Thor sat up, crossing his arms as he swiveled to face Loki across the aisle. “You wish to argue semantics with me, brother?”
“Only if you can spell semantics.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“Bunu bir zayıflıkmış gibi söylüyorsunuz” diye yanıtladı Büyücüler Kraliçesi. “ Yumuşak olmak zayıflık değildir. Siz yalnızca evrenin hareketlerine diğerlerinin olmadığı kadar duyarlısınız.”
Once, as a boy, Loki had used his magic to extinguish all the lights in the palace simultaneously. He was baffled when Odin had not been delighted and proud as he expected, but rather so enraged Loki had feared his father might strike him. Instead, Loki was sent to his chambers to sit in isolation, wriggling with a shame he didn’t understand, before his mother finally came and explained that it would be best if he did not use the magic he could feel vibrating through his bones, but instead dedicated himself to becoming a warrior like his brother. It would be best, she had said, for his future. She had spoken gently—it was the only way his mother ever spoke—but the humiliation of that moment had never managed to detach itself from every spell he cast.