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Chapter Seven
A Thousand Words
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They let her keep the packs because they knew she would put that crack in the wall.
Thor strode aimlessly through the castle corridors the evening after his latest conversation with Loki. He had nowhere he needed to be and much he needed to think about.
Loki had withdrawn after those final words. Something had seemed to crumble within him, and he'd bowed his head and said nothing more, no matter how Thor cajoled him. Sensing his brother was at the end of his endurance, the crown prince had retreated from the dungeons, leaving his brother to—what? Grieve for the girl on the other side of the wall? Plot his story further in order to hoodwink everyone? Thor didn't know. He needed to think.
Sometime during his constant pacing of the palace halls, a light footstep began to echo his. A slim shadow hovered beside and little ways behind him—a quiet and comforting presence.
"Hello, Sif."
The only shield-maiden in Asgard drew abreast of him when he acknowledged her. They'd been friends for a long time. She was the only woman he'd ever gone into battle with, the only woman he trusted to guard his back in a fight.Sif was his best friend, as Loki was…or had been.
"You have seen Loki," Sif said softly. Her dark hair was pulled severely back, giving her a harsher look than usual. Like his father's weathered face and his mother's somber clothes, Loki's betrayal had affected Sif, as well.
For the first time, Thor considered what Loki had said of Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, that they'd betrayed him. That his inability to rely even on his closest friends had driven him to take such drastic actions while the king had been in the Odinsleep.
But then I learned I couldn't trust any of the courtiers here, couldn't trust Heimdall or Sif or the Three. My so-called friends. How was I to win a war, if it came to that, without soldiers I could trust? And I couldn't trust them because you were the one they wanted!
The prince wondered why Sif and the Three had gone against Odin's decree of exile, gone against Loki's order—the order of their ruling sovereign—and come to Midgard to bring Thor home. Had they known of Loki's part to lure the Frost Giants into the Treasure Room the day of Thor's coronation? None of them had said anything. Then why bring him back? Not because of the Destroyer; it had arrived after them. Not for what Loki had done to Heimdall, either—that had come after the Gatekeeper had allowed the four friends through the Bifröst.
Sif was waiting for an answer.
"I've seen Loki," Thor acknowledged without breaking stride. "We have struck a bargain, he and I. He will answer my questions if I help him convince the All-Father to release him."
The warrior maiden halted in her tracks. Thor paused. Somehow he knew what she would say.
"Convince the All-Father to release him? Thor, you cannot trust Loki! What madness would possess you to set him loose?"
Sif, Thor thought, was his dearest friend outside of his brothers. He could trust her to keep his words to herself, and trust her not to rush off to Loki to demand he stop spilling poisonous lies in the crown prince's ear.
"If my father releases him, I've promised to help him kill the leader of the Chitauri." He started walking again.
"Why would he want to kill Thanos? Loki is loyal to him."
Thor shook his head. "I do not believe so, Sif. Loki and I have been talking about the Chitauri, about Thanos, about why Loki did all that he did."
Sif waited. Thor knew she wanted him to simply explain to her what Loki had said…but he needed to couch his words carefully. For instance, he could not share with anyone—save perhaps Frigga and maybe Balder—about the illusion of young Sophie, and how Loki had tried to make her even younger. He couldn't give away the knowledge that his younger brother had loved this Midgardian child enough to weep for her. But there were some things he could say, if he were careful.
"And?" Sif demanded at last.
"Thanos murdered someone Loki held dear," Thor murmured after a moment's hesitation. "Loki's thirst for vengeance makes bargaining with him a bit simpler."
Dark eyes studied Thor for a long moment; the Asgardian could feel the weight of Sif's stare like the heaviness of his battle-armor. At last, she nodded. "It is just like him to focus on getting back at someone to the extent of all else…but who was this person? His woman?"
"A woman," Thor acknowledged softly.
"The woman in the drawings?" Sif hazarded.
He wasn't surprised she knew of it; she'd always been shrewd. He nodded. A large part of him itched to catch a viable glimpse of one of Loki's drawings, to be able to see Thea's face with his own eyes.
"The woman in the drawings…" The shield-maiden shook her head. "How do you know this isn't some elaborate trap of his to lure you in?"
He shrugged. "I don't, but I feel he is being truthful."
"Has he explained why he murdered your Midgardian friend?"
"No," Thor replied after a long moment where he wrestled with anger and the echoes of disbelief. It still astonished him that his brother had tried to kill him, had succeeded in killing one of Thor's allies. And Loki hadn't even admitted to the fact. Why wouldn't he admit to it? He made no excuse, either, such as with the Destroyer. Loki refused to do anything but mock and attempt to redirect when Coulson was mentioned.
Yet he'd said Thea's connection with the son of Coul would be made clear…and Thea had mentioned a man named Phil who would be angry about her capture, a friend of her family. Was that the connection? That didn't explain Loki's evasion when Coulson was brought up whenever Thor demanded an explanation. There was something there, something more. What was it? Yet another of the mysteries Loki needed to explain.
"Has he explained why he took over Asgard?" Sif persisted.
"Mother made him king," Thor said tonelessly. Seeing Sif's stunned expression, Thor canted his head. "I asked her about it. No one else could take the throne during Father's Odinsleep. The queen made him king-regent during my exile."
"Then…" Sif looked faintly uneasy. "Then it was according to the law." She frowned. "He must have known somehow when he arranged your exile that she would make him king."
Thor frowned. "Arranged my exile? What are you talking about?"
"Thor," Sif said as if speaking to a particularly dull child. "Think about it. He arranges for the interruption of your coronation, knowing it will anger you. He knows the king will not do what you wish—"
"Because it was foolish," Thor retorted. "It could have sparked a war. Father was right not to attack Jötunheim just because—"
"And then Loki tells you to go to Jötunheim, even though the king has expressly forbidden it, knowing your temper and their barbarism and arrogance would provoke you, knowing the king would punish you for what you'd done in a fit of temper egged on by none other than your so-called brother." Sif shook her head, as if dismayed by his thick-headedness. "He set you up. Don't you see that?"
I learned I couldn't trust any of the courtiers here, couldn't trust Heimdall or Sif or the Three. My so-called friends…couldn't trust them because you were the one they wanted! You were the one everyone loved…And before that, what had his brother said? I told you to leave the Frost Giants alone. I told you not to go to Jötunheim, I told you to let it go when the Frost Giant lord tried to pick a fight with you, but you—wouldn't—listen.
The thing was, Loki had said all those things…yet Sif suspected him of arranging matters. Did the Three suspect the same? Was that why they'd gone to Midgard to bring Thor back?
Had Loki told Thor all of that, knowing how Thor would react, in order to bring about the outcome he'd wanted?
Thor, stop and think, Loki had cautioned when he'd wanted to launch his fist—or his hammer—straight into the disdainful Frost Giant's big blue face.
Know your place, Brother! The crown prince had snapped back. He'd seen the moment of hurt on Loki's face, a fleeting break in the mask of courtly politeness and carefully-veiled urgency.
In the Gatehouse of the Bifröst, Thor remembered suddenly, Loki had yelled, I never wanted the throne! I only wanted to be your equal!
That was the thing about not only being brothers, but being as close as they'd once been, Thor thought. Frigga had revealed that Loki had come to Asgard as a newborn babe—barely a few hours old—the very night Thor had been born. The question of who was older had been a matter of perhaps an hour, if that, so Healing Mistress Eir had told the king and queen; Eir, the only person besides Odin and Frigga (and of course Heimdall) who'd always known Loki wasn't the son of Odin. Everyone else had thought Loki not only Thor's brother, but his twin—born on the same night in the hour after Thor, pale and dark-haired against Thor's golden looks and blue eyes; the shadow to the golden prince.
He hadn't wanted to be Thor's shadow anymore. Because he'd tasted the power of kingship? Because he'd discovered he and Thor weren't two sides of a coin, two halves a whole? Or because of something else?
"Thor?" Sif ventured after he'd been silent for some time.
The crown prince shook the troubling thoughts away and focused on his friend. He offered her a smile.
"I've always valued your friendship, Sif. It's good to know you're watching out for me," he said, because that was all he really could say. He didn't know whether to deny her allegations or not. He simply didn't have enough information. Thor had learned, after everything that had followed his exile, never to make assumptions…especially where his little brother was concerned. "I must ready for dinner. I'll see you there."
"Of course," the shield-maiden replied hesitantly. "I will see you later, then."
Thor headed for his rooms, still keenly aware of the weight of Sif's gaze on his back. Just before he turned the corner, he decided that it was better to be safe than sorry, so he turned back.
"And Sif? Do not speak of this to anyone, please. That includes Loki."
She offered him a short bow; her silent way of communicating her displeasure, but also her promise to obey. "As you wish."
No, he thought as he strode away. Not as I wish. If things were as I wished, my brother would not be in prison, half-mad with rage and grief, after murdering my friend, trying to kill me, launching an invasion on a realm I've sworn to protect, trying to decimate Jötunheim, and working behind my back to do…whatever he was trying to do.
But Thor said none of this aloud.
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Lady Sif was not a sorceress by any means, but she had a little seiðr of her own. Just enough to get her hands on something she—and Thor—desperately wanted. The only trick would be keeping Odin's foster son from discovering her presence.
Feet silent as the velvet paws of a cat, Sif crept down the dungeon corridor toward Loki's cell. Subterfuge was not her first choice when confronting an enemy; she preferred a face-to-face attack. In this instance, her fist in the traitor's pasty face. He deserved worse, the shield-maiden thought, for what Loki had done to his family. To the queen, especially, and to Thor. The crown prince had been devastated by Loki's loss, and then to find out he'd turned traitor and was planning on making war on Midgard…
Thor had been different since his return from Midgard when he'd gone to retrieve the treacherous prince. Only later had the court learned that Prince Loki had murdered a friend of Prince Thor's in cold blood, stabbing him in the back like a coward when the mortal attempted to prevent Loki from killing Thor.
Sif didn't know why the idea of Loki attempting to kill his foster brother surprised everyone. He'd done it before. Did no one remember Loki's treachery? Usurping the throne while Thor was banished? Yes, Frigga had made him king while Odin slept, but the slimy little rat had known she would. What about sending the Destroyer to butcher the golden-haired prince? Could no one else see Loki's jealousy, his hatred for Thor because Thor was crown prince and Loki wasn't?
But it seemed no one had until Loki's attempted coup…no but Asgard's lone shield-maiden, friend to both princes, and one who was unquestioningly loyal to the heir to the throne.
Sif paused at the bend in the corridor just out of Loki's line of sight and peered around the corner.
Loki was bent over the table in his cell, a charcoal stick clutched in one white-knuckled hand. The charcoal practically flew across the paper while Loki muttered under his breath, "No, no, no, no." He paused for a moment and he stared intently at the paper on the table.
A shiver of unease whispered down Sif's back. Perhaps Loki was mad after all. He certainly looked it. Dark brows knotted together above glassy, absinthe green eyes burning with some emotion Sif couldn't name. Chewing his lip viciously until a tiny trickle of red appeared to spill down his chin, Loki practically panted for breath, eyes wide and nearly bulging in his skull.
"I cannot bear this," he rasped. His chest heaved with the effort of drawing breath. "Thea, I cannot do this." He lowered his head so that strands of black fell around his face, obscuring his tormented expression. A long, agonized shudder ran through his entire body. The charcoal fell from his fingers to clatter against the tabletop. "I know I promised," Loki half-whispered, half-moaned. "I know, but I…Thea, I can't bear it. She was only a child. She was only a baby. And you..."
Suddenly he lunged to his feet, whipped around the chair, took four savage paces toward the wall, and rammed his fist into the merciless stone as hard as he could. There was a muffled crunch. Loki's entire body spasmed. Shoulders hunching, he dropped his forehead against the wall and cradled his hand to his chest. Blood dripped scarlet from his hand to pit-patter on the bare stone floor.
"Damn you," Loki hissed, thumping his forehead against the stone again—a little harder this time. "Damn you, damn you, damn you. Damn you, Thanos. Damn you, Thor. You stole them from me. It's your fault, it's all your fault. If not for you, they would still be with me. I'll see you pay for it, Brother. I'll see you twisting and writhing on the ground like a worm for every sin you've committed against…against…
"Oh, Thea." He drew a shaking breath. "I would have followed you. If they'd let me, I would have followed...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, alskling. I should have been there. I should have been with you. Forgive me. Forgive me, I…"
Loki trailed off, muttering under his breath so softly that Sif couldn't hear what he said. He fell quiet, still shuddering. Then, with excruciating slowness, Loki straightened up, forcing his injured hand back to his side. His head remained bowed as he drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. His shakes gradually subsided. Then he turned, to reveal a haggard face gone ghastly pale. Without another word to whatever entity he might've been speaking to in his madness, he sat back down. Picking up the charcoal stick with his good hand, he set the point to the paper.
"I must do this. I must not forget this. I must never forget. I won't forget Sophie, Thea. I swear to you, I'll not forget her. Not one moment of…of her time with us, short though it was. And I'll not forget you, either, and our time together…I swear to you." Loki began to sketch again.
Sif waited, every nerve on the alert, as Loki sketched. When that drawing was finished, he set the paper aside and began another drawing, and then another when he'd finished the second. At some point during the third, Loki dropped the stick of charcoal. It hit the table and rolled until it dropped off the edge to clack onto the floor. Loki didn't seem to notice. He simply stared at the drawing for a long moment, throat working convulsively. Then he swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Opening them and wiping his blackened fingers on a piece of cloth, he stood and trudged toward the door in his prison that no doubt led to a privy—a private one, an accommodation most prisoners weren't afforded. Sif suspected Odin had provided this and other unusual amenities for Loki in order to console the queen. Just the thought of what Loki had put Queen Frigga through sent a fresh wave of anger boiling through Sif.
The moment the door clicked shut, Sif made her move. Twining seiðr around her, she thrust out one hand. The strands of magic wove around her arm and out, down the corridor toward Loki's cell. She saw them as ribbons of iridescent light, but unless another magic-user was looking for magic being worked here, no one else would see. This was a simple enough spell, but difficult for someone to which seiðr didn't come naturally.
When Sif felt the tendrils of magic slip under the door of Loki's prison—a prison designed to keep Loki's power in, not out, and porous enough for small magics to seep through—the shield-maiden grinned. Like a breath of wind, her magic swept the three drawings off the table and onto the floor. Another whisper of power whisked the sketches toward the door and under it before swishing them in a tiny whirlwind down the hall toward Sif. The guards glanced at her; she puta finger to her lips, and they nodded. They wouldn't tell the traitor that she'd been there.
Quick as a snake, she grabbed the drawings. She knew Thor wanted to see them. Perhaps they would give some clue as to what Loki was planning.
Sif glanced at the first sketch and frowned. What was this? Why would Loki draw such a thing? She went on to the second drawing, then the third, frowning harder all the while. It made no sense. Why in the nine realms would the traitor be drawing—
"Where are they!?"
The anguished demand jerked Sif from her reverie. Peeking back around the corner, she saw Loki braced against the table, panting like a dog again, eyes wild. He swept his hand across the tabletop, sending quills and sticks of charcoal skittering across the smooth surface and to the floor. Blank paper whooshed overhead before settling to the floor with faint fluttering sounds. Loki's eyes raked over the tabletop.
"Where are they?!" Loki cried, turning that half-mad gaze around the room, scanning for the missing drawings. His face had gone nearly gray. He shoved his fingers through his hair before clutching cruelly at the ebony strands. Sif frowned. What was wrong with him? "No! Where are they?" He roared the question, bellowing like a wounded beast at the impassive and unresponsive guards. They didn’t even so much as glance in Sif's direction.
Suddenly Loki hurled himself at the glass window. His body collided with enough force to knock the wind out of him, but he didn't stop to catch his breath. Instead he hammered at the ensorcelled window, hard enough that Sif's hands ached in sympathy. Humming power filled the air. A dull ache throbbed through Sif's teeth as Loki gathered seiðr to him, straining against the bonds of his prison, and hurled his power at the ensorcelled glass.
The guards reacted to this. One leveled his bladed staff at the window, barking at the prince to cease his attack, while the other shot a glance at Sif, who knew exactly what the Asgardian was trying to communicate.
Fetch the king and the crown prince.
Hugging the mystifying drawings to her chest, the shield-maiden turned on her heel and raced silently away, leaving Loki raging nearly incoherently at the guards far behind.
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Anxiety was a living, breathing shadow in Thor's belly as he and his father strode through the dungeon corridors side by side, Odin's heavy tread echoing off the walls in counterpoint to Thor's own. Frantic thoughts raced through Thor's mind with every step. What was Loki doing? Why would he try to escape after accepting Odin's bargain? There was only one possibility that made total sense to Thor, but he didn't want to consider it…yet.
If Loki had been lying all this time, if his desire to avenge Thea and Sophie was all an act, he would have no reason to fear Odin rescinding the bargain to aid Loki if seeking his revenge. He could simply lull them all into a false sense of security, then escape.
Yet mad as Loki was, he was still cunning enough and clever enough to know things weren't there yet. None of the Asgardian royal family trusted him enough to make this prison break make any sense.
Thor thought of Sif racing into the informal sitting room where Thor and his parents had been discussing Loki, discussing whether he would or would not accept Odin's bargain—and whether Odin would or would not accept Loki's story—when the shield-maiden had rushed in, crying that the prison guards needed both king and prince, that Loki seemed to be trying to escape.
Now the king and crown prince found the other prince on his knees in his cell, forehead and palms pressed to the window, fingers curled into claws against the glass. Thin smears of crimson marred the otherwise pristine window. Thor saw Loki's fingernails had splintered and cracked, and blood seeped from beneath the nail-beds. His fingertips had been scraped raw . He shook as if with a palsy, and his labored breathing echoed in the dungeon. Even as Thor and Odin approached, Loki thunked his head against the glass.
"Where are they?" Loki snarled without lifting his head. "Who stole them? Who stole them? Tell me, curse you! Tell me what you did with them!" Those clawed fingers skidded down the glass with an eerie skreee sound. "I'll kill you if you do not tell me now!"
Odin opened his mouth, but Thor laid a restraining hand on his father's arm, gesturing him back where Loki couldn't see him. Odin glanced at his heir, but Thor's gaze was elsewhere. Keen warrior eyes took in the prison cell at a glance: the scattered paper, the quills and charcoal pencils everywhere, the blood smeared on the glass and on one wall.
"Loki?" Thor stepped into the light and spoke gently to his brother. Slowly, as if his head were an almost-impossible weight upon his shoulders, Loki looked up at his foster brother with a face eerily blank. "What's the matter?"
Something flickered in the depths of that emerald gaze—a flash of electric blue, there and gone—before the other prince closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the glass again. "Where are they?"
"Where are what, Loki?"
Wearily, the prince replied, "You know what." An even wearier shake of the head. "Why, Thor? Why did you take them?"
"I took nothing, Brother, I swear to you," Thor said. "What have you lost?"
Why was it so hard to breathe? Something about the sight of his little brother looking so despondent, and the words they both spoke, struck a chord in Thor. There was something about this...
The storybook; Thor remembered now. They had had a similar conversation that long ago day when Tyr had stolen Loki's favorite storybook, utterly destroying it to get Loki back for some petty, inconsequential thing. At the time, Loki hadn't known who'd done it. He'd come into his bedroom to find the ripped-out pages scattered across the chamber floor, done a frantic search for the elaborately-tooled leather binding, and found it in the midden pile. That was one reason Loki had refused to speak to anyone about the event; he hadn't known the identity of the culprit. Just like now…
"Brother, I would never deliberately steal something from you," Thor murmured, using that memory as a weapon to cut down the walls of ice around his little brother. "What have you lost? Perhaps I can help you find it."
Silence stretched out between them, strained with the weight of centuries and the betrayals Loki still hadn't explained, but at last the green-eyed prince raised his head again and whispered in a voice heavy with bitter defeat, "Someone stole my drawings. I need them back. I promised…I need them back. They are part of my penance. I have to get them back."
Someone had stolen Loki's drawings? No charred paper in the fireplace, Thor reminded himself. But how had anyone gotten into the enchanted prison without the guards seeing the intruder? Unless…
A sliver of memory pierced Thor's brain. When Sif had come in to pass on the guards' message, she'd been holding papers in one hand. Thor had glimpsed elegant lines and shading, but he'd been distracted at the time. His only thought had been that he hadn't known Sif could draw. Now the thought nagged at him. Sif couldn't draw. He would've known; they'd been friends long enough. Where had she gotten those pictures?
But she'd promised not to speak to Loki…
Loki didn't know who'd stolen his drawings…if they had been stolen, and he wasn't slipping further into madness. If Sif had come to speak to him, he would have suspected her right from the beginning. The trust, friendship, and affection that had existed between Loki, Sif, and the Three had been irreparably shattered, and Loki knew it. He would've suspected her if she'd come to see him.
Unless she hadn't spoken to him, thus keeping her word to Thor, but had somehow gotten her hands on the drawings anyway…she would have seen nothing wrong with taking them, to use them as a tool to get more information about Loki—whom she considered a threat to her prince.
"I will see if I can find them," Thor assured his brother. This wasn't the Loki he'd spoken to earlier that day, nor was this the one he'd battled on Midgard. This was…he didn't know this Loki, broken by madness and guilt and rage. Loki's face had been emptied of any emotion by his exhaustion. Didn't he feel his injuries? His hands were shadowed violet and blue, bruised raw in places, smeared with blood. He didn't seem to notice at all. "Or," Thor added, "I'll find whoever might have taken them. In the meantime, you need a healer."
"No," Loki hissed. Sapphire sparked in his eyes before being swallowed by jade once more. "No healers. I want my drawings back, Thor."
"Loki, your hands—"
"It's nothing," he snapped, looking away. One damaged appendage came up to tangle in a thin chain around the pale throat, to clutch at the gold and emerald ring hanging from the thick chain. Thor had never seen that ring before. "Forget it. Someone stole from me. They have to pay."
Thinking of Sif, Thor made no promise to that effect. He merely said, "I will do what I can, Brother. In exchange, I want more of your story when I return."
Emerald eyes snapped to Thor's face. "Find what was stolen and I will give you what you want."
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Thor stood outside Sif's door, swallowing back the anger surging up in him like the tide. Her door was open, and she sat in a chair, staring at a piece of paper in her lap. Two others rested near at hand. Instinct told the crown prince that it was exactly what he was looking for.
"Sif," Thor said softly. Her head snapped up, the firelight sheening the spill of her long, dark hair. The moment she saw Thor, a tinge of unease colored her features. "Where did you get those?"
After a moment, she sighed. "You said once that you wished to know what he was drawing all the time, so I endeavored to find out."
"You shouldn't have taken those," he growled, striding into her sitting room and kicking the door shut behind her. "Do you have any idea what you've done to Loki? My brother is frantic—"
"He's not your brother, Thor!" Sif cried, bringing him up short. "Why do you care what happens to him? He betrayed you. He tried to kill you more than once! He's dangerous, he's evil, and he's attempting to manipulate you. Loki cannot be trusted! Forget about him!"
A thousand thoughts and emotions clamored inside the Asgardian warrior, each one raging to be heard and acknowledged. He shoved them all down and away, where he could deal with them later, and held out his hand. "Give me the drawings, Sif."
Hesitating only a moment, she handed him the three sketches. "I can make neither heads nor tails of them," she said softly, without looking at him. Thor gazed down at the topmost drawing and frowned.
It was an angled drawing of Loki…and a woman.
Sketch-Loki settled into the comfortable cushions of a plush Midgardian couch, legs stretched out before him. He wore Midgardian garb, as well—the heavy, durable blue trousers known as jeans, a sleeveless shirt, and a plaid overshirt. Thor remembered Jane had said they were called "lumberjack shirts." The woman lay draped across the couch, her head pillowed on her arms on the arm of the couch opposite Loki, her hair tumbling over the couch-arm to touch the floor. Unfortunately, the angle obscured her face. Her feet were in Loki's lap; Loki seemed to be in the middle of rubbing them.
The drawing was composed so that the emphasis was on the woman. The prince was in the background, more an implied shadow than anything else, but Thor recognized him nonetheless. The focal point of the piece seemed to be the jeweled ring on the girl's finger, one Thor thought he vaguely recognized. In front of the pair was something Thor was surprised Loki knew about—a Midgardian device known as a television. The sketch was angled so that the viewer could just see the television screen. To the crown prince's surprise, he realized the smaller image there was of a man dueling with a horse, the horse armed with a sword in its teeth and the man armed with a skillet.
Loki smiled in the drawing, but it took a moment for Thor to realize that the smile was gentle, joyous, not cruel or malicious, and that he wasn't looking at the screen of the television. He was looking at the girl. Was this Thea? What was this drawing of? A futile wish for the future…or a memory?
Thor skipped to the next drawing, of the same girl splashing in the rolling ocean surf in a knee-length dress. It was almost as if Loki had caught her in the act of twirling in a circle amidst the sea spray, frozen her in time. Her hair fanned out around her, obscuring Thor's view of her face, but joy radiated from every line of her body. Her arms were flung out on either side of her as the waves crashed over her feet. There was no one else in this picture.
When he reached the final drawing, Thor sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.
Loki stood beside a window. The curtains were filmy with the moonlight pouring in through the window, gilding the dark hair and sharp cheekbones. Curled up in the window-seat with her back to Loki's chest, feet pressed against the side of the casement opposite herself and Loki, sat a woman with the back of her head to the viewer. She wore a night-robe, but that didn't hide the gently swelling curve of her belly where her hands rested…over Loki's. Thor's brother wasn't smiling in this picture; his face was shadowed by anguish and dread.
Something clicked into place. Thor was fairly sure of something about Thea—she'd been married, probably. Had a husband, been with child when she was captured by the Chitauri. Poor girl. Had that been part of why Loki had fallen for her? Her obvious distress, her need for an ally and a friend under such circumstances? Or had it been something else?
Or could it be that this was not a memory, but another futile wish of Loki's? Loki, wishing for a child with a Midgardian? It didn't make sense.
Whatever these drawings meant, Thor would have to ask his brother…but since he'd managed to retrieve them, Loki would have to answer his question. He would have to explain to the crown prince the exact meaning of these sketches, especially the third.
And then Thor would find out just what had happened to his little brother while imprisoned by the Chitauri.
