III.
drink and be merry in the face of calamity

✧    ✧    ✧

    THE TAVERN WAS IN AN UPROAR OF MUSIC AND LAUGHTER. The air was hot and smothering, with the scent of butterscotch and fruit gracing it. Laughter echoed loudly over the pulse of a drum that bodies swayed to like heavy trees. Ylva knew the celebration was just a faint flame that would grow into a wildfire as the darkness of night deepened.

    Instead of embracing it all by dancing unsteadily and drinking from the wine that flowed like a rushing river as she usually would, Ylva stood away from the crowd, her back leaning against the cold wall of the tavern. She twirled the silver goblet in her hand without a care. Droplets of wine the color of a freshly polished red apple, dark and vivid, clung helplessly to the cup before trickling down onto the floor.

    To Ylva, the spilled wine looked like drops of blood on the white marble, the same way Calder's blood painted the floor of the healer's. She knew he was fine, thoroughly examined and bandaged up, given the best care in all of Asgard. But Ylva couldn't stop herself from worrying about her little brother.

    Calder was sat with the Warriors Three. His long legs stretched before him as he sat sunken into his chair, his head hung back heavily, his eyes closed. Beads of sweat rolled down his flushed cheeks, and Ylva couldn't help but question if it was from the heat in the room, or if he was running a fever. He resembled his younger self from a time when he had fallen ill, and with their parents away, Ylva had fretted over him, doting on him with remedies upon remedies.

    She supposed that was why she was so concerned; he was, despite being older, a spitting image out of her memories from harrowed times, and even though he had grown into a strong and capable man, Calder would always be the little boy that hid behind his sister's gown and sought her out when he had nightmares.

    "He'll be fine." Loki's voice was soft, his breath hot against her ear. Ylva knew that if she turned her head ever so slightly she'd be able to study his mesmerizing gaze dangerously up close. "Try not to worry, and have a drink. We did well today."

    To worry was perhaps her eternal infliction as a sister. "How could I not worry about him?" She emptied her goblet; the wine was sour with undercurrents of sweetness, smooth and warming. "I used to be so concerned about leaving him alone that I never realized he could be the one to leave me."

    A cool finger hooked under her chin, and Ylva found her gaze locking with Loki's. "I assure you, you'll never be alone." His hand dropped and he shifted backwards, arms crossing over his chest as he did. "The only thing perhaps concerning about Calder is how quickly he drank himself into stupor."

    "Don't tease me like that, darling," Ylva said, surprisingly disappointed at the abrupt lack of closeness. "But enough about me, how did your parents react to today?"

    The light in Loki's eyes dimmed. He flicked his wrist in the air, summoning a server that rushed over and refilled his and Ylva's cups. He took a large gulp, his head craning back and then wiped his pursed lips. "My father, as per usual, commended Thor on his recklessness."

    Ylva rolled her eyes, irked at the All-father, knowing how well Loki sought just the slightest approval from the man. "Ah well, you know, brutishness is coveted. See it as a compliment that sets you apart from it all."

    "Hm."

    Ylva smiled warmly. "And your mother? I imagine she must have been very pleased that her tutoring is going to good use."

    Loki mirrored her smile, his eyes softening and glinting in the warm glow of the torchlight. "She says I'm making my way towards becoming a great sorcerer."

    "Well then there you have it, darling, the only opinion you need that matters!"

    "You know, she asks about you," Loki commented, an eyebrow slightly raised. "I think she worries about you."

    Ylva held up both hands and twirled, the trail of her sunset pink gown rippling behind her as she did. "Look at me, is there anything you see that causes concern?"

    "Your accessorizing could use some work. Maybe some more effort taken for your hair? It's rather flat."

    "Oh, you're hilarious," Ylva said as she scowled at him. "Assure your mother that I'm fine."

    "You should come see her."

    Ylva froze at the thought. She knew Queen's concern was mainly for her son, not for her. Sure, at one time when her mother was alive, Frigga may have seen the daughter of her friend as her own flesh and blood, but that was before things changed so suddenly. Now Ylva was seen as a bad influence, a wayward soul that needed guiding.

    "That would be lovely," Ylva lied. Loki's eyes squinted at her, spotting the lie immediately. "Okay, maybe it could be lovely on some rather far away day."

    "You can't avoid her forever, you know. You haven't seen her since..." His words trailed off as if he regretted saying them.

    "Since my mother's funeral," Ylva finished for him. She had broke on that day, like a mirror smashed onto the ground. It had taken her time, years, to piece herself back together. Except some pieces didn't fit like they used to, fragmented here and there. She had changed.

    "You were always annoyingly spirited, I doubt she'd care that you've become more so."

    Ylva's head tilted to the side, her nose crinkled and eyebrows furrowed, amused. "That's an odd way to put it. Do I look like some overly coy maiden that frolics in gardens and talks to birds about your brother's chiseled looks?"

    It was Loki's turn to roll his eyes, his mouth slightly open as his sighed exasperatedly. "I mean, you have talked to pigeons before, I've seen it." He took another sip of his wine. "Quite embarrassing if you ask me."

    She took a sip of her wine as well, mirroring him perfectly. "At least I have a talent between the two of us, irrespective of how demure it is."

    "Why are you so infuriating?"

    "I could ask the same thing about you."

    Loki chuckled deeply; it was gruff at first and then smoothed out. "So will you, one day, come and see her?"

    "Why is it so important that I do?" Ylva asked. The thought of sitting down with his mother, a painted smile on both of their faces, the room silent and thick with discomfort caused Ylva to break out into a cold sweat.

    Loki shrugged, his face blank. "I value the both of you highly. It wouldn't hurt for you two to get along."

    "Fine. Just for you."

    He was quiet for a moment, pleased with her words. But the content on his face melted off fast. Loki bit the inside of his cheeks, his forehead creased, eyes sharp as an anxious aura settled over him. His eyelids drooped as his gaze skittered away. "There's something I need to get off my chest. I'm afraid of how you might react."

    "You know you can tell me anything, even if it may seem horrible." Concerned at his words, Ylva place a hand on his shoulder in hopes of comforting him. "It's not easy getting rid of me, you know. So spill."

     The two friends stood closely together in silence, Ylva anxiously waiting for Loki to find the words he needed. The noise around them seemed to dim in the shadows that encased them, closing them off from the rest of the world.

    Loki swallowed, his mouth parted open slightly, the sliver of a word on his tongue.

     "Would you mind if I stole the sweet wolf away from you?"

     The moment shattered abruptly. The noise and light from the tavern filtered back in, snapping at them, loud and disconcerting.

     Loki's jaw clenched, his eyes forming slits that held a fire in them. "I would."

     "That's a shame," Fandral said. His gloved hand reached for Ylva's, and she obliged, allowing him to take her hand. "There's something you need to know."

     Ylva glanced at Fandral, expecting a mischievous smile on his lips and a quip to dance off them. Instead, his face was pinched, his lips pulled down to the sides, his eyes conflicted.

     "Can it wait?" Loki snapped. His posture was stiff, his head held up high, hands crossed over his chest defensively as his eyes challenged Fandral.

     "Don't frown so much, you'll get wrinkles," Ylva told Fandral. She was confused at what he could possibly wish to tell her. She felt like a bone, being fought over as she waited either of the men to speak up. But they didn't, so she did for them. "Tell me, what's wrong?"

     "It's about your brother," Fandral said quietly. "We should speak outside."

     Ylva was so enthralled in her conversation with Loki, that she had neglected to keep an eye on Calder, who had vanished from his seat. "Where is he?"

     Fandral let out a sigh, his eyes roaming the tavern. "He went out to get fresh air, but when he didn't return I grew worried. What if the idiot had drunkenly passed out in a fountain?"

     "Right, so where is he?" Ylva replied. Impatience was snaking around her, making her voice rise an octave. "Fandral just spit it out already."

     "Calder's wound worsened. Hogun thinks the blade that caused it was poisoned."

     Ylva felt sick. She should have been watching over her brother, seeing that he was alright. Instead she neglected her most simple duty, and now her brother was suffering. "We have cures for thousands of poisons, let's take him to a healer and find one."

     "It's born of Vanir magic. Something that there's no cure to," Fandral said. His other hand perched onto her shoulder, drawing her closer to him as his eyes bore into her own. "Ylva, we think Calder's dying."