Lee - Loki: Where Mischief Lies

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Designed by Kurt Hartman

ISBN 978-1-368-02780-9

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For Becca, an unstoppable force
for good in my universe

T he Royal Feast of Gullveig, like all Asgardian feast days, was enjoyable for those who were fond of listening to overly long speeches, exchanging inane niceties, and getting their feet stepped on, because the Great Hall was always too crowded and no one knew how to walk in heels.

Loki was convinced everyone loathed the feasts but no one dared say so for fear of appearing small-minded. Being quite confident of the size of his mindlargeand his ability to walk in heels, he was comfortable saying it.

I hate feast days.

In the royal receiving line beside him, Thor didnt drop the politicians smile he had been practicing for state occasions like this. It had only faltered when Loki had suggested showing that much teeth made it very obvious there was something stuck in them, and he had fumbled with his tongue for several minuteslips bulging in a grotesque way that made several approaching courtiers change coursebefore realizing there was nothing there.

The feasts are important days, Thor said. They instill competence in Asgards leaders among our court.

Confidence, Loki corrected.

The smile didnt slip, but Thors eyebrows crept together. What?

I memorized the same quote, Loki replied. Its confidence.

What did I say?

YouNever mind. Loki fixed his own overly large smile, raising his voice so Thor could hear him over the musicians playing a lively folk song. You did it perfectly.

Thor adjusted the circlet resting on his forehead. Beads of sweat were beginning to gather around it, and it was slipping over his brows. Loki had been offered a circlet as wellhis mother had selected a silver braid inlaid with small gemstones for him. But while Loki loved few things as much as a bit of sparkle, he had opted instead for a more sophisticated, understated look that the circlet would have ruined entirely. He didnt have to enjoy feast days, but he could look good for them. The boots made him feel like doing a strut down the middle of the hallblack, over the knee, and with heels as long and thin as the knives he kept up his sleeves. His coat had a high collar and green ribbing on the shoulders, and he wore loose trousers of the same color. Amora had told him green made his eyes look like jewels, but he had been careful not to wear it too often. Best not to let Amora think he was taking her advice too seriously. She might have always been right, but she didnt have to know that.

Loki glanced down the line of dignitaries, past Thor and Frigga in her flowing silver robes, hands tucked beneath the sleeves as she smiled and nodded to the Asgardian woman fumbling a compliment about how lovely the queens hair looked with its streaks of gray. On her other side were the ambassadors from Varinheim and Ringsfjord, talking with their heads bent toward Queen Jolena, who kept asking loudly if they could speak up. Past them, Karnilla, the Queen of Norns and Odins royal sorceress, stood like a soldier, the plaits of her dark hair wound together and wrapped around a gold headpiece with a purple stone set upon her brow. Her face was blankin the time shed been at court, Loki had never seen her wear any expression beyond a dutiful grimace of acknowledgment. One of her long-fingered hands rested on Amoras shoulder, like she was certain her apprentice would slip away if a hold wasnt kept on her.

It wasnt outside the realm of possibility.

Amora was looking far more obviously bored than Loki felt she should. Far more bored than he was sure he could get away with without a lecture from his father. She may get one from Karnilla too, but Amora seemed to care so much less about what her teacher thought than Loki did about Odins opinions. He wished he could afford not to care, not to feel like everything he did right or wrong was ticked off in a corresponding column and kept on file for the day Odin would name either him or Thor as the heir to the Asgardian crown. It would be so much easier if there were only one of himAmora was the only student Karnilla had ever taken on and the only magic wielder in Asgard powerful enough to take up the mantle of royal sorceress and Queen of the Norns. Amoras power made her desired; Lokis power made him feel the need to keep it hidden.

No one wanted a sorcerer for a king. The kings of Asgard were warriors. They wore their golden hair long and their armor polished and their scars from battle casually on display like ostentatious accessories. Oh, this old thing? Merely a token from a rogue Sakaaran who was foolish enough to test his strength against mine.

Amora managed to wriggle away from Karnillas side long enough to snatch a goblet off the tray of a passing kitchen servant, and Loki watched as she touched one finger to the surface and levitated a small drop from it. It hung in midair, a few inches from her palm, until Karnilla reached over without looking and clamped a hand over Amoras, squashing the spell. Amora rolled her eyes, then, perhaps sensing the inappropriate duration of Lokis gaze, glanced around. She caught his eye, and offered her crooked finger of a smile. Loki felt his ears go red, and he almost looked away, like that would negate the fact that shed caught him staring. Instead he offered her an exasperated eye-widening, to which she responded by pantomiming hanging herself.

He snorted. Thor frowned at him, then followed his gaze, but Amora had straightened herself out again, smiling alongside Karnilla at the courtier who had come to speak to them. She seemed to be putting a great deal of effort into making her smile look as forced as possibleas much as Thor had been putting into making his look sincerebut she was smiling, so no one could accuse her of a contrary disposition.

Thors frown went deeper, burying his circlet farther into his brow, and he pushed it up before turning forward with a huff that sounded like an imitation of their father.

When Loki caught Amoras eye again, she made a subtle gesture down at the tiles and raised her eyebrows.

Loki hesitated. Carrying out the small spells she taught him at a dinner or in their classroom was one thing, but doing it at a state function was quite another. It would be harmlessturning the tiles of the Great Hall pink had been his idea, after all. But he had suggested it half in jest, hoping he would impress her with the boldness of the idea and creative use of spell weaving without actually having to execute it.