This is one of my favorite chapters; I hope you agree. The song the pianist is playing at the end is Couperin's "Les Barricades Misterieuses." Search youtube for "Tree of Life Barricades"; you'll find it.

Chapter Six - That Fragile Darkness

Sigyn slept fitfully, dreaming of night-blooming snakes, fig shampoo, and showers of fire. As always she woke before sunrise, donned her uniform, and spent an hour roaming the palace in the pre-dawn stillness. The past two days had destroyed her equilibrium, and it took many gentle tugs on her wayward thoughts to bring them back to heel.

In the kitchen, Valda and a handful of other staff were up to their elbows in steaming water, struggling to finish last night's dishes. Sigyn rolled up her sleeves to help.

"There's our princess," said Valda, her eyes almost disappearing into their own creases. "I'll never forget how fine you looked dressed for the ball like a highborn lady. I can hardly see you the same now."

"That makes two of us," Sigyn said, inserting a soapy bottle-brush into the depths of a champagne flute.

"The prince's ladies disappoint me," said Sigyn's friend Katla, wrinkling her freckled nose. "I thought they'd be fine and elegant, but they gossip worse than servants, and did you see how much that heifer of a redhead ate?"

Sigyn knew she should be listening, but the entire subject made her weary and heartsick. She focused on the rhythm of washing, letting her friends' chatter fade into a comforting background noise to remind her she wasn't alone. Here in the smoky warmth of the kitchen she was surrounded by people who knew and loved her. In the sunroom she was insufficient; in the kitchen she was exceptional.

The name "Aesa Grimsdottir" pulled her back into Katla's conversation.

"You know, the little ginger with the great rack?" Katla said. "Her grandfather was some kind of war hero back in the olden days, but they say she's nothing more than a common tramp."

"What a terrible thing to say!" Sigyn scolded. "I've met her; she's perfectly nice."

"Oh she's 'nice' all right," said Katla. "Nice to boys and girls both they say. And from the look of the dress she sent to Inga this morning, last night she was 'nice' to half the palace guard. Inga says she never saw such a mess in forty years of palace laundry. Looked like half a dozen men had been at her and another half dozen too impatient to wait their turn."

A goblet slipped from Sigyn's fingers and fell into the sink with a wet thunk. She hardly heard the other girls' laughter and exclamations of disgust.

"Will you excuse me, Valda?" she said. Before the old woman could even respond, Sigyn had fled the kitchen.

Sigyn scurried through the high arched palace halls and stairwells, traversing great aimless circles around the mirror-bright marble of the third floor until she stumbled upon one of Loki's manservants.

"Gunnar," she said in relief, approaching him and lightly seizing his arm to whisper in his ear. "I must speak with the prince. Tell him Sigyn Eiriksdottir needs to see him urgently."

"You know he's going to rip my head off and shove it up my bum, right? If you were anyone else I'd tell you to get bent."

"I know. I'm sorry. Thank you, Gunnar."

As Gunnar departed Sigyn found a wall to wait against. After what felt like an hour, she saw Loki striding down the hallway toward her, hair uncombed and cuffs unbuttoned. He made a curt beckoning gesture as he turned down a side passage that led toward a rubbish chute. Sigyn wasted no time in following him.

"I shall assume this is a matter of life-and-death," he said to her once they'd stopped in the narrow hallway. "Since no one with the slightest sense of self-preservation would trouble me at this hour for anything less." On closer examination, he did not look particularly well. His eyes were bright and hectic, with sleepless shadows under them.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," she said, "But I'm worried about Aesa. I have reason to believe she may have - come to harm last night."

Loki stood slowly straighter. "Tell me."

"I think - some men may have - taken advantage of her. There was gossip in the laundry - "

"Ah," said Loki crisply. "Ah yes, that."

"You know about this?" said Sigyn incredulously.

"Mm." Loki shifted his weight.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Loki began buttoning one of his cuffs. "It was me; I was with her."

Sigyn stared at him aghast. "The girls said it must have been at least half a dozen-"

"Just me."

"But... Inga said she'd never seen... in thirty years..."

"All me."

Sigyn stepped back to lean against the wall. "Giant's breath, Loki, what did you do?"

"If I answered you in full you would not thank me. It was done with consent I assure you."

"Tell me you jest," Sigyn said direly.

"I am both touched by your concern and slightly aroused by your curiosity, but let us speak no more of it."

For a horrible moment, Sigyn was paralyzed with shock and mortification and - something else she dared not examine - but then the whole mess of it was swept away by a crashing wave of righteous anger.

"How could you!"

Loki's eyes widened; then he clicked his tongue softly. "Ah, poor duckling. I never suspected you had become fond of me."

"Are you mad?"

Loki held up his palms in a placating gesture. "I swear on my life, I never meant to hurt you."

"For fuck's sake, Loki."

He blinked. "For fuck's sake, 'Your Highness'?".

"You risked Aesa's life! Do you have any idea how servants talk? How long do you think it will take for our would-be queen to find out where Aesa Grimsdottir spent her night?"

Loki's face shifted rapidly through several expressions before settling on penitence.

"I'll admit that it was a misstep," he said carefully, "and perhaps a grave one. I offer no excuse except that I am not my brother. When a woman offers herself to me I do not have a great deal of acquired resistance."

Sigyn stared at him a moment longer, then threw up her hands in disgust. "You've sentenced her to death," she said as she walked away. "This time when I weep it will not be for your sake."

Sigyn made her way down to the first floor. Some of the young ladies' families were still lingering after breakfast: mothers making last-minute adjustments to their daughters' hair, brothers lecturing sisters on proper behavior. A small tow-headed boy collided with a portly gentleman's knees; startled, the boy changed into a dove and fluttered away.

Sigyn recoiled and backed up a step. The bird banked and carved a graceful semicircle in the air before coming to rest on Dagny's shoulder.

"There you are, Falki," she cooed. "What did mama tell you?"

The dove slid off her shoulder, changing back into a boy as it did so; he ended up cradled in Dagny's arms. Even as small as he was, the tiny woman could hardly hold him.

"Can you be good for gramma and grandpa?" she said. "You mustn't run about while I'm gone; remember grandpa's heart."

"Yes mama."

She planted a kiss on the boy's forehead and set him gently on the ground. A snowy-bearded gentleman took the boy's hand, and Dagny gave the man a kiss as well before heading toward the sunroom.

Intrigued, Sigyn moved to intercept her. "Excuse me, milady," she said softly.

Dagny stopped and looked pleasantly bewildered. "Me?"

"Yes, I just wanted to say, you have a lovely little boy."

Dagny's ivory skin flushed pink. "Oh, yes, he's - a bit awkward, yes? I was young, you know, and stupid. It's so kind of the prince to consider taking on the burden of another man's child."

"He knows?" It was unforgivably inappropriate, but she couldn't help herself.

"Oh yes!" the little woman said, bouncing on the balls of her feet and clapping her hands gently. "He'd like to teach him, I think. Falki's gifted."

"Congratulations," Sigyn said, more bewildered than ever as Dagny dropped a little curtsey and wandered away.

Inside the sunroom, Katla was arranging goblets on a tray; Sigyn assisted her with unsteady hands while the staff set up the stage for the morning's performances. From the corner of her eye, Sigyn saw a male servant she did not recognize moving casually toward their table. A new hire? Sigyn took no chances; she quickly made excuses to Katla and moved to the other side of the room.

When she dared, she glanced back over her shoulder. The unknown servant was weaving casually through the crowd toward her. Sigyn let him make it most of the way, then cut a brisk arc around the main body of the crowd back to Katla's side. By then, the day's first performer was already mounting the stage, and the prince (or some semblance thereof) was seating himself in his chair.

"What was that about?" asked Katla when she returned.

"There was a man following me; he gave me a bad feeling."

"You've been acting oddly all day. Is something the matter?"

"I'll tell you when all of this is over."

[For soundtrack to the following, right-click and open in another tab]

The woman at the piano was elegant in a plum-colored dress, her hair hanging in fat brown sausage-curls. She played with all the skill Aesa had lacked; the music rippled like water, rising and falling beneath her fingertips. Sigyn released a slow sigh of admiration.

She glanced at Katla to find her just as charmed, and they shared an appreciative smile. Then Katla shimmered with green light, and Loki stood in her place. Sigyn stiffened and turned away.

"From Midgard's baroque period," he said. "Written for the harpsichord. An interesting choice."

Sigyn nodded at the piano. The rhythms of the piece were hypnotic, like the busily turning gears of some exquisite machine.

"Did you overhear anything of interest?"

"No."

For a long moment there was only the music, soft and intricate, tender and bittersweet. When the prince spoke again, his voice was gentle.

"Tell me why you are angry, and I swear I shall make amends."

Sigyn refused to look at him. "As I told you before, I am appalled at your carelessness with Aesa's life."

"You are, but I feel I've been careless with you as well. I touched something raw; I can see it in you."

She turned to look at him then, stiff with irritation. He was watching the pianist now.

"What you see in me," she hissed at his profile, "is what you see in everyone: your own importance. You believe my life revolves around you, that you can plumb my shallow depths in two days. When in point of fact you don't know me from Inga the washerwoman."

Loki turned then, slowly, to meet her eyes.

"Your mother fell ill," he said, "when you had not yet reached the height of your father's belt."

Sigyn stared at him. Something rippled queasily through her, like a shimmer over hot sand.

"You shadowed your father in his work during her long illness, and when she died, he found you honest work pulling weeds in the palace garden. Early mornings, just before dawn, when the chill was still on the grass. Your palms bled and stung for the first few weeks, and you cried, but soon your hands hardened and so did your heart. You learned each leaf and thorn as highborn children learned their letters, and the gardens thrived under your patient care. But the work did not pay well, and as you approached that mysterious barricade between child and woman you began to think of saving for the future. You went to work for Valda in the kitchen, scouring pots, and you and your rough hands have worked there in the afternoons and evenings ever since. And yet you still rise before dawn; I know not why. Perhaps in your childhood, out there alone in the garden under the last stars, you fell in love with that fragile darkness between night and day."

Sigyn stood motionless, unbreathing. She searched for words and found none; she could feel two bright spots of color burn on her cheeks. The floor seemed to shift gently beneath her feet like a calm sea.

"Why?" she said at last, her voice weak and hoarse. "Why do you know this?"

Loki looked away, back to the piano. "I could tell you as much or more about every soul who lives or works in this palace. That is what I do, Sigyn. I was the one who watched, while everyone watched my brother. I watched because only a fool turns his back on a man or woman - even a servant or a child - whom he does not know."

"Not because you care?"

"A king who knows everything and cares nothing is worth a hundred of his opposite. Caring, when necessary, can always be feigned. Knowledge cannot."

Sigyn nodded slowly, then turned her attention back to the pianist, who was bringing her song to a close. The applause afterward was like sudden rain on a hard roof; Sigyn shivered.

"Have you taken a chill?" Loki asked without looking at her. He was watching the next woman come and set up an easel.

"This is not an occasion where caring is necessary," Sigyn said flatly.

Loki turned sharply to her, fitting a verbal arrow to the string, but before he could loose it the doors to the sunroom burst open, and in strode Thor.

He arrived in all his golden glory, stormy-eyed, blood-red cape rustling picturesquely in the draft he'd created. Somewhere in the audience a woman squealed.

"Where is our father!" he demanded of the false Loki in the chair.

"Fuck," said Loki quietly. The obscenity sat for a moment like a bird-dropping, and then chair-Loki vanished and real-Loki strode into the center of the room, eliciting murmurs of bewilderment from the guests.

"We'll return to our little show in an hour's time," Loki announced. "Apparently there's to be a surprise family reunion."