Emprise [Fólkvangr End, Book 2][Loki Fanfiction]

Chapter Twenty-Four - Illt

I turn my back to the mirror and braid my hair quickly, tying it off at the end. I tuck my shirt into my pants and then dash out the door with a quick peck to Loki’s forehead. He’s going to be so pissed when he wakes up.

I hurry down the hall with the sound of my boots on the marble echoing in my ears. There is an odd comfort to the rhythm. I take deep breaths in my nose and release them from between my lips, trying to steady my pulse. My heart pounds out of my chest—I am…too excited for something so horrible. I pound down the steps towards the dungeons and seek out the guard on duty. He points me towards Amora’s cell and then waves me on without much attention and a grin slips over my lips. When I reach the door, I am puzzled to find a basic wooden door with a metal latch. I touch the door and magic ripples under my fingertips. I smirk to myself. Loki knows me too well. 

Of course, I do not have even a remote mastery of magic or spells. Do I even still have magic? The magic manifested around the time I conceived Loki and I’s child. It could very well be that the magic was a property of the child…of Loki’s child within me. Perhaps the tingling in my fingers has only been a remembrance. But then, I focus my thoughts and energy into getting through this door, to getting to Amora…and it rather unceremoniously swings open. I step into the room, closing the door behind me. The spell glimmers again from the inside. So…I did not break it. And if the magic did not come from the child, what then?

“I wondered how long it would be before you came to pay me a visit,” Amora says before I even see her. The room is dark, dingy, lit only by a single torch upon the wall, the flame in danger of sputtering out completely. She sits, her body hunched, head hung slightly, looking up at me through her dirtied blonde hair. She is roped and chained and strapped into a chair, screwed and weighted into the ground. Still, I can make out the bites of the restraints against her skin as I get closer. She has been struggling. I crouch down in front of her, and though her eyes bear the same fire I recognize, not much else about her bears resemblance to the one who has caused me so much pain.

“Look at me,” I demand and she slowly lifts her eyes to mine. She smirks at me, and before I know I have done it, the sound of my open palm against her cheek is ringing in my ears. She barely flinches.

She laughs and the sound is empty—it slips through my brain like cool metal, leaving my head feeling heavy. I shake my head slightly and try to regain my focus. “What do you want, Valkyrie?”

“I want…” I hesitate, my hands curling into fists. “I want answers. I want to know why you decided to take everything from me. I want to know why you ruined my life. But most importantly I want to know what the fuck Thanos wants from me.”

“Why should I give you anything you want?” she asks, the smirk still plastered on her face. I pull back and punch her directly in the nose. The bone crunches under the impact and blood spurts from her nostrils, getting on my knuckles. 

I put one hand on either arm of the chair she’s strapped to and get within an inch of her. “Because, you simple thing, if you do not give me answers I will not hesitate to kill you.”

Her smirk splits her lips into a grin and blood from her nose stains her teeth crimson. Anger courses through me and I pull back again, punching her again, and again, while she continues on laughing, twisting the knife that feels wedged into my gut. I let out a scream of rage and grab her hair, yanking her head back. I feel the hot tears on my cheeks. 

“Just give me a fucking answer, Amora! I don’t know what I did to you that made you so bent on destroying my life…” I whisper, searching her eyes for something other than pure amusement. But I find nothing. I lift my knee and slam her face directly into it. She laughs, though she is gargling blood. She spits the blood out on me and purses her split lips, looking smug. I let go of her and take a step back, turning my back to her. I look down and examine my bloodied hands and instead of the remorse I expect to feel, I feel heat welling up in the pit of my stomach. I know that heat, that irrepressible feeling that usually lingers in my hands. I breathe in slowly and the heat creeps through my body, filling me with more wrath. I turn on my boot heel.