(SIGYN)
My thoughts were filled with him. He haunted me. Followed me everywhere. My visions of Loki were so frequent, I was convinced the gods above wished we spent more time together.
Most of the scenes that played in my head took place in Frigga's room, since that was the only place I'd seen him close up as an adult. More than once, I dreamed about the night I discovered his secret, though it was distinctly different from reality.
In my mind's eye, I inched away from him on the bed as he sat at my side, all too aware how unworthy I was of his proximity. Even when a figment of my imagination, Loki's regal and smooth motion put me in a trance. His hair shined and trailed forward off his shoulder. Was I in danger, or did a spell make the world around him hazy?
If I could've changed fate and forced the dream to show me impossible things, like reciprocal admiration, I might've confessed that my interest in him was more amatory than of obligation. Yet even in a vision, it was inappropriate.
As if he could read my mind, Loki leaned forward and placed his slender index finger before his lips in a shush. His other hand drew ever closer—so stealthily, I scarcely knew it moved at all.
He gripped my forearms in a surprise attack, forcing a gasp from me. My heartbeat thumped wildly—from his strike and his touch. While I attempted to retreat, he pulled my arms parallel in front and inched his face so close to mine, I could smell him. His breath reminded me of hot rock after rain. Distinctly chilly. Icy enough to sprout goosebumps all over my skin.
With palpable anger, he hissed, "You know I could kill you now, you fiend, for finding me out. What right do you think you have? Why should I spare your life?"
Terrified, I shut my eyes and prayed he'd leave me be. Tears trickled down my face. I couldn't decide if my hands were better clenched into fists or wide open in surrender.
The overwhelming truth of our existence tainted his words. "What could you possibly have that I want?" His deep voice dripped from his lips like honey, though I wished his words were half as sweet.
My stomach rolled over. "I have n-nothing to give, My Lord."
"Then watch me as I decide your fate. Open your eyes."
I couldn't. If I saw his face in anger, it would be too real. Real like the laughter that still echoed in my ears. Real like the frantic rhythm pounding in my chest. Real like his tight grip on my arms that made my fingertips tingle...
"Look at me!"
"No!" I shot up in bed, awakened by my dream and a noise at the door. Tiwaz wandered in from another night of prowling, purring loudly enough that I heard him across the room. Even now, as I distractedly beckoned the cat to my lap, I stroked my forearms in an attempt to remember the sensation of Loki's cool hands upon my skin.
How much of it had been a dream, how much a wish, and how much a memory?
Two and a half weeks passed of bringing unfinished meals to False Odin. We had no more private meetings—since the last time we spoke directly, he kept his word and lit the foyer more. A small table inside was designated for my nightly offerings, and there was no need to discuss my duties further. When I wasn't attending to his needs, I assisted the rest of the servantry with large parties in the kitchen to stay busy, since sitting alone in my room would make my nightmares worse.
However, one such evening marked an important anniversary, and I opted not to volunteer that night. Instead, after delivering my final tray to Odin's foyer, I paused in front of Frigga's chamber on the trek home. From left to right, I searched the hall to make sure no one watched me and knelt before the tall doors to pray. Once my quiet incantation was over, I placed a small bouquet of blue flowers at the base of the door. It was a meager token at best, but all I could give to honor the dead.
If I lingered too long, I might be questioned, so I stood and swept any dust off my skirt before trotting down the stairs. My gift would be found by one of the other servants, surely, but at least I could sleep well knowing my gesture was complete.
The servantry was unnaturally quiet for the hour, likely because of some victory celebration I knew nothing about. So many Asgardians found mundane excuses to throw parties and reveled in every last drop they could handle. As for me, I had no interest in socializing. The less time I spent around others who might ask me about my new service, the better.
Once inside my room, I absently lit a few candles and untied the knot in my robe at the back. Solitude was welcome after a long day of work and hidden mourning.
But I wasn't alone.
"We have much to talk about, don't we, Sigyn?" Loki asked, appearing on my bed under a flash of sparkling green.
I yelped at his surprise and clutched my arms over my chest, even though I was still clothed. "Wha-what are you doing here?"
He sat cooly over the edge as if he'd been there all day and folded his arms. "Please, do continue," he said with a seductive cock of his brow.
I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat wouldn't budge. "My Lord, is there something else you need from me?" The tie of my robe tangled in my hands when I tried to refasten it. Apparently my duties were not quite finished after all.
His expression shifted to one more serious, relaxing his brows to a normal position. "Must you always speak to me as a servant?"
I blinked a few times. "Sire?"
"What happened to the girl on fire?" he asked, dropping one foot to the floor, then the other. He rose to full height and loomed above me, snuffing out any of my resolve to stand up straight. How could one have fire in his icy presence?
"I'm sorry, My Lord. What is on your mind?" I made scant eye contact with him, still not sure how appropriate it was to look upon his real form. While I'd seen him in my dreams many times, in person was another matter. My surroundings embarrassed me—his gilded room upstairs was worlds away from my lowly quarters, cramped and dusty. Had I known he would visit, I might've attempted to spruce up the space and my appearance.
Loki hummed. "That's better." Reigniting his impish smirk, he held his hands out. "How about we start with how you came across this?" With another flash of green, my dagger appeared in his palms.
How did you find that? How long have you been in my room? My belly burned with a distinct sense of invasion for my small personal space. Without a pause, I lurched to take it from him.
He yanked it away from my reach. "Surely something this..."—Loki turned it side to side to make his point—"...ornate has a story, doesn't it?"
"It's story is humble, like me. Give it over."
"Ah, ah, ah." He tipped his head to the side. "Humble or contemptuous? You have a habit of acquiring things that don't belong to you. Stolen from an unassuming soldier, perhaps?"
"What? No, Sire. I'm not a thief."
"Aren't you?" Loki squinted as if I should've understood his subtext. His unspoken threat only made my hands shake.
"No." I took a deep breath and straightened my spine. "It was my father's."
"Your father was a warrior? I know no warrior named Edda."
"He was no warrior—merely a good man. His service was in the armory for many years, and it was given to him as a gift if he could repair it." I firmly met his gaze, hoping if he were searching for lies that he would see I carried none. "He mended and kept it well until his death, and it fell to me."
"I see. So it is an heirloom and not a bounty." Loki nodded in acknowledgment, then investigated the knife further, taking it out of its sheath. The scabbard was covered in several multi-colored stones and a swirling imprint in the metal. The blade itself was razor sharp, perfectly restored by my father's hands. "'Tis a formidable weapon for a young woman, I suppose. Do you know how to use it?"
"Y-yes. I've been taught well." I prayed he wouldn't take my admission as an invitation to test me, especially because much of my training came from Frigga, not my father. If I showed him some of my choreographed steps now, he might recognize them, or worse—I could trip and hurt us both. "May I have it back?"
He gave a slight bow when he passed it to me, as if it were some great honor that I should receive my own property.
"Thank you." I placed it on the small desk to my right and stood straight again. "Is that all?"
"No." Loki put his hands behind his back for more interrogation. "You left a token before Frigga's room this evening." He leaned toward me, too close, trying to frighten me as he did a few weeks ago. "Why?"
"It was only a small bouquet—"
"Why?" he yelled, not backing away.
If you wanted to hurt me, you would've already. The revelation gave me enough courage. "Today is an important day for me, My Lord. The minutiae of my life is of no consequence to you."
"I don't appreciate insolence." He gripped my chin tightly to force my gaze. "Your actions reflect upon me as my charge, understand?"
"And Allfather would understand a woman's need to mourn in peace," I shouted, pushing his hand away. It took nerve to be firm, but I didn't regret it. Whatever his reprimand, my position was correct. "You have no right to tell me what I can or cannot do to honor my own mother on the anniversary of her death. You want to see the girl on fire? Here she is. I've done everything you've asked me to without complaint, yet you accuse me of being a thief and a liar without cause. If you must follow my every move, you could at least respect me enough to give me the benefit of the doubt when I leave nothing more than a cluster of flowers on the floor."
My admonishment must've tempered him, because if it hadn't, he would've struck me for sure. Instead, his expression stiffened as he squared his jaw and took a step back. "I see." He let the quiet build between us for a few moments, leaving his lips open to prove he wasn't finished.
What are you thinking? I folded my arms this time and tapped my foot.
"Why Frigga's door, though?" he asked, barely whispering it.
"Mother worked for her long before I did. Since Frigga became somewhat of a surrogate parent to me, I honor them both in the same place. I don't have another spot for Mother alone."
"Right." Loki cleared his throat. "So no mother and no father, either. You're alone."
"Yes, but I'm not weak." I felt like a liar, but an unknown strength projected through me. "Perhaps now you will have better appreciation for my own privacy, My Lord."
He nodded, aiming his eyes away from me.
"Now, truly, is there something else I can do for you?" I softened my tone and my heart slowed in turn.
Tiwaz complained at the door, interrupting us.
"Sorry. Forgive him—he's just hungry." I held up my hand and cracked the door a bit so he could come in.
To my surprise, Tiwaz went straight to Loki's feet instead of mine and looked up at him.
"He likes you," I said with a slight smile. It charmed me since the cat wasn't normally fond of others.
"I see that," Loki said, picking him up. "What's his name?"
"Tiwaz. It means—"
"I know what it means." He continued to flirt with the animal by scruffing his ears. "Some God of Justice you are, Tiwaz."
"I sometimes call him Tee. Found him wandering the halls last year and adopted him. Not sure how old he is."
Loki put the cat on the bed. "Mother loved cats. I wonder if he knew any of hers."
As much as I enjoyed seeing him in a calm state, letting him linger in my room felt like a dangerous game. "Well, now that he's settled, is there anything else I can do? Anything you want to know?" I smiled slightly. "Please, I will tell you willingly. There is no need to frighten me."
His emerald eyes were deeper than I'd seen before, more like a forest than a precious jewel, and he shook his head. By doing so, a strand of his dark hair fell before his ear and onto his high cheekbone. It struck me that his simple clothing—a dark green tunic with brown trousers—made him look quite common, but his long hair set him apart as a man of authority.
In a lapse of judgment, I moved a little closer. "Your hair...you've never grown it out so long, have you?"
"I suppose not." His volume dropped again. "Can't very well manicure it now, can I?"
"Well, I might not be the most adept at this, but I could trim it if you like." I reached for the loose strands without thinking and tucked them behind his ear. "It's got more curl to it than I thought as well."
Loki stopped responding with his words and watched my hand instead. His eyes widened, almost beyond detection, but his lips pressed together tightly.
It didn't occur to me that touching him in such a way would be so grounding. Not a dream. I moved my hand away when I felt my admiration became too obvious.
His breath quickened, but he followed my movement and stopped me from moving away with a tender brush of his fingers. Loki tickled the edge of my right hand and brought it close to his face, turning it one way and then the other. He traced the snaking scar down my thumb—an old injury from when I was learning to fight—and touched every callus on my palm. Putting his hand behind mine, he compared the lengths of our fingers. His were longer, but our hands were similarly slender.
In a quick motion, Loki put my palm against his cheek and pressed it into him.
I gulped. The heartbeat that had once been relaxing now charged forward. What's this?
He closed his eyes. What made him shift so suddenly from formidable suspicion to quiet introspection? Was Loki always this manic?
Awkwardness sprouted. The longer I touched him, the more uncomfortable I became. "Your skin is cold," I whispered.
Loki grimaced and pushed me away, disappearing into thin air as he opened my chamber door.
I was left dumfounded in the middle of the room, not sure what just happened. Was it something I said?