Loki grabbed onto the door-frame and leaned out until he could see down the hallway. No one there. He peered over the edge of the door; no one coming up from the other end of the hallway either. This was his chance.

He moved as quickly as he could. He had no idea if his father was already abed, or still working somewhere in the palace, or on his way back to his suite at this very moment. Loki hoped it wasn’t the latter; the last thing he wanted was to encounter his father at this hour of the night.

The Norns were on Loki’s side — he got to the little side corridor that ran off the main hallway and led to the service staircase without encountering so much as a mouse.

‘A sec, or maybe two,’ Loki mumbled under his breath.

Safe in the seclusion of the side-corridor, which was little-used even during the busiest hours of the day, he came to a stop and sucked in several long breaths. Today had been Loki’s first day back to his lessons proper and Caunas had been right to caution that just sitting in a classroom would be a shock. The aching in his legs was decidedly more pronounced than it had been over the entire past week.

Loki attempted to lightly massage his left thigh, but that only exacerbated the pain. Still, he wasn’t a coward and he wasn’t about to give up because of a lingering ache. No longer so concerned about being caught, he set a more casual pace for himself. And, conceding that he was quite tired already, he dropped the concealment spells over himself. Using magic always drained the sorcerer to some degree and with no one around to see his face, there was no sense in keeping up the spell-work.

There were two places in the palace complex where Loki and his class typically had their combat lessons. The first, and almost universally, was the courtyard. When it snowed or rained too heavily even for Leifur to tolerate, they trained instead in one of the smaller arenas that belonged to the palace guardsmen. The main arena was reserved exclusively for the actual palace guard at all times. There was, however, another place right in the heart of the palace where you could practise. Few knew of it. This training room had been built for old King Bor’s personal use. Loki’s father preferred to train with the palace guard or the Einherjar, so he had no need of the space. The room was made available to any guests of the palace on the off-chance they preferred to work on their skills in private, but few took up the offer and most days, the room stood empty.

From the side-corridor, it was also only two flights down the service stairs. Loki’s legs might have protested every step and he sweated profusely, but he was determined.

Just don’t think about the climb back up.

The door was ajar. Wiping the beading moisture off his forehead, Loki peered through the gap between the door and the doorframe. The training room was already occupied. A tall man with snow-white hair, which fell down to the small of his back, stood in the centre of the room, his ribcage heaving in sharp bursts. A toppled manikin lay at his feet. Slowly, he turned around and offered Loki a lop-sided smile.

‘Good evening. Come on in, no need to be shy,’ he said. His voice was soft and sonorous, almost seductive — a counterpoint to the long dagger the man held in his hand. ‘Prince Loki, is it not?’

Prince Amhlaith. It was only when Loki turned to shut the door behind him that his mind caught up. To be fair, he had met the Crown Prince of Alfheim only once before and that had been at a feast where Amhlaith had been draped in layers of silk and sable. Now he stood bare-chested and barefoot.

Loki jerked his head forward. ‘It is, your highness. How do you do.’

‘I think I’m satisfied I vanquished the manikin. Would you like to take a turn?’ Amhlaith slid his dagger into the leather holster strapped around his hips and set the manikin upright.

Loki would have liked to say yes. These manikins were training tools experienced soldiers used; they could be programmed to simulate all manner of fighting styles and moves. Some manikins were sized and programmed for a child, but this one had belonged to Loki’s grandfather. Having heard about the man’s many battlefield victories, Loki didn’t feel up to trying his mettle against the man’s old training robot anytime soon. There was a difference between bravery and stupidity.

‘I just came here to do some bladework practise,’ he said.

‘At this hour?’

‘There’s usually no one here and plenty to choose from,’ Loki replied, motioning towards the training room walls. Asgard offered its guests a broad range of weapons to train with should they desire to do so. ‘That’s not to say that I am disappointed to have your company tonight.’

‘Nor I yours,’ Amhlaith replied.

Loki offered no response, although he didn’t much like the way Amhlaith had pushed an emphasis into ‘yours’. He sounded like he was just humouring Loki and it was always annoying when adults did that.

Ignoring Amhlaith, Loki made a survey of the weapon racks. To his dismay, every weapon was either too long or too heavy for him.

‘Use my dagger if you like,’ Amhlaith said. ‘I took a good look earlier; the choices here aren’t inspiring.’

Loki spun around to face Amhlaith and fumbled over his feet. He staggered to the side until he caught his balance again. ‘That’s very kind of you to offer. But I don’t think that would be appropriate.’

‘As you like. There’s probably something marginally useful here. What weapon is your preferred?’

‘Spear is more fun. Or, rather, I’m a bit better at it than the others.’

Amhlaith strolled over to stand by Loki’s side and pulled an old rapier off the rack. He sized it up, his expression thoughtful. ‘I was no good at any of this at all as a child, whether a spear or a knife or hand-to-hand fighting.’

‘You got better though?’ Loki asked. Looking at the taut muscles under Amhlaith’s smooth, ivory-hued skin and the heavily armoured manikin he had overcome, it strained Loki’s imagination to envisage Amhlaith as anything other than a deadly warrior.

‘With many hours of practice. Although I never ventured to train at this hour of the night, not back then at least.’

‘Why now?’ Loki said and suddenly remembered his father’s tirades on the difficulties of dealing with elves. ‘You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, your highness, I meant no offence.’

‘It brings a certain sense of clarity to my thoughts. But mostly I just need to get the voices of your father’s advisers out of my head. I don’t know how you feel about them, but I find them all insufferable. They won’t stop talking.’

Loki bit into his lip. ‘Some are better than others. Agnar does talk a lot.’

‘The universe will burn before than man shuts up.’ Loki couldn’t help his giggle, which seemed to please Amhlaith. The elf tried a few playful feints with the rapier, then shrugged and handed the weapon to Loki. ‘A bureaucrat’s prattle is just empty words. Now steel has some weight to it. But honestly, magic is where the real art is, but few Asgardians know anything of substance when it comes to magic.’

‘Magic is more fun. I think so at least.’

‘Others disagree?’

‘They say it’s cheating when I use a spell to win in a fight,’ Loki replied although inwardly doubts were beginning to gnaw at him. Was he saying too much? That had been a sharp change in subject, too sharp. It wouldn’t have been hard for someone in the elven delegation to find out that he had a knack for sorcery. Perhaps this was a ploy of some kind – elves were not to be trusted and elven royalty least of all.

If this was some scheming of Amhlaith’s, however, he offered up no clues. ‘Cheating?’ he echoed casually. ‘Here’s the thing, Prince Loki. There are rules in training – rules limit our choices so that we are forced to work on our weaknesses until they become a strength. There are no rules in real battle.’

‘I know that.’

‘Do you? I’m glad to hear it.’ Amhlaith cocked his head. ‘And how would you defeat me?’

Loki’s eyes widened. ‘Why would I…’

‘Humour me, your highness.’

‘Um, club you over the head with your own weapon? Or make you slip and fall over?’

Amhlaith answered to Loki’s suggestions with a non-committal grunt. He strode over to the very centre of the room and after sending the manikin drifting towards the corner, sat down on the floor cross-legged. ‘Passable moves at a pinch, but come sit by me and maybe we can come up with more artful ways to get what we want.’

Loki was certain now that the elf was toying with him, but it seemed rude to refuse and frankly, sitting seemed like a very good idea. His legs were bothering him more and more with every passing minute. He found a place on the floor to the right of Amhlaith and watched in awe as the elf conjured wispy figurines of two fighters pinned against each other. The one closer to Loki was dressed in gold and red armour, like leaves during the height of autumn. The other was all blue and white, it reminded Loki of frost in pre-dawn light.

‘Pick your champion,’ Amhlaith said.

‘The blue and white one.’

Odin rose from his seat with more enthusiasm than he had managed in weeks. The elves had finally come around and agreed to four of the eleven clauses most critical to Asgard, which was the first real breakthrough of these negotiations. Perhaps another four or five days and they would have an agreement both parties could live with. And Odin wouldn’t have to suffer Amhlaith’s affected, condescending drawl any longer.

But, for the moment, Odin was still playing host to the elven delegation and while the rest of his retinue filed out in search of lunch, Amhlaith had other plans. Strutting like a peacock, he made directly for Odin.

‘Your majesty, if I might have a word,’ Amhlaith said. As usual, there was no hint of deference in those words.

‘Is there something you require assistance with?’ Odin asked. Agnar and one of his secretaries had noticed Amhlaith’s approach and paused; Odin motioned for them to keep heading out. If there was something the Crown Prince of Alfheim wanted that couldn’t be set out in a letter and transferred into the hands of one of Odin’s staff, it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss with half of Asgard’s Royal Council within earshot.

Pouting mildly, Amhlaith crossed his arms. ‘It’s rather a sensitive matter. I have been sworn to secrecy, you see. But as a father myself, it’s my opinion that you ought to be informed.’

‘I was unaware you had children,’ Odin replied. He hoped his surprise at the direction this conversation had taken wasn’t obvious. Upon hearing ‘a sensitive matter’, he had been half-expecting Amhlaith to confess to murdering one of the palace staff or something similarly distasteful.

‘Oh, I’ve a growing brood of bastards back home.’

Not murdering. Impregnating.

‘How delightful.’

‘Delightful. And loud,’ Amhlaith said. Leaning against the edge of the table behind him, he went on, ‘I had a chance encounter with Prince Loki last night, in the Old King’s training room. It was close to midnight at the time; he seems very eager to return to full fitness as soon as possible.’

Odin frowned. ’Prince Loki? Are you certain it was him?’

‘That’s the name he gave me.’

‘Did his brother accompany him?’

‘He came alone as far as I could see. I was preoccupied when he arrived; he interrupted my training. I stayed until he could be persuaded to return to his bed, of course. Leaving children unsupervised in a room full of weapons is asking for trouble.’

‘Children anywhere other than their bed at that hour of the night is asking for trouble.’

‘So it is not the custom in Asgard to allow children to wander the palace freely? I wasn’t quite sure, you see. But he did ask me to keep our meeting to myself and that seemed suspicious to me.’

‘No, it is most certainly not our custom,’ Odin replied in a sour tone, which was impolitic, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Amhlaith knew full well that Asgardian children didn’t run about unsupervised through the night. And were Amhlaith one of Odin’s own staff, Odin would have berated him for taking this long to say something.

Amhlaith hesitated momentarily before he spoke again, ‘If it is not too prying a question, how goes the child’s recovery? The hour was late and perhaps he had over-exerted himself, but it seemed to me he looked rather wan and in pain.’

Odin scrutinised the chiselled features of Amhlaith’s face. The health of an heir to the throne was valuable knowledge to Asgard’s enemies and there were always factions among the elves who resented Asgard. Illness within the royal family could become construed as an opportunity. Moreover, Amhlaith had offered no proof Loki had even stepped out of his bedroom last night – the entire tale could be pure fiction.

On the other hand, for the first time since he had arrived here, Amhlaith seemed to be offering Odin something other than borderline disdain. It might be prudent to accept Amhlaith’s words in good faith.

‘The healers have reported good progress thus far,’ Odin said. ‘But I will make further enquiries. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.’

Enough was enough. The elves were important trading partners and close relations between Alfheim and Asgard stretched back to the dawn of history, but at the end of the day, there was more to the universe than Alfheim. Odin didn’t know if Amhlaith was playing games with him now and he was beyond caring. Once the negotiating parties reconvened after lunch, he announced he would not be attending the banquet to be held this evening and relegated hosting duties to his chancellor. Odin himself was determined to finally spend an evening with his sons.

To Odin’s consternation neither Thor nor Loki looked particularly pleased to be at the dining table with their father. He had left his customary seat vacant and took Frigga’s place instead — it left him physically closer to the boys, who remained in their usual seats. And they peered down at their food with near-identical scowls.

Odin knew well enough the reasons for Thor’s mood — they still had unfinished business to settle. Loki had him at a loss. While he moved more slowly than his brother and limped, Odin couldn’t describe him as wan or in need of pain relief.

‘Loki, is something the matter?’ he asked.

The boy shook his head, then, as if on a second-thought, sighed. ‘Just a bit tired I guess. I still have work to finish for tomorrow too.’

‘If being back to your lessons is too much all at once —’

‘It’s fine. I was up reading late last night, that’s all,’ Loki cut in.

And in that moment Odin was certain Amhlaith hadn’t spun his meeting with Loki out of thin air. The boy was a frequent recipient of lectures about late-night reading. Not that such conversations were much of a deterrent; Frigga often had to confiscate books when she caught him. But Loki knew he wasn’t supposed to read after his bedtime. If he voluntarily admitted doing so, Odin could bet half his kingdom that Loki hadn’t spent the night simply reading under his covers.

But one child’s mischief at a time.

‘Make sure you get a better night sleep tonight,’ Odin said. ‘Thor, I believe there is a matter you still need to settle with your brother. Why don’t you go ahead and do that.’

Loki frowned as he glanced to his brother. Thor, meanwhile, made a concerted effort to keep his gaze fixed on his half-finished place of roasted beetroot and walnut salad. He said nothing. Odin let the silence linger. One could get more out of a man if he was allowed to stew for a while and gave him an opportunity to make a reckoning of all avenues available to him.

And Odin was vindicated. After a long, pained quiet, Thor said, ‘I tried to blame the whole bilgesnipe hunt thing on you, Loki. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘You always were a twat.’ Loki stuck his fork into a large chunk of beetroot and lifted it halfway to his mouth only to drop it back onto the plate. ‘And a big, annoying twat.’

‘Hey, I apologised!’

Loki glared at his brother. ‘Only because father made you. It’s not like you mean it.’

‘I do mean it! I knew I shouldn’t have said it the moment I did, but I thought…’ Thor looked to Odin for help, but then seemed to resolve something within himself. ‘I thought if I said it was your idea, you wouldn’t get punished because you got injured already. While me… yeah, all right, it was a nasty thing to do.’

‘Fine, apology accepted,’ Loki said. He rolled his fork between his fingers and pushed it through the mass of salad on his plate. ‘That’s all you’re waiting to hear, isn’t it?’

Thor muttered something under his breath, but Odin didn’t catch the words and Loki was no longer paying attention to his brother. He was fixed on playing with his salad. Odin decided not to comment on the lack of progress with the food. He wasn’t particularly fond of roasted beets or rocket either; he only ate it now to set an example for the boys — Frigga believed that hypocrisy made for poor parenting.

‘What did you do?’ Thor demanded. Perhaps it was only out of the lingering sense that he was in trouble, but Thor at least had been making good progress towards clearing his plate. Now he slammed his fork down and twisted to face Loki. ‘I saw that.’

‘What are you accusing me of now? Splattering dirt across your history essay? Tearing up your new shirt? It’s not my fault you’re a grub.’

‘A bunch of the beetroot just disappeared off your plate. I saw it out of the corner of my eye.’ Thor reached for his brother’s plate, but Loki pulled it out of his reach. ‘There was more than that on there a second ago.’

‘Leave me alone, Thor. Can you just do that for once?’

Thor froze and Odin had to admit, he too was taken aback by the glassy tone Loki’s words had taken on. The exchange had been heading for a wrestling match before the second course was served, but Loki just surrendered the fight. Perhaps the boy really was that tired. Or perhaps Thor’s lie had stung more than Odin had anticipated. Odin would need to have a proper conversation with Loki after dinner and without Thor being present.

But Thor wasn’t quite ready to abandon the argument; he looked to Odin for help once more. ‘Father, Loki —’

‘Thor, enough,’ Odin cut in. ‘Be civil, both of you, I’d appreciate it if we could eat the rest of our dinner without squabbling.’

Scowling, Thor turned back to his plate and Loki continued his idle play with his salad. After another lingering silence, Odin started prodding the boys with questions about their classes and their classmates. Loki had little to say, but Thor proved more amiable. The conversation then turned to Sif and the trip to Midgard Sif and her older sisters had been promised. For a moment, just as the servants cleared the first course and brought out a large tray of venison Odin though he finally recaptured that warm family atmosphere that had eluded him of late.

Odin and Thor heartily dug into the venison. His mood buoyed, he even agreed to consider permitting Loki and Thor to accompany Sif and her family to Midgard should the boys behave themselves in the next couple of months. But then he noticed Loki had slipped out of the conversation entirely. He was quietly working on his first rib; Thor had nearly finished his third.

‘Loki, don’t you like the meat?’ To Odin’s frustration, he received only a listless shrug in reply. ‘Then eat. Don’t think I’m going to allow you to live off sweets and dessert.’

‘I know, father,’ Loki mumbled. With the look of a man condemned to a century of hard labour, he bit into the rib and made a show of chewing it.

Thor cocked his head. ‘Do you think you’d be able to come with us?’

‘I cannot say one way or another right now,’ Odin replied as he watched Loki wipe the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. There really was something off — the boy’s movements were too rigid.

‘But mother will be able to come?’ Thor pressed.

Loki dropped the rib onto the table and twisted halfway out of his seat. He grabbed onto the back of his seat with one hand, but it didn’t stop the upper half of his body tilting as he lurched forward and vomited.