Two

I slowly plucked a small, red fruit from the top of a ceramic bowl. It shined beneath the sunlight, casting a shadow alongside my own. Carefully I placed it back, hovering my hands above a bushel of juicy, purple grapes. Perfect, I smiled to myself, pleased that I had convinced myself to leave the Asgardian palace walls and attend the market instead of worship.

My father would have skinned my hide raw until it blistered red. But, I did not care. It was a fantastical blue sky day without a single cloud. It was impossible of him to believe that I would want to spend the day inside reading dusty, old books when I could be outside on such a lovely day.

Frowning, I paid for my grapes knowing that I had to return soon before my father noticed my disappearance. He would be doing his rounds soon to check on the apprentices. I popped a large grape into my small mouth, biting hard onto the fleshy skin of the fruit. Juices exploded inside, dribbling down my throat as I tossed another grape into my mouth and chewed.

I munched on my prize all the way back to the temple, tossing the wirey branches of the empty grapes onto the ground. Hiking up my robes I began my ascent attempting to count the steps it took to reach the top. I always lost my spot once I was in the early two hundreds.

Two-hundred and fifty-one. Two-hundred and fifty-two. Two-hundred and fifty-three. Two-hundred and...

"Milah!" I spun around, glancing below towards the owner of the nasally voice. Scrunching my button nose to force a smile I greeted Luca, another of the apprentices.

"Did you hear?" she breathlessly asked once she reached the two-hundred and...by Odin's beard I've forgotten. "They've brought Loki back to Asgard."

I regarded Luca with a look of boredom. I wasn't one for gossip, and quite frankly I didn't care much for what antics the princes of Asgard were up to as of late. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. It always was, and never worth my attention.

She bit on the inside of her cheek, brushing her short blonde hair out of her pool of muddy eyes. "Odin's locked him up."

"He's locked up his own son?" I asked, sort of taken away.

Then again Loki did create chaos on Midgard, murdered hundreds in the span of a few nights and attempted to rule as their king. Perhaps being locked up was an easy punishment. A slap on the hand, really. If I had done the same thing I would have been beheaded on the spot. Even my father would have done worse than had me locked away.

"We are supposed to read him..."

I groaned at the tedious job that I should have seen coming. One of the tasks set before a priestess was to remind those around us of patience and virtue and the heroic things that came along with it. Since we had no personal experience of said things on our own we were required to read them. There was nothing worse than practicing passages to Asgardian warriors who had ripped off heads of our enemies several times before.

I also hated reading. It was so boring. There was so much more to do than have my nose stuck in a book. Why read about something when you could go live it? Of course, a priestess never experienced anything outside of the walls of a temple. We weren't even supposed to have sex, remaining virgins our entire lives.

If my father knew...I shook my head returning to the dilemma in front of me. I really didn't want to take a bunch of musty, old books with me to a prison chamber to attempt changing the horrid ways of a man who called himself the God of Mischief. Cleaning bedpans sounded more entertaining.

Luca and I reached the top of the stairs. My attempt at counting had been long lost. We entered the poorly lit temple, passing by the flickering candlelights that crafted long, wavering shadows across the floor. A faint humming sound could be heard throughout. It was always the same dull buzzing that constantly persisted, even when you used the chamber pots.

Statues of old heroes long gone stood tall against the walls. Each one of their cold, lifeless eyes bore into me, watching as I scrambled to pick up my pace. Despite the chills that ran up my back from their silent stares I was grateful they couldn't speak. If my father knew I was not doing my apprentice duties...

"Luca," I slowly started to speak in hushed tones to keep the inevitable echoes to a minimum. She raised bushy blonde brows into her golden hairline. "Do you think you could read to Loki alone?" Her brown eyes turned to slits. "I'm not feeling well," I lied, placing my hand to my stomach.

Luca frowned. "Oh," she mouthed, turning her gaze forward, "I suppose I can ask Maester Rydel but..."

My eyes widened. "No, no, no," I hastily said, "you don't need to bring my father into this. He'll just say no and I really don't feel well."

Luca stopped walking, eyeing me shrewdly. She chewed on her bottom lip, then sighed, "but only today so you can rest and-"

"Thanks," I waved, cutting her off. "We'll meet back here before the dinner bells so it looks like we're going but then I'll head home to sleep." Or, maybe I'll go down to the hot springs. Or, return to the market. The day was mine to control after father thought I was reading passages to Loki with Luca.

Smiling to myself I turned a corner, slamming into a wirey, tall body. "Sorry," I muttered stepping back off of their robes. I glanced up, feeling the color drain from my face.

"Milah," came my father's stern voice, his sharp ice eyes pointed like daggers. "I was expecting you in the healing room aiding Lady Frigga in gathering herbs."

I had completely forgotten that was where I was supposed to be for the day, not in the kitchens. At least there were other apprentices there to help the Queen of Asgard find what she needed and I'm certain my presence wasn't missed. Not by anyone but my father that was.

His face was hard, unreadable like the stone statues that eavesdropped around us. Wisps of gray hair stuck up from behind his ears, poking out like a rooster's ruffled feathers. His knotted hands didn't even bother to run his fingers through the strands, rather they wrapped tightly around my arms instead.

"What am I to do with such a disappointment for a child?" he asked, his voice even and void of any emotion. "Your mother would be ashamed."

My face flustered, burning my cheeks a brilliant red. He rarely ever spoke of my mother since her death. I learned years ago as a young child to not bring her up. The only times he would ever mention her were times when he was upset at something I had done, something that wasn't fit in his eyes. It used to make me feel guilty inside, to think that my mother would be disappointed with me. As I got older I caught on and the guilty soon turned to waves of anger that rolled in my stomach.

I kept my tongue hidden between its white-bone cage in the dark. Speaking out against my father was one thing, but to do it inside the temples to a Maester was another. I had seen people flogged for less, and I happened to like the unmarked skin on my back the way it was.

"I am so sorry, father," I responded, casting my gaze to my feet. "I seek your forgiveness for my dalliances." It was the only thing I could think to do that wouldn't end up with me in severe trouble.

My father did not respond right away. Slowly, I peeked up at him, quickly adverting my gaze back to my feet when I saw that he continued to silently stare at me. His eyes bore into the back of my bowed neck, searing at the exposed skin.

It seemed as though ages had gone by before he spoke. "I understand that Luca has informed you of your reading duties to Loki?" I almost groaned, bit back on my tongue, then nodded. "I suggest that you do not disappoint on this task either, Milah." It was all he said, leaving me in the empty halls alone with the silent judgment of long dead heroes.