Coming Home (Sequel to This Time Around)

Chapter Nineteen

"As am I," Royce rumbled, hugging her when Sif backed away.

"Thank you." McKenna turned to stare at the palace doors, now held open by other pages. She felt so oddly calm. Shock, no doubt. It hadn't hit her yet.

Her feet were numb, propelling her without her thinking about it toward the Throne Room and as the doors opened, her heart jumped into her throat.

Odin was seated on the bottommost step of the golden staircase, his head in one hand. He looked up as she crested the aisle. He looked utterly exhausted, his eye red and shiny, his scepter on the floor at the foot of the staircase. "McKenna..."

"I know, Allfather." The words hurt to say. "What happened?"

"I do not have details aside from the informant turned on him and exposed him to Thanos."

"When..." McKenna thought she was going to throw up. She swallowed hard against the sour taste rising in her throat. "When will he be brought home?"

"He is here now, McKenna."

She pressed her lips together as the tremble rippled through her again. "Who knows?"

"Only us. Heimdall. Several guards and those who brought him back."

She looked down at the floor. Black marble inlaid with golden Celtic designs. She didn't know what they meant, but they were beautiful to look at. Her mind was a tangled knot of thought and feeling that refused to sort itself.

Then, she drew in a shaky breath. "I want to see him."

Odin nodded. "Of course."

He held out his hand, but she folded her arms over her chest, afraid if she touched him, she'd dissolve into the hysterical sobs that twisted her insides. If that happened, she'd probably never stop crying.

Odin said nothing, but gestured with his other hand around the staircase, there a golden door led to his own private chambers. She'd never set foot in them before. Now she wished she never had to.

Odin's chambers were at least twice the size of those she shared with Loki, and far more elegant, awash in gold and silver. They opened to a terrace, much like the one in their own room, only bigger and far more golden.

Her breath caught in her throat as she turned slowly to her left and she saw it. A simple (if gold could be simple) golden catafalque draped with bunting of green, black and gold.

Her blood roared in her ears again as she forced herself to approach. She swallowed hard, wincing at the pain in her constricted throat. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't possible.

She'd never seen Loki so still. His skin had gone back to the blue shade of his Jötunn heritage, his black hair blending almost perfectly with the black bunting beneath him. She bit down hard enough on her bottom lip that she tasted blood, but the pain only barely registered. She was numb as she gazed down at him. His face bore several cuts and a large bruise, but that was it. His eyes, those beautiful blue eyes she loved so much, were closed.

His chest was still.

Without thinking, she touched his arm. Ice cold. Colder than she'd ever felt. When she slid her hand beneath his and linked their fingers to bring his hand to her lips, she was struck by the chill of death that settled into him.

"What happens now?" she asked softly, not taking her eyes from Loki's face. It was peaceful in death, as peaceful as it was when he slept.

"I have summoned Thor. Tonight, after sunset, Loki will be transported to Valhalla in traditional Asgardian fashion."