The Seventh Stone

Chapter Twelve

We set out roughly two weeks later—a lot longer than I thought we'd have to wait. But evidently, many of the ships had either been destroyed, or otherwise occupied with damage control. When the time finally came, our last few days in the city were spent getting some basic training and instruction on how to fly the little ship that was allocated to us.

It's true the king followed through with his promise of setting us up with a sturdy ship that'd get us where we need to go, but that was where his involvement ended—thankfully. He didn't ask too many questions, or make any other requests on our way out. He seemed hopeful though, perhaps hopeful that my loyalty's restored in turn for his aid—or perhaps that it would ensure that he'd never feel the thin slips of thread tightening around his throat again.

And even this early on in our journey, I've made an important discovery—that all spaceships, big and small, are terrifying. They are mortifyingly different from airplanes, which really only move in one direction—forward. Spaceships, however—particularly ones being flown by the God of Mischief—are liable to go forward, backward, and side to side without warning.

"It's all quite the same," Loki says with an amused grin, wrapping his hand around a small lever and dragging it downward—making the ship drop several feet. "Only difference really are the symbols—I wonder how fast this one can go..." his voice trails off.

I groan loudly, my nauseated body sinking further into the leather chair. My eyes roll up to the clear, blue sky, over the spread of glowing shapes and buttons flickering across the bright, titanium-looking dash in front of me.

"Well don't do that," he says, glancing at me for a moment. "I need you still—you're navigating us, remember?"

I drag my eyes down to his profile, turning my head slowly as my body remains half-melted into the chair. "Need me? Hard to tell by the way you're encouraging vomit-induced asphyxiation."

His grin stretches a bit with a quiet chuckle. "Oh I would never," he says in a bright tone, raising the lever back and returning his hand to the steering helm.

My hair slides against the leather as I tilt my head—furrowing a brow at the sudden cheeriness in his voice. "You seem chipper."

Loki bobs his head to the side, smile stretching further across his cheeks. "Excited to be off on another adventure, I suppose."

I stare at him for a moment, and both corners of my mouth curl downward with an affirming nod. "Good reason I guess," I breathe out, looking drearily up into the sky from under my drooping eyelashes.

Silence passes between us for a moment. 

"May I ask you something?" Loki asks.

"Sure."

"When did you realize that Olen had struck that deal?"

A smile tugs on the corner of my lip, and I push up against the chair—straightening myself to where I can see over the dash. "Well I had no idea, actually, until he told me himself," I say with a light exhale. "I knew he was lying to me when he said they had no clue that Seron was back, and that's when the idea came to me. From there, the accusation was a shot in the dark. I had no idea if I was right."

His eyes narrow as he glances in my direction. "So you cast a guess... Quite confidently, I must say."

My lips thin into a cunning smile as I look over at him, waving a hand through the air. "Acting," I say, throwing my right leg demonstrably over my knee.

"Not bad," he says. "Though I recommend wringing his neck a bit more from the start next time. Makes for better cooperation," he says, crinkling his nose. "And you should either be wildly precarious, or circumspect. I personally perform the former, but you've been leaving me with hardly an opportunity to participate."