Sigyn's Discovery (Part 1)

Where One Should Not Be (SIGYN)

My foolhardy and curious nature couldn't resist Queen Frigga's open bedchamber.

Most servants had no business on the noble floor of the Asgardian palace and never trespassed here—for me, it was a force of habit. I'd maintained an old routine and strolled past her room after my shift in the kitchens was over, too stubborn and lonely to develop new interests. Every time I checked before, it was firmly sealed—both with a strong lock and an ominous energy. Now it beckoned me through the crack with a whisp of fresh air and a promise of adventure.

Somehow I didn't consider that I was the room's second visitor. After two strides, I froze with fearful humility.

Sitting on the curved steps before her balcony was Frigga's husband, Odin the Allfather—King of Asgard, and a frightening man at the best of times. While the servants and citizens of our world viewed him as a mostly benevolent leader, he was notorious for having too short a temper and too high an expectation for his subordinates.

But now, he was subdued. His single angry eye focused on a blue iridescent gown between his hands, which he squeezed into fists and released as if they breathed with him. The eyepatch on his other side was much more comfortable to look at; it didn't stare through others the way his real vision did.

My pace slowed significantly once I caught his gaze, pausing before the round pool in the center of the room, keeping him on my left side and far away. If he ordered me to go, I could make a quick escape. If I'd had any real sense, I would've turned and left him behind without a word. But I was never known for being silent to those in need and chose boldness over brains.

"Allfather...might I ask what troubles you?"

Odin simply flickered his eye back to the garment. The king's omnipresent metal and leather armor gave me secondhand discomfort as I watched him—it had to be heavy, hot, and suffocating. Like the statue of the queen standing above him, he was trapped in his current position by the very thing that supposedly protected his body. A small yet very visible prison.

I interpreted his silence as an invitation.

As I slowly sat on his right side, I adjusted the inner skirt beneath my gray servantry robe to keep it hidden. The fabric I'd found in this very room after Frigga's death was reserved for people much higher than my station. Remaining in his presence where it could potentially be seen was an unnecessary and reckless gamble. Yet another reason why I should've left him alone.

Odin sighed and stared straight ahead at the reflecting pool. Artwork on the vaulted ceiling—intricate planets and constellations I couldn't put names to—echoed on the water below. Wind rustled the light curtains on either side of the balcony, though it never made so even a single wave on the enchanted liquid of the pool. It was constant while the surroundings changed, much the same way the world continued to grow and evolve in the queen's unchangeable absence.

I whispered, "You must miss her. We all do."

Again he gave me no response. His ever-twitching expression said he held many unexpressed thoughts—about her, about me, about whatever else filled the mind of a man who had lived longer than I could fathom.

Uncomfortable with the stillness, my mouth ran away with me, volunteering information to fill the void. "I served Frigga right here in this chamber. Took over when my parents died—Valhalla, be with them. It might've been only a year, but she became like a mother to me." My belly filled with warmth to think of those days. "Dear Allfather, must you mourn alone?"

The words weren't a comfort to him as I'd intended. Odin glared at me. Negative energy flowed off him, as did a discernible rush of cold air. Or was it simply a coincidental breeze?

"What is your name, child?" he asked, sending a shiver through my spine with the judgmental tone of his voice.

"Sigyn, daughter of Edda. I've worked in the palace all my life, as did my whole family." I gulped, averting my gaze to the pool again and regretting how I addressed him so casually. The echo of our voices off the walls gave the room an eerie, open quality, as if it was Frigga's ghost personified. Was I an unwelcome visitor despite my familiarity?

When he made no other comment, I attempted to recover by turning the attention back to him. "During your battles, she and I sat on these very steps. Her worry over you never ceased."

He nodded, gifting me mercy in his response. "And all that time, I never thought I'd have to worry over her safety." With that, he sighed and grasped the robe in his hands ever tighter.

I glanced over the whole room once more—directly ahead, on the other side of the pool, was a shrouded pedestal. The black cover draped over it stood as proof that this, too, was a memorial. Though the sinister shape underneath might escape unfamiliar eyes, I knew it well, since Frigga displayed it proudly when she was alive.

Indeed, hiding beneath the cover was Prince Loki's golden helmet—the formal piece he once wore as a status symbol. The dual horns curved up and over in a symmetrical yet threatening show of height and power. Even without an owner, the helmet alone had personality.

I preferred to see it uncovered, but since he died shortly after Frigga did, it was appropriate to show such reverence and keep it veiled. His presence penetrated the ether the way hers did.

My boldness took over yet again. "Allfather...do you also mourn for the loss of your son? For Loki?"

His head snapped toward me in the same manner as his voice. "Do not ask me about things you know nothing about."

My hands went up reflexively. "I'm sorry, I—"

"He was not my son, and you would be better served to know your place."

I stood and stumbled, twisting to walk away from him backward. My emotions regarding the matter couldn't cloud the very stern admonishment I'd just received, despite my being sure Prince Loki earned as much respect as Thor, his brother. While the latter was the spitting image of the man before me now, Loki was of Frigga, and he shared her magic and demeanor—at least, those were the few things about him that stood out in my memories.

"Forgive me, Allfather," I said, trying to command my trembling hands to hold still as I curtseyed.

He yelled, "You do not belong here. Why did you come?"

I asked myself the same. What drew me in? What possessed me to ask the king about something so personal and, daresay, controversial?

His shouts made me jump. "Go. Go!"

Unable to mend or answer for the obvious wound in his heart, I left the king on the steps in Queen Frigga's room—regardless of the nag in my mind that insisted his outburst was a cry for help as much as it was a demand to mind my own business.