25

Before leaving home—so long ago now—I’d banked the fire to a low glow. The half-light barely illuminated the small room with its sleeping alcove, and a chill hung in the air. I knew I should go and stir the coals, feed the fire and drive away the cold. Despite that, I stopped just inside the doorway, with no energy for even that small act.

I couldn’t have crossed the room right that moment, anyhow. Heimdal still held my wrist—less tightly now, but keeping contact. Behind me, the door latched.

The pressure on my wrist increased—Heimdal prompting me to turn and face him.

I hesitated. Despite our conversation at the bridge stone—because of it—I remained troubled. The idea of caving in to Odin’s commands, no matter what, did not sit well with me, for whatever reason. Would Heimdal expect that of me forever? Was that what he’d always done?

“Heimdal did nothing.”

I felt Heimdal’s warmth as he stepped up closer behind me. He captured my other wrist as well, and neatly maneuvered me into facing him. Firelight sparked in the silver embroidery of his black shirt and glittered in his eyes. He regarded me with his usual somberness.

Asgard’s Watcher. Protector of the Aesir. Protector of Bivrost too, yes—but what about Iris?

“If I let go of you, will you stay?” Heimdal stared intently into my eyes, every line of his body indicating alertness.

He was listening, too, of course. He’d know if I lied.

“Yes.” What good would it do me to do anything else, at this point?

Heimdal let go of one wrist and then, with what seemed a touch of reluctance, the other.

The recalled heat of his kiss seared through my brain. I pushed the memory away. I had more important things to think about right now.

“Listen.” Heimdal leaned forward, still intent. “This is what we must—”

“Did you know what they were doing to him?”

Heimdal broke off in mid-sentence and leaned away from me. Some of the intensity faded from his expression. He recovered quickly, but before he did, I saw it—the same pained expression flitted across his face as had back when Loki had first flung the accusation at him.

Pain. Or guilt?

I turned away from Heimdal, chilled enough now to finally move toward the hearth.

“I was little more than a child. We all were.” Heimdal’s words came haltingly. “Loki was the youngest, of course, but…”

“Old enough to know better?”

A pause. Then, “Yes.”

I slid aside the screen on my fireplace and reached for the small shovel leaned against the stone hearth. And waited.

Footsteps crossed the entry, rattling on the bare wood before softening when Heimdal stepped onto the thick rug centered before the hearth.

“I caught Thor holding Loki down. Hitting him. Loki was crying. Pleading with Thor to stop.”

Renewed anger flared behind my eyes. I pressed my lips together and managed to say nothing.

“That was what I believed I saw.” Heimdal’s words slowed even further.

Shovel still in hand, I straightened from what I was doing and looked up.

Heimdal stared into the glowing coals, his brow deeply furrowed. “But there was a… smell. Smoky. Dark.”

My breath caught. “But you’re immune to Loki’s influence,” I blurted, before I thought.

Heimdal’s gaze shifted to me.

He knows now. If he didn’t before, he knows now that Loki did try to influence me.

But Heimdal only continued with his story. “I leaped in. Knocked Thor away from Loki. Took a few of Thor’s punches myself before Baldur caught us and broke things up.”

Heimdal paused.

“Thor always would listen to Baldur.”

A sick feeling thrilled through my stomach. To distract myself from it, I looked away from Heimdal and instead busied myself using the shovel to move aside the ashes and gently stir the waking coals in the fireplace.

“I went to Odin.” A hint of outrage tinged Heimdal’s voice. When I turned back, the intensity had returned to his eyes. “I didn’t do ‘nothing.’ I went to Odin. With all the absolute certainty and conviction that Loki had planted in me, that he was a helpless victim, I went to Odin.”

Heimdal leaned toward me. Reaching out, he took hold of my free hand and squeezed the fingers.

“Do you want to know what Loki had done to provoke Thor?”

“Nothing excuses—”

“He killed a dog.”

I stopped short. A rush of horror rolled through me, stealing my breath. I shook my head, but all the pieces of lies and half-truths Loki had fed me came together with a solid and overwhelming click. It struck me like a physical blow.

Seeing the look on my face, Heimdal’s grasp on my hand gentled. “Not outright. Loki never does anything outright. But he caused its death. Turned it mean, trained it to hate, sent it after Tyr. There was no choice but to put it down, after that. And all because the pup preferred Thor to Loki.”

I kept shaking my head. Tears welled into my eyes and rolled down my cheeks.

That wasn’t what Loki had said. Loki had said—

Loki lies. That simple truth finally—finally—settled like a stone in my gut. Loki lied. About everything. Every memory I had of him was suddenly tainted.

Heimdal’s gaze shifted from past to present. He removed the shovel from my other hand and then drew me into his arms. Body heat and a scent like winter sun wrapped around me.

“I’ve been through all this before.” Heimdal’s voice rumbled deep in his chest, beneath my ear. “I wanted to spare you the same pain.”

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I should have.” I was close enough to hear the catch in Heimdal’s voice. “I was ashamed.”

I laid my palms flat against his chest and levered back to peer up at him. “Ashamed of what?”

Heimdal stared at some distant spot beyond me. “I keep trying to protect everyone. And succeeding in protecting no one.”

“You were a child,” I said. “You were all children.”

Thor, too. And Loki. Who had started what? Where had the first spark in the ill-fated cycle of abuse begun?

My head spun—too many questions of who to blame and what was justifiable.

“Look at what he’s done, Iris.”

Finally, Heimdal looked into my eyes. He lifted one hand. The backs of his fingers brushed my cheek, a whisper of a touch. Instinctively, I turned my face into it.

“Loki had his moments,” Heimdal said. “And you always want to believe the best of people. That they can change. It’s one of the things I… It’s difficult to fault you for that.”

My heartbeat quickened. Heimdal turned the hand that had been caressing my face and cupped it against my cheek.

“But I remember what it was like.” Heimdal raised his other hand and placed his fingers beneath my chin. “It’s painful, to place trust in someone and find out they were lying to you all along.”

I looked into Heimdal’s eyes again, and the earnest set of his face plucked a note inside my chest. Some of the tension the talk of Loki had wound into my shoulders eased. I understood, suddenly, all the warnings Heimdal had tried to issue.

I peered into Heimdal’s face, needing to hear from his mouth what I had been trying so hard not to accept. “You believe Loki killed Baldur on purpose. Not in self-defense, but simply because… Because?”

Heimdal’s touch remained gentle, but his jaw worked. “I believe Loki can’t change. That whatever his intentions, he brings damage like an avalanche on everyone around him.”

In other words, some people simply can’t be saved from themselves. Everything in me wanted to disagree. I blinked back sudden tears.

Heimdal once again put his arms around me and drew me close. His lips brushed my temple.

“I should have stepped up when I realized he’d tricked you into taking him to Midgard.” Heimdal’s breath warmed my temple as he spoke. “I didn’t understand why, not any more than you did. But I should have known he was up to something. I’ve let down too many people, too many times.”

I slid my arms from Heimdal’s chest around to his back and leaned my cheek once again where I could hear his heart thumping in his chest. “Not from lack of trying.”

And didn’t I know how that felt? The full realization of what I’d done suddenly crashed home. I sucked in a sharp breath and gripped handfuls of Heimdal’s shirt.

“I helped him escape.” The words trembled out of me. “Oh dear gods. I helped Loki escape.”

“Yes.” Heimdal’s reply was little more than a whisper, although his arms tightened around me. “And now you need to let me protect you. You need to let me fix things with Odin, before Loki’s lies destroy you, too.”

I leaned my forehead against his broad chest. Heimdal’s proximity warmed me. I felt, for the first time since Baldur’s death, safe. Comforted.

But also defeated. “I brought all this on myself.”

“No.” Again, Heimdal’s lips brushed my temple. “I failed you. I failed Baldur. It’s my job to watch over and protect. I let down my guard.”

How many times had I argued with Heimdal over Loki? How much had my insistence that Loki only deserved the benefit of the doubt influenced Heimdal into doing just that—affording Loki the benefit of Heimdal’s doubt, as well?

I lifted my head and peered up at Heimdal. “Are you blaming me for that?”

“No.” His answer came quickly. Storm clouds filled his eyes, and he refused to meet my gaze. “I’m blaming myself.”

He hurts. Every bit as much as I do, even if he refuses to show it.

“I’m sorry, anyhow.” I lifted my hand and touched his jaw. Fine whiskers and the heat of his breath brushed my palm. “I made things more difficult for you.”

Heimdal’s gaze met mine. “You are truly Alfar. They were long known for their great compassion and kindness. I forget sometimes, that you haven’t always lived in Asgard.”

He hesitated, and his hand rose to cover mine. The clouds dispersed from his eyes. All the stern lines of his face softened.

“Haven’t always lit up my life.”

He leaned forward, closing the space between our mouths with agonizing slowness. His warmth enveloped me.

“You can’t change who you are. I wouldn’t want you to.” His mouth lingered so close that I could feel his breath on my lips. “Loki’s gone. We’re still here. And I can make things right again. Please let me.”

I thought of the first time I’d seen Heimdal, bowing formally while the wind ruffled his hair. His somber expression and reassuring strength, with that hint of a smile waiting to happen. Of all the moment since, when he’d tried his hardest to do what he thought I needed—gentle fingers against my face, distance when he thought I needed room to grieve. Trying so very hard to see Loki through my eyes while still trying to protect me from him.

“Whisper my name. I’ll hear you.”

Warmth blossomed inside my chest, driving away a chill that no fire ever could have. I smiled, curving my lips that lingered oh so close to Heimdal’s.

His lips fell on mine, gentle friction that sent a thrill straight through me. Heimdal’s hands slid up my back and arms, trailing delicious heat, until they cupped my face. He leaned back and looked into my eyes. A smile twitched free of his somber expression.

“You have the most beautiful eyes. The deepest blue of midnight, yet somehow always filled with light. Like you are.”

The fingers beneath my chin lightly traced my jaw. Heimdal’s thumb skimmed across my lower lip, leaving behind a buzz of sensation.

“Is this how you’re planning to keep your hands on me?”

“It’s a definite possibility.” A throaty note filled his voice.

My pulse sped.

He can hear you.

I didn’t care.

I tilted my head back again and parted my lips. Heimdal did not miss his cue. His lips pressed mine, gentle at first and then harder. His hands left my face and trailed again down my body, this time taking a longer, more breathtaking time about it. I leaned into the kiss, pressing my belly tight against Heimdal’s body, and found the kiss was not the only thing harder.

His mouth left mine and traced a line of heat along my jaw, pausing only to nip at my ear.

Every thought of everything but Heimdal and this moment fled. No Loki. No Odin. No duties to anyone but each other.

A pounding at the door threw itself between us like a bucket of ice water. I gasped and jerked. Heimdal’s arms tightened protectively around me.

“Heimdal!” Thor’s voice, louder even than the knocking he continued to inflict on my door. “Odin wants us.”

Heimdal stayed very still for a moment. His head tipped slightly to one side. He was listening, I realized. For what, I wasn’t sure.

“What—” I started to ask.

“I don’t know.” Heimdal’s frown touched his voice. “I suppose the best way to find out is to go.”

“Heimdal!” Thor’s fist crashed against my door once more.

Heimdal brushed his lips across mine. He paused for a second, staring intently into my eyes. Then he let go of me and crossed to the door.

When Heimdal flung open the door, Thor’s fist was poised for another blow. Red-faced—from his exertion, from anger, from who knew what, it was Thor after all—Thor glanced past Heimdal and scowled at me. I hugged my arms around myself, already missing Heimdal’s warmth. But I returned Thor’s gaze evenly. Without flinching.

“Don’t you need to shackle her or something?”

Heimdal turned. His bluer-than-blue eyes met mine.

I shook my head, responding to his unspoken question. I even managed a faint smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Thor grunted. He kept staring at me, only glancing toward Heimdal toward the end of his question. “And that’s good enough for you?”

“Yes.” Heimdal planted a hand on Thor’s thick forearm and urged him away from my door. Thor back-pedaled at first, glaring toward me. But eventually he turned toward Valhalla.

Heimdal glanced back one more time. A smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Just whisper,” he said, before turning to follow Thor.

“I can make things right again.”

And he would. I knew he would. Heimdal, after all, did not lie.