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Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Routine of Things

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"Bring the fire."

I brought it, curling at my fingers into a small disk. I pushed it from the palm of my hand so that it lifted into the air, coming to a stop before Odin's face.

"Shape it," he commanded, "Show me a blade of flame."

I tried. Winced at the effort it caused me. The disk spluttered, hazing in and out, but maintaining its uneven shape.

"I can't."

Odin bowed his head. "Call it back."

I pulled it into me. It withdrew slightly from Odin, drawing closer to me. But then, it jutted, grew, swelled, pulsed. I grimaced, straining against the force that prevented me from drawing the power back to me.

But ever since I'd gotten a real use out of my powers back in New York, ever since I'd had a taste of true freedom, of not having to hold back, my powers were no longer at my command. Even after months of practice.

It had taken Odin weeks to convince me to begin training again, under his guidance. "The longer your power lies out of use, the harder it will be to tame it when it gets away from you," he'd told me. The first day, and the days that followed, I could hardly find the courage and willpower to light a tea candle. I let the fire out slowly. Unravelling my power piece by piece, not trusting what I would do with it.

I'd refused to leave the dungeons, and we'd taken up training in the hall that separated the two rows of cages. Which meant my favourite person in the world had front row seats to my humiliating training every day. Including today.

"Would you like me to come blow it out?" Loki asked, peering up from his book behind the glass of his cell.

"Very amusing, Loki," I snapped back, as I strained to reign my powers back in.

At first, I hadn't engaged him when he'd spoken to me. And he'd tried speaking to me everyday, eventually giving up on waiting for a response and just carrying out full conversations with me as though I was listening. I gave him the scare of his life when I finally did respond one day.

I couldn't really help it. Even though Sigrid, Bodil, Bersi, Thor, Odin, and Frigga all paid me visits on the daily, living in a secluded dungeon was lonely.

I had by no means forgiven him for anything. In fact, the anger I felt towards him burned in my chest hotter than my fire. The first chance I got, I wanted to slap him across the face. A few times, for good measure.

But speaking to him wasn't something that could really be helped when I was confined to living directly across from him.

"Concentrate," Odin chastised.

I nodded, lifting both hands to better control the flame. To extinguish it. "I can't do it." I sighed, dropping my hands at my sides and giving up.

"Very well," Odin said disappointedly, and with a wave of his hand, a blast of wind extinguished the fire for me. "Controlling your powers, Alivia, is just as much a mental task as a physical one. Clearly, you lack the capacity to control your powers because you don't believe they are yours to control." He took a pause, folding his hands, "I will be back tomorrow. And every day after that, if that's what it takes."

He guided me back to my cell, wordlessly closing the door behind me and exiting the dungeon.

"Shame," Loki began.

"Don't start," I warned, slumping into a large armchair in the corner of the cell.

Odin had immediately seen to having it furnished, having had most of the things from my old room moved down here. My favourite item in my new accommodations, though? Even more than my bed, sketchbooks, novels, and desk?