The twitch and then fall of his wry smile said as much. “If you even think you love that little raven, and truly believe he loves you, why push that away out of fear? Love is rarer than you think. In trying to deny it when we find it, we only hurt ourselves.”
“That’s… quite insightful.” I blinked at him. “Are you sure you’re not Freya?”
“Fuck you.” He snorted. “The god of mischief can be insightful!”
“Maybe it’s Oli,” I ventured, “affecting you as much—”
Loki blinked out of existence right before my eyes.
Typical. And foolish. For by running, he proved my point, and in fact, proved the point he had tried to make to me! No one ever said the trickster god took his own advice. But what advice he had given was sound. I didn’t want to run. I didn’t want to doubt.
And I really did want to be sober before taking Ravnur to bed.
The sun was fully risen now, and after enjoying its splendor for a few more moments, I turned back to Freya’s homestead. Ravnur appeared before I had taken my first step, exiting the home in search of me. His worried expression eased into a smile when he saw me. He was still dressed in the outfit he’d passed out in, hair tousled, as if he had risen and not spared a moment for anything other than finding me.
He met me halfway, and I couldn’t resist smoothing his tangled locks.
“We should head back,” I said. “We both have daily duties to perform. But if I do not see you again until the evening meal, would you meet me down by the lake after dusk?”
“Of course.” Ravnur took my hand and held it to his chest.
The feel of its beat made me certain I could not turn back now.
Chapter 8
RAVNUR
Asthedaynearedits end and I had yet to see Freyr, I headed down to the lake to wait for him. Skidbladnir remained docked, a large looming presence as I sat upon a rock in its shadow with a few of the sun’s rays still warming the rest of the bank. There were other lakes more often frequented by Alfheim citizens, but this one was quiet and empty of swimmers or fishermen, for it was considered sacred, both as harbor for Skidbladnir and because it was Freyr’s.
The lake was far enough down the hill that noises from the city were faint, peacefully overshadowed by the sounds of lapping water. The slight rocking of Skidbladnir before me was peacefultoo, big powerful ship that she was, so ingeniously carved that one could look at the artistry of her design for hours.
I wished any of that ambient peace could reach my heart, but I was anxious. It seemed I was often anxious lately.
I thought back to the fugue of the previous night. The drunken roaming of hands and lips and rocking hips. I had gotten carried away, wrapped up in Freyr’s presence and having permission finally to touch him. It should have been enough just to be near him, but I couldn’t deny how much I ached for more, how much I always had. If only I could know if I also had his heart. To have won that, I would not be able to keep my hands off of him for a moment longer.
His request for me to meet him here made this feel like some imminent finality. An end. Though to what, I wasn’t certain.
“Look alive, hirdman!”
My ears twitched at the call, but before I could turn, I heard something whoosh toward me. Freyr’s sword appeared swift enough to make me jump, flipping end over end and audibly slicing the air as it danced around me. I had to laugh. What magic animated the sword, I didn’t know, but I imagined the spirit of a dutiful hound embodied it, for it certainly acted like a pup in play.
Leaping up from the rock, I tried to dance with it, or to at least steer clear of the swings of its blade. It wasn’t slicing at me, thankfully, but strangely seemed to be trying to deposit its hilt into my hand.
“What’s gotten into your sword?” I called to Freyr, who was still several paces up the hill. “What is it doing?”
“Go on!” Freyr called back. “Take hold! It wants its new master to give it a swing!”
With the way the sword nudged my fingers, after swinging about in apparent irritation that I had yet to open them for entrance, I acquiesced and let the sword settle into my palm. Itwas surprisingly light for its size, no more burden to wield than a soup ladle. Then I registered what Freyr had just said. “What?” I whirled around to face him fully as he continued his descent. “New owner?”
Freyr was ravishing as ever, especially when he smiled. “I feared I might be late, but after finishing my duties, I wanted to polish and sharpen it for you. Oh, and to ensure the sword was of the same mind as I am. What say you, loyal and sturdy blade?” he asked the sword upon reaching the bank. “Do you mind having a new master again?”
The sword moved while in my grasp, forcing my arm into a sudden swing.
“I… I don’t understand.” It felt like it belonged in my hand, like it resonated with my being, but what did Freyr mean by this?
He looked so serene smiling at me, like I had briefly seen at Freya’s. “As is tradition, when making a courtship official, an ancestral sword must be given. Well, dug up after questing for it, usually, but I’m not going to shove the poor thing into the dirt. I chose the wrong owner for it in the beginning, but I am amending that now, and I think it agrees with me.”
The sword vibrated in my grasp, almost like a purring cat. Given how temperamental it could be, maybe it was just as much feline as canine. But did Freyr mean this the way it seemed? The giving of an ancestral sword wasn’t just courtship, but part of one’s dowry for marriage. “I can’t accept this. And besides, I have no ancestral blade to offer back.” If my family ever had one before they perished, it was long lost.
