Seven Times A Charm

The first raven hatched during breakfast.

This would have been a charming event if Loki had not chosen to announce it by appearing behind Lexander’s chair and saying, “Congratulations. Your spies are being born.”

Lexander dropped his spoon.

Across the table, Io closed her eyes.

“Could we,” she asked, with the careful patience of someone who had slept very little, “have one morning in which nobody describes anything in this family as a weapon, an omen, or an intelligence asset?”

Loki considered this.

“Your birds are being born.”

“Better.”

“One of them has already bitten a chamberlain.”

Thor reached for another piece of bread. “Promising.”

Ignatius, sitting in Io’s lap, slapped one small hand against the table. A faint golden glow spread beneath his palm.

Seraphina watched from Lexander’s arms with the severe concentration she usually reserved for deciding whether food offended her.

Lexander looked down at his daughter.

“No.”

She smiled.

“No fire at breakfast.”

A tiny spark appeared above her fingers.

Thor grinned. “She understands you perfectly.”

“That makes it worse.”

Io took Seraphina’s hand before the spark could become anything more interesting. It vanished against her fingers, leaving the baby staring at her mother in apparent betrayal.

“Eat,” Io told Lexander. “Then we’ll go see the ravens.”

For a moment, the room settled into something almost peaceful.

Then Bruni leaned through the open terrace doors.

“Little birds need worms?”

He held up a bucket.

Something inside it moved.

Loki glanced into it and took an unusually swift step backward.

Thor leaned over.

“Bruni.”

“Yes?”

“Those are snakes.”

The giant looked disappointed.

“Big worms.”

The eggs had been kept in a quiet room overlooking the eastern gardens, where sunlight reached the windows early and the palace staff could maintain a steady warmth.

The room was no longer quiet.

Three attendants stood around the padded nesting box. A fourth held a cloth around one finger and regarded the emerging raven with wounded dignity.

Lysandra was already there.

She stood beside the table with her school satchel still hanging from one shoulder, her expression bright enough to make Lexander forget, briefly, the stack of council papers waiting for him.

“It’s ugly,” she whispered delightedly.

The chick raised its enormous head and opened its beak.

“It heard you,” Lexander said.

“It doesn’t know words yet.”

Loki folded his arms.

“I wouldn’t wager anything valuable on that.”

The second egg rocked.

Io moved closer, Ignatius tucked against her shoulder. Seraphina stirred in Lexander’s arms, her fingers catching in his collar.

A small crack spread across the shell.

Nobody spoke.

Lexander had watched armies charge. He had seen walls fall and felt memories of another life tear through his mind. Yet he found himself holding his breath over a creature fighting its way through an eggshell.

Beside him, Io slipped her free hand into his.

The shell broke.

A wet, furious little head emerged.

Thor nodded approvingly.

“That one looks angry.”

“It has just discovered the world,” Loki said. “Give it time to confirm its suspicions.”

The first chick turned.

Its eyes were barely open, but its head moved toward Lexander with a precision that made the smile fade from his face.

Something brushed against his awareness.

A high branch beneath clawed feet.

Wind lifting black feathers.

A road seen from far above.

Then it was gone.

Lexander tightened his grip on Io’s hand.

She looked at him immediately.

“What?”

“I…”

The second chick made a thin, indignant sound.

Another impression touched him: warmth, hunger, and a certainty that the enormous one-eyed creature standing nearby ought to be doing something useful about both.

Loki’s expression changed.

“You felt them.”

Lexander nodded slowly.

“Only for a moment.”

“Good.”

“That sounded suspiciously like something you knew might happen.”

“I knew it might.”

“And you didn’t mention it?”

“I was waiting to see whether you started demanding grubs.”

Lysandra laughed.

Lexander would have answered, but Ignatius chose that moment to lean toward the nesting box. Gold flickered beneath the baby’s skin.

Io gently drew him back.

“Let them finish hatching first, darling.”

The raven chicks quieted.

Both faced the twins.

For several breaths, nobody moved.

Then the first chick opened its mouth and screamed for food.

Thor relaxed.

“Well. They’re definitely related to this family.”

By late morning, Lexander had been pecked twice, signed six orders, and discovered that Lysandra’s student council had submitted a request for more library shelves.

He was considering approving it simply because nobody had asked for soldiers when Atreyu entered the study.

Baldr followed him.

Loki came last and shut the door.

Lexander put down his pen.

“That door usually stays open.”

“Yes,” Atreyu said.

Io looked up from the document she was reading by the window.

“What have you found?”

Atreyu placed a narrow wooden case on the desk.

Inside lay a broken wax seal, a folded letter, and a length of pale thread wound around a sliver of wood.

Lexander studied the thread.

It looked ordinary.

Then Io stood.

Her chair scraped across the floor.

“Where did you get that?”

Atreyu glanced at her. “A merchant arriving through the southern gate. He asked to speak to someone from the royal household. The guard sent him to us after he described a spindle that wouldn’t burn.”

Io crossed the room.

She stopped short of touching the thread.

Lexander felt the shift in her before he understood it: her breathing slowed, and her expression became distant, intent.

“Frigg’s?” he asked.

“Yes.”

The certainty in her voice left little room for doubt.

Loki rested both hands on the back of a chair.

“The merchant says he bought a chest of household goods from an abandoned estate. Most of it was cloth, old accounts, sewing tools. His wife tried to cut this thread.”

“And?” Lexander asked.

“She broke the scissors.”

Baldr inclined his head toward the wooden case.

“Then they tried fire.”

Io finally reached down.

The thread lifted before her fingers touched it.

It uncoiled from the wood, rising in a pale curve, and settled across her palm.

For an instant, Lexander saw her standing somewhere else.

A hall lit by low fires. A long worktable. Her hands moving through strands he could not quite follow.

Then she was beside his desk again, wearing the same dress she had worn to breakfast.

Her eyes shone.

“I remember using it.”

Lexander rose.

“What do you remember?”

Io passed the thread between her fingers.

“Waiting,” she said softly. “For news. For people to come home.”

Loki lowered his eyes.

The silence lasted only a moment, but Lexander felt the weight of it.

Then Io looked at Atreyu.

“Where is the rest?”

“The merchant sold the larger piece before reaching Concordia. A carved staff with a bundle of fibers still attached.”

“To whom?”

“A collector staying at an old posting house two days south.”

Lexander studied Atreyu’s face.

“And now the part you haven’t told us.”

Atreyu opened the letter.

“The collector paid with money from an account the Watch has been tracing.”

Loki’s voice lost its lightness.

“One of the accounts used to pay the people who attacked the palace.”

Io’s fingers closed around the thread.

Lexander looked at the broken seal.

“Surtr.”

“We don’t know whether he ordered the purchase himself,” Baldr said. “But someone in his network has it.”

“Does the merchant know who bought it?”

“He knows the name he was given,” Atreyu answered. “We’re checking it. His wife and children are with him. They’ve been offered rooms while we investigate.”

Lexander nodded.

“Keep them comfortable. And guarded.”

Io was still looking at the thread.

A small part of it had wound around her finger.

“Something’s wrong,” she murmured.

Loki straightened.

“With what?”

“I can feel the rest of it.”

She turned toward the southern windows.

“It’s being used.”

Thor objected to the idea of Io leaving the palace with enough force to make the glass in the study windows hum.

“No.”

Io looked at her.

“That was remarkably quick.”

“I’ve been practicing.”

“The distaff belongs to me.”

“And the babies belong here, where there are walls, guards, a dragon, and me.”

Lexander, who had wisely moved the inkpot away from Thor’s elbow, cleared his throat.

“No one said the babies were going.”

Thor pointed at him.

“You look like you’re about to say something reasonable that ends with us doing something stupid.”

“I was going to ask Io what she could sense.”

“Oh.” Thor lowered her hand. “Carry on.”

Io sat beside Lexander.

By then Lisbeth had joined them, still fastening the clasp of her falcon cloak. Mara stood near the door, listening while Atreyu laid out the roads to the southern posting house.

“It’s difficult to explain,” Io said. “I don’t see whoever is holding it. But I can feel resistance. Someone is trying to force it to do something.”

“Can they?” Mara asked.

“With enough time, perhaps.”

“Then we leave today,” Thor said.

Loki raised an eyebrow.

“That sounds remarkably like—”

“Don’t.”

Lexander looked at Io.

There had been a time when he would have tried to settle the matter by deciding what was safest for her and announcing it as though love gave him authority over her choices.

He had learned better.

“What do you need?”

Io glanced toward the door.

Beyond it, somewhere down the corridor, one of their children gave a protesting cry.

Her face tightened.

Lexander knew that expression. He had worn it himself every time duty called him away from the nursery.

“I need to know what they’re doing,” she said. “And I need to stop them.”

Loki reached into the wooden case and lifted the sliver around which the thread had been wound.

“Must you be near it?”

Io looked back at him.

“What?”

“You can sense it from here. Can it sense you?”

She went still.

Lisbeth stepped closer.

“Sister?”

“Give me a moment.”

Io unwound the thread from her finger.

She laid it across both palms and shut her eyes.

Nothing happened.

Thor shifted her weight.

Atreyu stopped moving the markers on the map.

Then the thread pulled taut.

Io inhaled sharply.

Lexander caught her elbow.

Her eyes opened.

For a heartbeat, he saw fear in them.

“It’s under a roof,” she said. “There’s water nearby. Running water. I can hear a wheel.”

“A mill?” Atreyu asked.

“And someone…” Io swallowed. “Someone is angry.”

The thread jerked hard enough to cut a red line across her palm.

Lexander reached for it.

“Don’t,” she said.

He stopped.

Io stared down at the blood gathering beneath the pale strand.

Her voice grew quieter.

“You don’t get to use my own work against me.”

She drew her hands apart.

The thread shivered.

Far below them, in the courtyard, Aurethar roared.

The sound brought half the palace to its windows.

Lexander reached the terrace just as the dragon lifted his head toward the southern horizon.

Bruni stood near the garden path with a practice shield on his arm. He had moved in front of two startled gardeners without seeming to think about it.

“What is it?” Lexander called.

Aurethar’s eyes narrowed.

“A door.”

Loki came out behind him.

“Opening?”

“Trying.”

Io stepped onto the terrace, holding the thread in her injured hand.

“It stopped when I pulled back.”

Aurethar lowered his great head until one golden eye was level with her.

“Then keep hold of it.”

The humor vanished from Loki’s face.

He turned to Atreyu.

“Old mills. South of the city. Anything within reach of that posting house.”

Atreyu was already moving.

Mara followed him.

Lisbeth took Io’s free hand, and a soft warmth spread over the cut.

“You might warn us before doing that again.”

“I’ll try.”

“That means you won’t.”

“It means I’ll try.”

From inside the palace came hurried footsteps.

Lysandra appeared carrying Ignatius, with a nurse close behind holding Seraphina.

“They started crying when Aurethar—”

She stopped at the sight of Io’s hand.

“What happened?”

“Something we’re dealing with,” Lexander said.

His sister looked at him.

“That is an answer you give when you don’t want me to know the answer.”

“It’s also the answer I give when I don’t have all of it yet.”

That earned him a reluctant nod.

Io went to the children.

Ignatius reached for her immediately. She kissed his forehead, then Seraphina’s, lingering with her cheek against her daughter’s hair.

Thor watched from the terrace doors.

“I’m going,” she told Lexander.

He nodded.

“Baldr, Mara, and Loki with you. Take a Watch detachment. Once Atreyu has a location, you move.”

“And you?”

Lexander looked at Io’s hand.

The thread was still pulling south.

“I stay here.”

Thor searched his face.

Then she smiled, briefly.

“Good.”

Loki was studying the strand.

“We’ll need a way to know when we find it.”

Io lifted her eyes.

“You’ll know.”

Something in her tone silenced him.

They gathered around the study table while Atreyu’s officers searched property records.

Io sat with her elbow supported on a folded cushion. Lisbeth had dressed the cut, but the thread remained stretched from her hand, its loose end pointing toward a wall as though pulled by an invisible current.

Lexander stayed beside her.

He could feel the strain in her shoulder.

“How long can you hold it?”

“I don’t know.”

He disliked the answer.

He appreciated that she had given him the truth.

A servant brought tea. Neither of them touched it.

From the corridor came Bruni’s low voice assuring the twins that the dragon was only shouting because dragons did not have doorbells.

Despite herself, Io laughed.

Then the thread moved.

A single knot formed near her thumb.

Another appeared beside it.

Loki leaned forward.

“Is that you?”

“No.”

The knots tightened.

Io stared at them.

Lexander watched her expression change.

“What does it mean?”

She did not answer immediately.

Three more knots formed, each one drawn so hard that the pale strand trembled.

Io raised her other hand to her mouth.

“Io.”

“It’s a household code,” she whispered. “For messages woven into cloth.”

“Whose household?”

“Ours.”

Loki’s face had gone utterly still.

Io touched the first knot.

“Alive.”

Her finger moved to the next.

“Bound.”

A third.

“Below.”

Lexander looked toward the southern windows.

Someone had the distaff.

Someone who knew how to speak to his wife through it.

The final knots formed slowly.

Io read them, then gripped Lexander’s wrist.

For the first time since the thread had risen from its box, it went slack.

“What did they say?” he asked.

Her eyes met his.

“Surtr is upstairs.”

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