#the unveiling

Teki groped blindly in the moonlit shadows. It had to be a dream. Frigga had told her he was gone, that he wouldn’t be coming back for years, but when her fingers found his he squeezed her hand too tightly to be anything but real.

Her eyes flooded with relief.

“Loki—” she rasped.

He hushed her softly. “Don’t hurt your voice.” He cupped her cheek with his free hand, his quivering fingers ghosting down the side of her face, leaving chills in their wake. He stopped abruptly at the metal brace around her neck, voice trembling when he spoke.

“Norns,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Teki.”

She squirmed, trying to get a better look at him without hurting her neck. “You—how—” Teki cursed inwardly at her broken voice. She had so many questions. How are you back? How are you here?

Luckily, Loki seemed to understand. “There’s—pathways, between the realms. Tunnels. I had read about them before, but I had never attempted to follow them. When I heard what happened—I had to come back, so I gave it a try.” Tunnels between the realms. That sounded vaguely familiar. Where had she heard about those before?

I put them on my map!

Of course.

Loki hesitated. When he continued, it sounded as if he was on the verge of tears. “Teki, they said—they said you were attacked—” he gulped, “It was him, wasn’t it?”

Teki took a shaky breath, giving the smallest of nods. Even that tiny confirmation seemed to break him. Loki exhaled, leaning forward to support his head against his arm on the cot.

“You have to tell someone, Teki,” he begged. “My parents will believe you, I swear it. They’ll stop—no, don’t shake your head!” He looked at her pleadingly. “He’s hurting you!”

She kept shaking her head. He doesn’t know the half of it. “Loki,” she gasped, even as her voice seared. “Loki, they killed him.”

He frowned. “What?”

“My father. They killed him. Both of them.” For a second, her father’s body crashed through her vision once more, and the strangled sob that ripped from her throat didn’t sound human.

She didn’t know how long they sat in the dark together, Loki rubbing her shoulder in gentle comfort as she fought to choke out the details he had missed: the letter in the journal, Asta’s vials, Heimdall’s vision, horrible images that Teki wished to purge from her mind for the rest of her life, but that she knew would follow her to her grave. The prince’s eyes grew wider and wider even as her voice grew weaker. By the end, she was hacking uncontrollably, that faint metallic taste poisoning the back of her tongue.

Loki helped to pull her into a sitting position, rushing off for a glass of water and helping her shivering hands hold it steady as she drank. Teki collapsed against his chest once she finished. Perhaps it was unrefined, but she was well past caring about refinement at this point. His leather vest smelled of the woods and the wild; wide, open fields where you could run for miles and never see even a glimpse of another person. It was soothing in a way that nothing else was, made even more so when Loki wrapped an arm around her torso and held her closer.

For a moment, they just stayed like that, listening to the sound of the other’s breathing.

It was Loki who spoke first. “We need to expose them.”

Teki looked up at his face, firm and decisive in the moonlight. Not for the first time, she envied his steadfast determination.

“How?” she whispered hoarsely. “It would be my word against theirs. No one would believe me.” Why should they? What was she to the court but a little girl who thought she could play queen, so sickly that she rarely showed up for dinner and so horribly dull that her own fiancé had no interest in interacting with her? What reason had they to trust her?

“It wouldn’t be just your word, though,” he said. “Didn’t you say Asta knew about it too?”

“She just sold it to her,” Teki hiccupped. “The—the poison. My mother didn’t tell her what—what she was planning.” Besides, would she even want to come forward with testimony? The old apothecary woman didn’t strike her as one to get involved with the law, especially if she was in the practice of selling poison.

Still, Loki mused. “But it could be something.”

Across the room, something creaked. It was nothing, and Teki knew it, but still she whipped around with her heart in her throat, expecting to see her stepfather leering in the corner with his glittering blue eyes.

Loki rubbed her arm reassuringly. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “We’re the only ones in here.”

Teki gulped. The darkness seemed to press around her cot, whispering cruel promises only she could hear.

She griped Loki tighter. “Can—can you stay? With me?” Her face burned—such a childish plea. She felt like Brant, sneaking into her room when he couldn’t sleep. Still, she had a horrible feeling that if she let him leave, he’d be gone again. “I don’t—I don’t like being alone.”

Loki only nodded. “Of course. Let me just—” He moved away for a split second, leaving her in the darkness while he dragged a chair across the room to her bedside. She lay back down against the sheets as he situated himself, resting his head besides her pillow so that he faced hers.

She closed her eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “Just sleep now.”

…

“How are you feeling, my lady?” the healer asked as she unlatched the brace from around Teki’s neck.

She rubbed the base of her throat. The healers had returned to finish her treatment just as the pinpricks of dawn were beginning to sneak their way into the room, Loki having slipped out only moments prior.

He had woken her up before he went, a gentle tap on her shoulder pulling her from the darkness of her dreams.

“It’s almost sunrise,” he had whispered. “They’ll be back soon. I should go.”

In the early morning haze, Teki had misunderstood. “You mean—you’re not going back to Vanaheim, are you?” she croaked. Panicked tears welled in the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t lose him. Not again. Not when so much was going wrong.

But Loki shook his head quickly. “No, no. I’m staying on Asgard. But there’s something I have to check.” He rose with a deliberate stretch before dragging his chair back to wherever he found it. “I’ll come back later today,” he promised before he slipped into the shadows.

Teki had barely been alone fifteen minutes before the women in blue were back with their magic at the ready. The healing process was quick, albeit exhausting, and once they were through Teki was half inclined to crawl back into the bed and sleep through the next week. Still, at least it didn’t hurt to talk anymore.

The Queen popped in just at Teki was finishing buttoning the front of her dress. She had been expecting her mother to saunter in with her hollow words and painted smiles, and so she jumped at Frigga’s warm greeting.

“Tekla!” she beamed. “I’m so relieved to see you up and about.” She sat down on the foot of the bed, and Teki was a bit shocked to notice the worry barely hidden under her kind smile. “How are you feeling today, darling?” she asked, studying her with the same maternal concern Teki had seen in her eyes when she was watching Loki in the Games.

Teki’s response was so instinctual it almost felt rehearsed. “Much better, Your Majesty,” she said, returning the smile.

Frigga shook her head somberly. “Such a horrifying experience. I can’t imagine how scared you must have been.” She reached out to hold Teki’s hand, in reassurance. “We have some of our best warriors looking for the man who attacked you and your brother. Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”

Teki couldn’t meet her gaze. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t allow her mother’s lies to continue any longer, but she didn’t know how to explain to the Queen that everything she thought she knew wasn’t true. Teki only could manage a nod.

Frigga, unaware of her inner turmoil, patted her hand delicately. “If you ever need anything,” she promised, “Please don’t hesitate to ask me.”

Again, Teki found that she could only nod.

If the Queen had noticed her discomfort, she didn’t say anything. Instead, she shifted the conversation. “Oh, I wanted to ask you, darling,” she said. “Have you spoken to Loki at all?”

Teki stiffened. “Loki, Your Majesty?”

“Yes.” Frigga was still smiling, but there was a wilder sort of apprehension beneath her tone. “His teachers said he vanished at some point during the night. I thought he might have contacted you—he considers you a close friend, I know—”

Guilt smoldered in her chest, but something told Teki to keep Loki’s midnight visit to herself.

“I haven’t heard from him, Your Majesty,” she lied.

Frigga nodded distractedly. “Well, I’m sure it isn’t anything to worry about. Just—if he does get into contact with you, would you please let me know?”

She hummed in agreement, eyes on the on the floor.

“Teki!” Both of their heads snapped to the doorway just in time to see Brant barreling through the room, past the healers and lines of cots. He crashed against Teki’s stomach in a snug embrace, ignoring her surprised “oof!”

Frigga laughed. She excused herself, leaving Teki’s bedside to chat with another healer. Meanwhile, Brant’s grip hadn’t loosened around her.

“Hey,” she whispered, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Are you all right?” He nodded, rubbing his cheek against her dress like a cat.

“Was scared,” he muttered. His voice was so low, Teki barely heard it. The pained cry that had spilled from his lips when Osvald turned his fists on him echoed through her mind, and she held him tighter. He pressed something into her stomach, shielding it with his torso.

Teki frowned. “What—”

“Mama said to burn it,” he whispered.

It was her father’s journal, familiar and worn and newly singed along the edge, as if it had just barely been scooped out from the flames. There was a lump in Teki’s throat as she tucked it under her sash. Brant had witness first-hand how Osvald felt about this journal, seen what he was willing to do to her for refusing to give it up, and still risked everything to rescue it from the flames for her. She squeezed him tighter.

“Are you ready to go?”

She glanced up to find her mother standing over her expectantly, arms crossed elegantly over her perfectly pressed gown. Something about her face, looking at those same lips that had curled so sadistically as her father sat hunched over the dinner table gasping for his life, sent bile rising to her throat. Her mother raised her eyebrows. She was waiting, Teki realized, waiting for her daughter to straighten up and follow her out of the room with her head down like the obedient little mouse she had raised her to be, never to speak of this incident again.

Teki didn’t move.

Her mother sighed. “Tekla, we don’t have all da—”

“I’m not going with you.” The words cut through the air like the dagger under her mattress. Teki glared into her mother’s eyes, challenging her to look away first.

“Tekla,” she spoke through gritted teeth. “I swear, I don’t have time for you to be difficult—”

“I know what you did,” Teki said, relishing the way her mother blanched, then rushed to cover it. “I’m not going with you.”

“We’re not doing this here,” she snapped, grabbing at her arm. Teki avoided her grasp, still clinging to Brant.

“You killed my father.” Her brother looked up at her in shock, but Teki kept her gaze trained on her mother.

Deny it. Go ahead, lie right to my face again. I dare you.

“What are you talking about?” she retorted. Her eyes shifted across the room, to where the Queen was still locked deep in conversation with one of the healers. Teki followed her gaze, followed her line of thinking to a T.

Don’t make a scene.

We wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves.

Teki only raised her voice.

“You poisoned his cup,” she said, more adamant with every word. “You made him write that letter.”

“Enough of this!” Her mother grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward. “We’re going home. Now.”

Teki wriggled free. “I’m not going with you—”

Their struggle had caught the attention of the Queen. She walked over, frowning. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” her mother said quickly. “I was just taking my daughter home.” She grabbed at Teki’s hand again, as if to emphasize her point, but Teki squirmed away before she even had a hold on her.

Frigga’s frown deepened. “Tekla, is something wrong?”

Teki swallowed. That familiar fear had returned, the horrible feeling that should she ever stand up and speak her truth her audience would only stare back at her with vacant eyes. That they’d defer judgment to her mother, to her stepfather, to the extorted letter written in a dying man’s shaking hand.

But she thought also of her father, pleading for her wellbeing as he choked on his own breath. She thought of Brant’s body limp on the floor, her stepfather glowering over him, her family’s judge, jury, and executioner. She pressed her hand against the journal hidden in her sash.

My parents will believe you, I swear it.

“There wasn’t an intruder,” she said, heart pounding. “It was Osvald.” She gulped. “It’s always Osvald.”

The Queen’s eyes widened.

Her mother gasped theatrically. “Tekla! How could you say such a thing?”

“That’s not all!” Teki’s breath was coming faster now, along with the frenzied need to keep Frigga’s attention for as long as possible. “She and him killed my father. My real father. They made it look like he left so they could sign off on my marriage proposal. She poisoned him.” The tears burned hot and harsh in her eyes; she tried to blink them away.

Áslaug was shaking her head wildly. “Your Majesty, I am so sorry,” she rushed. “I have no idea what she’s talking about. Perhaps her injuries—”

“No!” Brant had come out of hiding against her abdomen, trembling like a leaf. Everyone’s gaze snapped to him, and she fully expected him to wither at the attention, but instead he pulled at Frigga’s skirt, eyes wide. “Daddy hurts Teki. He gets mad and he hits her.”

“Brant!” Her mother’s carefully constructed control was unraveling at the scenes. She whipped back to the Queen. “He’s just copying Tekla. He always follows her lead. And I don’t know what could possibly have gotten into her—”

“Oh, don’t you?” It was as if someone had lit a fire in Teki’s chest. For years, her feelings had been muzzled, held back the tyrannical fear that ruled every other aspect of her life. She had bent to the will of her guardians because she had no other choice. But the emotions had always been there. Always. And now, one of those emotions seared brightly enough to burn through everything else: fury.

“I’ll tell you what’s gotten into me!” she snapped. “You took my father away from me and expected me to accept it. You let your husband hurt me and told me it was my fault that he did. You used my existence as a tool so you could climb to the top, without ever sparing a thought to what it did to me.” She heaved a sob, fully aware that all eyes were on her and not giving a damn. “I’m not lying for you anymore!”

“And neither am I.”

All four of them whipped to the entrance. For a moment, Teki thought she was hallucinating.

Old Asta the Apothecary limped down the hallway, her ragged clothing a stark contrast to the crisp sheets of the cots she walked by. Somehow she looked even more shriveled here without her cart trailing behind her.

Teki’s mother went so pale it looked as though she might pass out.

“How did she get in here?” she demanded in a tone that sounded akin to a screeching bird. “Who let her in?”

“The young prince. He came to speak with me today, about what happened here.” Teki perked up at Loki’s name. I have something I have to check, he had whispered in the morning darkness. He had gone to Asta?

She stopped just before the Queen, sinking into a respectful bow. “Your Majesty. For centuries, I’ve prided myself on the loyalty of my confidence, but I’ve realized as of late that I’ve held some things to my chest that never should have been kept secret.” She glanced at Teki, almost as if in regret. Teki frowned. When they had spoken, Asta certainly hadn’t shown any signs of guilt for what she had done.

What did Loki say to change her mind?

“Don’t listen to her!” her mother was shrieking wildly. “She’s not to be trusted—”

“Enough!” snapped Frigga. The Queen had seemed to occupy a shellshocked silence for most of the conversation, but now she turned to the apothecary with a firm conviction. “Asta. What have you to tell us?”

The old woman sighed deeply. “Several years ago, the Lady Áslaug sought me out. She was looking for a poison, fast-acting and tasteless, something to eliminate her husband quickly and quietly.”

“No!” screamed her mother.

“She wasn’t certain what it was she wanted,” Asta continued. “I sold her two vials—one of embers of frost, and one of hellion, so she could choose which to use—”

“No, no, you’re lying!” Áslaug shrieked, motioning at Frigga desperately as she pointed at the apothecary. “She’s lying! I never bought the hellion. I never touched it!”

“No,” agreed the apothecary with a wicked smirk. “No, you didn’t.”

It was a moment before it dawned on Teki’s mother what she had just admitted to.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, I meant—I didn’t—I—” she glanced around in a frenzy, searching for a receptive face. She found nothing. With a pained sob, she collapsed into tears.

Teki looked away.  

Frigga whistled, short and piercing. In less than a heartbeat, two of her Queensguard rushed to her side, from where they had been standing at attention just outside the door.

“Guards,” she said, her voice even and emotionless. “Please, escort Lady Áslaug into custody. Have Lord Osvald taken in as well.” As the guards pulled her mother to her feet, the Queen turned to her. “Tekla, if you and your brother would come with me.”

Teki nodded in a haze, watching as her mother was removed from the room. Brant was gripping her hand so tightly she could barely feel it anymore. She turned back to Asta, hoping to thank her for her support, but the old woman was disintegrating, fading out of existence in a shimmering mass. Her bewilderment was quickly replaced by smile so wide it hurt her cheeks.