Author's note: Thank you all so far for your feedback and your patience! Just knowing that you all are just as excited as I am for this story really does help. I just hope that I don't disappoint you all!
The last of the golden sun glintered off the domed city spires in diamond white. The edges of night were beginning to close in, however, mottling the sky violet and crimson, sapphire and rose. The two moons were pushing the sun behind the jagged spiked mountain rims forming a crescent around the port. Below, the ships were nothing more than specs of dust, motes creating a film around the shoreline. Niya watched them from her balcony, imagining being part of the crew, as was her habit.
A swirling breeze blew, carrying with it the must of dust and the decay of leaves. The ends of the black ribbon around her wrist sputtered on the wind. She did nothing more than scowl at it.
That black ribbon was a bitter reminder of her fate, and a feeble attempt to conceal it. Beneath it scrawled the mark of a name of the man she would inevitably love. A joke of the gods', really. She had been born with the mark of this name. Growing up, she'd not paid it much thought. Her friends swooned and giggled over their own marks. As Niya grew older, she began hearing stories of a man by the name on her own wrist.
Loki. Prince of Asgard. A reckless warrior who'd follow his blood-lusting brother into any battle. Both felt entitled to rule over the Nine Realms. What a sick joke that the gods could even think she'd love a man like that.
A meager knock echoed from the door within her chambers, and reluctantly Niya left her balcony.
"Enter," she commanded as she stepped foot inside.
The door cracked open and her maid slipped in. Her face was pale, and she was mildly out of breath. She'd run from someplace. Niya waited, but her maid said nothing, standing there horrified. "Speak," she said with an eye roll.
"So sorry to disturb you, my lady, but your father has requested an audience with you."
Niya laughed. "Requested an audience?" She laughed once more. "Then I'm afraid you've come all this way for nothing, Arianna, for I simply must decline. Go along and tell him so." Niya began perusing her shelves for a book to read.
"But my lady…his request was more of a demand. And not to speak ill of his lordship, but you know how his mood changes when he's denied what he wants."
Niya clenched her fists so her nails dug into the skin of her palms. "Then for your sake I'll go to him. I'd hate for you to be at the receiving end of his anger." Arianna looked as though she might cry from relief, or vomit.
Niya left her maid standing in place as she threw open her door. As she walked, fury flared in her chest. With each step she took, she ground her heels into the jade green marble floor. Her steps rang through the halls. Servants melted against the wall as she passed. Niya didn't even stop at the massive double doors to her father's study. Instead, she shoved them open so they clanged against the walls.
"You've summoned me, Father?" she spat.
The graying man dipped his quill in ink and finished scribbling his thought. He took his time to fold the parchment and melt drips of wax along the edge, finally pressing his seal into it.
"I can only assume you wish to continue our conversation from last night."
He glanced up at her and folded his hands on the desk. "Do sit down, Niya." She remained standing. He continued. "You are correct. I don't feel we've even begun our conversation."
"Oh, but I do. I am, in fact, certain we've finished it."
"How like your mother you are. All fire and no sense." He paused before speaking again. "You are being sent to Asgard, Niya, whether you like it or not. You will leave the day after tomorrow, and when you arrive, you will be pleasant and cordial to your hosts. You will partake in their celebrations and extend the civil hand of Alliance. You are not to return home until you've news of your betrothal to a prince of Asgard. Your city needs this alliance one way or another."
Niya scoffed. "I'm sure." She shook her head. "You rejoiced the day you discovered who belonged to the name on my wrist. You never gave a second thought to what kind of man he is—if he will treat me with the kindness and respect I deserve….If he'll love me." Tears stabbed at the corners of her eyes, but she didn't care. "No. All you heard was 'prince' and you saw only the throne."
Her father stared blankly at her. "Have you worn that black band for so long you've forgotten?" He leaned forward ever so slightly. "The gods put that name on your wrist for a reason, Niya. I had nothing to do with it. I have no need to worry myself with those concerns of yours simply because your fate has been chosen by the gods."
Niya swallowed a scream and the desire to smack her father. "You put far too much faith in the gods."
"And you blame them far too much for the death of your mother."
Niya was on the verge of losing control of her anger. "No, Father. I only partially blame them. Mostly I blame you."
The man sprang to his feet, nearly toppling his chair backward. He leaned over his desk, open palm poised to strike against Niya's cheek. She didn't even flinch. She remained as she was, glaring up at her father, almost daring him to strike her. His fingers closed in on themselves, and he ground his fist on the desk. Several moments passed before he spoke again. When he did, he didn't look at Niya.
"You will go to Asgard. You will do your duty and form the alliance. You will fulfill your destiny. If I have to personally place you on that ship, I will do so."
Niya stood with a straight back. "I will gladly get on any ship that would take me away from you." With that, she left, not bothering to shut the doors behind her.
. . .
The next day passed and Niya had hardly left her rooms. The only company she kept was her maid, Arianna, who insisted on packing for her. While Niya draped herself across her bed, cradling a book in her hands, Arianna skipped between her wardrobe and trunks. Each dress she pulled, she held out for Niya to scrutinize. Niya couldn't be bothered to care.
After a few hours, she sighed, set her book down, and looked Arianna squarely in the face. "What you're doing is sweet and highly appreciated. I thank you sincerely for your concern. However, I only care that I'm leaving this city. I couldn't care any less about fancy gowns. So if you must pack, pack using your own intellect. If you think there may be a use for such a gown, then by all means pack it away. But by the gods, leave me to my book."
After that, Arianna kept her silence. She didn't appear to be hurt for long, however, as she began swaying and humming as she took care folding the delicate gowns.
The night before she was to leave, Niya hadn't slept much. When she did, she tossed in her sheets. The blankets twisted around her legs, and in her nightmares she was being pulled below the water's surface, drowning in the clutches of a tentacled monster. Several times she awoke, out of breath and covered in a sheen of sweat. To calm her nerves, she would read from the first book her fingers found on her bedside table in the low candlelight. When she finally drifted off to sleep once more, the book slipped from her grip, falling closed against her mattress.
Now Niya and her maid stood on the docks surrounded by fanfare. Niya was forced to smile and wave at the crowd, bidding them farewell as the charming Lady of the City everyone believed she was. Her smile almost died at the sight of her father watching her several feet away with arms crossed over his barrel chest. But for the sake of her crowd, she smiled sweetly and curtsied a short farewell in his direction. She turned and stepped onto the walk leading onto the ship. Arianna followed behind with men of the crew following behind her, carrying the luggage. The captain held out his hand for her to take, helping her aboard.
Niya stayed on deck only for as long as the crowds could see her. Once they set sail and were on their way, she dropped the façade and dipped below deck, requesting to be shown to her room. It wouldn't be a particularly long journey—only a few hours—and she was engrossed with the book she'd been reading. But the gentle swaying and hum of the ship wouldn't let her finish reading…before long, she had fallen asleep, curled on her side and cuddling the book in her arms. She ended up sleeping the entire trip to Asgard.
Niya awoke to Arianna bustling about the room.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Arianna turned to face her lady. "Oh good! You're awake. We're nearly there, and I think you could do with a bit of refreshing before being received by the royal family." A look of horror splashed across her freckled face. "Not to say that you look bad, my Lady. Of course not. Simply a little rumpled from your nap."
Niya smiled. "It's alright. I can take a little criticism, Arianna. And I thank you for your honesty." Niya let her book close and moved to sit at the small vanity. Seeing her reflection in the mirror, she silently agreed with Arianna. Her dark auburn hair had fallen loose from the braids on one side and stuck up in all directions. Her right cheek was creased with lines from the bedding. Dark shadows rimmed her coffee eyes. She sighed. "Make me presentable, then."
Arianna grinned and set to work twisting and pinning Niya's long waves in an intricate design. Then she swiped colored dust across her cheeks and lids, adding a hint of color and sparkle. Arianna sang as she worked, and Niya trapped herself in her thoughts, imagining her stay, wondering if she should run away.
She'd decided to wait and see how Asgard suited her before settling on an escape plan.
The ship shuddered to a stop, and Niya's stomach plummeted. Anxiety rushed through her veins, and she fought to control her breathing. Wordlessly she made her way to the decks, where a steward awaited to escort her to the docks. Asgardians clustered along the perimeter, curious to see the young ambassador who would be staying indefinitely. Most everyone was smiling at her.
Niya focused ahead of herself and saw a slender woman with wheat-colored curls and electric blue eyes. Without a doubt, Niya knew this was the All Mother—not at all who she expected to receive her.
Niya stopped a short distance before her and curtsied. Frigga opened her arms and pulled her into a hug.
"Welcome to Asgard." She held Niya out at arm's length. "I've heard quite a bit about you," she said with a smile. "But come along and you can tell me more. I prefer to hear my stories first hand."
She strode towards a carriage. Startled, Niya nearly sprinted to catch up to her. A steward helped her climb in beside Frigga. "I beg your pardon, your majesty, but I wasn't expecting you to be awaiting my arrival on the docks."
Frigga smiled. "I wasn't about to leave such a charming girl to the servants." She looked Niya over. "I thought we might have a chat before reaching the palace."
"What about?"
"Your father's intentions."
Niya's eyes widened. "My father's intentions in no way reflect my own. I—"
"So I've heard. Word travels fast and far." Her eyes flicked to the black ribbon around Niya's wrist. Frigga folded up her own sleeve, exposing her own mark, tracing her fingertips over the script. "I haven't yet decided, after all this time, if the gods have a great sense of humor, or if they're more wise than anyone can begin to fathom." She let her hands drop to her lap. "Loki hides his mark as well. Always has."
Niya looked to her own hands fidgeting with a small pleat in her skirt. "I hide mine to forget, to pretend for even a moment that I have full control of my life."
"The gods only let you know in advance what the heart desires. They're nothing more than scribes."
Niya looked up at Frigga, confused. "But I thought—"
"When I said I couldn't decided if the gods were humorous or wise, I meant by letting us know in advance." Frigga looked at her with a hint of pity. "You view your mark as a passing of judgment, a punishment. You say you want control of your life…but you already have it. The name on your wrist is only a mark. It is your choice to allow yourself that happiness."
"What about fate?"
Frigga smiled. "Fate will only bring you so far. You will love my son, but you don't have to end up with him if you don't wish it."
"I grew up hearing it was never a choice."
"My dear, the gods gave us free will."
Niya sat back against the plush gold cushions. A smile bloomed across her lips. "Thank you. That may have been the most assuring thing anyone has ever told me." Her smile grew larger. "Ragnarok will come before I give my father what he wants."
Frigga tilted her head to the side—just the smallest of ticks. "But what is it, precisely, that your father wants?"
Niya faltered, taking a moment to push a section of her hair behind her shoulder before answering. "To form an alliance between our people."
It was Frigga's turn to furrow her brow. "You do not wish an alliance?"
"Of course I do! Just not necessarily by the same methods."
She nodded in understanding. "You'd rather he speak with Odin on his own than to use you and your mark as an excuse."
"I don't see why he shouldn't. He is a grown man, after all."
Frigga laughed, and her blue eyes sparkled. "You will do just fine here."
The carriage swayed to a stop. "Take some time to get settled in. My sons will return from their adventures this evening, and we will celebrate."