by Evie Kent
“Nora!”
She wasn’t supposed to come back.
She was supposed to go home. Escape while she had the chance. Live a normal life. Marry some fucking human who would never quite satisfy her like I could—not sexually or emotionally, not able to challenge her or open her mind, but that was just the way of the world. I would rather her endure that than this. This was madness.
This was—
“Nora!” I tore into the bars of my cell, ripping them out root and stem, hurling the charged metal aside. I so rarely uttered her name aloud. Always firebird. My firebird. But now I couldn’t stop, as if screaming her name for all the realms to hear would bring her back—would stop her pain. The witch held her up by her hair, spilling her life into that bowl. My sacrificial lamb. My darling girl who had fought so hard to survive… dying. For me. For my life to go on.
Fuck that.
I didn’t want that.
I had never wanted that.
She wasn’t supposed to love me this much.
No one had ever loved me this much.
When I’d wrenched the last of the bars away, finally able to pass through, I ran. I used my legs as I hadn’t in her absence, power humming through me, dormant strength rousing as I charged forward.
And as always, the invisible barrier stopped me. I pounded against it, even as it shred my hands and painted the ground with golden blood. I screamed. Roared. Descended into madness as the witch cut Nora’s throat again, just to bleed her faster, her beautiful red life force filling the bowl, spilling over the side. She spoke hurriedly, this witch dressed like her ancestor, a vision of an age gone by. Not once did she dare meet my eyes, nor did she flinch at my rage. She did her duty, performed the rite.
Killed my firebird.
I pounded and pounded against the ward, against the unseen bastard that had been my gatekeeper, my warden, these last eight centuries—until suddenly, I fell through.
Gone was the wall made of steel, iron, and stone. Just air now. It hit me all at once as I tumbled to the ground, the surge of my power, the return of every last ability I had been gifted with upon the day of my birth. When I pushed up, the mountain stone cracked beneath my palms, strength beyond measure at my fingertips again. The runes littered across the ground faded, each one briefly catching fire before burning out, all turning to ash and blowing away in the evening breeze.
Centuries ago, I would have stilled. I would have sat back and reveled in all the divine glory flowing through my veins once more.
Tonight, I lurched forward, scrambling for Nora’s limp body, her eyes half-closed, her beautiful lips parted—her throat slashed open. Knocking the ceremonial bowl aside—it slammed into the wall, obsidian shattering in an instant—I rolled her corpse onto her back, planted a hand over her neck, and sealed the wound. For so long, I’d really needed to dig deep to heal, concentrate, give a bit of myself to my victim. It came so effortlessly now; just a touch and her skin wove itself back together, smooth and pristine, like there had never been trauma.
Teeth gritted, I tipped her head back by the chin, then breathed a lungful of godly air into her mouth. Watched her chest rise out of the corner of my eye. Listened—so frantically straining—for the tepid beat of her heart. Nothing. The last eight centuries had taught me patience beyond measure; I did it again, and again, and again, willing her to fucking live, all the while knowing three other entities controlled that. Had they severed her lifeline yet? Cut clear through the strands of Nora Olsen’s destiny?
Had they even survived Ragnarok?
Maybe there was a chance—
Thump.
Thump-thump.
A heartbeat. Slow and failing—but there.
“There you are,” I whispered, cupping her cheeks and wishing she would flutter back to me. “There you are, firebird.”
Only she wouldn’t. This mortal girl who loved me enough to die for me—she clung to life so tenuously that perhaps even a slight jostle would kill her all over again. If I wanted her back, there was no time to waste. Vengeance for all those who had wronged me, for the village of false worshippers beyond the mouth of this cave, would have to wait.
When had that ever been the case—putting the needs of another over my own?
Never.
Only for her.
Only for my—
“I’m sorry that I had to do that.” I slowly lifted my gaze from Nora’s perfect, lifeless face to the witch towering over us. Sigils tattooed her hands, symbols I barely recognized anymore. Protection, probably. Like little marks and letters would keep her safe from my influence, from my profound ability to worm into a human’s mind and extract what I needed. It was fucking laughable. As I placed a hand on Nora’s chest, tracking the barely there rise and fall of her breath, the witch fiddled with her nails and cleared her throat. Bolstered herself. Attempted to sound strong as she said, “I didn’t make the spell… didn’t set the requirements. But I know it. And you need to remember that if you don’t do good like she said, I know exactly how to put you back in here.”
Modern creatures had become so bold as to threaten a god—a god in possession of his full abilities, at that. Fire scorched up my throat, clouded my vision and tinged it with red, and I rose swiftly, too swiftly for her to track if the shock in her eyes suggested anything. Words failed me, as they tended to do around Nora, and I lashed out childishly.
Shoved her.
As if that proved a point.
The witch sailed back and crashed into the wall, her skull cracking on impact.
A little tendril of satisfaction unfurled inside me but was quickly quashed by guilt.
For I had failed her already, my darling firebird. That wasn’t good.
Sneering, I stalked across the cave and pressed a finger to the witch’s forehead, healing her just enough to close her split skull, mend the swollen brain inside. Not enough to bring her back to consciousness; she could wake up on her own, alone in this dreadful place, just as I had for eight hundred years.
I forgot her the second I turned away, wholly fixed on Nora, on her fragile, naked form lying there amidst ritual incense and scattered herbs. Snatching her jacket along the way, I wrapped her up, then gently cradled her in my arms and stood. No time to waste. Her heartbeat had slowed down again; perhaps her lifeline hadn’t been fully severed, perhaps I had mended it just enough to keep her a few moments more, but that strand was fragile and tenuous.
Move, you fucker.
I charged out of the mountain for the first time in eight centuries, and despite my best intentions, I floundered in the free air. So crisp and clear and cold. All that I had imagined it would be—but tainted by the smoke rising from the village. Nora and the witch had set fires to keep them busy. I grinned down at her, at the way the breeze rustled her hair, at the gentle snowflakes descending upon her pale flesh. Clever girl, my firebird.
Dead ahead, a figure stuttered to a halt in my line of sight.
Oskar.
Oskar and the leg bone that would never fully heal. All the color drained from his face when our eyes met, and he stumbled backward, the gun in his hand useless. The affectionate lift of my lips that I reserved for Nora twisted into something cruel and jaded, and I exhaled a curt breath at him, as if extinguishing a candle. A gale-force wind dragged him off and over the elevated path, and he cried out for his father, for me—Lord Loki, please!—as he pitched into the rocky greenery below. The snow might cushion his fall; I certainly didn’t give a fuck about his fate.
My eyes drifted to Ravndal, to the few buildings in need of repair after the witch’s flames. With another breath, the fires reignited, blazing bright blue and ripping into previously unscathed structures. All but one.
Lucille.
I feel you, sweet crone. Her presence was a familiar one, and I spared her house in the center of the village, vowing to return when my firebird was well.
Carefully, cautiously, I set Nora down, mindful of her head, her delicate human bones. And for th
e first time in eight hundred years, I shifted. Simple as breathing, I transformed from half-jötunn god to a giant hawk. So many times, in the dead of night, I’d feared that if I ever got my powers back, I would have forgotten how to use them. But they were a part of me, and they came forth with ease, simple and comforting, like I was finally home.
I owed it all to her.
To the little human who had kicked me in the face when we first met, called me every name in the book, screamed herself hoarse at me.
Loved me.
Gently, I coiled my talons around her, cradling her, and then took flight.
All the while hoping the trio I sought, the women I needed, had survived the apocalypse that I, Loki Laufeyjarson, most certainly didn’t start.
Not in its entirety, anyway.
31
Loki
Yggdrasil had seen better days, but the fact that the world tree still had the odd green leaf here and there clinging to its charred branches told me the Norns were alive and well. They were, after all, tasked with caring for the great tree. Each day they watered its roots, taking from Urðarbrunnr, the Well of Fate, to keep the tree satiated. During Ragnarok, I’d no clue what had become of the mistresses of fate, the trio of wise women who wove the tapestries of life for all living things, but having left Midgard behind with a very human woman in my clutches, the occasional rustling leaf suggested they had survived.
That they still maintained their sacred duty.
There were three such wells scattered across the roots of this great tree. On its branches sat the nine realms, from Asgard, land of the godly Aesir, right down to Hel, domain of the dead—ruled over by my darling daughter, Hel.
Who…
Had survived the apocalypse?
No idea, really. We hadn’t exactly kept in touch, even before the end of days.
Urðarbrunnr nestled within the roots that fed Asgard, situated on what had once been a great green plain, the well a sprawling sapphire-blue spring. The Norns—Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld—dwelled within that territory, playing with fate and weaving lives together.
Tearing them apart, too.
Humans had a great deal of respect for those three. I, on the other hand, had once been accused of meddling too much in their tapestries.
Our relationship had always been… tensely cordial at best.
Yet now it needed to be something more, something deeper. For without them, my firebird would perish for good.
After traversing the celestial paths that wound along the trunk of the world tree, guided by starlight, by the colorful swirl of distant galaxies, I veered hard to the left, tucked Nora into my underbelly, and dove into the root in question. All the realms had doors. All the roots had passages. All the branches had an interior full of riches and dangers that few dared trod.
You just needed to know where to find them.
Fortunately, I’d had plenty of experience stabbing at the world tree all by my lonesome until something finally opened.
A gust of damp, musty air greeted me on the other side. Leaving the ether behind, I crossed into the root—and found the realm untouched. Asgard had suffered greatly during Ragnarok, the ancient halls in smoldering heaps, the meadows scorched, the earth dead, the Aesir gone and scattered.
Here, the Norns had maintained their little patch of territory well, hoarded it as one does the most sacred treasure. I landed upon lush grassland, soft and pliant as it had been when I’d last visited centuries before Ragnarok even entered anyone’s mind. The thick green blades cushioned Nora’s failing body and tickled my feet after I changed back into my normal form. Hoisting her into my arms, I headed straight for the glittering sapphire in the distance, with its cluster of primordial rowan trees in which the women built their hall. The plain stretched out to the horizon and beyond, empty but fertile beneath a hazy hickory sky.
With Nora in my arms, limp and wrapped in her Midgardian coat, I marched the rest of the way. There was something to be said about approaching the Norns with humility, and if I touched down in my hawk form, enormous and imposing, I might send them scattering on the wind. So I approached on their terms, shirtless, barefoot, tromping through the long grasses and clutching a human. Nora’s chest rose and fell in uneven, stuttering beats, her heart rate way down by the time I reached the edge of the glittering spring.
The trio of women gathered at the shoreline, filling their buckets, eyeing me warily in silence as I slowed my march to a cautious stroll, head slightly dipped. They never aged, these three, though occasionally they altered their appearance—all for dramatics. Bearing the same olive-skinned complexion, they wore identical black gowns and sported dark blonde hair, though they had each styled it to their liking.
Urd sat nearest to me, her hair in a tight bun on top of her head, her feet in the spring, her violet eyes on Nora. Said to be the eldest of the trio, she controlled the past—what once was. Beside her crouched her sister Verdandi, her hair in a long braid down her back. Controller of the now, decider of human fate, she studied my figure with only mild interest.
Skuld rose to her feet when I finally stopped before them, seeming to look right through me and Nora—but of course. With her hair wild and free, her skin lightly freckled in comparison to her sisters, she wove the future, crafted tapestries for what was to come.
She was usually the most upset with my meddling.
Today would undoubtedly be no different.
Mouth stretched into a warm smile, I dipped down, about to spew some formal greeting that would have appeased the Norns centuries ago, when Urd sighed and pulled her feet from the spring.
“Loki.” She crooned my name like a chastisement. “You cannot escape fate.”
“It was hers to die for you,” Verdandi added. Her gaze dropped to Nora, neither pitying nor apologetic—frank, matter-of-fact as always. Death rarely moved these three, not when they saw every death coming long before it ever happened.
“Yes, well…” I stood taller, sensing a groveling approach wasn’t the way to go about this. “Change of plans, ladies, oh wise ones, sisters of fate.” Carefully, I set Nora at the edge of the well, wishing that it was a healing spring instead, that one sip would cure her of every ailment, including death. Her head lolled to the side when I stepped back, her eyes closed, expression peaceful. It pained me not to touch her, to monitor her fading heart, her cooling flesh, but I couldn’t give myself away—couldn’t let them see how desperately I needed this favor, how desperately I needed her. Hands clasped behind my back, I faced the sisters again with a slight arch of my brows. “I’ve a deal to make.”
Urd and Verdandi exchanged fleeting glances, their mouths quirked as if to say Of course you do, liesmith. I’d been known for my deals across all the realms, little tricks and ploys to wriggle my way out of trouble. Not today. This wasn’t for me.
And it wasn’t for the sisters of the past and present to decide, but for the mistress of the future. I looked to Skuld, the supposed maiden of the bunch, but resisted the urge to really push. No gentle nudging of my influence would sway her—or any of them, for that matter. These three were primordial beings, separate from gods and infinitely more powerful. My wheedling would be like a fly pestering a bear.
As always, I’d have to rely on my words.
Some things never changed.
“It cannot be done, Loki, son of Laufey,” Skuld remarked, her hair ruffling in the soft winds, her tone annoyingly final. I gritted my teeth, a flash of anger sparking in my gut.
“You haven’t even heard my proposal in its entirety—”
“We do not bring humans back from the dead,” Urd rasped. She shook her head, like she felt sorry for me, and I gnashed my teeth further, pain rippling through my jaw.
“Not for you,” Verdandi added.
“Not for anyone,” Skuld concluded. I rolled my eyes. Dramatic creatures, the Norns.
“Weave her strand with mine.” Kindred spirits, we four, for I too had a flair for the dramatic. A stunned silence
panged between us, and I looked to the rowan trees. Instead of leaves through their many branches, tapestries of every color hung, woven together to create the fabric of humanity, of all living things. Slowly, the strings would thin and eventually snap, thus ending a human’s life. Rumors ran wild through Asgard that there were strings dedicated to the gods, too—that no one could escape fate. Studying the patterns now, the frayed strings spindling away from the others, the variety of color and depth, I still didn’t know the answer to that one.
But I was taking a risk.
For I had been touched by fate, just like Nora, and these three wenches were responsible.
“Weave her strand with mine,” I said again, firmer this time, taking a step toward the harbingers of destiny and doom. “I’ve enough life to share with her. She isn’t dead yet.”
“She isn’t alive either,” Verdandi fired back. Panic skittered down my spine, cold and painfully present, but I pressed on, ignoring it.
“It’s not difficult—”
“What you propose is to craft another god,” Urd remarked, her thick brows knitted. “It cannot be done.”
“Weaken me, then.” I offered it without hesitation. “Make me human, just like her.”
Nora had sacrificed everything for me—for the chance that I might walk out of that fucking mountain. For all we knew, the spell could have failed. The witch could have betrayed us. But she loved me. She gave all that she had for my happiness, my life. She had such faith in me, such trust, and I owed her the same.
If it meant I lost everything, became average and ordinary, powerless after just a taste of all that I possessed… So be it. For love, trust, respect, honor—I would do the right thing.
For once.
Urd and Verdandi exchanged hurried glances, while their sister Skuld appeared very faraway, her eyes glossed over, the white swallowing the purple iris, the black pupil. Studying the future, what impact my downgrade from god to mortal might have on me—on the greater plans for the nine realms.
“You are needed, son of Laufey,” she deduced after a dreadfully long time. Blinking away the fog of the future, her eyes returned to normal, to the violet she shared with her sisters. I cocked my head to the side, holding her gaze and smirking. Well then. Now I had leverage.