Episode Eighteen: Tricksters: Scene 13

Thruor put her hand on mine. “Odin wants her. This doesn’t happen very often.”

“Monica? No offense. There’s nothing special about her.”

“Except loyalty, dedication, a willingness to sleep with a demon to help a friend…” Thruor tailed off.

“She’s going to die because of me.”

“You’re still thinking like a mortal.”
“Maybe somebody needs to.” I studied her. “Maybe that’s part of why Odin sent me here. To learn to understand mortals better.”

“Oh, certainly, but if you keep…seriously…you fell off a dragon.”

“I did not fall off the dragon!” I exclaimed. “The dragon fell. I was just attached to it.”
“And you’re here. Stop thinking in those terms. You’ll only bring yourself more pain.”

I digested it. “But he might not have…”

“Stop it. She’s made her choice. Whatever he asks of her – it wouldn’t be more than he’d give himself and it isn’t more than she can bear. Odin’s a harsh master, but he never asks of somebody what they can’t give.”

I nodded, slowly. “I suppose.” A pause. “Do you think…?”

She closed her hand on mine. “You are not my sister. And will not be.”

She’d said something like that before. “Because I’m going to have to marry somebody.” Except, that high on that list were her brothers. Unless she wouldn’t think of that as the same thing.

Thruor nodded. “Exactly. We aren’t allowed to marry or bear children. That’s the real reason Brunhilde isn’t with us any more.”

“Was she actually exiled to Earth?”

Thruor nodded. “For a while. Odin was hoping that she’d change her mind. She didn’t. She chose her lover over our sisterhood.”

“And I could never do the reverse. Even if I wasn’t likely to have to have an arranged marriage…I couldn’t choose you over Kanesha.”

“Exactly. So, we won’t ask you to.” Thruor paused. “There’s somebody who wants to talk to you. Not urgently, but soon.”

I nodded. “Tell them…hrm. Maybe we can do lunch, whoever it is?”

Thruor grinned. “If it’s lunch, then make it empanadas. One of the wonderful things about global communication. And technology. Nobody eats lutefisk any more.”

I’d never had lutefisk, but I knew it involved lye or something and shuddered. “Empanadas it is.”

But she didn’t seem about to tell me who it was.

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