I'm a princess, cut from marble, smoother than a storm. / And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold. "Yellow Flicker Beat"
"You're skilled at divination."
"So they say." Itriel plucked the petals off of a flower and didn't meet Loki's eyes.
"Don't play with me." Loki walk ahead of her and turned, forcing her to look up. "Will you do this for me?"
"Do what?" she said coyly. She couldn't help but to start laughing.
He was growing impatient. "What do you want in return?"
"I don't charge," she replied, grabbing another flower from the bush to her right. "I'm not a prostitute." This sent her into another fit of giggles.
Loki's lips twitched upwards into a smirk. "You're intolerable. I don't see how you have any friends." His face quickly switched back to its typical look of apathy. "Why would you do this for me?"
Itriel threw the flower to the side of the path, petals now all plucked off, and turned to face him. "You make me curious. Tonight. After dinner." She turned and walked away before getting a response.
Hours later at dinner, neither made eye contact the entire time. Loki watched Itriel sit up straight and answer all of Frigga and Odin's questions with exceedingly polite but honest answers. She's charismatic. She can act a perfect lady when she wants, he thought to himself.
Her entire family had left nearly a month ago. Loki had been glad to see them off. He had become tired of the festivities practically from the moment they started. It had been a strain to Loki's whole family to entertain them.
But the king and queen had left their daughter behind.
Frigga had told Loki that Itriel had stayed behind so that she could be taught more complex magic. She had the skill for clairvoyance apparently, something of which Loki had never been capable. Who better than to teach her but Frigga, who was perhaps the most skilled seer alive? Loki of course suspected that she had alternative motives for keeping the princess in Asgard, or that the princess herself had her own motives; everyone, especially other women, spoke rumors. She's Odin's mistress, some said. Or she's actually an assassin. Do you know how many people she's killed? They want to keep her in their employ. The most prominent rumor was that her parents left her under some other guise so that she could seduce and marry Thor. But she's a dirty whore, they said. She's been used. They said it as if they were sympathetic. Women, thought Loki, are such jealous, insincere creatures. The ones at court, anyway. Then he remembered that he probably disliked the men more.
"What do you want to know about yourself? Do you want to know what all men want to know? When you'll die, if you'll ever fall in love?" Itriel finally asked when they met in the furthest corner of the gardens after dark. "You men are all so boring."
Loki paced slowly in front of her, looking at the ground. He looked up, meeting her eyes but quickly looking away. "First of all, what does this entail? What are we doing, exactly?"
"Don't you know anything? I thought you were educated. Why won't you look me in the eye? Why won't anyone look me in the eye in this damned realm?" she said as an afterthought. "Your mother will be very unhappy with me for doing this."
"She won't have to know."
"She will know." Now it was her turn to pace. "But I suppose you are my only friend here. Or at least, your irritable company gives me some semblance of friendship."
He finally stopped pacing and met her eyes. "You have not gotten the best impression of Asgard's court," he said, chuckling.
Itriel was nearly going to have an outburst at this point, but she controlled herself. "No, I have not," she said levelly. "The men think they are warriors when they never have seen war. One day they won't be laughing about murder when their cities are burned and their wives raped. The women just hate me."
"I suppose I can agree with that. The women just don't want more competition for marriage. This isn't your realm and you're not going to be worshipped anymore. You're just another presence at court," he said acidly.
"Ahhh, just when you seem like you're capable of empathy… you are so predictable. Should we start this?" She took his unfriendliness with ease as if she were comfortable with it. Is she so desperate that she would prefer my company to loneliness, even if I talk to her like this? Loki asked himself for maybe the tenth time that week. He didn't really keep company with women outside of the bedroom, but that wasn't uncommon for the men in Asgard. Every woman his age who was present at court either wanted only marriage or Thor. Often both. Not that Loki didn't have a few women at his beck and call. Just perhaps not as many as he would like.
"Yes. You never answered my question. What exactly does this involve?" he asked again impatiently.
"Do you have the snake?"
Loki pulled a dead snake out of his pocket and threw it on the ground. "This is a pathetic snake," Itriel said. "This is just a garden snake. Wouldn't you prefer a viper, Prince? Or are you just a garden snake?" She picked up the snake by the tail, whirling it around a little, much like a little boy would. "I used to play with snakes as a child. I thought they were pretty. I have to ask, why did you pick a snake?"
"If anything, that's what people compare me to," he spat while smirking devilishly.
"That's offensive! They must not know that snakes represent so many good things. Fertility. Wisdom. Sex." She pulled out a knife. "I stole this off of a dead body," she said, smiling.
"Fascinating. Why is that even relevant?" He could guess what she was going to do with the knife; she needed his blood, of course. For a rather intimate, accurate reading.
"I thought you might be interested. Give me your arm."
"Why my arm? Why not some place more discrete?"
"Come on, are you afraid of a scar? You don't show your arms anyway. Don't act like a spoiled little girl. Give me your arm."
He did so, begrudgingly. She cut a long line down his arm. The cut wept blood and stung, though it wasn't very deep. Itriel had an apathetic, almost clinical expression on her face. She wiped at the dark red liquid with a small towel, letting it absorb as much blood as possible, pinching his skin a little to encourage its flow.
"One more ingredient," she said, nonchalantly throwing the towel on the ground. "Just a little hair."
"Is this really necessary?" Loki baulked.
"You know it is. Here." She sliced off a small lock with her knife. Loki didn't look too pleased. She bent down and wrapped the hair in the bloody towel. She picked up the snake a few feet away and placed it on top. "Throw the twigs down." He did so.
"Now sit across from me."
"So commanding," Loki said with humor. After all he really didn't dislike her.
"I'm not being paid for this. I don't have to be polite." She kindled the fire using only the magic flowing from her hands. Both sat quiet for what seemed to be an eternity. Suddenly Itriel's jaw went slack; her eyes widened and became unfocused and disconcertingly glassy.
Loki became impatient. "Tell me something. How much longer?"
"Be… patient. You have thousands of years left… to live," she said slowly. "It's…. so cloudy."
"Tell me something. Please."
"So… desperate." Her eyes widened further. "You will be… a source… of pride and disappointment. Equally."
"What?" his face twisted into confusion and slight anger. "But what do you see? What in the hell do you see?"
"Sometimes… I only see in ideas. Wait. Everything is moving so quickly. I see stars. You fall through stars. Travel through stars. Everyone is kneeling. Only because you're forcing them." She paused. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't see anymore. It's one great cloud of stars!" She rose and started pacing almost hysterically.
Loki got up quickly and grabbed her by the shoulders. Too rough. I shouldn't have, he thought. He felt bad. He had never seen her express any sort of negative emotion. But his thirst for knowledge interested him more. "You. Are. Lying. Tell me what you saw."
"I promise! I'm not lying about anything. I swear. I swear!"
Loki turned and walked away. "Shit," he said quietly. Then louder. "Shit. Shit! Shit. Why? Why did I not expect this?" He turned towards her again. "Perhaps you're just not as talented as I thought," he said acidly.
"You are a child! This is what you do when you don't get what you want?" He turned and walked away quickly, leaving her in the darkness.
Perhaps I'll need to make new friends, she thought to herself.