Chapter 722

The dungeons of Asgard had never been so quiet.

Not long ago, the palace had been thrown into chaos when a group of Kursed warriors deliberately released nearly every prisoner in an attempt to sow confusion. With the Dark Elves invading, the escapees had taken advantage of the disorder to run rampant across Asgard.

If the Golden Palace itself could be attacked, they reasoned, then surely the kingdom was doomed. With nothing left to lose, they had looted, burned, and slaughtered wherever they pleased.

Unfortunately for them, the Dark Elves had arrived quickly and departed just as quickly.

While Malekith’s forces remained in Asgard, the authorities had more pressing concerns than a few escaped criminals. Once the Dark Elves withdrew, however, the surviving rebels were swiftly hunted down and suppressed.

This time, fortune offered the prisoners no second chance.

The luckier ones were executed on the spot. The less fortunate were dragged away to serve as sacrifices for Evenson’s spells.

As a result, the entire dungeon complex now held only one prisoner.

A rather special prisoner, at that.

Loki.

He sat alone in his cell, maintaining his usual impeccable posture and wearing his customary, infuriatingly charming smile.

Inside, however, he was absolutely livid.

Why am I being treated differently?

The Kursed warriors had released practically everyone else in the prison. Every criminal, every petty thief, every murderous lunatic had been given a chance to escape.

Everyone except him.

Loki hadn’t voiced his displeasure, but the insult rankled.

What was wrong with him? Did they doubt his combat abilities?

Yes, his brother had once knocked him off the Bifrost. Yes, a walking suit of iron armor had sent him tumbling down a flight of stairs. Yes, a mortal agent had shot him into a wall. Yes, an archer had blown him off an airborne craft with an explosive arrow. And yes, a gigantic green brute had once smashed him into the floor.

And, fine, practically every scheme he’d ever devised had ended in disaster.

But that was hardly the point!

He was Loki, the God of Mischief. He was clever, powerful, and more than capable of causing trouble on a truly impressive scale.

So why had the Kursed warriors taken one look at him and decided to leave him behind?

What, exactly, did they think he was incapable of doing?

Loki was still brooding over this injustice when something even more irritating happened.

"Well, well. Look who it is. The Prince of Asgard. The rightful heir to the throne of the Frost Giants. The would-be ruler of Earth. How the mighty have fallen..."

The voice drifted into his cell with an unmistakable note of mockery.

Loki frowned.

He knew that voice.

He’d heard it on Earth.

A fresh wave of indignation surged through him.

Apparently, being imprisoned wasn’t humiliating enough. Someone had decided to bring one of his former enemies, one of those wretched Earthlings, here to gawk at him in his current circumstances.

An insult beyond endurance!

Loki’s eyes narrowed.

He would...

He would endure it.

What else was he supposed to do? He was locked in a cell. It wasn’t as though he could storm out and demand satisfaction.

And, oddly enough, the taunting voice had abruptly fallen silent, almost as if someone had suddenly grabbed the speaker by the throat.

Loki straightened, adjusted his expression, and summoned his familiar, arrogant smile.

Then he turned toward the visitors.

Thor stood outside the cell, his face heavy with grief.

Beside him was Evenson, whose expression seemed to be caught somewhere between a grimace and a violent internal struggle.

Evenson had never been particularly fond of Loki. In fact, he rather disliked him.

Phil Coulson had been his friend, and Loki had killed him.

Coulson had eventually been brought back to life, but getting there had been a long, complicated ordeal that had caused Evenson no end of trouble.

Naturally, the prospect of finding Loki at a low point in his life had seemed like an excellent opportunity to return a little of that unpleasantness.

Evenson had come prepared to enjoy himself.

Then he’d looked inside the cell.

And discovered a deeply upsetting truth.

How is it possible for this bastard to have a better life in prison than I do outside it?

Was this really a prison cell?

A spiral bookshelf stood against one wall, packed with books. Beside it sat several potted plants bearing strange, beautiful flowers. An exquisitely crafted tea table displayed fine vessels filled with an assortment of fruits and snacks.

There was a gold-trimmed sofa upholstered in purple velvet, soft enough to make Evenson’s knees feel weak just looking at it. A luxurious bed stood nearby, complete with velvet cushions and silk bedding.

On the bedside table rested several bottles of fine liquor and a collection of crystal goblets.

Evenson stared at the arrangement, his heart breaking a little more with every passing second.

Some people really did have all the luck.

Loki, how about a deal? You let me take your place, and I’ll serve your sentence for you.

Loki rose gracefully from his reclining chair.

"Asgard has truly fallen into decline if just anyone is permitted to visit its dungeons."

He selected an unfamiliar berry from a nearby plate and popped it into his mouth. Then he picked up a glass of wine and strolled toward the visitors.

He deliberately ignored Thor.

Instead, he stopped in front of Evenson.

"What brings you here? Have you come to mock me?"

Loki smiled.

"If so, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. As you can see, I’m enjoying myself quite comfortably."

"Really?"

Evenson watched the leisurely performance, feeling as though a pressure gauge somewhere inside his chest had just climbed into the red.

He took a slow breath and did his best to keep his voice calm.

"Do you honestly consider this comfortable? For a prince, I’d say your current accommodations leave something to be desired."

"Perhaps."

Loki returned to the depths of his cell, pulled over a redwood chair, and sat down with one leg crossed over the other. He took a small sip of wine and closed his eyes, savoring the flavor.

"But I can assure you that I’m living far better than you are."

Evenson’s body visibly twitched.

The words struck him with the precision of a dagger through the heart.

He forced out a strained laugh.

"You’re awfully pleased with yourself. I’ll have you know my living conditions are considerably better than yours!"

Even as he said it, his confidence wavered.

Loki slowly shook his head.

"I don’t believe you."

His smile widened.

"Barton told me quite a bit about you. He didn’t provide enough information for me to understand your personality completely, but I have a rather clear picture of your financial circumstances."

He patted the velvet-covered couch beside him.

"You couldn’t afford this, could you?"

"Ha. Ha."

Evenson lowered his head and laughed hollowly.

Then he snapped.

"Thor, don’t hold me back! Let me in there! I’m going to kill this smug little bastard!"

He lunged toward the cell, arms flailing, his face twisted with indignation.

Thor caught him and pulled him back with almost insulting ease.

For all Evenson’s magical abilities, he couldn’t compete with the raw physical strength of the God of Thunder.

"Calm down! Stop making a scene! We have something important to discuss!"

Evenson took several deep breaths, gradually forcing himself to regain control.

Finally, he pointed at Loki.

"I’m not going to argue with you. And for the record, I didn’t come here to see you. I’m just accompanying someone."

Loki nodded pleasantly.

This time, there seemed to be a little more genuine amusement behind his smile.

Then, as though he’d only just noticed Thor’s presence, he turned toward his brother with exaggerated surprise.

"Oh! Brother. What a delightful surprise. To what do I owe this visit?"

"I didn’t come to see you."

Thor lowered his head, refusing to meet Loki’s eyes.

His expression remained grim, and there was a clear edge of displeasure in his voice.

"Mother wants to see you."

"Is that so?"

Loki spread his hands. His expression revealed nothing.

He turned away, walked back toward his bed, and sat down.

"Does she want you to bring me to her? If so, you may tell her that if she wishes to see me, she can come here herself."

"She’s already here," Thor replied.

He pressed his lips together.

"But when you see her, don’t lose control."

"Lose control? Hmph."

Loki gave a dismissive snort.

Then his smile vanished.

Something about Thor’s behavior had begun to trouble him.

If his mother wanted to visit, why had she sent Thor and that irritating Earthling to accompany her? And why was Thor behaving so strangely? His brother was usually incapable of hiding his emotions, yet today he seemed subdued, almost sorrowful.

Had something happened?

Before Loki could ask, Evenson stepped out of his line of sight.

A moment later, he returned, pushing a wheelchair.

A figure lay in it beneath a thick fur blanket.

Queen Frigga.

Except the woman in the chair bore little resemblance to the regal, graceful queen Loki remembered.

Her hair hung loose and disheveled. Her lips were cracked and almost entirely devoid of color. Her face was deathly pale, marked by dark lines that spread across her skin like black veins.

Loki shot to his feet.

He took two hurried steps toward the wheelchair before stopping abruptly in the middle of his cell.

His hands folded behind his back.

The flash of concern that had crossed his face disappeared beneath a carefully reconstructed mask of indifference.

"What happened to her?"

His voice sounded calm.

Almost.

Anyone listening closely could hear the tremor beneath the words.

Frigga wasn’t Loki’s biological mother, but she had raised him as her own. Throughout his childhood, she’d treated him with extraordinary affection, sometimes even showing him more indulgence than she showed Thor.

Whatever mistakes Loki had made, whatever betrayals he had committed, his feelings for Frigga had never changed.

He loved her.

But his pride, stubborn and thoroughly unreasonable, prevented him from expressing that love openly.

Evenson answered instead of Thor.

"You know the Dark Elves invaded Asgard."

He took a small bottle of green potion from his belongings and carefully tipped it into Frigga’s mouth.

"Malekith himself wounded your mother with a poisoned dagger. It’s called Eitr."

Loki felt something twist violently inside his chest.

He knew poisons. As the God of Mischief, he had spent enough time around deception, assassination, and other less reputable pursuits to understand them rather well.

And Eitr was no ordinary toxin.

As far as he knew, it had no antidote.

"For some time now, I’ve been using my own methods to keep your mother alive," Evenson continued. "That’s why I’ve had to remain at her side."

He put the empty bottle away and studied Frigga’s face. A faint trace of color had begun to return to her cheeks.

Satisfied, he turned toward Loki.

"So even though you’re not exactly my favorite person, I couldn’t bring myself to deny a mother the chance to say goodbye to her son."

The words hung in the air.

Frigga drew a long, labored breath.

Her eyelids fluttered open.

"Have we arrived?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Evenson bowed respectfully.

"I’ll leave you to your family. If you need anything, just call for me."

With that, he stepped away from the wheelchair and disappeared from view.

He continued down the corridor until he reached a corner where Loki could neither see nor hear him.

Only then did Evenson release the breath he’d been holding.

"I can’t believe you actually came up with a plan like this."

A woman appeared beside him.

She wore a black cloak, and her emerald-green eyes glimmered with an unsettling light.

It was Frigga.

The woman lying in the wheelchair was nowhere to be seen.

"Consider it payback," the queen replied. "That ungrateful son of mine caused me no end of heartbreak with his behavior. Perhaps it’s time he experienced a little of the same."

Evenson shrugged.

He’d heard plenty of stories about children giving their parents headaches.

This was the first time he’d witnessed a mother deliberately setting out to give her son one.

And that was Frigga’s plan.

No one understood Loki better than his mother. She knew perfectly well that persuading him to cooperate wouldn’t be easy. Given his stubborn pride, even a direct appeal from her might not be enough.

So she’d decided to stage a tragedy instead.

The performance required more than just Frigga and Thor. They had brought Evenson along for two reasons.

First, he needed to play the role of the physician and explain how Frigga had survived for so long after being poisoned.

Second, Frigga understood Thor just as well as she understood Loki. She knew that expecting Thor to deceive his brother successfully was asking far too much.

Thor’s heart was in the right place, but subtlety had never been his strongest quality.

Most of the conversation with Loki therefore fell to Frigga and Evenson, while Thor stood nearby and provided the occasional dramatic flourish.

A supporting role, essentially.

One that suited his talents rather well.

Meanwhile, inside the cell, the false Frigga continued her performance.

Her voice was weak and trembling as she spoke of the past, recalling happier days when the family had been together. She spoke of her love for Loki, of the affection she’d always held for him, and of how desperately she wished for him and Thor to put aside their differences.

She reminded him of the bond they had once shared as brothers.

Then, with tears shining in her eyes, she made her final appeal.

"Loki, my child..."

The queen struggled to sit upright.

"You must... help your brother."

The words had barely left her mouth before her strength failed. She slumped back into the wheelchair, her head falling to one side as her eyes closed.

Loki stumbled forward.

For a moment, it seemed he would rush to her side.

But he stopped himself.

He stood rigidly in place, fighting the urge to move, fighting the instinct to call out to her.

Then he turned away.

Tears slipped from his eyes despite his best efforts to suppress them.

Evenson hurried back into the room.

He knelt beside the wheelchair and examined Frigga with the grave expression of a physician who already knew the answer.

After a moment, he lowered his head.

"I’m sorry. There’s nothing more I can do."

His voice was heavy with sorrow.

"You have my condolences."

Loki’s back trembled.

It was only a slight movement, but Evenson noticed it.

He pretended not to.

Instead, he rose, took hold of the wheelchair, and began pushing it toward the exit.

After taking a few steps, he stopped.

He looked back at Loki’s rigid figure.

"There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you."

Loki didn’t turn around.

Evenson continued.

"I hate to admit it, but you and I have a few things in common. We’re both rather unpleasant people. Scheming, manipulative, and perfectly capable of being downright vicious."

He paused.

"So if I were you, I’d make absolutely certain that whoever did this to my mother suffered for it."

With that, he resumed pushing the wheelchair toward the door.

Loki remained motionless.

Evenson disappeared around the corner.

Frigga was waiting there.

She stepped forward, reached down, and lifted the supposedly lifeless figure from the wheelchair with one hand. She even gave the body a casual shake, as though it weighed practically nothing.

Then, with a soft crack, the corpse dissolved into fragments of green light.

The illusion collapsed, revealing a short sword in Frigga’s hand.

Evenson applauded.

"An illusion within an illusion. Your Majesty, your mastery of illusion magic is remarkable."

"Nothing extraordinary."

Frigga slid the short sword back into its sheath and brushed her bangs away from her forehead.

"If Loki hadn’t been so overwhelmed by grief, he might have seen through it."

"Grief?"

Evenson glanced back toward the cell.

"That boy didn’t look particularly devastated to me. I’ve seen stuffed animals put on a more convincing display of sorrow."

Frigga offered no argument.

She simply sighed.

"Three. Two. One. Now."

The instant she finished counting, a feral roar erupted from Loki’s cell.

"AAAAAARGH!"

The sound shook the corridor.

A moment later came the unmistakable crash of splintering wood, followed by the shattering of glass.

Evenson smiled.

"Looks like the plan worked."

Then he glanced toward the cell again.

"Although, honestly, he could have just given me that furniture. Why does he have to smash everything?"

The destruction continued.

Frigga merely listened, her expression unreadable.

Whatever else could be said about Loki, he certainly knew how to make his feelings known.