Honeymoon Page 5

  “Let’s stop here,” Loki whispered. “Where we’re less exposed.”

  He sank against the wall and I sat next to him, wrapping my arm around his shoulders. His skin was disconcertingly warm.

  “Are you—”

  I felt him shake his head. “It’s the poison,” he said, his voice rattling. “I’m afraid we’ll have to wait a bit before I can get us out of here.” He turned away from me, toward the ocean. “I am very sorry,” he whispered.

  I felt for his hand in the darkness, weaving my fingers through his. “Did you know it was poison?”

  He laughed. It was a cold sound, there in the darkness of the tunnel. “Yes. But I didn’t think it would be so sudden.”

  “And the guard by the table? Did you kill him?”

  “Of course. He was holding you in a very unpleasant spell.”

  I stretched my aching legs across the damp floor of the passage, trying to decide how I felt about this. Relieved, I decided. I just feel relieved.

  “Asador said he would kill me,” I whispered.

  I thought Loki might laugh at this, but he only tightened his grip around my hand. “I’m sure he would have, if an army of Dark-elves hadn’t suddenly invaded his realm.” I felt his fingers brush my cheek. “How did you do it?”

  I took a deep breath and told him everything.

  * * * * * * *

  “But I still don’t understand,” I said, after I’d finished describing my evening with King Asador. “He seemed to think you’d...you’d promised me something. A crown?”

  My eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and I could see the faint trace of a smile on Loki’s lips.

  “And do you want to be a queen?” he asked. “The responsibility of an entire realm in your hands? The power of life and death over your subjects?”

  I shifted uncomfortably on the hard floor of the passageway. “Not really. I’d like to get that tenure-track position at Stanford. Be a professor. Get my book about the Edda published.”

  He laughed at that, a soft, intimate laugh. “Exactly. You know who wants a crown? Power hungry, megalomaniac assholes want crowns. Assholes like Asador. And they think everyone else is just like them.”

  “So Asador thinks we want a crown?”

  “Asador thinks Asgard is empty,” Loki said. “He thinks the Ӕsir have vanished, making me the most qualified person in all the Nine Realms to rule over Val-Hall. Especially if I had a wife beside me, carrying my heir. He wanted me to take the throne of Asgard, and swear my allegiance to the Light-elves. Although not in that order.”

  “So that’s what you were talking about over dinner?”

  “Mostly,” he said.

  I opened my mouth to ask what else they’d discussed, and there was a very loud explosion very close to us. Dirt and pebbles rained down from the ceiling of the passageway. Behind us, there was a rumbling sound of collapse.

  “Shall we move to the beach?” Loki asked. I nodded and came to my feet, following him through the passageway.

  Loki’s face looked better in the starlight. His illusions had returned, hiding his scars. We sat with our backs against the rocks, watching the waves lap against the beach. Trying to ignore the sounds of screaming and clashing metal coming from the top of the bluffs.

  “Is Asgard empty?” I asked, turning to him. “Are the Ӕsir really…gone?”

  Loki shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”

  There was another explosion and the ground beneath us shook. Loki stood, brushed off his pants, and offered me his hand. “If you’re ready,” he said, “I believe there’s somewhere else we need to be.”

  I took his hand. My legs cramped with hot bolts of pain as I came to my feet. Light-elves are assholes, I thought with a hiss.

  “Where are we going?” I asked. “Do we need to go to Svartálfaheimr now? Or to Asgard?”

  Loki smiled. “Oh, not even close. We’re going home. We have a wedding to plan.”

  He wrapped his arms around me, and I closed my eyes—

  * * * * * * *

  I took a deep breath and tried very hard not to panic.

  “Oh, dear, don’t you look lovely!” Mom said, with tears in her eyes.

  I bit my lip and turned to the mirror.

  “Careful!” Mom yelped. “You’ll ruin your lipstick!”

  Loki was right, I thought, staring at myself in the mirror. I look like a cake.

  I was buried in miles of tulle and white lace, and my entire dress sparkled. The hairstylist had spent all morning piling my hair on my head in an elaborate labyrinth of curls and crystals, and I had so many layers of makeup on my face I could hardly recognize myself.

  The door to the dressing room cracked open and my sister-in-law Di walked in. She looked radiant in her burgundy maid-of-honor dress, although it was tight around the swell of her second pregnancy. “How are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m...” I hesitated. “Do you think you could get me another mimosa?”

  My mom frowned. “Carol, you haven’t had any breakfast—”

  “No problem,” said Di, turning for the door.

  “Oh, one more thing,” I said, grabbing for Di’s hand before she left. “Is he..?”

  Di smiled at me. “He’s fine,” she said. “He’s...nervous.”

  Loki? Nervous? I took another deep breath and forced myself to stand up straight as my mom ushered the photographer into the dressing room. I am the mortal who saved the Nine Realms, I told myself. I defeated King Asador of the Light-elves.

  I can do this. I can walk down the aisle in a church filled with people.

  With almost two hundred people.

  Di came back into the dressing room and handed me another mimosa. I drained it in one gulp, my hands shaking.

  * * * * * * *

  “You look beautiful, pumpkin.” My dad took my arm and I swallowed, trying to remember to smile. “And you’re going to be fine,” he whispered, patting my arm. “I won’t let you fall.”

  The music started. The church filled with rustling as the guests all came to their feet and turned toward us. I tightened my grip on my bouquet.

  “There are really a lot of people out there,” I whispered.

  “There’s only one who matters,” Dad replied. “And he’s at the front.”

  I took a deep breath and raised my eyes, looking toward the front of the church. There, standing in a perfect, black tuxedo at the end of the impossibly long aisle, was Loki Laufeyiarson of the Ӕsir, the Norse god of fire and lies. The Trickster. He held his hands crossed in front of him, his hair pulled back. He glanced around the church, shifting his weight. He looks nervous, I thought, smiling in spite of myself.

  Then he turned to face me, and our eyes met across the church. A smile lit his face like dawn coming to Álfheim. Loki of the Ӕsir, I thought. I’m coming.

  I took a deep breath and turned to my dad. “I’m ready,” I whispered.

  And we walked down the aisle.