PART FOUR
Thor’s coronation was supposed to have been his day of triumph. Instead, he was fighting his way through Jotunheim, still a prince, with his band of friends and—well, Loki was probably around somewhere. He hardly heard their cries as he made his way deeper into the ruined palaces, only noticing as the wave of bodies thinned until he was walking quite alone through entirely silent halls. Something about the place made him feel uneasy, but he told himself he did not feel a thing. He wandered, trying to find his way back out, but only getting—he could admit at least to himself—more and more hopelessly lost. And then he heard a sound, very faint, as though someone were speaking.
Clutching Mjolnir tightly to hand, he crept forward toward the source of the noise, which seemed to be coming from around the next corner. When he turned it, weapon at the ready, the one thing he had not expected to see was… this.
Sitting at a table, a woman—no Jotun woman, she might have been an elf or a dwarf—was having tea, chattering quietly to her companion sitting across the table. It was the companion which froze Thor in his tracks. Dressed in the finest clothing, it seemed to be a life-sized doll, draped over a chair with one hand touching the cup in a parody of life, as though having just set it down. Startled, the woman looked towards him and regarded him for a moment.
“You’re prince Thor, aren’t you,” she said at last. “If only your brother didn’t have those scars he could have been useful.”
Stepping into the room in sudden anger, Thor brandished his weapon. “Do not speak of Loki in that manner,” he growled, but the woman was already entirely concerned with her imaginary conversation. He stood awkwardly for a moment outside the scene, and then the woman turned to him again. “Yes, why don’t you sit down? Here,” she said, standing up and pulling out a chair, “I do insist.”
“My lady, I really must…”
“Oh, do stay for a bit. My son would like to meet you very much.” She looked warmly at the doll, a glance which Thor mirrored cautiously. He sank down onto the very edge of the chair, hand still gripping tightly to his hammer. The woman was obviously mad; but she seemed harmless enough—was she a prisoner in this house?
Hardly paying attention to her chatter at first, he eventually found himself taking notice of it—she was surprisingly witty and with a sharp sense of humor. Forgetting himself for a moment, he laughed.
Farbauti had been watching Thor closely throughout tea. Loptr was interested in him, so there must be something more to the brute than met the eye. True, he was surprisingly courteous, but that was hardly worthy of note—she found herself enjoying the company; these days she hardly ever had to entertain anyone who wasn’t Loptr—and, eventually, she eased enough to even begin bantering with him.
Then he laughed, and her heart stopped. That smile—like the sun through a gemstone.
She had had the wrong prince all the time.
Beside her, she could feel Loptr straighten in interest, and she slowly dropped her hand to the knife by her empty plate, the other coming up to touch the amulet around her neck.
Something in her manner must have alerted him to the change in tone, for he paused for a moment and gave her a concerned glance. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Entirely fine,” she answered—and for the first time she could remember, she was.