Fate Undone (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 5) (19 page)

Familiar rage, familiar compulsion, swept away the worry that had plagued him. This feeling was good. It was right. It would see that he did what he must, no matter the consequences to himself.
 

“No!” Sigyn shook him again, no doubt sensing the direction of his thoughts. “You mustn’t seek vengeance for this! It was prophesied and it is done. It is terrible that Fenrir was killed, but to seek vengeance against all the Aesir for something that was prophesied will bring tragedy down upon your head. Upon our heads.”

He met her eyes, then, aware of the fear within them, but not feeling it as sharply as he might have had the beast within him not been howling.

He was Loki. He was vengeance. He was balance.
 

No matter what it meant to him—to her—he must put the other gods in their place. What he planned would bring dire consequences for him, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was how he was made. It was how he was raised.
 

Though not all gods were born as children—some arrived in their afterworlds in adult form as the creation of mortal belief—Loki had been born as a child. Daily, his father had impressed upon him the importance of his purpose—standing up to oppressors, being the hope of the downtrodden—and Loki had listened. This always came first—above friends, family, himself. If it made him selfish, so be it. There was no changing him.

“I can see in your eyes that you’re going to do something rash.” Desperation laced her voice. “Please. Not yet. I understand that you must seek your vengeance. Fenrir deserves it. But bide your time. Anything bad that happens to the other gods will be laid at your door—rightfully so. Just wait until you can have your vengeance in secret. Save yourself. They’ve already taken your aetherwalking. You know that going up against all of them alone will only end in tragedy.”

“I have no choice.”

“If something happens to you, I will be utterly devastated. To seek vengeance now would be so selfish. You rebel against fate, Loki, but you don’t do it wisely. You are too eager to risk it all, to sacrifice not only yourself, but everyone around you. You would serve your own ends at the expense of us. At the expense of me!”

At the sight of her face, the useless organ within his chest thundered as if it wanted to break free of the cage of his ribs. “You’re the only one who’s ever seen me as a whole person, as not just the trickster with a vital role to play in the grand scheme of the world. But I’m afraid you’re wrong.”

“You’re like a wave that cannot stop. You hurtle forward on your path regardless of what is in front of you. Eventually, you’ll crash into the rocks and shatter. And I care for you, Loki. That would crush me as it would crush you.”

Something is terribly wrong.
The great hall loomed empty and cavernous. No sign of life except for the dogs who snored in front of the hearth. Worse, Loki had not met her at the stable an hour ago as they had planned. Never had he missed one of their daily meetings. Until today.

Something had happened to him. It was the only explanation. Ever since their argument, he had been distant. He’d been as kind as ever, but his thoughts had been far away. She swallowed the fear that wanted to push its way out of her throat as a sob and ran from the hall.

She had to find him. And the other gods. Oh, fates, what had they done to him? She found a quiet patch of grass and drew her staff, tried to channel her power of prophesy.

Nothing. Of course she wasn’t calm enough. How could she ever be calm enough in the face of these fears? She opened her eyes and glanced around the dark night. A flash of movement caught her eyes. A maid running toward the great hall.

“Bridgit!” she called. “Where is everyone?”

The maid spun and cast a wild glance at Sigyn. “At the grove of the hot springs. Oh, my lady, it is terrible. Loki has killed Baldr.”

Sigyn’s heart fell to her feet as fear streaked along her skin like an icy wind. She set off toward the grove, a dreadful place that she hadn’t visited in years, pushing herself until the breath sawed in and out of her lungs like fire. The slender claws of tree limbs scratched at her face as she tore through the forest.

A crowd roared. Her fear spiked.

Loki. No!
Only one thing could get the gods so riled.

Blood.

She stumbled over a rock and fell to her knees. By the time she righted herself, she caught sight of bodies moving toward her through the dark forest. She scrambled back behind the trunk of a large oak and tried to stifle her heaving breaths. If they were all leaving, she didn’t want them to see her. They’d expect her to return to the hall with them. But she had to continue on toward the grove.

Loki would be there. Seconds took hours as she waited for the procession to pass. Her mother, all the other high gods, and everyone else she’d ever known walked by. She stiffened when Freya crossed in front of her rock, praying desperately to fate not to be seen.

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. The last of the gods had made their way past her hiding space and she didn’t have time to ponder her feelings. Not when Loki needed her.

She pushed her way through the last of the forest until she came upon the grove. Moonlight shone down, illuminating the naked, chained form of Loki. Relief rushed over her when she saw no blood or bruises upon the broad muscles that stretched across his prone form.
 

A gasp escaped her. He was beautiful. She’d never seen him unclothed before, but this was even more than she’d imagined. He lay upon a great rock, the steam of the hot springs rising behind him, his hands and feet bound.

She had no idea why he wasn’t injured if this was his punishment for his crime against the gods, but she was too grateful to wonder why. She raced on unsteady feet toward him, stumbling when a roar rent the night.

Loki.
He had made that dreadful sound. He writhed upon the great rock, his muscles bunched with pain.

Frantic, she glanced around for the threat. Her eyes alighted upon a great snake bound to the tree above Loki, venom dripping from its fangs onto Loki’s exposed chest. A scream escaped her as she stumbled toward him, reaching her hands out to catch the venom before it dripped on him again.

“No!” His roar rent the night and his wild gaze met hers as a burning pain tore through her palms and streaked up her arms.

She collapsed to her knees, the pain so fierce that it stole the breath from her lungs. Sigyn wanted to scream, to release the pain that burned her hands and arms, but nothing could escape her lips. Her eyes closed.

Minutes or seconds later, she had no idea, she opened her eyes to see Loki staring down at her from his prison on the rock. Pain twisted his features, regret shone from his eyes.

“Go,” he rasped, appearing exhausted from the effort of speaking instead of screaming in pain. “Go from here.”

She pushed herself up from the dirt and leaned over him, her tears dripping onto his cheeks.

“Go.” His voice was so rough it was almost gone.

“Never. I’ll get you out of—”

His roar of pain rent the night, his face twisted in anguish as his muscles bunched.
 

The snake.
It was dripping poison more quickly now. Her heart raced as misery and fear bombarded her. She had to catch the poison. She had to.

It took precious seconds of concentration to draw her staff, but eventually she managed to conjure a large bowl from the rock at her feet. She thrust it beneath the poison. As the vile stuff was diverted from Loki’s flesh, his roars ceased. But his muscles remained bunched and his eyes glazed with pain.

He breathed but he was no longer here with her. The poison had dripped onto his chest for so long that it had burned a hole to his heart. She’d experienced only the tiniest drop on her hand, yet much of his chest was eaten away. She still felt shaky and ill from the pain, as if the poison had seeped into her blood. No wonder he was unconscious. The seconds of reprieve that he’d had to tell her to leave had been the
only
reprieve he’d had.

Would he ever recover?

A drop of poison fell to the wound on his chest and sizzled. He seized. She glanced up to see that her bowl was overflowing.
 

No.
 

Hurriedly, she dumped the contents of the bowl onto the ground and thrust it back beneath the snake’s near-constant stream of poison. But not before more poison dripped into his grievous chest wound and he writhed in pain. How long had she been unconscious? Was he still alive—though barely—because he was a full god?

Whatever the reason, she tried to be grateful that his breathing hadn’t stopped. But it was so ragged and weak that it might as well have. His beautiful face was twisted with pain, pale and streaked with sweat. The gleaming black hair that was normally so lovely was lank and dim against the stone.
 

Soon, the bowl would fill with poison and she’d have to empty it again. She glanced at the grievous wound on his chest, wondering how much more he could withstand. He was a god. Immortal. Could this kill him? Would it matter, when the punishment itself was so terrible?

Oh, Loki. What have you done?
 

And what would she do? Already, her arms were becoming weak. The poison that had dripped onto her hands was certainly affecting her. Eventually she would pass out from exhaustion.
 

Her gaze darted around the great stone. She would have to break his bonds.

Defy the gods and you will never become one of them
, a small voice whispered from within.
 

If she did this, would she gain what she sought?

Loki moaned and her eyes zipped to him. She forced the doubt to the back of her mind. She had to help him. No matter the consequence. Still, a tiny part of her seethed that he’d put her in this position. But she cared for him. She must help him.

She bit her lip and pondered her options, which were few. Finally, she reached for her staff, careful to balance the bowl with one hand.

How would she ever manage a spell in these conditions? She fumbled to find her focus, to remember the techniques that would force apart his bonds and allow him to go free. Sweat poured from her as she tried to force her magic into the iron, to break it apart through the force of her will alone. Her knuckles whitened on her staff as she gripped it, desperately attempting to draw power from the wood.

Nothing.

She glanced at the huge snake that draped across the overhead branches. It eyed her with a fearsome yellow gaze. She hated the idea of harming an animal, but there was no help for it.
 

As she balanced the bowl beneath its venom, she directed her staff at the snake and forced a jet of flame at it. The trick was a new one she’d just learned, but the blaze was fierce enough that it should obliterate the snake.

It bounced off, and the snake remained unharmed. It struck out at her, stopping just short of her face. She lunged backward, barely managing to avoid spilling the bowl of poison.
 

Freya.
The snake was Freya’s creation. Her magic wouldn’t work against her mother’s.

Despair streaked through her as she returned the bowl to its position beneath the calmed snake. Panting, she watched as the poison in the bowl neared the rim. Her mind scrambled for another spell, another bit of magic that she might use.

Out of time. She pulled the bowl away as carefully as she could, not wanting to jostle the terrible contents, and dumped it in the dirt. Loki roared as poison, fresh from the snake’s fangs, poured into his gaping chest wound. It was as if the snake watched her and waited.

She thrust the bowl beneath the snake’s jaws once more. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she searched her soul for the answer. Her soul was the source of her power, imbued with the magic of Freya. It should have the answers. It
should.

She sobbed when nothing came to her. She’d pushed all her power into the iron chains, given it everything she had to tear them apart. Yet they hadn’t broken. Her power hadn’t been enough to break the gods’ enchanted iron and she couldn’t defeat her mother’s snake.

If she couldn’t break the chains, Loki would have to escape them. The only way to do that would be to aetherwalk. Traveling through the aether, that ephemeral substance that connected Midgard and the afterworlds, was a skill possessed by all gods and demigods.

But Loki’s ability had been bound by the gods.

There was only one thing she could do to save him. And it would doom her if she were caught. Did she care for him that much? Enough to risk everything she’d worked for? Everything she wanted?

The bowl of venom overflowed again, brushing the tips of her fingers and splashing onto Loki’s chest until he roared. Pain shot up her arms and she stumbled, barely directing the spilling bowl of venom onto the dirt.

Sweat stung her eyes as she cradled her injured hand against her chest, fighting the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. She barely had the strength to extend her shaking arm toward the snake to catch the poison with her bowl.

The tremors wouldn’t cease, nor would Loki’s shudders of pain. His eyes were rolled back in his head and his lips parted in a grimace.