shit.” She kicked a pinecone across the snow.

She echoed my sentiments.

My stomach dropped as the dragon, my beautiful, beautiful dragon, vanished into the shadows, taking with it my only shot at proving myself to the gods.

I looked at the Elf who took in heaving breaths, her eyes remaining firm on the horizon.

Anger washed away my crushing disappointment.

I was so going to snatch her crossbow away and use it to beat her to death.

I marched up to her.

“Brilliant,” I said. “Super. Thanks a lot whoever you are. You lost us the dragon.”

She spun around and glared at me, her round face stiff with such perfect lividness it made me step back.

“Me?” Her pointed ears burned a deeper red, same as her plump cheeks. “I staked out this cave for an entire day only to have you two assholes muck it up in a couple of seconds.”

“Alright, you obviously don’t know who you are addressing to use such impolite language.”

She narrowed her eyes perfectly rimmed with black kohl.

“I know exactly who you are,” she said. She pointed at Thor. “You’re Thor.” She turned to me. “And you’re that new one—”

“Loki.”

“Whatever,” she said. “I got tired of waiting on you.”

I chuckled.

She was quite the spicy one. Maybe I was too hasty in wanting to kill her.

“We got lost.” Thor shoved himself up from the boulder. “Not my fault.”

Her mouth parted.

“Lost? How do gods get lost? You’re more hopeless than I thought.”

“It’s an honest explanation for our tardiness,” I said.

She scoffed.

“I’m sure Callon the brick maker will be perfectly content with this excuse,” she said. “Especially after that dragon snuck up behind him at his oven. All we found were a pair of legs and an arm.”

Thor’s eyes widened.

“Did he die?” Thor said, brushing his fingers across his chapped lips.

She tilted her head at him, her face awash with awe and confusion.

I shrugged at her. I know.

She slung her tight braid of black hair behind her shoulder.

“Well, let’s just say he doesn’t need your help anymore,” she said. “None of us do. I’ve got this dragon handled.”

“I can see that based on how your bolt didn’t even pierce the dragon’s scales,” I said. “Only Dwarven steel can cut through a dragon’s hide.”

She stiffened, drawing up her shoulders.

I smirked.

“Then I will just have to acquire some,” she said. “Now, you two can bugger off back to Asgard. I don’t want you getting in my way and messing me up a second time.”

The moon disappeared behind angry clouds, shoving us deeper into darkness.

She turned on her heel and walked three paces to a shrub, and rustled through branches.

The wind picked up, pelts of sleet with it.

The clap of wheels and bleat of goats echoed through the forest, diverting my attention away from the frozen ache of my fingertips.

“Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr!” Thor said. “Good boys! You found us. Let’s get you all sheltered up.”

“Sheltered?” I said. It may have actually been a shriek.

Thor leaned into a gust of frigid air and trudged out to the two goats I could barely make out through the blowing snow that nipped at my cheeks.

“There will be no returning to Asgard tonight,” Thor said. “We will have to make camp.”

“Camp?” I said, my voice rife with panic. “No, out of the question. This is just a few flurries. No big deal.”

Another gale cut through the trees, congested with snow that kept thickening.

“I’m not risking the journey when we can’t see two feet in front of us. We will smack into a mountain, and if I lost my goats I—” the roar of wind swallowed his words.

My entire body slumped into a frown at the thought of the long and bitterly cold night ahead of us.

If only…

The snap of branches pulled my attention back to the Elf. She slid out a leather satchel from beneath the shrub and flung it over her shoulder. She rested her crossbow on the other.

She shoved past me and headed East.

“Where are you going in this storm?” I asked.

“Home, where else?” she said over another blast of ice that pricked my mouth and chin raw.

Home. The thought of a fire and something warm in my stomach filled my mind that slowly froze.

If only…

I smiled.

An idea hit me. A glorious idea.

I jogged after her, pulling my hood tighter over my face.

“And is there something hot to eat at this lovely little home of yours?” I said.

“Eat?”

“No judgement, I’m just curious what I’m in for.”

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline.

“You aren’t in for anything,” she said. “Do you really think I’d feed you? My family is hardly surviving this winter on barley and turnips as it is.”

“I’m sure if we made very small slices of turnip…”

She glowered at me, her expression telling me I was one word away from her punching me in the face and breaking my jaw.

She kept trekking through the heaving snow and sleet.

My stomach rumbled with hunger.

A wolf howled.

This was rubbish. I didn’t leave Jotunheim to be frozen here in the middle of some forest of no consequence.

Thor tugged his goats through a snow drift. Tanngnjóstr and my eyes locked. Wrath and woe lit within his gaze.

He yanked and thrashed in his harness, chewing and chewing the leather—a clear snap rang out.

He faced me and kicked arcs of snow behind him with his back hoof.

He snorted out of his flaring nostrils.

Two-hundred pounds of goat and vengeance charged towards me.

MAAAAH!

Horns and skull crunched into my shin, shooting white pain down my leg and radiating out to my toes. I fell back, Tanngnjóstr giving a gleeful cry as he backed up and kicked again, preparing for round two.

Thor grabbed Tanngnjóstr by the horns and pulled him back, fastening his reins tight again.

“Bad, naughty Tanngnjóstr!” he said.

I rubbed my knee, trying to lessen the hot throbbing. The goat kept holding my gaze, looking all too pleased with itself.

“You damn—”

I stopped.

My lips twisted into a smile that may have contained a touch of evil at the corners.

“You damn delightful creature,” I said, patting Tanngnjóstr's head. He tried to snap at my fingers.

I stood and called out to the woman, who was almost out of sight.

“You are right,” I cried through the blustery snow. “I should apologize. Let me offer amends and set things right.”

She stopped and turned. Wind whipped around us.

“Amends?”

“Amends?” Thor echoed, scratching his beard chock full of ice.

“Yes,” I said, walking towards her. “It was our grievous mistake…uhhh, what is your name?”

She thought so long I believed frostbite would get me before her answer.

“Elénaril.”

I smiled wider.

“Well, Elénaril, it was our mistake, and we would love to offer you our lovely goats as recompense. You see, they are quite special. Magical. Edible. Reusable. But, that’s not important—what is important, is that we can stake them on a couple of spits and roast them up and enjoy a grand feast all together. I’m sure that would be better than turnips?”

“Roast?” Thor growled. I elbowed him in the chest, making him bend over and clutch his abdomen.

She studied me.

“Together? Meaning, you both would be included in this feast?”

“Well, yes.”

She gave a sneer.

“Some amends.”

She walked away again. Each step she took broke my heart.

I’d already suffered defeat with the dragon. I would not be left to suffer further with this blizzard.

“Be reasonable,” I yelled out to her. “It sounds like we can both go hungry tonight, or we can both eat.”

She stopped again.

“The choice is yours,” I said. “We aren’t odious company. In the morning, I swear we will be gone. Not a trace of us to be found. Even just the smallest spot on the floor by the fire is welcome. Please.”

I twisted my face and slackened my stance to look even more pathetic.

A glimmer of mercy floated across her hardened gaze. Her shoulders relaxed.

Thor tugged at me again.

“Loki,” Thor hissed. “What are you doing offering my babies?”

“Do you want to freeze to death?” I whispered in his ear. “The goats pop back to life anyway, so what worry is there? I’ve seen you cook them up loads of times without issue.”

His eyes narrowed as he squashed his fat bottom lip between his teeth.

“Yes, but I’ve never shared them with others. There’s an art to it, and if—”

“Do you really promise to be gone in the morning?” Elénaril said.

I stepped towards her, leaving Thor behind. Hang his art.

“Cross my heart,” I said.

I put out my hand to her.

She looked at it, then took it and shook, hard.

“Fine,” she said. “I accept, but only because the turnips got old three months ago, not because I feel bad for you.”

“Of course,” I said, trying to keep my joy from bursting out of me.

Thor stepped in front of me and faced Elénaril.

“There is only one condition,” he said.

She crossed her arms.

“Which is?” she said.

I cringed. Please don’t mess up this glorious thing I’ve done.

“No one eats the bones.”

3

A Crown of Holly

We followed her, trudging through piles of snow and sleet and freezing rain. Light glowed in the windows of a crooked house in a clearing, pooling puddles of gold on the blankets of white outside its stone walls. 

She opened the oak door and kicked the stoop, jarring the snow off her heavy boots. Thor and I slid off our cloaks and hung them on pegs. Ice melted and dripped off the hems to the wooden floor. 

It was your typical Elven home from the northern region of Alfheim, a snug mix of crisscrossing oak beams and walls of plaster. Heavy furniture covered in sheep pelts and wool blankets surrounded a brick fireplace. Simple, but comfortable. 

Blood rushed to the tips of my nose and ears, making them burn as they defrosted in the warmth. I resisted sinking to my knees and kissing the worn floorboards in thanks.

“It’s about time you got home,” a woman said, stirring a cauldron in the hearth. 

Clouds of steam rose out of the pot, smelling of boiled turnips and barley.

“Sorry Mother, I ran into a bit of trouble.”

“I told you to leave that dragon alone…”

“It wasn’t the dragon, it was these two morons.” She pointed at us. “Thor and Loki. The two most useless gods in the Nine Worlds.”

The woman looked over her shoulder. Gray streaked her chestnut hair she had pulled back into a bun that tugged at the crowfeet surrounding her tired eyes. They widened as I waved. 

“Aesir gods, in my home? I wish I knew to expect you. I look a mess!”

She wiped her calloused hands on an apron and walked towards us, stepping around a young boy playing with a cornhusk doll in the middle of the sitting area.

“Don’t make a fuss, it only encourages their big heads to swell more than they already are,” Elénaril said, walking to the couch in front of the fire. She slouched into the furs and rustled her fingers through the boy’s mop of brown curls. 

“Elénaril! Stop being so rude to our guests,” her mother scolded. “I raised you better.”

The woman straightened her robes and brown wool cowl around her neck. She gave a small, stilted curtsey. 

“I’m Idril, and it is an honor—”

Thor cleared his throat, interrupting her. 

“Do you have anything to drink, fine woman?” he said. “I’m dying of thirst after that march your daughter set us on.”

I sighed. 

Always one for manners. 

“Apologies Idril, please excuse Thor, we’ve just had a very trying day.” 

She shot her daughter a glare and pressed her thin lips together. 

“By ‘trying,’ I’m sure you mean putting up with Elénaril,” she said. “Never matter. Would you like a cup of tea? Or…?” 

“Something with a kick would be perfect,” I replied. “If it isn’t too much trouble.” 

She smiled. 

“Oh, someone after my own heart,” she said. “I have just the thing.”

She walked to a hutch pushed against the back wall and rattled through a collection of porcelain and wooden bowls. 

Thor trod to a sturdy desk on the opposite side of the room, overcome by a vase dotted with minuscule roses. 

A smile tugged at Elénaril’s lips watching the young boy play with his cornhusk doll. So, she had a heart after all beneath that thick layer of rage. 

I took the seat next to her, the heat of the fire sinking further into my bones. She scooted away

“And who is this?” I asked, looking at the boy. 

The boy swam in clothes a size too large for his thin frame. 

“This is my brother, Nym.” 

Elénaril reached out and tickled his stomach, making him squeal. Without her cloak, I saw how her jerkin also bloused at her waist. My heart twisted. 

Winter was a cruel season. 

I scooted to the edge of the couch and held out my hand to Nym. He stopped his play and met my gaze. I smiled and made an illusion of a painted wooden horse materialize in my palm. He gasped and his eyes lit with amazement. 

“For your doll,” I said. “Everyone must have a noble steed, including cornhusk dolls.” 

He took the horse. 

“Thank you,” he said, inspecting the black hooves and textured mane. 

He plopped his doll on its back and made it gallop across the sheepskin rug he claimed was lava. I decided against pointing out the impossibility of such a feat.

Elénaril looked at me, a glint of appreciation mixed with annoyance behind her gaze. 

“You see, I’m not totally useless,” I said, leaning back into the layers of furs. 

Appreciation melted into only annoyance. 

I chuckled until a shadow fell over us. Nym stopped playing and looked up at Thor, who towered a good four feet over the top of his head. 

“Why do you keep looking at me, laddie?” Thor asked, eyeing him back. 

The boy stood, clutching his horse and craned his neck back even further, taking in the mountain of a man before him.

“Can you touch the ceiling?” he asked. 

Thor tilted his head, shrugged, and stretched his arm up past his head. He tapped the thatched ceiling with the tips of his fingers.

The boy’s mouth dropped.

“Here is some fareth,” Idril said, scooting between us, holding a wooden tray with a collection of mismatched glass cups. “Nothing like pear brandy on a cold night.”

Thor smiled and reached out to grab the biggest cup. I smacked his knuckles. 

“Hey!”

“Thor, go take care of the goats first,” I said.

“But I want my drink,” he said. 

My stomach rumbled. 

And I wanted dinner. And by the looks of it, so did Elénaril and her mother and brother.

“You made a big deal that they are your goats, and only you must tend to them, so…” I slid out a knife from inside my boot and handed it to him. “First the slaughter, then the fareth.” 

He grumbled, grabbing his wet cloak and opening the door. He cursed, giving a firm shiver as he stared out at a storm of snow. Thor huffed walking outside to do what he must do.

I smiled thinking of Tanngnjóstr’s impending surprise. 

Sure, I would have enjoyed watching, but one of us had to play the good guest, and that burden fell upon me. 

I took the fareth and downed it, loving the spicy bite of pear burning the length of my throat.

“Well, anyone up for a second round while we wait?” I said.

* * *

Idril and I laughed, striking our fists on the battered oak table until fareth nearly shot out of our noses. Marvelous woman. She told jokes lewder than me, making Thor blush in shades of pink I only dreamt of achieving.

After we wiped the tears from our eyes, she poured another round we downed between bites of roasted goat. The skin crackled and the meat burst with juices that ran down our chins. 

Thor sank his teeth into the flesh, tearing it off the bones, oscillating between the legs he held in each hand. 

But Nym ate faster, stripping an entire leg clean in under a minute.

Thor clapped in admiration with each bone the boy tossed in the center of the table. He called Nym his “little pierogi”—he meant protege.

We ate, and ate…and ate. Ribs, loins, chops, shoulder. 

I patted my stomach. 

Poor, poor Tanngnjóstr. 

Nym eyed the bones in the center of the table. He stretched out for the marrow, wanting to spread it over his bread…Elénaril smacked his hand away, reminding him of the terms. 

She shoved a boiled turnip in front of him instead. 

He frowned. 

His pain resonated with me. 

After the last bites glided down our throats and we cleaned the grease from our mouths, we retired to the sitting area in front of the fire. Thor laid back in a chair and plopped up his feet on a cushion and immediately filled the room with snores that rattled the timber. 

Idril set Nym to wash dishes while she and Elénaril sat on the sheepskin rugs in front of the fire and made crowns out of holly. 

I relaxed on the sofa in a pile of quilts, thumbing through a book on wood cutting. Riveting stuff. 

“Go in, damn you!” Elénaril groaned. 

I looked over the edge of my book. Elénaril jabbed a branch of holly into the twine, wrapping twigs together in a circle. She shook the holly crown, teeth bared and knuckles white, wriggling the sprig beneath the twine. 

She shook harder. 

The twine snapped and holly exploded across her lap, shooting three red berries into Thor’s beard. He scratched beneath his nose and snored louder. 

I stifled my laughter. 

Elénaril shoved her face in her hands.

“I’m not capable of making anything that doesn’t look diseased,” she said, pulling her hands down her cheeks. 

I leaned over and picked up a twig of mistletoe.

“What’s all this for?” I asked, tossing it back into the clump of greens. 

“Winter solstice,” Elénaril said, re-tying the twigs of her crown. “We make them every year and…bend you worthless plant!”

Idril chuckled. 

“And every year Elénaril throws a fit,” she said. “Patience is not one of her virtues.”

Elénaril laughed. 

“Patience can hang, and so can this stupid holly.” 

She twisted the holly around the twigs, forcing the pieces into grooves and nooks. Under the twine.  

“You forget every year,” Idril said. “Weave, don’t twist. You’re already throttling that poor thing to an inch of its life.”

“I am weaving!” Elénaril said. 

She stuffed more branches into her crown—twisting—definitely not weaving. 

Her hand slipped. The holly pierced the side of her forefinger. 

“Ouch!” 

A bead of blood swelled on the delicate skin. 

She dropped her crown to the floor and sucked her finger. The fire waned into embers, making our shadows stretch to the far end of the room. 

“I think I’m done,” Elénaril said.

Her mother placed her own crown—full and symmetrical and beautiful—on the floor, and reached out and squeezed Elénaril’s shoulder, concern stitching her brow together. 

“You need a break,” Idril said. “And more light. The fire is dwindling. I’ll go to the back and get more firewood.”

Idril got up and disappeared into a back room.

I knelt down on the furs beside Elénaril, who stared into the glowing coal. This time, she did not move away. 

Thor’s snores stayed even, only broken by the splash of water from Nym cleaning dishes next to the window. 

I picked up Elénaril’s crown, holly falling off of the circle of exposed twigs and twine. It needed to be put out of its misery. 

I took a few pieces of twine and mended them together—weaving.

Elénaril took out a pipe from her pocket and packed it with Vanir tobacco. She patted the edge of the hearth, looking for kindling to light her pipe. 

“Allow me,” I said. 

I held out my hand, letting a small flame twirl and dance across my fingertips. 

She turned, and her lips parted.

“You are full of tricks, aren’t you?” she said. 

I shrugged. 

“It’s nice in a pinch.”

She bent forward to the flame, puffing as I lit the tobacco for her.

“Thank you.” Curls of smoke spilled out between her lips as she straightened her shoulders. “For more than just the light. That’s the first full meal in a month my family has eaten.”

“Happy to help,” I said, shifting at the odd warmth coating my insides from her words. 

I extinguished the flame and took more holly and wound the twine around the twigs, the fresh scent of green and warm tobacco filling my nostrils. 

“Why do you make these things if they frustrate you so much?” I picked up a sprig of mistletoe, loving the contrast of white berries with red. 

“Mother loves tradition, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings by refusing.”

“So you hurt yourself?” I motioned to the scratch on her finger. “If it were me, I’d tell her no and toss this mess into the fire just to make my point clearer. I tell people no all the time. Gives quite the rush.”

Elénaril smiled softly.

“I do it because it makes her happy. And since Father passed...she deserves any happy moments I can give her.”

I tilted my head. How beautifully wholesome. The warmth coating my insides grew hotter. She was quite peculiar. 

She pulled in more smoke from her pipe, the tobacco crackling. 

“It also helps make up for all my other disappointments,” she said. “Mother thinks I will settle down and have a family. Live a simple life like she chose. And that’s fine. She’s happy, but…”

“It wouldn’t make you happy.”

She looked out at the cramped room that grew darker as the fire collapsed further into embers.

“I want something else. I want to make a difference for Alfheim,” she said, facing me again. “Because, your lot sure isn’t much help. Always ignoring truces and calls for aid unless it suits them. Asgard views war as a sport and domination as a hobby.”

She had a point, but I would not be blamed for this.

“Don’t go lumping me together with them. I’ve only recently arrived from Jotunheim. If ever there was a place beneath Asgard’s boot…” I paused, pushing away memories of bloodshed. “I’m going to add a bit of spice to their porridge. Things are about to change.”

She studied me. She laughed and leaned back on her elbows on the carpet. 

“Change? You really think you will change the Aesir? That you can make them actually be helpful instead of out for their own gain?” 

She laughed harder. 

I stiffened. 

“I am change,” I said. “I am chaos. Pure potential. That’s why Odin brought me to Asgard and bothered making me a god at all. Because of what I can do.”

She choked, clouds of smoke rolling out of her mouth. 

“Odin?” she rasped. “The Raven God? The Terrible One? That Odin?”

I smiled. 

“So you’ve heard of him?”

Worry filled her eyes. It was the same worry that had filled Angrboda’s eyes when I told her the news. 

About what I’d done. 

What I’d agreed to become. 

Aesir. 

His. 

“It’s not that,” she said. “Odin offers nothing freely—or without reason.”

The Aesir will tear you to shreds, Angrboda’s voice echoed in my mind. This won’t end well. Odin is not good for you.

I shook her voice away.  

I didn’t want to know what was good for me. 

Not when he and I loved each other. Not when we shared a vision for a better world. 

And this subject grew boring. 

I wove the last branch of holly into the crown and placed it on my head. 

“What do you think?” I struck a pose. 

She smiled. 

“It compliments those green eyes of yours quite well, actually,” she said. 

I handed her the crown her mother finished. She put it on and crossed her arms, pretending to be very regal indeed. 

“Breathtaking,” I said. “Sets off that cold leather of yours.”

She chuckled. 

“Don’t let this leather fool you,” she said. “I love a good gown the same as a good blade.”

“Funny, so do I.”

We laughed together, and as I gazed into her eyes filled with cheer, I saw it. 

Courage. Unbridled tenacity.  

And it glowed with a drive saying I grasp fate by the throat and make it bend.

Elénaril was a woman who deserved to have a crown made of gold rather than holly. 

She handed me her pipe.

“Does this make us friends now?” I asked. 

She smiled. 

“It doesn’t make us enemies anymore.”

I chuckled, perfectly content with that. I took it and inhaled a few breaths of smoke, happy, and turned and looked out the black window framed in frost. 

A gray figure moved outside in the dark. 

What the—

I blinked. 

It vanished. 

Idril walked in carrying an armful of firewood. She stopped, and the wood fell to her feet. 

Thor snorted and stirred. 

“Nym! No!” she shouted, racing to the boy.

Thor stood, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

What the blazes did the boy do to cause such a ruckus?

My heart plummeted into my stomach. 

Shit.

I stood and bounded to block Thor’s vision before he saw…Thor stuck out his arm, holding me back.

The house filled with thunder. 

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, BOY?” 

Nym held a goat leg bone, cracked open and the marrow scooped out.

4

A Bone to Pick

“I’m…” Nym choked on hot tears. “I’m sorry. I…” Water filled his eyes and streamed down his red cheeks.

Thor cried harder, sucking in rasped breaths between throaty wails.

He fell to his knees, the floorboards bowing beneath his weight. He bent forward and stretched out his arms, scooping the splintered and broken bones towards his chest.

“My precious, precious babies!” He grabbed a tibia. “Daddy will fix you!”

He lined the rib bones in a row, attempting to piece them back together like some sort of grisly puzzle.

“Yes. I just have to put this piece here. No, that one there. Yes!”

“Thor…” I said, trying not to mention the impossibility of jabbing a scapula into a pelvis.

A skull laid next to his knee. He slid two trembling fingers into the empty sockets and held it up in front of his nose.

“See, you’re looking like your old self already!” He patted the top of its head. The bottom jaw snapped off and fell into his lap.

Thor’s lip quivered. “All is lost!”

I rolled my eyes. Did he really have no self respect?

“They will come back,” I said, picking up a rather gnawed femur.

He shook his head and wiped his nose across his sleeve.

“They can’t regenerate if the bones are eaten,” he said. He gathered vertebrae into a pile. “That’s how the magic works.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “They just need some bandages, is all.” The femur broke in two. “A lot of bandages.”

Thor hunched over and pressed his face into his hands and wept louder, his entire frame heaving.

“Why did you do this?” Idril asked Nym. She knelt in front of him, gripping his upper arms. Rivers of snot ran out of his nose.

He sniffed, his face scrunched and eyes blurred.

“I was still so hungry…”

“You knew the rules,” Elénaril snapped, raising her voice over Thor’s sniveling.

Idril shot her a glare.

“You aren’t helping,” she said.

Nym scrubbed his face.

“He…” he sniffed again. “He told me…He told me it was alright to eat the bones. Mama, I didn’t mean to hurt the goats. I swear!”

Confusion twisted Idril’s face.

“Who said it was alright?” Elénaril asked.

He squashed his lip between his teeth. Nym held out a shaking finger and pointed at the black window glazed in frost.

“The man outside.”

I stiffened. The image of the gray figure swam in my memory.

“What man?” I asked.

“I demand recompense!” Thor interrupted. He stood and rolled back his shoulders.

Every. Time.

“Oh hush,” I said. “I’m trying to listen to what this boy has to say—”

He stood and squared his shoulders, seeming to widen.

“Do not hush me Trickster,” he said. “My goats’ murder will be avenged.”

“Well, I think ‘murder’ might be a bit of an overstatement.”

He ground his teeth, turned and cried out, punching his fist through the plaster, jangling the teacups in the hutch.

Alright, now it was getting serious.

I turned to Idril, Elénaril, and Nym and gave them a reassuring smile as I shuffled them out of Thor’s way.

“Maybe you three should go to the other room. Sit back. Relax—”

“I told you not to eat the bones!” Thor’s voice rumbled deep from within his gut. “It was my only condition, and you broke it.”

He stepped in front of our path. His body stretched and grew taller, towering over all four of us. His right eye twitched and white flickered behind his glare that filled with death. Sparks snapped and sizzled down the lengths of his arms.

Damn.

We had entered bone crushing territory.

Thor snatched the boy and held him over his head, shaking him.

“You owe me for their lives!”

Nym blubbered, his face frozen with terror.

“The man…said…said it was alright to eat them! I’m sorry!”

While all this was ridiculous—Thor knew nothing else—I expected a flash of chaos from the boy’s lie.

But no lie came.

Being a god of chaos had little perks, such as knowing when another told a fib, but Nym spoke the truth, and that unnerved me.

Who was outside poking about? They would have to be a bloody fool to be out in this storm, or exceedingly desperate.

Elénaril raced towards Thor, grabbing Nym’s ankles and tugging back.

“Let him go!” Elénaril said.

She pulled harder, digging her heels into the sheepskin rug.

Thor snarled.

I gripped into Elénaril’s shoulders and pulled her off Nym before the boy tore in two. She punched and fought me, getting a solid kick between my legs that filled my vision with white stars.

As much as I rather let her be, I didn’t need this to get messier than it already was. Thor was going to shred this boy to bits, and I couldn’t allow that.

“I am going to tear your limbs off,” Thor shouted at Nym. “I will have justice this night.”

“If I may…” I said, tossing Elénaril into her mother’s hold.

Thor looked at me, lightning blaring behind narrowing eyes. I could already see images of me being split apart and filleted dance behind his gaze.

Lovely.

I swallowed.

“What if the boy pays you back their worth?” I said. “How much do magical goats run these days?”

Thor curled his fingers harder into the boy’s wool robes. Nym whimpered over Idil’s pleas for mercy.

“Only his blood is payment enough,” he growled.

Elénaril hurled a curse at Thor I’d only ever heard sailors spew out between ale drenched lips. She was truly amazing.

But right now, I needed her to shut up.

“I think you are making a mistake,” I said, tapping my cheek. “This boy is useful, and it’s been my experience that you don’t destroy useful things.”

I put out my hand to Elénaril, stopping another deluge of insults of the highest calibre of devastation.

“Useful how?” Thor said. “He looks on the scrawny side to me.”

Thor tilted his head, scanning the boy’s bony hands and mop of hair.

“Nothing a hearty bowl of ox tail stew won’t fix,” I said. “Why break his fragile body only to appease your anger for three seconds, when he can work off the debt for you instead for far longer? That is much more fulfilling.”

Thor’s right eye narrowed, which it tended to do when the cogwheels in his brain turned through the cobwebs.

“What are you suggesting?”

Just what I hoped he’d finally ask.

I reached out and touched Thor’s solid arm and pressed it down, trying to get Nym back on the ground.

“Instead of you separating him from his arms and legs, we take the boy back with us to Asgard and he can tend to all the tasks you hate most.”

His right eye quivered, narrowing further.

The boy’s toes were an inch from the floor.

“I do hate sharpening my swords and axes,” he said.

“See? He could sharpen them all for you.”

“And polishing,” he said, distaste filling the word.

“Oh, polishing is the worst. All those tedious hours…”

My heart hammered against my chest.

I didn’t want to tether the boy to us like this, but it was only a temporary fix to spare him his life. Once we got back to Asgard, I’d have a quick chat with Odin about this whole, unfortunate mix-up, free the boy, and bring him back home, safe, and most importantly, with all his limbs still affixed to his body.

“Just imagine it,” I said. “Your schedule clear of monotonous labor, and you able to spend all that extra time in the mead hall.”

He smiled.

“I do like the sound of that.”

“So, what do you say?”

A pause.

Nym’s feet hit the floor.

“Fine,” he said. “But my armory better be sparkling.”

I clapped my hands and rubbed them together.

“Wonderful!” I said. “Then it’s all settled, now if you’d uncurl your fingers from the boy’s robes—gently, gently—yes, thank you.”

Just as long as there were no more surprises, this would work a treat.

“No!” Elénaril broke out of her mother’s hold.

Just as long as there were no surprises like this.

“Elénaril, what are you doing?” Idril asked.

“Yes, what are you doing?” I said.

She marched up to me.

“If anyone is to go to Asgard and repay the debt, it will be me.”

It took everything in me not to slap my hand over her mouth, but I knew she’d bite off my fingers, even though they were drenched with rings.

“Afraid that’s going to be a no,” I said. “It’s already been decided.”

She shoved into my chest, making me stumble a step back.

“Who made you judge and jury?” she said, her breath hot on my cheeks.

I shrugged.

“It’s simple,” I said. “Your brother did the crime, he must repay the damages.”

She threw me a rude sign and stood in front of Thor and glared up at him, holding his beady gaze.

I ground my teeth and imagined choking Elénaril. Even though my admiration and respect for her overflowed, she was ruining all my excellent work. If she’d just stop saying such stupid, stupid things…

“If you want good work, take me. I’m far stronger,” she told Thor.

I grabbed the boy and pushed between Thor and Elénaril.

“But look how small he is,” I said, spreading his sticky hands. “Dainty fingers will really get into those nooks and crannies of your armor far better and—”

“Can you carry heavy loads?” Thor asked her, pushing me out of the way.

She scoffed and crossed her arms.

“I haul blocks of ice from the lake and chop wood between picking up the sheep that fall on their sides in the field.”

“But Nym is so compact,” I countered. “Just stick him in any closet. She will not be so convenient.”

Thor stroked his lips, actually considering her words.

Sweat broke out across the small of my back.

Whereas her brother was actually quite useless—as most children were—Elénaril was not. She had fight in her. She had a spark. An exceptional drive. Exceptional was something the Aesir hunted for.

Desired.

And when they found it, they wouldn’t let it go.

This made things difficult, quite difficult, which suited me just fine, but…

“I really must protest,” I said.

“You will not decide my fate,” Elénaril snapped at me. She faced Thor again. “Leave my brother with my mother. Take me. I swear I will work off the debt ten times better and faster.”

“Done,” Thor said.

“What? No.”

“It’s too late, she comes.”

She gave me a smarmy grin. If she only knew what she just did…

Everything I planned I saw go up in flames.

I rubbed the frustration from my temples and pulled in a calming breath.

It was fine. It was completely fine.

I just had to stick to my original plan of making Odin realize she was quite useless and send her on her merry way back to Alfheim.

Yes. It would be alright. That’s all I had to do.

I just hoped in the meantime no one noticed what I did.

Her courage.

5

Silk and Steel

Asgard

I was informed that Odin would be away for the next three days in Vanaheim.

Wonderful. Perfect. Exactly what I needed right now, for King Leonid of Cyrros to finally figure out Asgard had been cheating them these past hundred years, sending sub-par lumber in exchange for their excellent black pepper and painted silks.

I kicked a floor vase that shot a bolt of pain through my foot. I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to hold it together.

Three days. I just had to make it three days without Thor blabbering about our new Elvish souvenir.

Surely he could keep one little secret?

I limped to Thor’s rooms and shared with him a fantastic surprise. I led him to the secret mead stores he was forbidden to know about.

He thanked me and shook my hand, crunching every bone in his grip until they screamed in agony.

Releasing my broken hand, Thor bounded for the first barrel, removed the cork, lifted it over his head, and spilled the golden mead down his gullet. He never noticed me locking him in.

Rubbing the pain from my knuckles, I dragged Elénaril through back passages, scurrying her away into the armory bursting with maces, swords, and axes. All manner of sharp and shiny things. No one bothered to venture into this tucked away hall. It would be perfect.

Inspecting the weapons, her mouth fell open. I told her she didn’t have to tend to anything, but she insisted on polishing cloths and whetstones. A bargain was a bargain, after all.

I provided what she requested, and as she set to work, I stayed with her. And I helped.

I know.

I sharpened piles of knives as she polished her way through a stack of rusting shields in the back corner. I wasn’t a monster after all, and some odd sensation wriggling in my chest wouldn’t let me leave her, as if I owed it to her.

I suppose a side effect of being somewhat responsible for her current position…

The first day we spent in the silence of her anger. Perfectly valid. I deserved every glare and barb.

And when I slipped and cut my palm on the hatchet she snorted, and asked if I had two left hands? Even a child could use a whetstone.

Now it went too far.

I told her where she could shove her whetstone.

A flicker of a grin.

The second time I cut myself, she sighed and took the hatchet and stone away and showed me the proper method. She shoved them back to me, bidding me to try again. I used her technique. I sniffed, grumbling painful admittance when her way did work better.

We started a conversation after that.

And we talked.

And talked.

I enjoyed her strong opinions covering fighting techniques to her ideas of how to modernize Alfheim. No more feudal nonsense. No more spats between forest Elves and city Elves. No more reliance on Asgard.

Marvelous.

Even more marvelous, was that she started to laugh at my jokes instead of rolling her eyes.

When night fell, I left her to sleep by the fire curled beneath quilts I had provided.

On the second day when I came back with a good breakfast of porridge, smoked salmon, and apples for her, she asked me if I’d ever encountered a demon bear in the Ironwood.

She wiped tears away after I told her the time one jumped out at Tyr and me, causing him to piss himself. As we shared stories of near misses and adventure, something began to brew warm in my heart and shine through her eyes.

I believed it was friendship.

On the third day, I knew it was.

I hated not telling her my plans, but this was a situation where keeping her in the dark was best for everyone.

I couldn’t afford any more hiccups.

Especially for her sake.

* * *

I decimated a strip of bacon as I walked through halls of thick plaster painted in reds and yellows towards Odin’s rooms. The morning light blazed off the stone floors, making me blink away the burn in my eyes still scorched from drinking one too many bottles of claret. I’d gotten rather carried away, spending the night tangled with Brenna, Ingrid, Rúna and an unreasonable amount of leather.

I breathed in a fresh breath of ocean air tumbling through the open archways, licked the grease and salt from my fingers, and opened the door.

I stepped into Odin’s study lined with bookcases stuffed with manuscripts and ancient trinkets precariously balanced on the edges of sagging shelves.

Maneuvering between the stacks of thick books littering the patchwork of woven carpets, I walked to the desk that took up most of the space in the middle. Manuscripts and scrolls and pots of ink covered the surface notched with scars.

I sighed.

Gaining knowledge obsessed him. He’d travel to the edges of the realms to snatch a crumb of information, and stuff it away back here in nooks and crevices like a deranged pack rat.

I often wondered what riddle he seemed intent to crack. He only ever smiled and changed the subject when I asked.

Fluttering papers spilled out of the cracked doorway of the bedroom to the right.

I smiled.

“You better not be decent,” I said, swinging the door open.

The bedroom was clean and sparse. A bed covered in wool blankets. A wardrobe of mahogany and…

My smile turned into a frown.

…And Frigg, rifling through Odin’s letters on a small desk scooted beneath the open window.

I leaned against the mantel of the crackling fireplace.

“Those aren’t yours,” I said.

Frigg stiffened and braced herself against the desk. Blonde hair spilled down her slender shoulders to her waist, cinched with a thick leather belt. The other half of her hair crowned her head in coils of braids.

“And neither is my husband yours,” she said.

She turned. Irritation sharpened the arcs and angles of her long face.

Odin’s wife was quite beautiful. Unfortunately, beautiful in the same way a Venus flytrap was beautiful to a fly.

Odin had been the fly.

I chuckled and crossed my arms and started to say something that would ruin her entire day. I stopped.

A plump-cheeked toddler peeked at me from behind her, clutching her pink silks embroidered with gold in his stubby fingers. His eyes were large and vivid blue and looked into mine.

Balder.

Frigg and Odin’s son.

My insides ached as she stroked Balder’s fine blonde hair. I did the same with my son, Fenrir, who was not much older. And then there was Hel, who was already reading books most adults struggled to get through. I loved how her eyes lit anytime I returned with a new book for her…

I choked down bile.

…And then she’d ask if I was staying home for good this time. Fenrir too, his warm smile fading when I told him we’d go ice fishing on my next visit.

The separation ate at me, and I hated myself for leaving them in the Ironwood with their mother. But if I could make a better world for them here in Asgard…

I crumpled the pain into a tight ball and shoved it back into the darkness.

I stretched out on the bed and rolled onto my side, cradling my head in my palm. My body sank into the layers of the familiar feather mattresses.

“I was under the impression you didn’t want him anymore.” I drew languid circles on the blanket, the wool biting my fingertip. I grimaced. I always begged Odin to replace them with silk. I had enough of rough things against my skin in Jotunheim, where if I wasn’t surviving in some forest, I was surviving in some shack. Of course, there was always Angrboda’s, but that was a survival all of its own.

“What makes you say that?” she said.

“For starters, you refused to share this bed with him anymore after you got what you wanted.” I lowered my gaze to Balder, still clawing and tugging at her gown. “That was well before my arrival.”

Frigg pressed her thin lips thinner.

She knelt and stuffed her hand into the leather pouch on her belt.

“Don’t presume to know what I wanted,” she said, handing Balder a honey sweet. He giggled, chewing on the sticky delight, and a smile cracked her face as she watched him. Love poured out of her, chasing away her usual ice, making her appear to have a soul. Somewhere.

Perhaps I should bring Hel and Fenrir some honey sweets next time I visited the Ironwood.

That bile burned the back of my throat again.

Who was to say when that would be. It had already been nearly a year since last I finally got away from Asgard to see them. There always seemed to be some blasted problem Odin needed me to fix that kept getting in the way…

I pushed off the bed and walked to the full-length mirror on the opposite side of the room.

“Where is Odin, anyway?” I smoothed my red hair that waved like flames and brushed the wrinkles from my tunic. “You haven’t poisoned him yet, I hope?”

She stood, meeting my gaze in the mirror’s reflection.

“And here I was about to praise you.”

“Praise me? Whatever for?”

Her right eyebrow raised.

“For bringing her.”

“Her who? You’re going to need to be a touch more specific.”

“The Elf,” she said.

My breath hitched. I turned.

“How do you—”

“I found her late last night in the armory. She explained everything that happened in Alfheim. About the goats, about the bargain,” she said. “About your particular kindness.”

I rubbed the back of my neck.

“Yes, well…”

“Elénaril impressed me,” she said. “And when Odin returned this daybreak, well, I insisted he test her in the arena. They’ve been sparring there all morning. Apparently he’s quite captivated by her skills, as I knew he would be.”

Everything in me wanted to scream.

“This is wonderful, wonderful news.”

“Then why is your eye twitching? There isn’t a problem?”

“Problem? Why would there be a problem?” I said. “I figured her better suited for polishing shields, is all.”

She laughed.

“You are stupider than I thought if you think that,” she said. “She is far more valuable than to scrape rust off helmets. She is just who we need when…” she stopped.

I tilted my head.

“When what?”

Her lips twisted into a wicked smile, as if containing some secret she knew would wound me. It was always some game with her.

A game I didn’t have time for.

Turning on my heel, I walked out and headed for the arena. My blood thrashed in my veins, urging me faster through the maze of halls, rooms, and gardens.

I just hoped Odin wasn’t already too attached.

* * *

The Asgardian Sea glinted behind the warm travertine and brick arches of the arena that stretched across the lawn.

I walked through a passage drenched in shadows, stone chasing away the salt and pine from my nostrils. The clang of metal bounced off the cold walls. Grunts echoed.

I stepped out onto the dirt floor of the arena that glowed white in the sun.

Two figures struck each other with sword and spear.

I blinked twice, adjusting my eyes to the brightness.

Elénaril blocked Odin’s attack with her blade, her arms rigid beneath his blow. He flicked back his spear and spun, dirt swirling beneath his soles. Tightening his grip, he brought down his spear towards her right shoulder.

Her eyes widened. She dropped and rolled away. His spear struck sand.

She pounced, striking behind his leg with her sword, making him fall to one knee before her.

He looked up at her and smiled, sweat glistening across his forehead.

“Not bad,” he said.

He stood and circled her, shaking out his strong arms and straightening his silk eyepatch. Few could pull off that look, but it worked with his defined cheeks and strong jaw he kept covered in a short beard. Odin was like a summer storm, violent and beautiful and brimming with power.

Even though I was used to the sight of him, I still couldn’t help my blood from rushing between—Elénaril peeled my attention away as she prepared for a fresh attack. Her chest rose and fell with breath, and locks of black hair fell out of her braid as she ground her footing and held out her sword.

“You’re not bad, yourself,” she said, holding eye contact with Odin.

He laughed, pushing back his russet hair, wet with sweat from his face. The smallest hints of gray salted his temples.

He twirled his spear and swung at her. She ducked, inches from it taking off the top of her head.

They continued to fight, and with each block she accomplished, with each parry and thrust she succeeded in, I chewed the inside of my mouth harder until iron coated my tongue.

She was a brilliant fighter. Too brilliant.

No, this wouldn’t do at all.

I flicked my wrist, making a stone appear in her path. Toes met rock, and then face met dirt. Her palms skidded across the ground. She flipped over in time for Odin to press his the point of his spear over her heart.

Finally.

I clapped, walking towards them both, the sun warming my shoulders.

“Excellent effort,” I said. “But any warrior worth their salt wouldn’t let a little rock trip them up.”

Odin put out his hand to her and hoisted her up to her feet.

“That rock came out of nowhere.” She shook clouds of dust off her tunic. “I scanned my way, it just appeared—”

“Sounds like an excuse to me,” I said, cutting her off.

Her face scrunched into a nasty look I’m sure reflected a barrage of choice words running through her head.

“What’s wrong with you?” Odin said. “Did you not see her glide through my attack?”

He grabbed a linen cloth and wiped the dirt and sweat coating his face away.

“Oh, I saw, it’s just I’ve seen better.”

He laughed, swinging the cloth over his shoulder.

I didn’t meet her gaze again, mostly because I could already feel it burning holes in me. My insides twisted with upsetting her, but I had a jumble of knots needing untying, and her little show just tangled them further.

Odin motioned to someone sitting on a bench in the shadows.

Tyr. All beard and muscle and wet blanket. But what else could you expect from a god of nobility and justice?

Tyr walked towards us, pulling out his two broadswords at his hips. He grinned, making his blue eyes twinkle with that kind expression he always wore. Tyr very much reminded me of an exceedingly large dog overly eager to please.

“Elénaril, try your luck with him,” Odin said. “Prove Loki wrong about you.”

I smiled. Excellent.

Elénaril didn’t stand a chance. Tyr might be a goody-goody, but as a swordsman, no one beat him.

This was the best case scenario.

Odin watched Tyr take Elénaril to the other side of the arena. He looked like some starving, googily-eyed boy catching sight of a meat pie being pulled out of the oven.

I reached out and traced his cheek, turning his attention away from her to me. Only me. That hungry look melted from his one blue eye into something searching, profound, that took my breath from me. It always did.

A lock of his hair skated across his cheek and I tucked it behind his ear.

“Miss me?” I said.

He chuckled softly and laid his hands on my upper arms and drew me closer as I slid my hands behind his waist until our mouths met. I tasted the dust of the arena on his lips, and breathed in the salt on his skin running beneath. He was like kissing battle. 

Metal and grunts clattered behind him. I pulled away and looked over his shoulder.

Elénaril swung her sword at Tyr’s neck. He blocked her attack and returned with one of his own. His footwork was light and his blows strong, as he struck her sword again and again.

Her sword flew out of her hand. He kicked her in the leg and she fell.

I smiled.

This was perfect.

“Looks like setting her up with Tyr is only proving me right,” I said.

Tyr approached her, a sword in each hand. She took out a knife.

Pity.

“Don’t underestimate her,” Odin said. “Few are willing to go after a dragon on their own.”

My mouth dried. And I was worried about Thor blabbering.

“Oh, she told you about that.”

He chuckled, his eye following Elénaril scrambling backwards.

“I got quite the earful of how useless we were in the matter. She has many…opinions.”

“Then you understand how overbearing and annoying she is.” I tapped my finger against his chest, wanting his gaze back on mine. “Which brings me to my point. I think it might be best if we return—”

Tyr screamed.

Odin and I both looked at Elénaril straddling Tyr, his swords flung out of his hands, and she with her knife digging into his neck.

My shoulders dropped.

Odin’s gaze blazed with that certain glee I knew all too well.

He noticed what I didn’t want about her.

He saw her courage.

Shit. Worst case scenario.

He’d not let her return to Alfheim now.

At least, not without a push.

A firm push.

6

A Proposition

I whispered something rather scandalous in Odin’s ear. He smiled and took my outstretched hand.

I led him into the bathhouse. We walked through archways and pillars and rooms of cold pools surrounded by panels of frescoes and bright colors.

Pushing open an oak door, we entered a dim room saturated with heat and steam. Floor candelabras of iron stood in corners, making the flecks of gold paint splattered across the dark blue walls shine like stars in the wobbling light.

“Finally, we can be alone,” I said, closing the door.

He crouched beside a hot pool in an alcove lined with clay lamps. A stream splashed out of the mouth of a brass lion into the pool, filling the room with purrs.

“I was only gone for three days.” He dragged two fingers through the water, swirling the veil of mist on the surface.

“An eternity.” I peeled off my tunic. “Asgard is damn dull when you aren’t here.”

I kicked off my trousers and humid air drenched my skin in dew.

His gaze followed me as I walked naked to a bench stacked with linen towels and grabbed several off the top.

The crash of swords reverberated through the thick walls as Elénaril and Tyr continued sparring outside. I tensed with each strike of steel. With her every grunt. I needed this all wrapped up and finished.

“I just wish we could escape all that bloody racket,” I said. “Does she ever stop for drinking or gambling?”

Odin stood and walked across intricate mosaics of palms and exotic birds I dropped a towel to.

“I remember you commenting how you liked the sound of battle during…” He stepped in front of me and grazed my bare chest with his fingertips, making me shiver.

I let a second towel fall to our feet, followed by a third and a fourth.

“Not when I want to concentrate on us.” I tugged his belt, bringing him in even closer. “I’ve had enough of hearing her voice, thank-you-very-much. I endured it all the way from Alfheim to Asgard.”

I unbuckled his belt and slipped it from around his trim waist.

“You are awfully salty about Elénaril,” he said.

I turned and walked over to a small table scattered with glass bottles of fragrant oils.

“I just think she’s not a very good fit, is all.” I picked up a blue bottle rimmed in gold. I lifted it to my nose. Vanilla and mint. I put it back and picked up a green bottle instead. I unstoppered it and inhaled deeply, smiling.

“Not a good fit?” He pulled his tunic over his head. “Are you mad? Don’t tell me this is jealousy?”

I laughed, though it dried in my throat as I took in his flat stomach packed with hard muscle I already imagined running my hands down. Heat trickled between my legs.

“Please,” I said. “It’s just, you know how high maintenance Elves can be. So fussy!”

I poured the oil in my palm, letting it drip off the sides and run down my forearm. I pressed my other hand into the oil, coating my knuckles and fingers with citrus and olive.

“Because you are such a picnic?”

He had me there.

I pushed him against the wall and pressed his naked skin against mine. Our breath thickened between us with fragrance and steam, bursting my blood into fire.

“I think I’m owed after you abandoned me with this tedious lot,” I said.

He chuckled, low and deep, the vibration drumming into me, filling me with excitement.

“And what do you want?”

I slipped my hands warm with oil into his trousers and loved how his breath hitched.

“Send Elénaril back to Alfheim,” I whispered.

Another wave of steam twisted around us from the pool.

“B…back?” he pressed between tight breaths as I kept the rhythm agony. “No. She…damn.”

I leaned in, feeling the tingle of his beard against my cheek.

“Elénaril is good with a sword, I’ll give you that.” I let my words brush his ear. “But…Odin, let her go. For me. As a special favor.”

I kissed the crook of his neck, enjoying his skin prickling beneath my lips. Enjoying his body trembling with each stroke that burned my insides further into ash.

“I can’t. She will be an…asset…to Asgard’s protection,” he rasped.

“Protection from what?” I ran my tongue along his collarbone.

Silence.

I slowed and met his gaze.

“Protection from what, Odin?”

For two heartbeats he seemed veiled in shadows.

He broke free of whatever bothered him, and brushed my damp hair away from my face.

“I want her for Valhalla,” he said, not answering me.

“But you have to die in battle to enter,” I said. “If you haven’t noticed, she’s rather alive.”

He skated his thumbs across my cheeks.

“She said she wanted to fight the dragon.”

“Meaning?”

“We let her,” he said. “And then, I can gain her soul.”

My skin crawled.

I released him and stepped back.

This again. Odin and his damn soul hoarding. He swept entire battlefields for the slain. I suppose everyone had their eccentricity, and I allowed him his. However, warriors dying in battle was different than leading them to their deaths.

“You and your morbid collecting,” I said. “When is it enough?”

He shoved off the wall and removed his trousers. He reached out and slid his hands down my waist and over my backside. Desire licked up my thighs.

“You don’t understand.” He pulled me gently against his skin that shined. “I need them.”

I glided my palms up along the ridges of his stomach and over his chest, resting them on his strong shoulders.

I stared into him.

“I’m all you need.”

I pushed him down onto the linen towels soaked with warmth from the heated mosaic floor. He laid on his back and I followed, spreading my fingers on his chest.

Slick with oil, I relaxed and eased onto him, melting that bite of pain into euphoria.

Odin stared into my eyes, his gaze turning darker, black, as I moved my hips up and down, taking him in deeper, chasing that thrill rocking through me at being his and he mine.

He clenched his teeth as I dug my nails into his shoulders, bracing us for what came next.

The fun was only beginning.

I revealed my element, pushing all of me into his chambers and sinew, opening to him. Baring myself to him. Every nerve in my body erupted.

He groaned, feasting on my fire, on what I was. Chaos. Unbridled and free.

“We don’t need her.” I surged more of my energy into him.

He gripped into my hips, into my thighs, needing me as if he starved.

“Take her to the dragon,” he said. “Ensure she fails.”

Would he not let it drop?

“You really are destroying the moment.”

I spiraled more of my element into his bones. Charring him. Burning him. 

He answered by flooding my chaos with his own element, twisting himself into the tendrils of my flame. Cold ambition. Blinding ruthlessness. It all filled me to the point of overflowing.

A whimper slipped out of my tightening throat.

“You’ve killed better people,” he said. “You’ve killed for less. This has never bothered you before. Have you grown a weak stomach?”

He moved beneath me, each crash dousing me in a deluge of consuming ambition.

I quickened the pace, rushing fire through him, making him cry out for insinuating such a disgusting thing as me having a weak stomach.

“I’m just sparing us centuries of aggravation,” I said. “Besides, I find your collection of cold, icky souls, well, icky. Really, it’s beginning to become a problem.”

He grinned, grasping my waist with hot hands wet with sweat and smelling of olive.

“You can stop this ‘annoyed act’ nonsense,” he said.

“I don’t have the foggiest what you’re talking about.”

“You are an excellent liar, but I know.”

More of his element crept beneath my skin. I moaned, falling into him. I ground my teeth.

No.

I had to stay above his surface, even though I wanted nothing more than to drown in him.

“You think you are sparing her,” he said. “Protecting her wishes to return to her home. Such a sentiment is harmful to Elénaril.”

“More harmful than killing her?” I said. “How do you figure that?”

He cupped the side of my face, adoration filling his gaze. His element crawled into my veins. I gripped his wrist, pressing my cheek harder into his palm, wanting it to crawl deeper.

He turned us onto our sides. The warmth of the floor sank into my bones.

He trailed open-mouthed kisses along the back of my neck, across my shoulders, pulling me tighter to him. Turning the pace tender, holding me.

Loving me.

Another wave of bliss rolled down my spine.

A coiling wire started to pull taut.

“You are preventing her from gaining greatness.” His breath glided across the sweat beading down my back. “Asgard will give her what she truly desires.”

“She hates Asgard.”

“She hates small things. She hates being a small thing. And she will be a small thing if she stays in Alfheim.”

True…

“I know you think you’re doing good by her, but by taking her back, you’d be taking her chance away. We are offering her the ability to make the difference she seeks: to matter.”

He fused into my marrow, turning me fragile. Placing me on the brink of shattering as the wire continued to tighten.

Elénaril did want these things. He was right about that. And she deserved more.

But was this the right way to give it to her?

He kissed my cheek and I slid my hand behind his head, tangling my fingers in his hair, pushing him closer to me. Needing him closer.

Loving him as he loved me.

He slipped his other arm over my side and grasped me, making me curse as more pleasure enraptured me, tingling down my legs and twisting within my core, threatening to break me.

“Do this for me.” He moved all around me. Behind me and before me. “Take her to the dragon and let it slay her where she stands.”

His ambition tore through me, submerging me in him, drowning me. And I drank more, swallowing him down.

Wanting even more.

Always more.

“She has to die bravely,” he breathed. “She cannot know, otherwise her soul will not go to Valhalla.”

I slipped into darkness, lost somewhere on a plane of rapture. I started to crack. Splinter.

“Only you can do what needs done. I need a trickster. I need you.”

Ecstasy rippled along my vertebrae at those words.

At what they meant.

A second chance to prove myself to the gods after that entire dragon fiasco the first time.

“Don’t you see?” he whispered. “No one loses in this scenario. She gets what she wants, you get what you deserve. None to underestimate you.”

When he put it that way…

I loved the words he said to me. Each chipped away and revealed beautiful jewels of logic. Of truth. Elénaril did want all these things, and Alfheim would waste her, like Jotunheim wasted me.

And could I really allow her to be wasted?

I saw now.

That would be the true crime.

This was a gift I was giving her. We were giving her.

He lowered his mouth to mine and we met in a kiss of twisting tongues and biting teeth as we sucked in and out each other’s breath.

All thought emptied from me as I raced to the edge.

The wire strained, and then it snapped and I fell into oblivion.

The spots of pleasure cleared from my vision as the room sharpened around me, as if waking from a fever dream.

Odin turned me in his arms until I faced him and he traced my jaw, my collarbone, just savoring me, and I wanted it to always be like this.

“I know it’s been difficult for you since I brought you here,” he said, soft and breathless. “But, I need the gods to…” he paused, as if stopping himself from revealing some secret. “Will you do this?”

A tug of my conscience pulled at me.

To tell him no.

That this was wrong.

But I couldn’t argue with the logic of what he said.

It would be for Elénaril’s benefit.

My conscience clawed at me.

Her benefit? Really? And not your own?

“Loki, will you do this?”

7

By the Sword

I agreed.

I punched that nagging little voice back into my depths.

The fact this arrangement benefitted me as well as Elénaril was just a happy, added bonus. A coincidence. Yes. A joyful, joyful coincidence. 

That was all. 

Music plucked from strings mixed with the pulse of drums through the feast hall saturated with wood-smoke. Candles and torches flickered in the haze, coating the massive trestle tables crowded with gods in gold and shadow.

Their eyes darted to me as I feasted beside Odin at the head table packed with roasted boar, dark breads, and trays of grapes. Frost bit my skin with each glance and pointing finger they directed at me. It matched the frost icing down the battered oak towards me from Frigg, who sat at Odin’s right. 

I lifted my tankard of mead and kicked back a slug, enjoying the zing of citrus and honey on my tongue.

My name slipped out of their mouths that glistened with pork and apples, hurled like a curse between jokes and music and bites of honey cake.

It had been like this since I arrived. I drank deeper, trying to ease the burn of not knowing what sin I’d committed.

I mean, I did pull a few harmless pranks on Sif, and perhaps left one too many unpleasant surprises in Njord’s boots, but they didn’t have the right to accuse me. 

And besides, that would soon change once this business with Elénaril and the dragon was finished.

Odin skimmed his hand along the worn oak until bringing it to rest on top of my own. He gently squeezed my knuckles, reassuring me. His gold rings glinted in the dim light. 

“Pay them no mind.” He leaned in closer to my ear. “They are still not used to one with such thick Jotun blood. Old suspicions die hard.” 

He slid his hand away and drained the rest of his ale. He wiped off the lines of white foam surrounding his lips with his sleeve.

“I actually find being the center of attention quite exhilarating,” I said. “Even if that attention is them discussing whether to ram a stake through my temple or up my backside.”

I looked out over the feasting gods and smiled and waved at Bragi, who glared at me, his thin lips curled back revealing a set of white teeth. He was probably already composing some diddy to accompany his unsavory limerick I found scrawled on the communal toilet wall about me.

I found it quite hilarious, really, even with its tense shifts and inferior rhyming. Was “whore’s tucker” the best he could find to rhyme with that other bit?

He didn’t take my suggestion kindly. 

I lifted the mead to my mouth again. Someone shoved into my back, making a wave of mead slop over the rim of my tankard. A deluge of sticky honey poured down my chin and tunic, soaking into my silks and furs. Laughter burst out from the tables, along with the bang of fists.

I turned behind me, rivers of mead pooling in my lap and raining to the floor. I’d throttle whoever…

Little Balder just stood there looking up at me and blinking those big, blue eyes, a satisfied grin plastered across his plump-cheeked face. 

“Frigg, will you control the lad?” Odin said, handing me a linen cloth.

Frigg motioned the little monster to return to her embrace. She threw me a nasty smile as I sopped up the mead from my skin and tunic. 

“I thought the Trickster enjoyed pranks,” Frigg said to Odin.

I was about to tell her just what I thought when the doors of the feast hall opened. The creak echoed through the room and rose into the rafters of carved and painted wood. 

The music stopped. 

Odin smiled, staring at Elénaril walking between the tables towards us, a guard on either side of her. Her thick-soled boots snapped against the flagstones, and her expression was as severe as her tightly braided hair, reminding me of the first time I saw her on that frigid slope. 

I drowned the prickle in the back of my throat with more mead. 

I wouldn’t have my plans be impeded by pesky empathy.

Elénaril twisted out of the guards’ hold and straightened her leather bracers and plum Asgardian wool tunic.

“Am I to be summoned like a common servant now?” she said. 

“If you haven’t noticed, that’s what you are,” Odin said. “But, it doesn’t have to be what you remain.”

She crossed her arms.

“Go on,” she said.

“You have won my favor,” he said. “I’m prepared to offer you a reward.” 

She glanced at me, curiosity shining through her eyes, sharpening that prickle in my throat. I kept my attention firmly on rustling through a silver bowl full of roasted almonds.

“Then why do I feel like this is the kind of reward that will benefit you rather than me?” she said. 

Odin let out a laugh from deep in his throat and leaned back in his chair. Amusement lifted his features as he relaxed as if discussing the weather.

“What do you want most, Elénaril?” 

She lengthened her posture.

“You know,” she said. “To go home to my family and kill that damn dragon you and your lot couldn’t manage.”

Gasps and terse whispers broke out along the tables. The gods were quite touchy when it came to their egos.

Odin’s lips twisted into a wider smile. 

“Interesting you bring that dragon up,” he said. 

“Why?”

He stood and grabbed a sword that leaned against the table to his right and walked to her. Elénaril looked up at him as he tugged the gold hilt and slid the sword out of its leather sheath. A band of light raced down the beveled steel to its lethal point. 

Odin laid the sword on his palms and held the blade out to her. Elénaril’s mouth slackened, softening the hard lines etching the corners of her lips.

“How about,” he said. “You slay the dragon and we forgive your debt? Your reward is the chance to win your freedom.” 

Her eyes lifted from the blade and settled on his that gleamed as if looking upon the dearest prize.

She closed her mouth and pressed her lips flat.

“I know who you are,” she said. “I know there is always a hidden cost in making a deal with you.” 

He raised his right eyebrow as she continued to study him, as if luring out his lie. 

I popped an almond into my mouth, enjoying the increasing drama. This was getting good.

“You claim you can do the job. We love a good bet,” he said. “Or, is it that you are a coward?” 

Her body tensed. 

“I’m not a coward, I just don’t trust you.”

He grinned beneath his beard. 

“What is there to fear when it is all so straightforward?” 

He moved the blade closer to her. She stared at the Asgardian carvings along the blade. 

“If I accept,” she said. “I prefer to use my own weapon.”

Still suspicious. They always were. 

Which is why it was my turn now. 

I cleared my throat and leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table.  

“I’m afraid only this blade will work,” I said. “Remember? I did tell you only Dwarven steel can cut through a dragon’s scales.” 

Her shoulders slackened. 

I popped another almond into my mouth and sat back in my chair. 

The sword was useless, of course. Odin had me create it. A simple illusion. Not much fuss. But when it came time for the show…

Well. 

I swallowed the almond and that odd sensation needling my entire esophagus again. 

“We are only giving you what you want, Elénaril,” I said. “Think…kill one little dragon and gain your freedom. Save your village. Become a hero.”

She stared into my eyes, holding my gaze.

“You swear killing the dragon is all I have to do?” she asked me, I suppose because she trusted me. 

That little, nagging voice in the shadows and cobwebs of my mind urged me to put an end to this. I punched it in the face. 

Elénaril would thank me after. 

They all would thank me. 

“That is all,” I said. 

She nodded stiffly.

She reached for the blade, hesitated a heartbeat, and took the sword from Odin and held out the steel, testing the balance of the blade. Determination and hope filled her features, chasing away the previous uncertainty. 

“Wise choice,” Odin said. “Loki will accompany you to ensure you complete the task. We want this to be fair, after all.” 

What he meant was I had to go with her in order to ensure everything happened at the opportune moment. 

Thunder and the crash of plates and splintering wood cracked through the hall. 

“No!” Thor growled, storming towards us. “If Loki gets to go, then I go too. I will not miss out on getting to chop into that dragon’s scales.” 

I groaned and pulled my hands down my face. Just what we needed right now. Another tantrum and Elénaril’s suspicions raised further.

“There will be no chopping of anything from you,” Odin said, poking his finger into Thor’s stomach. “This is not your fight anymore.”

Thor’s face reddened looking down at his father. It was almost comical. Odin was a good head shorter than his son. But, I guess that made sense if you bedded a goddess of the earth. They weren’t known for producing dainty offspring.

“That dragon is mine, as is her debt.” Spittle flew out of Thor’s mouth. “She has only finished polishing half the armory, and now you take her and tell me I can’t enjoy the bloodshed? This is an outrage!” 

He stomped his foot, cracking the flagstone beneath his heel. 

Odin sighed. 

“Sit.” He pointed at the shadows of the hall. 

Thor turned redder and narrowed his small eyes. 

“I’ve never seen you make such a stupid plan, Father,” Thor said. “What is this really about? It smells of rotten shark meat.” 

Odin stiffened. 

I wanted to stuff a load of rotten shark meat in his mouth to shut him up. 

“This is just a spot of blood sport,” I said. “Nothing more.” 

Thor crossed his arms, straining his brown tunic across his chest and biceps that pulsed. 

“If it is sport, then I want in. To watch. As a spectator.” 

“You don’t even know how to watch where you walk,” I said. 

Thor pouted.

Frigg cleared her throat. 

“You seem very sure of Elénaril,” Frigg said to me.

Odin snapped his gaze to his wife. 

She had a mean look about her, one that twisted my stomach. But then, that’s how she usually looked. 

“I don’t underestimate her,” I said. “Which seems to be a common theme with you all.”

She smirked. 

“It’s just, well, we promised Alfheim assistance in our last treaty.”

“Meaning?”

“We still owe Alfheim a dead dragon.”

The other gods started to chatter.

This wasn’t good. If she’d just stop talking…

“Which is why we are sending Elénaril to deal with the beast—”

“Have you even considered the ramifications if she fails?” she interrupted. 

“She won’t have to do anymore polishing?” I said. 

The gods flung phrases such as “political suicide” and “traitorous” across their dessert of rice pudding and raisins.

“If she fails,” Frigg said, “our carefully plotted negotiations with Alfheim will break down,” she added. “We can’t ignore their request. We need assurance this is done. Thor is our assurance.”

Oh no. 

Thor puffed out his chest.

“We’ve ignored them pretty well before,” I said. 

Freya stood, rich silks dripping off her shoulders, her face as beautiful as she was cruel. She stroked one of her two bobcats sitting on either side of her hips, their predatory eyes matching that of their owner.

“Frigg makes a strong argument.” She scratched behind Geir’s ear. “We can’t risk any more tension with our Elvish neighbors.”

The chattering grew into a roar of conversation.

My stomach dropped. Were they actually agreeing?

“I agree,” Freyr added, standing next to his sister. His strapping frame was equally perfect, and he shared Freya’s same shade of dark hair—rich and blackest brown. “That dragon will shred her. I saw it happen in Vanaheim to our old groundskeeper.”

I held in a shriek. 

Frigg smiled at me and I knew. 

This was all on purpose.

She sniffed a rat in Odin’s game and thought it would be fun to throw in a hammer. A rather big hammer. 

If I didn’t hate her I’d be impressed with her conniving. 

“Send Thor with Loki,” Frigg said. “Thor can clean up the mess if she fails the challenge. You have your sport, and our treaty with Alfheim is honored regardless.”

And there she went. Making it worse. This would be like setting a cake in front of a child and expecting them not to touch. 

“You know he can’t keep his wits about him around any beast,” Odin said.

She raised her perfectly groomed eyebrow.

“And you know we can’t dishonor our word to Alfheim.”

They stared at each other, her eyes daring her husband to call her bluff. How could he without giving it all away to Elénaril?

“I promise not to interfere, Father,” Thor said, changing his tone to one more of a begging nature. “Please. I’ll let her do the killing,”

Chanting started of “send Thor” along with the pounding of fists on the tables.

I couldn’t stand this.

He would not remain sidelined, no matter how many promises he made. I saw all our beautiful, beautiful plans crumbling in my palm. He’d ruin everything. 

Again.

“I really must protest,” I said. 

Thor looked at me. Lightning flared in his eyes. 

“Shut up, you!” he snapped. “I’ve had it with all your protesting. You’re the reason my goats got eaten.” His voice cracked. “You’re the reason we brought Elénaril here. You’re the reason I lost my chance at killing that dragon before. This mess is all because of you. I will not be kept out of this fun because of you again.” 

I ground my teeth. 

“You are the one that wanted to crush a child because of a maimed goat,” I said. 

“The gods are in agreement,” Frigg said. “Send Thor. Unless, as Thor asks, there is some mysterious reason that would make this plan unsatisfactory?” 

Tables rumbled in agreement. 

Odin looked at me and shrugged. He mouthed the word “sorry” to me, as if that made this all better. Bastard. 

I supposed this was one point to Frigg. I wanted to die.

“Fine,” Odin said. “But you do not touch a scale on that dragon’s head, Thor.” 

Thor clapped his hands and rubbed them together. 

“This will be great,” Thor said. “But it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if I did rough that dragon up a bit…”

“It would be the worst thing,” I said. 

“But shaving off the tippiest tip of the tail is totally fine.”

I sighed. 

I guess that was settled then. 

I was to lead one Elf to slaughter, and make sure one ginormous baby with anger issues didn’t muck this all up. 

If he killed the dragon before she fell to it…

I drank more, chasing unconsciousness.

8

Here There be Dragons

Alfheim

“It looks so small from up here,” Elénaril said, breaking the hard winter silence.

She stood on the edge of the ridge and stared out into the distance at her village, tucked away at the bottom of the valley. Nothing but twinkling lights in miniature windows and curling smoke from miniature chimneys shrouded in cold moonlight.

Elénaril gripped the hilt of the sword Odin had given her, making her knuckles pulse and leather squeal.

“I am looking forward to driving this steel through that dragon’s heart. Then I can return to my family and never see you lot again.”

About that…

“Let’s go,” I pushed through the awkwardness clenching my body. “The dragon was last spotted heading north after decimating an entire herd of sheep. The farmer found nothing but a scattering of hooves.”

Elénaril and I started off across the clearing towards the forest packed with pine, the snow crunching beneath our boots.

The ground quaked as Thor stomped behind us.

“Wait,” Thor said.

I sighed. Already it began…

I walked faster, pretending I hadn’t heard him.

He slapped his hand on my shoulder—nearly breaking my clavicle—and tugged me back.

“Wait for what?” I snapped.

He pressed his lips together beneath his beard.

“Well, you know…” He rubbed behind his ear.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten.

“Can’t you hold it?” I said.

“I have eight tankards of mead flowing through me,” he said.

“That’s hardly my problem—”

“Do you two ever do anything but bicker?” Elénaril interrupted. “Just go and stop wasting time.”

She pointed at a tree ten feet away.

Thor gave me a victorious smirk and trudged off in the direction where she pointed.

This was already off to a fantastic start.

Elénaril pulled out the sword, and the steel glowed silver in the night. It was a thing of beauty. One of my finest illusions yet.

She never even noticed.

My lips pulled into a smile, perhaps more on the dastardly side than I should have allowed. But couldn’t I admire my good work?

And when the time came…

She trampled the snow flat as she lunged and cut the blade through the air, warming up her muscles preparing to slice open that dragon’s thick hide.

It would only take one swing. Then I’d finally get what I wanted most. That dragon dead, Elénaril’s soul delivered fresh to Valhalla, and the gods admitting I wasn’t quite the bad fellow they all thought me to be. I really looked forward to making them eat their own boots, buckles and all.

“You will be magnificent,” I said, not sure if I spoke more about her or myself.

She turned and faced me. The wind blew strands of her hair out of her braid that draped over her shoulder. A fierceness settled behind her eyes, brightening them with that familiar determination I associated her with. But it was the flicker of desperation that caught me off guard.

“I don’t have any other choice,” she said. “I can’t fail my village, Loki. I can’t fail my family. I have to do this. For them.”

The cold air burned the back of my throat. At least, that’s what I decided it was.

I took a wineskin out of my satchel and knocked back a gulp, trying to ease the burn away.

She sheathed the sword at her hip and stepped towards me. I really rather wished she didn’t. It made my intestines squirm.

“I want to thank you for sparing my brother,” she said. “You didn’t have to, but…I mean, I’m not joyful about having ended up in polishing torment, but it saved Nym’s life. I owe you.”

I kept my gaze down, staring at no spot in particular between my feet.

“Think nothing of it.”

The wriggling inside my bowels, inside my stomach, intensified, like I was filled with a million creeping things. What was this? Guilt?

Disgusting. I was better than this.

I took another drink. A bigger one.

“And even though this challenge is—well—let’s call it what it is…utterly twisted,” she said. “At least there is honor in letting me make my own fate. I will either win my freedom, or die trying. But it will be decided by me, and for that alone I am grateful.”

Her every word gave a firm and solid kick to my groin.

“Yes, we can do noble things if we want,” I said. “Oh, what’s that over there?”

I walked over to a pinecone and picked it up. I had to get away from her. I had to stop this annoying squirming feeling running down my spine.

In the cellars of my mind, the little voice laughed at me. Then called me something quite unwholesome.

“I would love to kick whoever told my brother to eat those goat bones,” she said. “But, Nym always was imaginative. It was probably only his hunger who spoke to him.”

The figure I saw through the frosted window awoke in my mind—shrouded in gray and slinking away into the inky night.

I considered telling her that the mysterious man outside was not of Nym’s imagination—but what did that matter anymore?

What mattered was just getting this bloody business done with.

Thor plodded back towards us, leaving deep valleys in the snow trailing behind him.

“Let’s smash us a dragon,” he said, straightening his belt and cloak.

“Us?” Elénaril said. “Oh no. You will stay far away. I will not have you destroy this chance a second time.”

She pushed past his shoulder and headed out ahead of us into the forest.

I really was sad to see her snuff it. I’d miss this, but then, she’d be around eternally, just slightly more see-through, and on the wispy side.

I rubbed the back of my neck that kept stiffening from this bloody cold weather.

Yes. The cold.

Stars blinked, blanketing the canopy of the tall pine we trekked between. A wolf’s howl broke the monotony of crunching snow.

Thor skipped along the trail, each bounce making snow slough off the branches as he passed each tree. He kept ten paces ahead of us, claiming doing so would let him better help keep watch.

I knew it was so he could get the first swing.

I walked faster, trying to catch up to him.

“You are awfully quiet,” Elénaril said. “Usually you make me want to pull off my sock and shove it into your mouth to shut you up.”

The snow deepened to our calves, forcing me to wrench each step free. Thor kept bounding further ahead.

“I thought you liked my stories.” I clambered through a snow drift, sinking to my knees. Dammit. I couldn’t let Thor get any farther out of my vision.

And I couldn’t let her get any closer to me.

“I endure your stories,” she jested.

I smiled. I forced my lips flat and coughed.

“I’m just trying to stay focused on the hunt,” I said.

“Nervous you’ll mess this up again?”

“Something like that.”

Every word she spoke made that squirming sensation deepen and swallow me whole like the snow I bloody fought to get through to get away from her so I could get closer to Thor to keep him away from that blasted dragon.

“Don’t worry, I think my tracking skills might be better than yours,” she said.

“What makes you so self assured?”

“The fact I found it an entire day before you two numbskulls.”

She gave a smirk.

Elénaril trudged over to the nearest tree and inspected a broken branch. She traced claw marks cutting through the bark.

Dragon claws. They were like damn cats with how they scratched up everything.

“The wood is still fresh,” I said. “It’s near.”

She smiled.

“This reminds me of the time I tracked a manticore with my father to celebrate my birthday. Took three days, but we found it and put three bolts into its abdomen. It fed us an entire winter.”

“Your father sounds like he knew how to have fun.”

“He was an excellent huntsman,” she said. “We’d spend entire days in the forest. I’d just started teaching his lessons to Nym. You know, to pass the knowledge on. So he could feel close to our father in some small way now he’s gone. Of course, when the goat drama happened…”

My lungs burned.

“Well, I’m sure your mother can teach him these skills,” I said.

She laughed.

“Mother isn’t one for hunting. There’s so much I promised Father I’d teach Nym on his deathbed. I can’t fail. I need to get back to them.”

Shit.

Damn.

She had to say deathbed promises.

My skin ran wet with sweat. Sweat? What was this? No matter. I’d wash whatever made my skin clammy away with claret. And then chase that down with another jug or two. Yes, that would do the trick.

Because like her, I also couldn’t fail.

That little voice laughed at me again.

Elénaril walked on.

“Why is this dragon so important to you?” I asked, the words pushing out of me despite my best efforts.

“What?”

I tugged my leg free, taking another step only to get stuck again in an effort to follow her.

“Well, you were keen when we first encountered the beast,” I said. “Achieving dreams of glory, I’m sure? To prove your enemies wrong? Something along those lines, surely?”

She shook her head.

“All I’ve ever wanted is to protect my family and protect my village,” she said.

I scratched the back of my head, trying to get the pins and needles to stop.

“And if…well, say if you didn’t make it back to your family…like, if you got transported somewhere else…”

“Where would I be transported?”

“Just…what then?”

I had to hear her say the words. I wanted her to tell me I was doing the right thing.

Of course it was the right thing. How could it not be? Elénaril would have all she wanted. Glory. Greatness.

Everything.

Her shoulders raised beneath her cloak.

“I’d find a way to fight my way back to Alfheim then,” she said. “I’d even fight my way across the bridge of Hel to get back here.”

I tilted my head.

“But you told me you wanted more,” I said. “You wanted more than crowns of holly. What if you could have it all? What if you could have everything?”

Her brow furrowed.

“These are odd questions.”

“Tell me,” I said. “What if you could have everything? Would you take it?”

She looked at me as if I were a simpleton.

“I’d have nothing if I wasn’t with my family,” she said. “I’d have nothing knowing I had abandoned them and my village. What kind of person would that make me?”

I sank into myself.

“So you wouldn’t be happy?”

She laughed, hot rolls of breath spilling out from between her lips.

“Gods no,” she said. “If I’m not in Alfheim with my people, I would be miserable. Three days in Asgard proved that enough to me. This is where I want to be, and if I’m to die, then I want it to be here knowing it was in the mission of doing it for my family.”

She jumped on a boulder and scanned the forest that stretched out into darkness. A gust of wind rippled her cloak around her legs, making her look fiercer than I’d seen.

Stronger.

Elénaril was of the wind. Of the rock.

She was not to be led. She belonged to no one.

But she wouldn’t be if I did what I promised Odin I’d do.

She would be ours. His.

It all bubbled and stirred in my depths, sensations I had wanted numb pricked my insides as the truth stormed through me.

Yes, Valhalla would make her great, but only great for Asgard. Not for her people, and not for herself.

It would not give Elénaril what she truly wanted, it would only take her dreams away and I couldn’t do that to her. Wouldn’t.

She was so good.

And we were not.

“Loki? What’s wrong?” She jumped off the boulder and stepped up to me.

I met her gaze and laid my hands on her shoulders. She gasped as I pulled her closer and caressed my thumbs over her cloak. I just wanted her safe.

“Go,” I whispered.

Her face twisted.

“What?” she said, a surprised chuckle frothing beneath.

“Elénaril, please. You don’t…you need to run.”

“Run? What madness are you talking about?” she said. “I have to fight the dragon to win my freedom. I can’t run.”

Frosted wind stung my cheeks as I grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the tree line. She pulled back, her boots sliding in the snow.

“Look, I am giving up an awful lot with this really inconvenient flush of nobility, so please…just run.”

She wrenched free and dropped her hand to the sword hilt at her hip.

“No,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain.”

Bile burned up my throat. Here it came. The honesty.

I sucked in a breath, thinking it would help. It didn’t.

“You were right about Odin,” I said. “About all of us.”

Her lips flattened into thin ribbons.

“I don’t understand.”

I stared at my boots. I couldn’t even meet her eyes to say it.

“There is a cost with accepting this mission,” I said. “And the cost is your soul, Elénaril.”

“My soul?”

I forced my eyes to hers, though every second staring into her searching gaze ground me further into pulp.

“I’m to lead you to the dragon not so you can fight it, but to ensure you fall to it.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she took a step back.

“Why?” she spat out the word.

I swallowed.

“So Odin can have you for Valhalla,” I said, my voice low. “You dying in combat is the only way he can gain your soul. You would have glory, but…I can’t put you in a cage, and that’s what Valhalla is. A cage.”

Silence roared in my ears as she considered my confession.

She shook her head, and a resolve rolled off her in waves.

She slid out the sword from its sheath and pointed it at my chest, the tip not a hair from my clothes.

“This is a lie,” she said. “I made a deal. This is my only chance to win my freedom.”

I gave a sad smile.

“It never was a chance,” I said. “It was only ever a trick to take your freedom.”

I gripped the blade and squeezed into the razor edge. Her eyes widened with shock.

“Stop! You’ll sever your fingers—”

The sword dissolved as I removed the illusion. She stared at her empty grip, her mouth open, and she took another step back and snapped her gaze on mine.

She might have well run me through with that sword with how she looked at me. I’d lost her respect. I’d lost her trust.

Worse, I’d lost her friendship.

I didn’t expect that last one to sting so bone deep.

“It was simple,” I said. “When you cut your sword into the dragon, I’d make the blade disappear, and then—”

“The dragon would have killed me,” she whispered.

“Yes,” I said. “And I’m sorry. And maybe one day you can forgive me, but right now… Elénaril, you need to run. Run as fast as you can away from here.”

She stayed grounded.

“I trusted you.”

“You need to leave.”

“You son of a bitch!”

She punched me in the jaw, flooding my sinuses and eyes with water.

I gripped her arms and held tight, blinking through the blur, ignoring the throb of my face. She writhed in my hold and stomped on my foot. I clenched harder into her, refusing to let go of her.

“Elénaril, listen to me—”

“If you don’t get your grubby hands off of me, I’m going to break your nose.”

The ground shook beneath our feet and the snow shrouding the pine branches crumbled, plummeting to the ground in streams of white.

What the—

Thor burst out of the forest and bounded towards us, his cheeks wind burned and a smile spreading from frost bitten ear to frost bitten ear.

“I TOLD YOU I WOULD HELP!” he screamed.

Trees cracked and wood splintered. Red eyes glowed in the darkness behind him, and they grew bigger. The dragon chased Thor, barreling through the pine trees, grinding its claws into the ground, crushing stone and bramble.

And both headed directly for Elénaril and I. It was too late for her to run.

I unsheathed my daggers and tossed one to Elénaril.

“It’s better than nothing,” I said over the cry of glee exploding from Thor’s lungs. “When the first chance opens, you get out of here.”

She bit her bottom lip.

“And let you fail again?” she said. “No. I’m staying and finishing it, deal or not.”

Elénaril held out my dagger and faced the charging dragon, all green scales and whipping tail and the promise of death on its putrid breath.

The air rumbled louder, a mixture of the beast’s growls and the shudder of the forest with its every stomp.

“You can’t be serious? That hide is thicker than that blade is long,” I said. “I’ll finish this and let Thor think you’ve fulfilled your oath. It’s over.”

“Piss off!”

My screams of rage were swallowed by the screech of the dragon. Droplets of venom sprayed from its mouth and scorched the ground, turning snow into steam around its writhing frame of muscle and rage.

Thor jumped on a stump and put his fingers in his mouth and whistled at me, the sharp tone cutting through the roar.

“Hey you, come here so we can watch the fight!” he bellowed. “After all that big fuss you made about there being no funny business…”

Of course he’d remember that. Perfect.

This was a problem, mostly because I’d have to do something incredibly stupid to fix it.

I sprinted to the right towards a boulder and waved my arms at the dragon. Elénaril followed me, fast on my heels. This was not the idea…

“Hey you foul breathed git, over here!” I shouted at the beast.

I waved my arms, moving my dagger to catch the light to flash it in its red eyes. The dragon shot its gaze on mine. Hot breath rolled out of its flaring nostrils.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Thor growled.

“I’m just taking in the fresh Alfheim air—shit!” I dodged droplets of spittle that sizzled the surrounding snow from the dragon’s mouth. “I’ll be there in a tick.”

The monster charged me. Thor pulled out a flagon of mead and tilted his head back. I took the opportune moment and pushed Elénaril behind the boulder—out of the way. She fell in a pile of snow, a flurry of curses and furs.

I jogged to the left, circling behind the beast, making sure its eyes followed me. Every breath I heaved in burned as I trudged through the snow. Just a little further—

I ducked. The dragon whacked its tail through the trees, snapping trunks and pulling them out at the roots in its wake. This had better work. I sprinted again, circling, making it turn and stomp its stubby legs into the snow and mud and twigs. Making its tail aim right at Thor, who lowered his flagon just in time to see the massive, scaled force barreling directly for his head.

Thor’s eyes expanded, and he leapt off the stump and—the tail rammed into his gut, picking him off his feet and flinging him halfway across the forest.

I wanted to wish him a bon voyage, but a set of rather sharp claws swiped at my face, missing my nose by a breath.

Running towards the boulder, I slid through the snow and skidded to a halt next to Elénaril, who tried to scramble towards the dragon. I grabbed her right arm and tugged her back behind the rock and crouched low. A splash of venom spewed over our heads, landing right where she had stood a second before and turning the snow into melted, purple ooze.

She gulped, and her knuckles pulsed white holding my dagger.

“Now get out of here,” I said.

“No,” she said.

The dragon struck its tail into the boulder, heaving the rock away and into the pine, snaps and cracks blasting through the forest.

“Fine,” I said. “If you won’t go, I’ll just have to finish it before you get your neck broken like that pine tree.”

The beast whipped its tail back, but not before I lunged and grabbed onto the scales and held on as it flailed about the clearing. I inched my way towards its back, digging my nails harder into the scales with its every thrash and buck.

I caught flashes of Elénaril holding her ground, pointing my dagger at the dragon, small shards of moonlight glinting off the Dwarven steel.

She raced the dragon.

The dragon charged her.

I hurried crawling towards its neck.

The forest jumped and heaved as the dragon bounded faster, flying my stomach into my throat and plummeting it to my toes.

Elénaril firmed her footing, ready to dive the dagger into the dragon’s gut. It would never work.

This was the only way.

I wrapped my arm around its throat and forced all my strength into the blade as I drove the steel where its scales were thinnest and its blood flowed greatest.

The beast cried out as I stirred my dagger deeper between the scales. I pulled it out and plunged again and again. Its muscles rippled beneath me and black blood oozed out of the wounds. I stabbed again, more blood flowing out, more blood spilling across the snow.

The dragon swayed to the right and staggered three steps.

Elénaril jumped back as the dragon collapsed right in front of her toes, a last roll of breath streaming out of its nostrils.

I stabbed it again below the jaw out of spite.

“There,” I said. “Dragon dealt with. Now, would you go? Please?”

Elénaril took a step back, her eyes remaining on the dragon that shuddered beneath me.

“Loki…”

Shit.

The dragon reared back and shook and thrashed. I grabbed hold. Well, I tried to grab hold, but my hands slipped off the blood covering its scales. I clawed and dug my knees into its sides and—

I felt air beneath me as it flung me off. The force of immovable stone crushed my shoulder and back of my head as I struck a rock beneath the snow. The air knocked from my lungs and pain shot down my legs.

My dagger flew out of my hands, landing feet to my left, out of reach.

I gasped for breath as I rolled on my stomach and I clambered for the blade, digging my elbows into the snow.

My ears filled with the rush of my blood and the pounding of the dragon’s stride. That stench of sheep corpses blew hot over my head, stirring my hair.

I turned on my back and faced the beast dead on, its mouth open, a thousand sharp teeth drenched in ropes of saliva and venom leaning closer to my nose.

I stretched for my dagger that lay inches from my fingertips. And just beyond stood Elénaril, eyes locked on me.

If only she would kick the dagger to me…

She only watched, her face stiffening with righteous judgment.

And I knew.

Why would she help the one who was going to kill her?

I would have ignored me, too.

I screamed and retracted my hand. Hot agony burned my skin as purple venom slipped down my arm, burning through my clothes, burning through my forearm. My body trembled as another drop of venom splattered my shoulder. My chest.

The dragon opened its mouth wider, venom dripping out of its jowls, the putrid stench searing my sinuses.

This was it.

I stared back at the dragon, eager for it to consume me and just get it bloody over with.

Bone crunched.

The dragon shivered.

Lower still…

Bone split.

Blood ran between its eyes and over the tip of its snout and dripped on my forehead.

The dragon stumbled and tried to right itself, only to sway. Sway? It was collapsing.

I scrambled back as muscle and bone threatened to crush me. My heart hammered into my ribcage.

The beast groaned and fell to the ground, limp and dead, its lifeless body relaxing into the snow.

But how—

Elénaril kneeled on its head and wiggled my dagger out of the top of its skull. Blood gleamed red in the moonlight, rolling down the sides of the steel.

She stood and jumped off and walked towards me.

“Why didn’t you let it take me?” I said, hauling myself upright and catching my breath.

I grabbed a handful of snow.

“I considered it,” she said.

“What changed your mind?”

I hissed, rubbing the snow onto the welts on my arm, trying to soothe the heat of the burns away. This would take months of healing, or a golden apple, to remove the marks. That didn’t help me much now.

Elénaril pulled in a breath and I met her gaze.

“Look,” she said. “I figure you could have killed me, but you didn’t.”

Elénaril wiped the blood off my dagger and handed it to me.

“That’s the only reason I saved you,” she said.

She held the blade out further to me, urging me to take it from her. I pushed it back to her.

“Keep it,” I said.

“What? This is worth more than my entire village.”

“I know,” I said. “You’ve earned it. You’ve earned far more than the gods could ever give you. It’s the least I can do after…I know I let you down.”

She laughed as if I’d said the stupidest, most obvious thing in all the worlds. And I had.

“Yes, I dare say you did,” she said. “Spectacularly.”

“I just hope this blade is a start to…look, I will make this up to you.”

She nodded stiffly and attached the blade at her hip.

“Farewell, then?” she said.

“Farewell.”

She turned and trudged through the snow towards the forest. She stopped for a second, maybe ten, and marched back to me.

I braced myself for another punch across the face.

“Loki, you are a son of a bitch,” she said. “But even so, you aren’t like the rest of the gods. You have something they lack.”

I raised my right eyebrow.

“Which is?”

She smiled softly.

“Mercy.”

She reached out and gripped my upper arm. I felt emotions stir in me, a warmth I wasn’t used to…it wasn’t love, or desire, but…but genuine affection.

“Don’t let them destroy you,” she said. “They will swallow you whole.”

Those words sank into me, echoing what Angrboda had told me. I hoped she didn’t notice me chill beneath her touch.

I held her gaze as she let her fingers trail down my arm and fall back at her sides.

Snow crushed beneath heavy boots. Thor. We had seconds.

I took her hands and clasped them tight.

“Elénaril, please, run,” I said. “You’re free.”

She squeezed and nodded and released my hands, the cold—cruel and frigid—fading the warmth of her touch from my skin. Elénaril turned away and hurried into the dark of the forest. Safe.

I exhaled as Thor stomped out of the trees, picking pinecones out of his beard and hair. His eyes locked on the dragon’s carcass, and he frowned.

“It’s already dead?” Thor grumbled. He kicked its tail and crossed his arms. “I can’t believe I missed it!”

“Let’s go home.” I turned away from where Elénaril had disappeared.

“Why are you so upset?” Thor said. “We won! This is a celebration.”

He clapped his hand on my shoulder. I shrugged him off.

“Just…leave me alone,” I said.

I gave up my best chance at having the gods accept me. I had it by the throat, but…but Elénaril was too good for Valhalla, and I did not deserve glory for leading her to a wrongful death. There was no honor in that.

I only wanted to prove Odin right in choosing me. And now I’ve done the exact opposite.

I shut my eyes for a heartbeat, forcing down the emotions gnawing me. What was I becoming? What had I nearly become?

And for what?

No. I didn’t like where these thoughts led.

This is why I never did good deeds if I could help it. It only led to confusion.

I felt a cold chill behind me.

It felt angry.

I turned, knowing who it was.

Odin.

9

A Promise

“Thor,” Odin said, his voice tight and low. “Leave us.”

Odin didn’t break his gaze from mine, keeping his back straight, his shoulders square. Moonlight blanketed him in blues and shadows.

Thor huffed.

“Leave? I just got here and—”

“Go!” Odin yelled. “Or, I will make you wish you had.”

Thor’s arms fell slack at his sides, and for a flash he crumbled into a five-year-old boy. 

Thor cleared his throat, and puffed out his chest, as if reminding himself he was not a boy, but a man who lied to himself that he could no longer be hurt by his father’s anger.

“Fine,” he said. “I have an axe to find, anyway. Always bloody losing that weapon.” 

He grumbled and marched back into the forest, his steps lacking any of their usual cheer.

Wind howled between the space separating Odin and me, and he kept staring into me in his way that felt like an ice pick chipping away at your courage. Was he trying to scare me? I was not Thor. I stood my ground.

“Elénaril killed the dragon,” I said. 

He looked away towards the trees where she had disappeared, out of his grasp. Out of his reach.

“She won her freedom,” I said, wanting him to understand. “You can’t have her. The trick failed. Terribly sorry. Rotten luck, that.” 

He snapped his eye back on me and walked towards me, closing the distance between us that felt like an ocean. His layers of furs flowed in the breeze as his boots sank into the snow, his shadow lengthening behind him as he stalked closer.

“Rotten luck?” he echoed. “It was only rotten because you ensured it all to fail.”

He stood so close I could feel his hot breath on my cheeks. He lengthened his posture.

Was he still trying to frighten me? To intimidate me? 

I crossed my arms.

He should know better. His anger was nothing but a storm, blustery and quick and full of hot air.

But the spark of fear that swam behind his eye—that gave me pause. 

“You messed everything up,” he said. “Telling that boy to eat the bones was supposed to get all this drama and dust settled and—” 

Wait. 

“Telling that boy?” It all crashed around me. I should have known.

My breaths deepened and Odin must have noticed the thorns I sprouted. I wanted to dig them beneath his nails.

“You were the man in gray in the window,” I said. “The one who Nym said he had seen. Had talked to.” 

The stiff lines of his face dropped.

“It was supposed to solve everything,” he said. “But now…why did you have to ruin it?” 

My muscles tightened and my insides burned and for a second, I knew my eyes flashed with my fire at what he had done.

“How layered is this deception?” I said. “What are you trying to achieve?”

His lips flattened behind his beard. 

“Answer me!” My gaze blazed hotter, the fire filling my eyes, coating him in seconds of gold. 

I choked it back down, back inside myself, and reached out and pushed into his cloak and furs, forcing him to step back. 

He remained silent. 

I wouldn’t stand for silence. 

“Why do you want them?” I pushed him again. “Why any of them? How many have you slaughtered? How many have you taken that didn’t want to go?” 

I pushed him a third time, nearly making him stumble and fall into the snow.

I wanted to make him speak. To make me understand.

“What is this obsession with collecting souls?” I said. “With making traps? Hustling good warriors into death to become yours? Tell me why, Odin.” 

That spark of fear built behind his eye with each question I threw at him into terror. He ground his teeth and pressed his hands into fists at his sides. 

Good.

I wanted him to strike me, because then I could do the same to him. 

He grabbed my wrists and tugged me against him, pressing his thumbs into my palms. 

I pulled back. 

He squeezed tighter. Pressed harder. He stared into my eyes and sorrow blossomed beneath the terror. 

“There’s more at play than you realize,” he said. “Please, understand.”

Not good enough. 

“Tell me the real reason.”

He shook his head. 

“Please.”

“No. Tell me why.”

Odin trembled, and I expected him to clench into my tendons and bones. He softened. Everything softened, and he rubbed his thumbs into my palms. Tenderly, so tenderly, he caressed circles…as if I were made of porcelain.

He pulled in a shivery breath. 

“I need to prove to the other gods, to all the Aesir, that you would listen to me,” he choked out. “That I could control you. That’s why. That’s why I did this.”

He was rich. 

“Control me?” I said. “I’m not your bitch.”

A sad smile crept across his lips as he slid his fingers over my knuckles and pressed his open palm against mine.

“The words don’t matter.” He skated his fingertips slowly down my spread fingers. “What does matter is that you did exactly what they said you would. Openly defy me.”

I scoffed. 

“Defy you,” I said. “Why do the gods want me beneath their boot heels so badly? What am I to them? Why do they hate me?”

The sorrow deepened. Pulled. Tugged. He seemed to drown in it. 

“Let’s just drop this,” he said.

The wind blew again between us, filled with whispers and omens and devilish things.

“I sometimes feel you’re keeping some dark secret from me,” I said. “Like you all are. That there is some offense I’ve done I’m not aware of.”

He slid his hands up my arms and over my shoulders. Soft. Gentle. Always gentle.

He cradled my head and rested his thumbs on my cheeks.

A sheen of water quivered on the rim of his eye and it made my breath hitch. 

“You cannot openly defy me again,” he said. “We made an oath, and that oath is the only thing protecting you from…” He paused. “Just. Promise me.”

“Protecting me from what?” I asked. 

He clasped my face firmer, as if he would lose me if he didn’t. As if he kept me from being pulled away into a river current. 

He leaned his forehead against mine. 

“Promise me,” he whispered. 

He ground his fingers into the back of my head. My neck. Needing me. Begging me. 

“Odin, I—”

“Promise.”

The fear threading through his voice cooled the anger in me. Pity took root instead, and it was as if I’d never known anger for him at all. 

All I wanted was to take away whatever this fear was eating him inside out. 

All I wanted was for him to know it would be alright.

“Fine,” I said. “I won’t defy you again. But,” I added. “I will have my limits respected. Our oath is double sided, and you said I was not to be commanded.”

He nodded stiffly. 

“I won’t.”

We stood in the silence of the night I knew not how long until he cleared his throat and I swallowed the burn of emotions down. 

I straightened my cloak and fixed my hair so it laid across my shoulders how I liked.

“I didn’t realize this was all so important to you,” I said, my voice still husky. 

He smiled, snowflakes catching in his beard and on his furs.

“It’s only you that is important, Loki,” he said. “Only you.”

His gaze intensified with that mournful, searching look that always bore into my marrow.

Thor stomped out of the forest and trudged towards us, axe swung over his right shoulder, his red beard stuffed with ice. Snow crunched beneath his stride.

“Chasing after this damned thing is getting old,” Thor said. “I really need a weapon that returns to me.”

Odin sighed. 

“Or, you could work on your aim,” Odin said. “Let’s get going before another storm hits.”

I couldn’t argue with that. As soon as we got back, I was going to sink into a hot bath with the biggest bottle of wine I could find and forget. 

Odin and Thor started plodding off back towards Asgard. I followed.

Don’t let them destroy you, Elénaril’s voice carried on the wind. 

A small chill iced every vertebrae of my spine, flattening my lips. I looked behind my shoulder at where she had disappeared into the deep wood.

“Loki?” Odin called. “Aren’t you coming?”

I looked away from the forest and back at Odin. And Thor. And Asgard…

The choice I had made. 

I was theirs now. 

And I was not free.

Odin looked at me, soft and reassuring, but not reassuring enough to shake the storm I sensed brewing behind his smiles. 

I shook it away. 

I smiled back. 

“Of course I’m coming.”

What did Elénaril know? What did any of them know? 

The gods wouldn’t destroy me. I wouldn’t let them. 

“I really want a weapon with some heft,” Thor said. “Something like a hammer. Yes. A hammer that returns to you, now that would be amazing.”

I walked beside Odin and brushed the side of his hand. I tangled my fingers with his and held him tight. 

Whatever storm lay ahead of us, we would face together. 

Laughter echoed in the wind. 

But I didn’t care.

Excerpt from “Truth and Other Lies”

(The Nine Worlds Rising Book 1)

Present Day

Basel, Switzerland

He stood naked on the altar, staring up at the crucifix.

He claimed he came to destroy the world.

This wasn’t the first deranged man I encountered inside the Münster Cathedral, but he was the most tenacious in his ravings.

When I called the police, the woman on the phone sighed. A naked man inside a church did not constitute an emergency.

I strongly disagreed.

She sighed again, then said an officer would be here in twenty minutes, if one was available.

I cleared my throat, wanting to alert the man of my return.

He turned and met my gaze. Sharp eyes of green cut into my core, almost into my very being. I didn’t know if they wanted to love me, or end me.

I forced myself to speak.

“I found this suit in the rectory. It might be a little short for someone of your height, but it should do the job.”

He tilted his head, his eyes trailing to the pressed suit in my hands. A wave of energy from him struck me, kicking me in the chest like a mule.

Fierce, raw, alluring…

He descended the red, sandstone steps, each stride determined and powerful. Feline. I knew I should run, but I also, inexplicably, wanted to stay.

Flicking back his head, he ran his elegant fingers through shoulder length copper hair. His every muscle and movement tensed with careless danger, though his air remained at ease. He possessed a sublime and menacing beauty I’d only ever seen captured in the Lucifer of Liège.

Taking the suit from me, he caressed the fabric beneath his thumbs. He smiled, a wry, devastating smile. For a heartbeat a torrential thrill lit my blood.

“You people never were fond of public nudity,” he said.

His voice. Soft, yet lethal. His every word resonated within the buttresses.

Who was this man?

He pushed his arms into the shirt and flicked each button into the little slits as if savoring each step, though he grumbled at the lack of gold embroidery.

I checked my watch.

Ten minutes more to wait. Damn. He would leave before the police arrived. For his own safety I couldn’t let that happen.

“I…I would be remiss if I didn’t ask why you intend to destroy the world?” I pushed out.

A frown tugged his lips, as if I had caused him great insult.

“No, not the world,” he said, shaking his head. “All worlds. All universes. I will shatter everything. Is this suit silk?” He shoved his legs into the pants and zipped the fly. “I’ve missed the sensation of fine clothes against my skin.”

I didn’t like the deadly flash in his eyes. The irreverent laughter behind his pupils.

I rubbed the back of my neck, my fingers gliding over cold sweat.

“Isn’t wanting such destruction extreme?”

“I only know extreme.”

He smiled that smile again.

Where the hell were the police?

Smoothing out the creases of his suit, he glanced over his shoulder at the side vestibule. Anger hardened his lips, erasing any hint of their seemingly constant amusement.

He flickered. Flickered?

Two overlaying images raced between each other. They flipped back and forth, over and over until the one beneath flashed to the surface, fierce and vivid.

Pinpoint punctures surrounded his mouth. A map of scars stretched across his face. Twisting in thick red lines, the marred tissue traveled down his neck, disappearing beneath his white oxford shirt.

My breath stopped. A sickening chill gripped my stomach. This couldn’t be real?

I blinked, hard.

His beauty returned, unobscured by the horror. Unobscured by anything. He was, once again, perfect.

The low lighting, alongside my nerves, played with me. That was the explanation.

It had to be.

“Where are they?” he growled.

He walked to the plain cross standing beside an open Bible. A single, white candle sat to its right. He curled his hands into fists, the skin pulling white over his knuckles.

“Where are what?”

“The beeswax candles. The trays of sand.”

His rage crashed against my chest in violent waves. Why should he be this upset over a Catholic tradition?

“There haven’t been prayer candles in the Münster for five hundred years. Not since the Reformation. You must be confused with another church,” I said.

His shoulders dropped. His skin paled. For the first time, he appeared fragile. Fatigued.

“Five hundred years?” he whispered. Pain lanced each word.

He neared the candle, his footing no longer anchored. He stared at the wick, his gaze lost somewhere, someplace.

“I’m sure there is someone out there looking for you. Is there a phone number I can call?” I wanted to divert him. It all started to unnerve me more greatly.

“Five hundred years?” he yelled. No, screamed. “I’ve been imprisoned in that hell for five centuries?”

The arches shook, and the ground quaked. My heart pounded in my throat, and a fresh crack of terror split through me.

He sank to the floor. Broken. Defeated. He buried his face in his hands and flickered a second time.

Webs of deep scars laced between his fingers and over his hands.

I blinked. Again.

And again, he returned to his nearly divine form.

Twenty minutes had now passed. Still no police.

Pity overtook my fear, and I reached out to touch his shoulder. He might as well been marble. For a second, I believed he truly was the Lucifer of Liège come to life.

“What’s your name?”

Searing heat burned through his clothes and scorched into my palm. I yanked my hand back.

I stepped away.

The candle wick ignited on its own. He rose to his feet, lengthening and seeming much taller than I first recalled. The flame blazed hotter, brighter, throwing him in shades of gold. Even the red of his hair burned.

But his eyes…

Fire, an absolute inferno, exploded within them.

This was no man.

And the police weren’t coming.

My pulse thundered in my ears and terror, cold, bitter terror, consumed me. I took another step back.

He took one towards me. And another.

I made to run, but I stumbled and fell into the timeworn, oak pew.

In a second, he was on me as if I was his prey. He leaned over my trembling body, the heat rolling off his skin broiling my cheeks.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with, mortal man,” he said. “I am Loki. Loki of the Aesir. Loki of the Jotun. The god of mischief. The god of lies. The trickster. The evil-doer. The sly one. I am chaos.”

Dread pounded in every beat of my heart. My veins iced.

“But, that’s…all a myth.”

He chuckled, as if I told him a hilarious joke. His eyes returned to their normal green, and his skin cooled.

“I am no myth.”

“Are you going to kill me?” I asked.

His lips pulled into a charming smile. It sickened me how much it made me want to like him, despite his threats.

“Yes, but at another time. Please don’t take it personally. I will kill you as I will kill every living creature. It’s quite fair, I assure you.”

He held out his hand, offering to help me back to my feet.

“But why?”

I pushed myself out of the pew, refusing his help. He shrugged and let his hand fall back to his side.

“For the same reason your God destroyed His own creation with a flood. Judgement.”

I shook my head and swallowed down my panic despite all reason and good sense. I would not shrink. I would not waver. I couldn’t. Not when everything was on the line.

“This isn’t judgement. This is extermination. Whatever grievances were committed against you, you must forgive.”

The laughter in the lines of his face faded, a bleak emptiness taking root instead.

“You don’t know what they did.” He whispered the words. “After what they’ve done, they deserve no forgiveness.”

He stared once more at the candle beside the open Bible. At somewhere in the past.

The intensity of his gaze sent cold sweat trickling down my back.

“What have they done?”

* * *

Truth and Other Lies

(The Nine Worlds Rising Book 1)

is available on Amazon

Thank you!

I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, I would greatly appreciate a short review on Amazon or your favorite book website, such as Goodreads or Bookbub! Reviews are crucial for any author, and even just a line or two can make a huge difference.

Also by Lyra Wolf

The Nine Worlds Rising

Novellas

Thunder, Blood, and Goats

Novels

Truth and Other Lies (Book 1)

The Order of Chaos (Book 2)

That Good Mischief (Book 3)

The Fire in the Frost (Book 4)

Untitled (Book 5)

Untitled (Book 6)

Acknowledgments

The person I must thank first is my friend Hannah, as she is the reason this novella exists at all.

I woke up one morning and announced to her “I’m going to write a novella about the origin of Loki and Elénaril’s friendship. There will be snow. There will be flower crowns and...that’s all I’ve got so far.” She laughed. After I told her it wasn’t a joke, she demanded that if I was going to go through with this terrible (my word, not hers) idea, that in addition to the flower crowns it also include Thor and a heap of Odin angst. Challenge accepted. She laughed again and wished me good luck. But, as this novella collected the most positive comments I have ever received from her on any draft, I think I succeeded. So, who is laughing now? 

But in all seriousness, she is the most supportive person I know, and I owe her pretty much everything.

To my spouse, who does a great job pretending to be interested when I talk about all the shenanigans happening in Asgard, and which god is betraying who this Tuesday. Thank you for loving me despite my love of Norse mythology, which always makes sense and is never disturbing. 

To Cait, who told me to make the goats meaner. I did. Loki thanks you and is not planning any kind of revenge upon you and your kin. 

To Jenn, who is awesome and is always cheering me on. #TeamFenrir forever. 

To my parents, who keep believing in me and never stop supporting me. Especially my poor mother who always asks if, just once, Loki can be nice and have a good day. No he can not. 

To Stephen, who helped make sure this story was what it needed to be.

To all my family and friends, near and far, and to you the reader, who keep following Loki on his journey—you don’t know how much your support means to me. Thank you. 

About the Author

Lyra Wolf is a Swiss-American author of fantasy and mythic fiction.

Raised in Indiana, home to a billion corn mazes, she now lives in Central Florida, home to a billion mosquitoes. She enjoys drinking espresso, wandering through old city streets, and being tragically drawn to 18th century rogues.

When Lyra isn’t fulfilling the wishes of her overly demanding Chihuahua, you can find her writing about other worlds and the complicated people who live there.

Lyra has earned a B.A. in History and M.A. in English.

* * *

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