Fate Undone (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 5) (8 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

The Hall of Aesir, Asgard, Home of the Norse Gods

Early Autumn, 1213 AD

Sigyn wound her way between the huge wooden tables full of revelers, a too-big haunch of roasted stag balanced precariously on the tray in her hands. One wrong step and the meat would plummet to the floor to be eaten by the dogs that roamed the mead hall.
 

The gods at the high table on the dais were already glancing around, scowls on their faces as they searched for the meat she was late in delivering.

She hurried to reach them, cursing herself for forgetting her duties while practicing her magic. Their displeasure would be her doom. Everything she wanted hinged on their approval—on her mother’s approval.

She grimaced at the feel of a palm landing briefly on her backside as she passed a bench of rowdy warriors who’d been relegated to the less honored section of the hall. But then, she reminded herself, they were honored just to be in the great Hall of Aesir, the meeting place of the most powerful of the gods.
She
was honored to be here. It was an honor and good fortune to be serving the high table.

She was a demigod and daughter of Freya, one of the greatest goddesses in Asgard. Sigyn had been born of Freya’s union with a dark, sacred magic. She was the only one of her kind, an anomaly who had the exceedingly rare opportunity to be raised to full godly status.
 

That was, as long as she didn’t anger or disappoint the other gods, some of whom disapproved of her unorthodox creation, before she completed her training in seidr.

If she could get this tray delivered, her duties would be almost over and she could go practice the sacred magic that her mother was teaching her. Mastering her skills, and gaining the approval of her mother and the other gods, would transform her from demigod to full god.
 

On that day, she’d no longer be serving this table. She’d be seated at it. The thought sent a shiver of aching want through her. To be
somebody
. To be a
god.

She’d do anything for that.

Finally, she reached the edge of the dais and climbed the stairs in the darkened back corner.
 

“Watch it, you ham-fisted cunt.” The gruff voice broke through her reverie. Panicked, she glanced down to see her foot crushing the edge of Baldr’s cloak.
 

Oh, no. Not Baldr.
The god of light glared at her and she heaved herself back.

“Go climb under a stablehand, it’s probably all you’re good at,” Baldr said.

“Lighten up, golden boy.” The raspy voice of another god barely registered in Sigyn’s consciousness as she struggled to balance the haunch of stag that was about to plummet off her tray and onto the floor. And the edge of Baldr’s cloak.

Desperate visions of the greasy meat staining the fine fabric pushed good sense from her mind. She called upon her magic, gasping at the pain that tore through her chest at the unorthodox use, and righted the meat upon the tray.
 

She shoved it onto the table and said, “I’m so sorry, your eminence. So sorry.”
 

She tripped over herself to back away. Baldr was the last one she wanted to anger, as he very much disagreed with raising demigods to full godhood. She shoved down every retort that rose to her lips and spun, desperate to disappear before Freya noticed her. Or worse, the magic that she’d used for too mundane a purpose.

Her gaze caught on the god who’d defended her.
 

Loki.
Her chest tightened and she shoved away the rush of pleasure as she raced off the dais and into a darkened back corner of the hall.
 

She sucked air into her lungs as she warily eyed the high table. The gods ate and drank and shouted at each other as the golden torches shone down upon the great wooden table. The rich colors of their robes and the gold that decorated their bodies gleamed in the warm light.

Freya, her golden-haired mother, didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Sigyn’s shudders relaxed an infinitesimal amount and she rubbed her chest, sighing as the pain faded. She really needed her staff to properly channel her magic. Without it, the pain came.

Which she supposed she deserved, since she’d been using her magic for such an unimportant purpose as saving her own hide from Baldr’s displeasure. Arrogant ass. But that was to be expected from the gods. Supreme arrogance. Which, in her case, usually resulted in rudeness.
 

Except from Loki. She peered at the handsome, black-haired god who’d only recently arrived at the Hall of Aesir. He’d been here but a week and the other gods hadn’t been pleased by his arrival. She’d heard of him, of course. The trickster god who made the other gods’ lives hell. It was like he lived to bring them down a peg.

She grinned when he shouted an insult across the table at Thor, then turned another upon Baldr. She was desperately jealous of Loki’s ability to say whatever he wanted.
She
wanted to be able to tell Baldr what she thought.

But more than that, far more than that, she wanted a seat at that table and the power and prestige that came with it. She’d put up with any insult to have that.

So she watched Loki and lived vicariously through him. He was very good at
flyting
, the insult game that the gods played. But he played it more viciously than the rest, his barbs meant to sting and maim. He never held back, seemed intent upon crushing his opponents with the worst insults he could devise.

But he’d never turned that cruelty on her. Nor the rudeness that most of the other gods showed her. She could bear their rudeness—she could bear anything—as long as it earned her the seat she coveted. It was the price a half-blood would pay to ascend to full godship, and she was willing to pay it.

But Loki. In the week he’d been here, he’d been nothing but courteous to her. Why, she had no idea. She liked it. As she liked the occasional meaningful glances they shared. His interest left her at a loss. If he wanted her for a tumble as the other gods occasionally did, he would say so. She’d refuse him, of course.

Wouldn’t she?

A sudden commotion at the high table drew her eye. Loki was on his feet, his midnight hair gleaming in the light of the torches. The forest green cloak that fell from his back was so rich in color that it sucked up the light. But it was his face that drew her eye and his rich, raspy voice that drew her ear.

“Your father doesn’t fuck your mother because you got there first,” he shouted at Baldr, who heaved to his feet to join Loki.

Baldr’s golden beauty gleamed in the torchlight and made Sigyn vaguely ill. Whatever he said under his breath made fury blaze on Loki’s face. Sigyn gasped when he threw himself at Baldr. The sound of Loki’s fist on Baldr’s face was a dull thud that sent a wash of nausea and joy through her.
 

A stupid, wishful part of her imagined that Loki was defending her from Baldr’s insults. He
had
taken up for her when Baldr had lashed out. But that couldn’t possibly be the case. The
flyting
had simply gotten out of hand as it always did when Loki played. He’d gone too far again. That was it.

Her heart jumped when Odin and Thor heaved to their feet and rushed around the high table toward Loki. They were upon him in seconds, meaty fists wrapped around Loki’s arms. He laughed as they dragged him from the hall and tossed him out the great doors. They turned to face the hall, their faces creased in annoyance.
 

Sigyn scowled.

They were like children. Able to hand out the insults but not to receive them. She glanced back up at the high table. The gods had all settled back into their seats and were tipping their mead toward their faces. Anger still creased some of their brows, but it would smooth out as the mead flowed.
 

Sigyn’s eyes raced over the table, checking the platters. All full. Or full enough. Before she could stop herself, she skirted around the edge of the mead hall, making sure to stick to the darkened edges, and raced out the small side door into the cold night.

Crisp air cleared her head immediately. What was she doing, chasing after the trickster god? According to the others, he was dangerous and she had much to lose. One day she would be a god, assured of her place in the Hall of Aesir, but for now, she was but a fatherless demigod. Her mother, her teacher, set strict rules.

If Sigyn broke them…

She shuddered at the thought of losing all she’d been working for and turned to go back into the hall.

“Did you follow me out into this cold night, little one?” The raspy voice sent a too-pleasant shiver through her.

She turned, unable to help herself. Loki stood in the shadows of the night, the moon lighting upon his pale skin. It caressed sharp cheekbones and a finely cut jaw, but was swallowed by the black eyes that raced across her face and body.

Her heart thundered in her chest. With fear, but with something more. His beauty made something deep inside of her twist hard, though his gaze reminded her that she should be afraid. As did his size. He towered over her, his shoulders broad beneath the cloak that protected him from the wind.

“Maybe I did,” she said, unable to stoke the fear that would keep her safe. He’d been nothing but kind to her in the week he’d been in Aesir. He’d defended her against Baldr. And though they’d never spoken, the glances they’d shared across the hall had held a dark meaning that intrigued her far more than was wise.
 

“Why would that be?” His voice dragged across her nerve endings in the most pleasant way.

“I’m not sure I want to tell you.” The corners of her lips curled up.
Wait a second
. She was flirting! It was dangerous. It was stupid.
 

But she couldn’t stop herself.

“Who are you? I’ve seen you about the hall.”

Her cheeks heated despite the bite of the cold night air. “I am Sigyn, daughter of Freya.”

“And daughter of?”

She knew he awaited her sire’s name. Lineage was important in Asgard and especially important for the Aesir, the highest of the gods. But she had no name to give him.

“Magic,” she said.

“Ah.” His voice was rich with interest and she couldn’t help but preen a bit even as she flushed with embarrassment at not having a godly father. “So you are Freya’s Vala. Daughter of the high goddess and magic. A sorceress. I’m sure there are those among the other gods who don’t like that.”

“I am a demigod. A Vala,” she said, confirming the name for the sorceress race created by Freya and her affair with magic. Sigyn was the first Vala. Perhaps the last, for her mother had not yet made another. She waited to see how Sigyn fared.

It was rather a lot of pressure.

Loki stepped closer and she swore she could feel the warmth of him though he remained a foot away. Her breath caught at the interest in his eyes.

“Why did you follow me out here?” he asked. There was perplexity in his voice. It was almost as if he couldn’t understand that another might be interested in him past being annoyed at his devilry. That another might care for him.
 

Not that she did, of course. And she was probably inventing all this in her mind.

But she was certainly interested. Back in the hall when she’d nearly dropped the platter of stag, Baldr’s rudeness hadn’t been unexpected. But Loki’s defense of her had been.
 

And the way he spoke his mind around the other gods…

“Well?” he asked.

“How do you dare challenge the other gods like you do? The things you say!” She could hear the awe in her voice and it embarrassed her, but she couldn’t help it.

“You like that, do you?” He grinned.

“Yes.” She nodded. “I
wish
I could speak half my mind to them as you do. I’d love to challenge them, instead of being scenery that occasionally incites annoyance and rudeness.”

“Why don’t you?”

An illicit thrill at the idea of stepping forward and speaking her mind shot through her. Just as soon, it was stabbed through by fear. “
Never.
I want to be a god. Without their approval, it could never be. No matter how accomplished in seidr I become, without their approval, I stay as I am.”

“Even though worthless bastards like Baldr treat you like you’re nothing?”

“Especially so. If I ascend the ranks and take my rightful place, he can no longer do so. I can finally speak my mind.”

“I see. You are unique,” he said. “Partially of this world and yet not. But you see the world so clearly.”

He spoke of her status as a demigod. Welcomed in Aesir, but not quite accepted. At least not until she finished her training and Freya raised her to full godly status. She pushed through her nerves to speak. “As do you.”

He grinned and the sight tightened something in her chest. He was too beautiful. Dark hair that swept back from his forehead and fell to his collar, dark eyes that watched her with too much interest, and a smile that could steal all her good sense. Perhaps had already stolen it.

And this conversation…

She’d never had anything like it before.