The Yellow-Eyed King
There’s a central path running through the marketplace that we’ve walking briskly along for the past fifteen minutes or so, and an opening in the roots of the tree slowly comes into sight along a long, sharp turn in the path. My attention has been split between conversing with Olen, looking around for Loki, and catching glimpses of what’s beyond the opening in the tree. So far, I can only make out rows of bright lights stretching up in the hall that’s visible beyond the edges of the threshold.
Finally, we come to a beautiful courtyard at the base of the tree. In width, it matches the size the opening, and the roots comprising the threshold stretch down and form the walls of the courtyard on either side, before extending into the marketplace behind us. Tiled floors flow in and out of the entry into the tree, and all the glowing, mechanical platforms I’d seen from far away are directly above my head now. I look up as we pass under the gargantuan walls of bark and metallic veins, and in a moment of sheer sensory overload, I feel my face growing heavy with astonishment…
All the detail, color, and textures of the tree are as perfect as a drawing, and there’s hardly a ceiling in the hall beyond the entry. Multitudes of twinkling lights are built into wrinkles of the walls, and spiral upward to meet high above our heads. Meanwhile, the walls near the floor are covered with beautiful murals and metallurgic decor—which, as an artist, I can see were built intentionally along the natural, elegant patterns of the tree bark, to highlight them as perfect complements to the delicate structures of their glowing technologies.
Another tall passage to my right leads into another hall, but Olen leads me straight to the other side of the room. His pace slows as we near it, and comes to a stop just outside a crowd of people.
“I’ll need a moment,” he says warmly, taking my hand in his and planting a small kiss on it. “Please wait for me here.”
“Sure,” I nod friendlily, and watch for a moment as he turns and walks away.
As soon as he disappears around the edge of the crowd—along with the other two or three sentries that were following us—I turn slowly and start glancing around for Loki, while maintaining an outward appearance of composure and disinterest.
“Loki,” I whisper sharply. I don’t even know if he can hear me at such a low volume—but I suppose not, since everything around me goes on as usual. No sudden movement, or even a single glance in my direction from any of the finely dressed people standing dispersedly around the room. If Loki’s here, he’s definitely good at pretending he’s not.
“Her name is Lara,” I suddenly hear Olen’s voice from across the room, and turn to see the crowd opening up in front of me.
Now there are eyes on me—more than I’m comfortable with. One particularly yellow pair of eyes stands out among the rest, belonging to an older man sitting atop an elevated throne. The throne itself has a number of glowing, silvery-white veins extending overhead like a multitude of horns, and snaking along the stratum of the tree above. And there, just two feet above his head, is where they meet behind a small, glass sphere perched at the top of the throne.
My muscles tense as my eyes land on the sphere, and at the familiar white light emanating brightly from the core. A sudden movement breaks my focus on it, and I look down to see Olen extending a hand out to me from beside the throne.
I glance back once last time—one last chance, Loki…
Nothing.
I sigh quietly—onward with our improvisation, I suppose.
It takes a forcible effort to pull the two corners of my mouth into a smile as I tread forward nervously, and take one heavy step onto the dais surrounding the throne.
The closer I get, the further I want to be. Olen’s curled fingers extend outward as I approach him slowly, and raise my hand up to him. With one arm tucked behind his back, he takes my fingers and pulls me forward gently, until I’m standing just in front of the yellow-eyed king—at least, I assume this is the king. His tattoos are different from everyone else’s, and they’re more than simple stripes—they’re white, curved, and cover the near entirety of his exposed skin.
“So,” a deep, grizzly voice pours out of his throat as he looks me up and down. “You’re in search of the god stone?”
I glance at Olen, who tilts his head approvingly, with sharp conviction glinting in his eyes.
“That’s right,” I say flatly, practically whispering.
The king gestures toward me annoyedly and rolls his eyes toward Olen. “And what makes you think this woman can find it? Thousands have tried before her, thousands will once more,” he says, turning back to me. “If you come as aid from another land, I would have you at the front of our war, not wasting time and resources on a pointless quest. Tell me, where are you from?”
I glance at Olen with a furrowed brow, but he doesn’t even flinch responsively. He never mentioned a war.
“I’m from…” I pause, trying to remember what Loki had called it. “Midgard.”
The king’s eyes narrow dubiously, as Olen steps forward and places a heavy, tight grip on my shoulder.
“She claims to have spoken to the god stone,” he says matter-of-factly. The king peers down at me thoughtfully.
“I did,” I say resolutely, trying to hide the flicker of embarrassment in my chest. “And I understand if you don’t believe me—I’m here now because Olen asked me to come. I thought I could find answers to... Well, everything.”
I look up at Olen's angled profile as they exchange glances, though I can’t make out their tacit dialogue.
The king exhales frustratedly. “I’ve no help to offer, but answers—that, I have. If what you say is true, then I may have something for you. Something that would be of better use in your hands than it is in ours. If you are truly destined to find the god stone, then it is yours to keep," he pauses, lowering his chin. "Can you guess what it is?”
My eyes flicker up toward the sphere above his head.
“That’s right,” he says, following my eyes. “Do you know what it is?”
I part my lips hesitantly as I peer up at it. “I recognize the light, it’s the same one I saw in—” I pause. “In my vision.”
It feels like every time I open my mouth to talk, I’m walking a thin line between sense and insanity. Like a never-ending, automatic spell check in my head—except it’s more of a don’t-sound-like-a-crazy-person check.
“I see,” the king says dryly, standing from the throne and gesturing to the sphere. “Well go on and take it then, if you will.”
A long purple robe trails behind his towering stature as he steps to the side—while I stand motionlessly, wrestling with uncertainty as I glance between him and Olen. My mind’s been so occupied with the conversation itself, that I hadn’t realized just how evaluative Olen’s expression has been—and the king’s now, too.
“If that’s not the god stone,” I ask reluctantly, turning my head toward Olen. “What is it?”
“Think of it as a tracking device,” he says. “If what you say is true, it will help you find the stone.”
I lower my chin suspiciously. “And… you just want to give it to me?”
“You don’t strike me as a liar, Lara—but if you are,” his voice drops low. “I’m not concerned with being unable to take it back.”
I swallow a hard, nervous lump at the thought. Not exactly encouraging, but given my limited options, I suppose I have no choice but to play along. I take a shallow breath and step up to the throne, trying to mask my apprehension. I glance down at the smooth, purple cushion comprising the seat, and slowly, my eyes trail upward over the gleaming, white metal. Finally they land on the sphere, and even now, I still can’t make out what’s on the inside.
I raise a knee slowly onto the cushion—allowing a few seconds for them to stop me—and grab one of the silver stiles, pulling myself forward until I can reach the sphere with an extended arm. The closer I get, the faster the heat and color start to drain from my face. I wrap my fingers slowly against the glass, which is warm under my skin and humming with energy. I pause for a moment, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come, before tightening my fingers over it and pulling hard.
The glass scrapes against the rough socket with every twist and tug, as it slowly comes loose. All the while, I feel the vibration growing stronger and stronger—like the socket was keeping it under control—and with one final squeeze to pull it loose, light flashes from the center, and the glass immediately grows hot under my skin.
Before I can pull away, pieces of debris explode into the air, and something shoots out from the center of the sphere with great momentum—piercing the palm of my hand and pushing it backward into the air—with me flying back after it. I land with a forceful thump at the edge of the dais, where my upper arm takes the impact instead of my face, and the back of my injured hand bounces against the corner of the dais.
My last thread of self restraint snaps as I roll over, gasping at the electrifying pain shooting up my arm. I slide my body forward with my elbows and lift myself onto my knees, crouched and clutching my wrist as hot, searing pressure concentrates in the palm of my bloody hand. Tears pool in my eyes as I turn my head sharply, and glare up Olen with an intense fury—ignoring the gasps and indiscernible cries all around me.
“What is this!?” I hiss.
With arms lowered defensively at his side, Olen peers back at me—eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Intense shock suddenly breaks out in his expression as his eyes dart down from my face to my hand. He steps back as I look down, seeing small flurries of light quickly seeping from the wound, and snaking up my arms. Streams of warmth spread with them under my skin, reaching up into my neck, and finally, to my eyes. With a quick blink, the world around me disappears into an abrupt darkness.
My breathing stops.
The air inside my mouth is absolutely still as my eyes bolt around the space, moving at a million miles per hour. There are no more people—no recognizable faces or voices. Everything and everyone has disappeared, and left balls of glowing string behind in the enclosure of the room. The figures shudder and shift as my eyes pass over them, sending ripples of movement throughout the rest of the interconnected webs.
I can barely feel my skin scraping against the ground as I shift against it, or hear the sound of air passing into my lungs as I finally take a shallow breath… The only sensation I still feel is the pain, reminding me that I’m still a physical being in this empty space.
In a quick, careless attempt to stand, I shuffle against the ground and accidentally clench the muscles in my right hand—gasping sharply at the subsequent bite of pain, and shut my eyes tightly. Sweat builds up over every inch of my body as I wait for it to calm, and the scene returns to normal when I open them again.
Beads of sweat roll down my face as I take several breaths, turning my head slowly and looking about, at the multitude of widened eyes staring at me in horror. After a moment of watching aimless glances and head turns, I gather enough composure to slowly lift myself onto my feet, and turn toward Olen and the king.
“What did you do to me?” I ask breathlessly, glaring at them from under the curls falling over my face—resultant from my hunched position.
Olen steps closer to me slowly, eyes wide. “No—we didn’t do this, Lara,” he says, practically whispering with astonishment. “This was its will, and now... We know for sure.”
Silence hardens around us with his unexpected pause.
“Well, I'm sure I've had enough of that,” I snap, shaking my head as I stepping back defensively. “No more riddles—you better start being specific.”
“Your connection with the god stone, our stories—it’s all real,” he says earnestly, and a smile stretches across his face. “It’s all real.”
Adrenaline barrels through my body, and the closer he gets, the more I prepare myself to lunge if he tries to make a grab at me.
Movement shudders in the corners of my eyes as I step back, off the dais. People are backing away, and I’m not sure whether they’re recoiling from me, the prince, or the guards that are now approaching me slowly on either side of him.
“Lara,” Olen raises his hands. “There’s really no need for any of this—we mean you no harm at all.”
“Oh, yeah?” I cock my head, and thrust my hand demonstrably toward him. “I’d say knowing you has been pretty fucking harmful to me.”
A meaningful look spreads across his face as he looks down at it. “This isn’t harm—this is destiny,” he says softly, and looks back up at me. “Look around you,” he says earnestly, gesturing to the crowd. “If you don’t trust me, then ask our people—they will tell you.”
Olen motions for the guards to stop approaching me. “Go on,” he says calmly, with a nod. “I mean it—ask them what this means.”
I stare at him for a moment, and reluctantly look away, toward the line of people surrounding me. A series of whispers breaks out with the sound of beads shifting metals, as people exchange glances and mumble nervously all around me. Finally, my eyes land on one woman in particular, standing in the front and staring back at me with deep intent. Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, and glances at Olen as she steps forward.
“M—my name is Lothrana,” she says nervously. “If I may speak for the crown.” She turns her head, and I look over to see Olen nodding responsively to the woman.
Her dejected expression tightens as she returns to me. The room grows silent as everyone waits for her to speak.
Finally, her lips part reluctantly. “I lost my brother,” she says with a terrible softness. “They called him a mindless brute, but… Even he couldn’t survive the front, and…”
I narrow my eyes confusedly as her voice trails off, and two glimmering pools of tears fill her eyes. After a moment of trembling lips, it’s clear that words aren’t going to come forward. I look back up at Olen, who sighs deeply with annoyance and frustration before looking back at me.
“Lara,” he says in a gentle tone. “What you have in your hand, is a single shard of the god stone.”
Silence.
“Shard?”
Olen nods. “The emblem of our history,” he says, and steps down from the dais, in front of me. My chest sinks slightly with a sigh, as I pray silently for no more rounds of pointless monologuing—maybe information I can use, this time?
"The first bearer of the god stone was a creature born of the dark realms, who could travel to worlds that no living being could reach. That is what made him an impeccable host. His name was Seron," Olen continues. "But the god stone abandoned him still, when his hunger for power grew toward limitless ambitions. It then ventured to choose a new host, and found one on the furthest living planet on the edge of the universe—ours."
I glance at the ground, remembering what the god stone said in my room—to find it at the 'edge of creation.' That must be what it was talking about.
"Seron was determined to retrieve the stone, of course." Olen continues. "But absorbing his armies, along with the life force from his body, was a feat that the bearer could not withstand... She perished," he pauses, staring at me intently.
"But through their bond, the god stone resurrected her immaterial soul with a sacrifice—a piece of itself that called back the remnants of her existence, and bonded them together into a creation of its own."
A creation of its own...
"For the god stone needs its host," he glances at my hand. "A pure, strong soul that will not be crippled by ambition, or taken by darkness. It ensures that no other being will wield all seven gems, and hold power over all living things."
Olen steps closer to me, and gestures to my hand. "And only the one living bearer can harness the full potential of the god stone—that is why the shard bonded with you. It had remained in place within that sphere for hundreds of generations. Until today."
The quiet whispers of the hall fill my ears as I stare blankly at him. And I can only imagine what he's thinking, looking at my face right now. I can't help but wonder whether he can see my disbelief, and whether he can guess that my mouth is getting dry from hanging open through all that. A moment goes by where no one talks, and I step away from him slowly as a distinct realization creeps in—that this was all a test, and Olen must not have been sure whether I'd take the shard knowing what could happen, or what it would mean.
He would’ve been right.
“I know this all must seem so deceitful,” he says, breaking the silence. “And I am truly sorry that it had to be done this way. I will have that cared for immediately,” he glances down at my hand. “But you must understand—I did tell you it would require a demonstration. And as my father said, there are enemies at our doorstep, and there have been thousands before you that have tried to find the stone. Thousands who have claimed to hear its voice and feel its presence—”
“What would you have done,” I interject, and my eyes trail up to him darkly. “If nothing happened?”
I glance at the yellow-eyed king behind him, still standing beside the throne and peering at me motionlessly. Olen’s lips close, and a faint distance settles over his face. “That doesn’t matter now.”
I part my lips. “No, I think it does.”
“I would’ve had you executed,” he says flatly, and I press my lips together in shock.
To have such a close brush with death, and not even know it… The thought of that alone has anger summoning heat and color to my cheeks—though the rest of my body is stiff as ice.
“You were the one who told me about the god stone, back in the marketplace,” I say slowly. “So that means... You knew when you told me, that there was a chance you were throwing my life away.”
He parts his lips, and nods solemnly. “I would have had to, to protect our secret.”
My eyes soften worriedly as Loki’s face appears in my mind, and I look away—scanning the crowd of unfamiliar faces. Who’s to say they won’t execute him?
“I know, you must be thinking of your friend—the man that was with you,” Olen says, and I look back at him. “I’m afraid we cannot let him go.”
I hold his gaze for a moment, and something other than anxiety starts to roil in my chest—a sort of protective instinct, fueled by the rage I’m starting to feel over all these lies and stipulations.
“No,” I growl quietly.
“I'm afraid you don’t have a choice,” Olen says solemnly.
“No you don’t have a choice,” I snap, and my voice drops low. “You want my help finding the stone? You want my help at all? Well, I’m not walking into any of this without my friend. So I’m telling you right now that any move you make against him, is a move against me—and that's not up for negotiation.”
I watch as Olen holds my gaze intently. The look in his eyes is obviously sharp disagreement, but I couldn’t care less. Hell, I thought I’d snapped when I had that panic attack, but that was nothing compared to this. This isn’t fear, or exhaustion, or shock—this is pure, unadulterated resolve pumping through me.
“Well said,” says a dulcet voice to my right.
Olen and I both turn in its direction, and a chorus of gasps arises from the crowd as Lothrana’s newly smiling visage suddenly melts away—replaced by Loki’s with a glimmer of light. Olen takes a few steps, motioning the guards to come forward as Loki raises his hands wryly, and grins.
I inhale sharply—the first deep breath I’ve taken since this started—and relief floods through my body as he steps closer to me.
“Who are you?” the softness in Olen’s voice has disappeared.
“I am Loki, Prince of Asgard,” he says matter-of-factly, and gestures to me. “And my friend, here, is under the protection of Asgard—my protection. As she so aptly phrased, any ‘advances made against her’ will be answered for—violent,” he glances at Olen. “Or otherwise untoward.”
“Your protection means nothing here,” Olen says darkly.
“You’re wrong,” I interject. “His protection means a hell of a lot more to me than yours.”
A cunning grin tugs on the corner of Loki’s mouth as he blinks at me.
“So if you want my help,” I add, exchanging glances with him. “These are my terms.”
I look u at Olen—who narrows his eyes responsively, as tension ripples through his jaw. “If this is how things must be… In exchange for your help—this is what you want?” He nods at Loki. “This man’s safety?”
I pause for a moment, looking between them. Staying alive has been my chief concern, and I have that now—at least I think I do, considering the fact that both these people have plenty of incentive to keep me alive. Not that I’d let Olen in on my awareness of that, but there’s one other thing I need…
“No,” I say sharply, lifting my chin. “I have one other thing I need. When all of this is over, I want to go home—and if you know a way, then I want you to show me.”
Loki and Olen both stare at me, their expressions unreadable. The room grows quiet around us three—a troupe of pawns, playing a game of deals and incentives. And actually, it has me wondering whether this public display is intentional—a way of backing me into a corner that would otherwise lead to a very public uprising against me.
“Very well,” Olen finally says. “In exchange, I will expect your full cooperation. Not only in finding the god stone, but using it to help us end this war.”
I nod. “Find me that stone,” I glance at Loki. “And we’ll figure out the rest.”
A subtle hint of approval flickers in Loki’s eyes as he looks back at me with his guileful grin. Of course he approves—I’ve made an active effort to keep him in the game, and protect him as well.
“I hope you know what you are doing,” says Olen, staring at Loki distrustfully.
It’s not hard to see the disconcertment in his eyes, but it doesn’t strike me as being a show for all the people surrounding us. No—trust runs deep in their eyes as well, which I can see plainly as I look around at them. Their expressions have been soft when regarding the crown, and turned aptly cold with doubt and distrust when looking at me.
And, hell… All else equal, of course I wouldn’t leave all these people to die, if there was something I could do about it. They’re not the ones who lied and manipulated me, and if there’s anything I’ve learned in my life, it’s that there are good and bad people everywhere.
“Whatever happens moving forward,” I say, still looking around at their faces, while Loki’s head turns slowly toward me. I look up and meet his pale, blue eyes for a moment, before turning back to Olen. “I’ll do my best to help your people.”
Olen peers at me for a moment, and his expression softens with a grateful nods. “I hope that’s true. And for now, we…” he pauses for a moment, and sighs. “We have rooms, and you can go to rest—I will send a healer to you in the meantime.”
Olen gestures for one of the guards to come forward, and he turns and mumbles something to them.
“Loki comes with me?” I ask intently, with a raised brow.
Tension flickers in his jaw as he looks back at me. “Yes, he goes with you,” Olen says assuredly.
I nod, while Loki and I exchange glances as the guard steps forward, asking us to follow. The last thing I see before turning away from the throne, is the king—leaning against the side of the throne, and peering at me with thinned lips, and adamant silence.
***
The rooms are on one of the topmost levels of the tree, near the branches. We passed through three different halls built into the hollow trunk, before we came to a cordless, glass elevator that would take us up to it. The car itself suspended over a small, magnetic platform built into a small corridor at the side of the hall, and up top is an opening where it’s meant to ascend.
I climb into the elevator first, flinching as it drops a little with my weight. I step toward the glass and turn as Loki follows, along with the guard. As the doors shut, and the elevator levitates up and out of the hall. I turn toward the glass and see it’s almost nighttime now, and only a few specks of the darkening sky are still visible through the branches above.
I look down, seeing my own reflection staring out at the city below, and realize that the marketplace we’d entered into was hardly the metropolis… I couldn’t have seen it from the other side of the tree, but being high up off the ground like this means looking out into a cornucopia of twinkling lights, glowing fixtures, and multitudes of elegant courtyards. Miles away, I can see variations of dim and bright lights illuminating patches of tree bark, while the same glowing red and blue veins outline the length of the trees and roots in the distance—as well as the one we’re ascending.
In the corner of my eye, I see Loki’s head turn in my direction, before peering back at the scenery behind us. I turn and look at him, seeing the sides of his face glow blue and red from the veins pulsating as we rise past them.
Finally, we both turn back as the elevator settles onto a platform with a heavy thud, somewhere near the top. A cold breeze hisses as the doors open once more, letting the icy air inside, and the guard disembarks. Loki gestures for me to step off next, and we follow as the guard turns right and leads us through a catacomb of ambient hallways lined with doors and wall lamps.
The hallway itself seems to be built along the natural shape of the branches underneath, and we tread along the curves until it begins to narrow, and the guard finally stops to open one of the doors at the very end.
Loki and I exchange glances, and watch as he turns and gestures for us to enter. I blink at the guard confusedly for a moment, wondering if they expect us both to stay in this room—but I step forward anyway, crossing over the threshold, and immediately realize that the design of this room is actually built for two guests.
From the foyer, the room splits into two curved corridors—one above, and one below. Both are ambient, just like the hallway, and fairly simple in decor: one small bed on each level, a desk, and a rug.
As I step up onto the upper level, I look up to see that a giant window comprises the wall in front of the bed—the wall to my left. Beyond the little night stand nestled on the far end of the bed, the corridor squeezes into a sharp corner, leaving no more room for furniture.
I step closer to the window, and look to see the same view I’d seen from the elevator—along with a tube-like structure directly below me, which I assume is Loki’s ‘room.’ I continue looking out at the myriad of city lights as I shuffle backward toward the bed, and plop down onto it. My body weighs heavily into the soft mattress, and just as I begin to feel a scintilla of relaxedness, I’m reminded of my accompaniment by the sudden thud of the door being shut.
I jump from the abrupt sound, and look over to see that Loki still standing there, on the foyer—also looking back at the door. I turn away slowly, listening as his boots begin sliding against the ground in my direction, and my sullen body relaxes depressively as I stare ahead into the sparkling metropolis.
“I must say,” he says amusedly as he climbs the stairs and strides toward the desk, and leans on it. “You’d make quite the politician.”
I don’t know if that was meant as a complement or a joke, but I’m in no mood to blush or laugh. I hadn’t even realized how much this entire ordeal had drained me until now, but it’s as if every ache and pain has woken up inside my body, and decided to have a dance party. The bleeding in my hand seems to have stopped, but the pain hasn’t, and I haven’t stopped trying to keep it elevated and still.
“I’m not a politician,” I say flatly—the most basic response, since I can’t gather the will to say much more. My chest sinks as I watch him step into my peripheral view, staring at me—and seemingly ready to make more conversation.
“No?” he asks. “What are you then?”
“I’m an artist,” I mumble, glancing down at my bloody hand—my drawing hand—as sadness tightens in my chest.
“An artist,” he repeats with an emphatic nod. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
I look up at him dully. “You don’t know me very well.”
Loki grins, and shrugs wryly. “Well, I know you’ve got uncanny shoulder strength—doubtlessly meant for backhanding princes—and an aptitude for drawing attention to yourself.”
My brows rise slowly as my chin tilts downward, and I stare demonstrably at him for a moment. “Right—I’ll be sure to convey your grievances to my supervisor.”
His angular faces softens with an amused grin. “It’s more of a warning than a grievance,” he says.
“Got it,” I say, looking back down. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Words are easy, execution is hard. What happened today was loud, public—and very unplanned. I couldn’t have begun to predict everything that happened, and all this really isn’t the sort of thing you get trained to anticipate and deal with in art school. With every passing minute, it just feels like the edge of the knife keeps getting sharper, and the only way out is through. Which means I have to set aside the emotions, the fantasies, and pretty much everything about me that makes me a great artist, if I want to make room for being calm and strategic in the moment—which will ultimately keep me alive.
Loki pauses for a moment, and finally steps back. “Well, alright—I sense you wish to be left alone.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, and the words flow quietly out from between my lips. In the corner of my eye, Loki stops, and turns back toward me. “I’m going it alone, just like I always have…” I mumble under my breath, and raise a hand to rub my throbbing temples.
“That’s right,” he says quietly, with a solemn nod. “Though that shouldn’t upset you—you’d be wise to accept yourself as your only advocate.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” I say, and my hand plops down on my knee as I look up at him. “You don’t have to keep reminding me that you’re not my friend.”
Loki pauses, and his brow flickers inquisitively. “Am I not?” he asks. “I believe you told them differently.”
“I told them what I had to, to keep myself—and you—alive,” I say, holding his thoughtful gaze. “Our deal still stands. You need me, and I need you. But it’s a transaction—not the sort of thing to build a friendship on.”
“No, it is not,” he says, shaking his head slowly as he glances at the ground with a raised brow. “Although, since we both seem to know the value of a worthy partner, perhaps we may agree to… advocate for one another.”
I blink, and look up at him—considering the implication.
“You just told me never to assume that I have an advocate outside myself,” I ask, after a moment of contemplation. “How do you know I won’t betray you?”
“Honestly?” Loki’s eyes narrow knowingly, and his lips curl into the faintest smile as he stares back at me for a moment. “Something in you tells me that you won’t.”
“And what’s that?”
He pauses, and tilts his head musingly. “Something reminiscent of myself.”
I knit my brows together confusedly, but look away. My eyes are getting heavier and heavier with every passing minute, and I just don’t have the energy to keep up with this conversation anymore.
“Okay, whatever you say…” I shrug, and lay a hand on the bed to push myself back further on it. My injured hand clenches accidentally from the sudden movement, and I cringe at the reawakened pain at the core of my hand.
I exhale sharply, bearing my teeth, and my shoulders sulk depressively once more as I look back down at my hand, where minute beads of blood have pooled in the spots where I reopened the wound. In the top half of my vision, I see Loki glance back at the door, before sighing with frustration and stepping toward me.
“I’ll have a look at that.”
“…What?” I ask, looking up as he turns and lowers himself down on the edge of the bed.
The mattress sinks as his weight settles into it, and he turns his head toward me—with his body still facing the window—and extends his right hand out.
I look down at it for a moment—at the callused palm, the dark green sleeve, and finally, at Loki’s blank expression.
I grimace slightly at the thought of him feeling obliged to touch my mutilated hand.
“It’s… all bloody,” I mutter reluctantly.
“I can manage,” he says with a subtle nod.
I peer at him for a moment, and finally bob my head downward in agreement. With slow, hesitant movements, I ball my left hand into a fist and press it against the blanket, lifting myself up to shift closer to him, and leaving one leg hanging off the bed. Once settled, I lift my injured hand into the air, an inch or two above his palm.
Loki’s fingers unfurl as he lifts his hand and cups the underside, gripping it lightly, to pull it closer. I cringe as he raises his other hand up next to the other, and slides his thumbs over the edges of my hand—onto the dry, scabbing edges of my palm. He runs them tenderly along the surface in a surveying manner, while faint, stinging pain breaks out over my skin, despite the gentle touch. I look up at him, at the intentness in his expression, and silence settles between us for a moment, as his eyes move slowly over each of the cuts created by the broken glass.
Finally, his lips part as he looks up, with a sharp inhale through his nostrils.
“Well,” he says, exhaling. “There are no shards in your hand, it seems they all blew past it.”
“What about the shard?”
“—All but that one,” he adds, raising a brow as he glances down at my hand, and looks back up at me. “That one has gone quite deep. Can you feel it?”
“No,” I say. “I mean.. It all hurts, there’s nothing to discern it by.”
Loki’s brow flinches contemplatively, and he glances about us for a moment, before returning to my hand with a blank expression. With one resolute blink, he slides one hand over my palm, still using the other to hold it up.
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
With a quick burst of air between his teeth, Loki shushes me.
I blink amusedly at the abruptness, and look back down at my palm. His warm fingers suddenly grow hot at the base of my wrist, and he runs them gently down the length of my hand—barely touching my skin.
A warm tension flickers in my chest as the stinging, the throbbing, and the aching sensations slowly disappear.
Finally, Loki exhales as the tips of his fingers brush over the the edge of mine.
“There,” he says, looking up at me. “That should help. And the wounds should fully close in three days’ time, with proper care. You’ll have to be careful though, else your recovery will be quite precarious. What I did only masks the pain, it does nothing else.”
I part my lips, still staring down at my hand.
“Three days?” I ask breathlessly. “That sounds too fast…”
“Not with superlative care,” he says, and leans toward me slightly. “Try not to backhand anyone for that duration.”
I look up at him, at the corners of his mouth curled with amusement. For a moment there I would’ve forgotten how to take a joke, but the look on his face does a pretty good job of lifting the tension. If I didn’t know better, I'd think some speck inside him is trying to cheer me up.
“Everyone should refrain from pissing me off for that duration,” I say laughingly as I look down at my hand, and a glimmer of lightness warms my chest—the first I’ve felt since all this happened.
Loki grins, seemingly satisfied. “Well,” he says with a single nod. “I suppose I should start that off with leaving you to rest—though in the coming days, I suggest we pay a visitation to the ground. See what else there is to learn about these people.”
"Mmm," I look up with a raised brow, and a twinkle of sly amusement. “Are we going undercover?”
Loki bobs his head approvingly. “Of course,” he says, and I watch as he slowly turns and lowers his hands to his sides—preparing to lift himself off the bed. “No other way to do it,” he grins.
In a quick impulse, I reach out and lay my left hand on his shoulder. Loki stops and glances at it quickly, before looking back at me with a questioning expression.
“What?”
I blink, and the light warmth in my chest slowly spreads into a genuine, appreciative smile across my face. Without a word, I shift onto my left knee—using the leg still hanging off the edge to lift myself slightly off the bed—and wrap one arm over his leather pauldrons in a quick embrace.
“Thanks—for my hand,” I say, and my strained breath lifts a few dark strands of hair out of place on the back of his neck. We’re both unmoving for a moment, and the roughness of his hair brushes against my cheek as I finally pull back.
His expression is practically unchanged, if not slightly surprised, as he peers back at me. I feel my cheeks flush slightly, and I take a deep breath to counter it.
“Well—kindness wasn’t part of our deal, so…” my words trail off, and silence hardens around us as I watch the sudden myriad of thoughts flutter across his eyes. Finally, he exhales lightly through his nostrils, and his look of deep contemplation settles to a relaxed acquiescence.
“Sentiment…” he mutters blankly with a tug on the corner of his mouth, and tilts his head downward with an acknowledging nod.
I furrow a brow as he stands and walks composedly across the room, without another word or looking back. His boots are heavy and loud against the steps, and after a moment, Loki disappears around the corner.
[to be continued]