Loki wanted a seat in Odin's hall that no one could take back. He had wit, blood-oath brotherhood with Odin, and a hundred old debts the Aesir owed him. He had no ally. In a hall of gods who feared his tongue, one voice meant nothing. They would let him speak, then vote him down and laugh. So he walked to the rainbow bridge, where the guardian would surely stop him first. Heimdall stood at the foot of the shimmering span, horn across his chest, sword bare. His gold eyes tracked Loki before Loki's feet touched the first stone. This was the one god born to kill Loki, and be killed by him, when the world ended. He did not blink. "Turn back, shape-shifter," Heimdall said. "I hear your heart. It lies even when your mouth is shut." "I only want passage," Loki said. "To sit and speak in the hall like any of you." "You want a throne," Heimdall said. "I will give you the bridge, and nothing more, and I will watch you cross it." The bridge burned bright behind him, a road of colored light bordered in gold and stone. Loki weighed his choices. Trickery here was useless. Heimdall could shut his eyes and find him by heartbeat alone. He needed the one thing no lie could buy. Thunder answered before Loki spoke. Thor came down the bridge, hammer swinging at his side, red cape dragging light across the stones. Of all the Aesir, only he still called Loki friend. They had quarreled, traveled, and bled together. Thor had also sworn to show no mercy for Loki's next cruelty. Both truths lived in him at once. "Heimdall," Thor said. He did not slow. "Let him pass." "He plots," Heimdall said. "He always plots." Thor stopped between them. "He also carried Mjölnir's return when the giants stole it. He owes Asgard mischief. Asgard owes him too." Heimdall's sword did not lower. "And when he turns on us?" Thor looked at Loki a long moment. Loki said nothing. He had learned that Thor spoke best without help. "Then you watch him," Thor said. "Every hour. Every shape. You hear his heart already. Guard him, and I stand for him in the hall. My word beside his voice." The offer landed hard. Heimdall could refuse a trickster. He could not easily refuse the thunder god and the watchman's own duty in one breath. Heimdall lowered the sword. "He crosses. But he is never out of my sight or my hearing. I will hear the beat of his heart until the day it stops." "Agreed," Thor said. Loki bowed his head to hide his smile. He had a champion in the hall now, the mightiest of the Aesir. His lone voice had a second behind it. He stepped onto the bridge. Behind him, Heimdall closed his eyes and began to listen. Loki had won his ally. He had also gained a warden who would never look away.

Loki had won his ally, but one voice and Thor's word would not win a throne. A single vote could be laughed down. He needed weight the Aesir could not ignore. So he did the thing no god expected. He opened the gate and called his children into Asgard. They came across the bridge at dusk. First the wolf. A black beast the size of a longhall, with eyes that burned red and green. Each step cracked the stone. Guards backed away and raised their spears. The wolf bared its teeth and the spears trembled. Behind the wolf walked his daughter, the goddess of death. Her skin was pale as bone. Black wings hung from her shoulders, and a long cape dragged behind her boots. She did not look at the frightened gods. She looked only at her father, and her stare held old anger. "You never called for us before," Hel said. "Now you want us at your side." "I want you standing where they can see you," Loki said. "Odin's hall fears my tongue. Let them fear my blood too." A horn split the air. Heimdall's warning rang across the nine realms. Riders answered it. Down from the clouds came armored women on white flying horses, spears lowered, hair streaming. The sky filled with beating wings. They circled the wolf and the death goddess and hemmed them against the bridge. One rider drove her horse low and aimed her spear at the wolf's throat. "These monsters do not belong here," she called. "Send them back or we cut them down." The wolf snarled and gathered to spring. Loki stepped between the beast and the spear. "Hold," he said. "They came at my word. Strike them and you strike a guest of Odin's blood-brother." The riders did not lower their spears. Neither did they throw them. They waited, and the standoff froze on the bridge. Then Hel spread her wings and rose a little off the stone. Her voice carried to every rider. "I hold the raven Munnin," she said. "I feel every death in the nine realms the moment it comes. Strike me, and I will know your names before you fall." The riders looked at one another. No one wanted to be first. Slowly, spear by spear, they pulled back and gave the bridge. Loki led his children into Asgard. The gods watched from every door. No one laughed now. He had traded a quiet seat for a loud one. He was no longer the lone trickster begging a vote. He was the father of a death goddess who could feel every grave, and a wolf no spear could hold. But he saw the cost in Heimdall's face. The watchman had sounded the horn that only Ragnarök should sound. Odin would come now, and Odin wanted his stolen raven back. Loki had brought power through the gate. He had also brought Odin's greatest enemy into his own hall.

Loki walked his children into the heart of Asgard, and the gods gave way. But fear was not a throne. He knew it as he passed the golden hall. The Aesir would still vote against him once Odin returned to demand his stolen raven. Loki needed something no vote could undo. He needed to prove that Baldr, the beloved son, was not safe. If the perfect god could die at Loki's hand, then Loki held the one power the Aesir could never take back. He found the tree in the orchard behind Baldr's shining palace. Golden apples hung heavy on its branches. Colorful vines wound through the leaves. Loki reached up and pulled a sprig free. Mistletoe. The one plant Frigg forgot. He rolled the small green stem between his fingers. A shadow crossed the grass. Loki turned. Baldr stood at the orchard's edge, light spilling from his skin. He had come to pick apples, not to find the trickster among his trees. "You should not be here," Baldr said. His eyes dropped to Loki's hand. He remembered the vine that had drawn his blood. He remembered pleading for silence. "Give it to me, Loki. Whatever you think you hold, give it to me." Loki did not give it to him. "You told me to keep your secret," he said. "I keep it well. But secrets are worth more spoken at the right moment." Baldr stepped closer. He raised a hand to snatch the sprig. Loki shifted. His body thinned to nothing, then reformed three steps away. No god could grab what would not hold still. Baldr grasped only air. "Frigg missed one plant," Loki said. "One. And now I hold it." Wings beat overhead. A rider dropped from the clouds on a white flying horse, spear lowered, armor flashing gold and silver. Baldr had called for the watch. "Step back from the god of light," she shouted. Loki did not run. He lifted the mistletoe high so both the rider and Baldr could see the small green stem. "Strike me," he called, "and you knock this into a hundred hands. Then everyone learns what it is." The rider hovered. She did not throw. Baldr's radiant face had gone pale. He shook his head, once, begging. Loki closed his fist around the sprig and tucked it into his cloak. "I take nothing today," he said. "I only take proof." He walked past the frozen rider and out of the orchard. He had not killed Baldr. He had done something more useful. He carried the only weapon in the nine realms that could end the beloved god. Now every power in Asgard would have to deal with the god who owned it. But Baldr had seen his face at the tree. Baldr would run to his mother. And Frigg, who guarded her son above all things, would come for Loki before the sun set.