chapter eight

I sit in a beautiful garden, the precious staff Odin gave me balanced across my knees. I love this spot, it’s my favorite in all of Asgard. I set my knife to the side and blow on the wood, sending fine shavings into the air. Odin said he chose this rarest of gifts for me, a branch from the Tree of Knowledge, so that I’d always remember.

I can’t imagine ever forgetting.

With a smile, I run my fingers over the carving Michael added to the staff—the symbol for love. Two hearts entwined as one.

As if he’d been summoned by my thoughts, I feel warm hands slip over my eyes.

“What would you do if you couldn’t see me?” my love whispers in my ear.

“I would touch you,” I say, laughing at our familiar game and reaching my hands up to touch his soft curls.

He gathers my hair to the nape of my neck. When he places a kiss there, pleasure courses through me.

“What would you do if you couldn’t touch me?” he asks. His hands leave me and I feel him step away. And even though it’s just part of the game, a different kind of shiver skips over my skin, like the momentary cooling when a cloud passes before the sun.

“I would call you.”

Michael steps to me and covers my ears with his hands. Though his voice is muffled, I know he asks, “What would you do if you couldn’t hear me?”

“I would smell you,” I say, shrugging my shoulders and using my best know-it-all voice. The fragrance of citrus fills my nose and I open my eyes to see Michael peeling an orange. He pops a piece into my mouth with a mischievous grin. Oh, how I love that smile.

He laughs and pulls me to my feet. I close my eyes and rock forward onto my toes—the next part is my favorite.

I feel my love step close to me, feel his breath on my cheek.

“What would you do if you couldn’t smell me?” he asks, his voice little more than the wind.

I lean into him. I know by instinct where he is. Our hands clasp together, fingers intertwining, hearts joining.

“I would taste you.” My mouth barely forms the words—the kiss that follows says so much more.

My whole body melts into him. We are one.

The kiss deepens and I lose all track of time, all sense of self. My mind only holds one thought: love.

Our lips part, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm on my face.

“Something to help you remember,” he says, tracing his finger over the knotted hearts on my staff. And I laugh because, of course I will never forget.

I search his eyes, so warm and golden I could get lost in them forever. But then there’s just his fingers in my hair, his lips, his kiss.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Akaros’ smooth voice says, startling us.

Things have been so trying lately, so many difficult decisions made, so many hearts broken. And all because of Loki and Akaros. I sigh and press my eyes closed for a moment, stealing myself against the argument that’ll be rehashed. Again.

“It isn’t enough that you betray me, but you have to throw it in my face with that?” He stands a few feet away, his arms crossed, shadows flickering across his face. When his eyes meet mine, I flinch—there’s nothing left of the warrior I once cared for. I grip the staff until my knuckles turn white.

Michael faces him, his hands spread wide, his face calm. “We want you to stay. But you can’t disobey Odin and expect everything to be okay.”

Akaros’ face resembles a thunder cloud. We used to spar together, Akaros and I. He had been the best, the bravest among us.

But all that changed when Odin created the quest for Ascension so Asgardians of noble heritage could become a god if they chose. Loki didn’t like that Odin made no guarantee we would return. And he certainly didn’t like that Odin required his own sons embark on the hero’s quest and return with honor and valor. And so he was leaving—him and a third of all the citizens of Asgard.

Of course Akaros joined with Loki—I couldn’t remember a time when they didn’t stand together. And when Odin gave me the staff, a coveted weapon that should have gone to a warrior like Akaros, I’d seen his face. I’d seen the greed there, the jealousy.

Fear is something I haven’t felt in all my years—not until Loki brought it to my peaceful home. He’d once been so full of promise, like the first rays of sunshine over a field of blooming flowers. Now I fear he has forgotten what it feels like to carry that warmth in his heart—and those that follow him, like Akaros, are destined to a cold eternity alongside him.

Akaros makes a sound in the back of his throat that doesn’t sound anything like laughter. “Aren’t you at all concerned that at the first sign of disagreement, Odin is willing to just send us away?” He flicks his hand in the air in a dismissive gesture.

“It’s much more than that,” I say. “Loki threatened Odin. Said he could do it better than him.” I step past Michael, handing my staff to him. I reach for Akaros, my oldest friend.

I swear there’s a moment when he might take my hand, give up on Loki’s rebellion.

But Akaros jabs his finger toward the staff and his eyes narrow in anger. “Odin’s blind. If he had eyes to see, he’d know he should have given the rod to me.”

He hasn’t touched me, but his words are a blow worse than any he dealt during our sparring matches. I realize it isn’t even about the Ascension, not for Akaros, anyway. For him, it’s all about me, the staff, and his bitter jealousy.

Quick as lightning, Akaros is only inches away from me. Our toes touch, his breath bathes my face in its heat. “One day, you’ll regret ever turning your back on me.” His words hang like the threat of rain between us. “One day, it will be me who wields the staff and me that holds the power.”

My mind spins, trying to understand. The staff is a gift, nothing more.

The corners of Akaros’ mouth turn down, making his face unrecognizable. Without another word he whirls and stomps away, a trail of darkness following him like a shadow.

Michael takes me into his arms and for a long time we just stand there.

“What would you do if you didn’t remember me?” he asks, his voice solemn and rough with emotion. He looks down, his eyes searching mine.

This question isn’t part of our game and a feeling of unease and doubt washes over me. And just a little frustration. How many times do I have to convince them, Michael and even Odin, that nothing could ever make me forget them?

When long seconds fly by and I still have no answer, Michael kisses me, his lips hungry and determined. When he breaks away he hugs me to him, nearly squeezing the breath from my lungs, but I don’t care because I want him to hold me and never, ever let go.

“I will remind you,” he says. “I will always remember you.”