The voice repeated all it said…again and again. That was Freya’s world—the mirror reflecting her helplessness and this voice.
****
It had taken Enbarr until dawn to get Siegfried anywhere close to calm. Siegfried was not tired at all. It had been one of the rare occasions when Enbarr hadn’t insulted him. He trusted the horse. He trusted the bloody, damned horse, because the horse made sense. At least, the horse made Siegfried make sense again. A plan was beginning to form.
He went down to the hold of Woden’s ship, dimly aware that Hedwig and Woden followed him.
“Don’t kill him,” Woden said.
“I’m not going to kill him.” Siegfried glared at Pompey, chained against the wall. “Did Loki give you a way to contact him?”
Pompey reached around his neck and removed a mirror framed with gold rays. Siegfried snatched it from his hand.
“If you want to get her back, you’d best think fast. Loki might grow impatient with Freya,” Pompey said. “He’s desperate to remove all obstacles for Asgard’s throne.”
“How does this work?” Siegfried asked.
“It needs blood, and Loki will appear.”
Hedwig handed Siegfried her dagger. He slashed Pompey’s arm and rubbed some of the blood across the mirror. “Woden, what does it mean that I am wed to Freya? Does her property belong to me?”
“That’s the way of it,” Woden said. “Why?”
Siegfried didn’t respond to Woden. “Loki!” he roared.
“Ah, a handsome man looking back at me,” said a low, lilting voice from the medallion a few moments later. “And it is not even my own reflection.” Loki chuckled. “So the Sea Witch did keep the general for more than a night.” He did not sound concerned. “Of course, I have my niece and Woden’s grandchild.” More of the lilting laughter tinkled from the medallion. There was a hand clap, too. “My darling, Siegfried, all my problems are almost—”
“Not quite,” Siegfried said. “You see, Freya and I wed in secret because of the babe. The celebration is only a formality. All her holdings are mine, including her claim on Asgard’s throne. So you are right back where you’ve started.” He shot Woden a meaningful look.
“Siegfried is indeed my son,” Woden said, unable to hold back a scowl at Siegfried.
There was a long pause before Loki asked, “So? Not much has changed. You love my niece, do you not? You must for the way she cries for you in the night. You begged for her, didn’t you? I’d heard it was rather pathetic. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, would you?”
He immediately knew where Loki was going with this. “No. I will not force her to become like Odilia, like you.” That would destroy Freya more easily than that purple potion.
“Tired of her already? I admit, she’s quite like my brother, so I cannot blame you.”
“Like me?” Woden gasped. “I will not apologize that she is not a horse-swiving laughingstock.”
Loki clasped his hands against his chest. “Oh, Woden, you wound me, brother.” He laughed, shoulders trembling.
Siegfried would not waste this time with a spat between siblings. “I have a better proposition for you.” He grew very calm, reminding himself that her life rested with him. “You return Freya to me. Unharmed. In return, I will allow you to take one swing to sever my head from my shoulders. I will announce to any and all that with my death, you will have my holdings and my position. Heir of Asgard. No more contending with me. No worrying over Freya’s real allegiance.”
Loki’s eyes widened. “One swing. With the weapons at my disposal…well, it is easy. I choose my weapon.”
“Yes,” Siegfried said.
“Agreed.” Loki’s tongue slithered across his teeth. “Your head for your wife. How noble and stupid of you.”
“You sever my head; Freya goes free.”
“Fair. But we will do this in Asgard, in front of all. You will contact me as soon as you arrive, and I shall come. But if I am harmed, well, I have your wife.”
Loki’s reflection disappeared, showing only Siegfried’s. He set the mirror face down on a crate. It would have been preferable to throw it in the sea, but he would need it again.
“Clever,” Hedwig said, grinning. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“The Trickster has not tangled with a pirate,” Siegfried said.
“I fail to see how this is cause for rejoicing. You’re going to die, Siegfried,” Pompey said.
“You’ll see. Just wait,” Hedwig said.
“How is he going to see?” Siegfried raised a dark gold brow.
“I’m going to bring him. He’s mine, meaning I can drag his sorry old ass wherever I want.” Hedwig snorted. “Besides, if Lugh shows up, he’ll bring Alien MacMidhna, and I don’t want to deal with him trying to sneak his hand up my skirt.”
“Lugh will be there to bear witness,” Woden said. “This must be done officially. Siegfried, what the hell are you planning?”
“I’d rather as few know as possible,” Siegfried said. “Know that I meant every word I said. But, after I return your daughter, you will cease calling me a jig-dancing, wine-swilling, panpipe-playing faun. I have never danced a jig.”
****
It had been days…but it felt like a fortnight, at least. Or was it? Freya had no idea of time here in this mirrored place where she struggled to remain conscious.
She shivered in spite of Brisingamen, though she was still sweating. What was happening to her? Had she contracted some illness? The pain and flashes of heat had been happening more and more often. She had thought it would go away. At least she hadn’t been nauseous in the last few days. Yet cramping had almost made up for that.
“Get up, Freya,” Loki said. How had he gotten in? She hadn’t heard his heels or smelled him. “Ah, niece. How good to see you. It seems Woden has made you and Siegfried heirs. You get your freedom. I get all of that and Siegfried’s head.”
Siegfried’s head? That fool. How could he?
“Loki, please, no,” Freya pleaded. “Please don’t kill him. Keep me here. Just spare him.”
The pain in her stomach sharpened, which she hadn’t thought possible, and she doubled up, fighting the bile in her throat. “Gods! No!” She screamed. “Please, please, no… Siegfried…where are you?”
“Faramund,” Loki barked. When Freya opened her eyes again, Faramund and Hartwin were there. At least Hartwin had the courtesy to look ill, but Faramund’s face was as stony as Mimir’s, only a less literal sort of stony.
“Odilia’s abortifacients. You approved this,” Faramund said.
“You gave her too much. It was to stop me from having another heir to contend with!” Loki shouted.
“I…I’m not pregnant,” Freya said. “What’s happening?”
“You’re not pregnant?” Loki took a step back. “Then why did you say you were?”
Freya clawed at the mirror beneath her, spots dancing in her vision. “Because that was the only way I was going to get to marry Siegfried.”
A knife flashed in Loki’s hand, and Faramund’s entrails spilled on the floor. A hundred Faramunds, reflected endlessly in the glass around her lost their guts. The man fell beside her. The reflections fell, too. Freya swallowed back tears, and Loki whirled on Hartwin. “How much of those herbs did you give her?”
“Only small doses at first,” Hartwin said in a barely audible voice. “When nothing happened, Faramund increased the dosage and continued to do so until something did. Loki, she’s not going to die, is she?”
“If she dies, you will have cost me Asgard’s throne,” Loki shrieked. “I am many things, but I don’t kill my own blood.” He knelt beside Freya. “Don’t die. Whatever you do, don’t you dare die. We can’t have you uncooperative Beasts breeding, but it doesn’t mean I want you dead. Hartwin, do whatever you need to do to keep her alive. You know enough of the potions Odilia was using. Hecate will be in Valhalla. She’ll heal Freya.”
“Why, Loki, why are you so concerned about not killing your family?” Freya asked softly.
“Because to think them worthy of death means I am inadequate if I share their blood. There must be some redeeming quality in them that makes them worthy to draw breath.”
****
There was a collective gasp when Loki accepted Freya’s trident from one of his own servants in Valhalla’s great hall.
“I thought this would be…appropriate. Sentimental,” Loki said, twirling the weapon in his hands.
“Freya,” Siegfried shouted her name. He wanted to see her, reassure himself she was still alive. She lifted her head weakly. She was slumped in a chair, barely able to lift her shorn head. Their desire, anger, love, and all else they felt mingled in the air of the hall.
“No,” Loki said, stepping between Siegfried and his wife.
The servant sat Freya in a padded chair and removed the furs surrounding her. Gods, Freya had grown thin. Much too thin. Her eyes were huge in her gaunt face. Her hair had been cropped close to her scalp. She tried to stand and fell back down.
Hecate roared, then glared at Loki with red eyes. “You stay out of my path, Trickster.”
“She’s still alive,” Loki said with a shrug. “My, my, for all that roaring, you’re rather impotent, aren’t you? A big dragon trapped in that slender body, and you can’t do a thing.”
Hecate lunged at Loki, and he ducked, holding his arms over his head. Then he stood upright again.
Hecate turned away and continued toward her daughter. This time, Loki moved out of the way. She knelt in front of Freya, placing her hands over Freya’s heart, enclosing them both in a red light. The gauntness and the circles under Freya’s eyes faded. Life returned to her eyes. Her hair shone as it grew over her shoulders. She tried to stand, but a servant prodded her with a spear.
“Wait.” Hartwin appeared from behind Loki’s contingent of servants. The man looked haggard. Siegfried wanted him dead. “Kill me, Siegfried…I—”
It was done that easily, two arrows protruding from Hartwin’s heart…and
Gungnir
from his brow, pinning him to the green carpet. Siegfried had a new respect for his father-in-law.
“Cowardly asshole,” Woden said and spat upon the corpse.
“The words of the agreement please,” Lugh said, raising a brow at the body. This was probably not the first corpse in Asgard’s hall. “This must be done right.”
“Loki returns Freya to me and her family,” Siegfried said. “In exchange, I will allow him to sever my head with his weapon of choice, which I see is the trident. Loki will have all that I have inherited when he has slain me in this hall today.”
“You have agreed to these terms, Loki?” Lugh said.
“Yes,” Loki said, looking from the trident to Siegfried’s neck. “Although I do wish I got to keep Siegfried alive. He is a fine male specimen I would enjoy tasting.”
“The agreement will be kept then,” Lugh said. “Send over Freya. MacMidhna, restrain Siegfried; ensure he does not decide to change his mind.”
The servant lowered the spear and unlocked the iron wristlets on Freya. She ran into Siegfried’s arms, her small, soft body warm against his muscles. She smelled of the sea…and of death. He nuzzled her temples.
“Love,” Siegfried murmured against her hair.
“Your end of the agreement, Siegfried,” Lugh said after a few moments. Woden, his spear under his arm once again, pulled Freya from his arms, and Siegfried felt a tingling through his body. MacMidhna.
“Freya will be mine when this is done,” MacMidhna said. “I’m the only one who can control her with your death.”
Siegfried said nothing as MacMidhna made him walk to Loki. When he didn’t resist, the other man finally released him from the spell. Siegfried swirled his green, leafed cape about him and bowed his head, waiting for the feel of the trident. Three tines, in his neck. He tried not to think about numbers now. Chaos was going to erupt as soon as this was over. He tapped his hoof eight times.
“I think I shall mount these antlers in my hall,” Loki said. “Right over the high table. I’ll have Woden’s face in the mural above replaced with mine.”
“Except you’d be humping Jormungandr in the painting,” Freya murmured. “You bastard.”
She screamed as the tines were thrust through the back of Siegfried’s neck to protrude from the front. Lightning flashed, thunder roared outside the safety of the hall. It was difficult to breathe with his windpipe punctured. He had assumed Loki would use an axe or a hammer or a sword—something with a blade that would lop his head off in one swing. However, with a trident, Loki had to pull to remove his head, tearing every tendon, every ligament to separate the head from the neck. Blood flowed from his neck and dripped from the tines, pooling on the floor beneath him and spreading across the marble. The blood would make it slippery for his hooves, but it was too late to shift now. He was supposed to be dying, after all.
Eventually, with a loud, wet tear, his head broke away and rolled a short distance before being stopped by the antlers. Siegfried didn’t scream. It hurt too much.
Freya roared, and he had to fight to control her powers. It wouldn’t do to have her transform into a dragon now.
“The Green Man is dead,” Loki said, waving the trident in the air. “Sessrumnir is mine. By Siegfried’s own words, Freya is mine. All he has inherited is mine.” So, the Trickster had also found his own meaning in Siegfried’s words. Well, that was fine, but Loki would have none of it. Loki did not seem to notice that Siegfried still watched him. It was an odd sensation, seeing his limbs and torso disregarded by the man. Loki casually stepped over the body, approaching Freya.
“No, Freya goes to me,” MacMidhna said. He dashed into the middle of the hall, his frilled collar quivering every time he spoke. “Until you have the mag— What the…” Mac Midhna had caught sight of Siegfried, or at least the other part of Siegfried.
Loki turned and regarded Siegfried’s body strangely. He was probably wondering why it was still standing. Siegfried willed his body to straighten and give a cocky flourish of the cape. The body swaggered and grabbed its missing head, replacing it on his shoulders. Siegfried grinned at the squishing sound his muscles and flesh made as they grew back together.
Hedwig stepped behind Loki, grabbing the trident from his hands and tossing it to Freya. Freya broke from Woden’s grasp to catch it. She was surrounded by purple light, and when it receded, she was winged and armored.