Of Golden Thread and Ivory Claws

• Five: Of Consequences and Godly Interests •

By the time she reached the castle, the first rays of the sun had begun to lighten the horizon, but she paid it no attention as she set her feet against the leafy wall. Even as she climbed up the stones and vines to the low hanging terrace, her heart pounded and she nearly slipped a few times.

Get inside, get inside. Father was there. Maybe if she told him, he-

No. No. No! No one would believe her. She paused in her ascent for a moment. After all, she was a third princess, not a first. Why would the gods appear in front of her of all people? She wasn't bitter, it was a truth she was perfectly content with. But what if the gods had? She gulped. Although Thor appearing before her should be an honor, even if she hated what such an encounter may do to her life, Loki brought on a completely new set of problems.

The personification of evil and deceit was not a confrontation any Otsman or woman wanted, lest they be drawn into his schemes. She just hoped that her Uncle could keep his lips sealed, if they cared enough to ask questions about a certain bar maiden. For greater measure, she would avoid the tavern for a long while, or until she felt enough time had passed.

Sifrina hauled herself over the railing, trying to quiet her movements, and crept to the door. With practiced motions, she opened and closed it without a sound. It was still very dark, but she could hear thumps and rustling in the servant quarters just around the corner, so she sprinted past - pulling the hood of her cloak down, so that her hair would stay in place and not give her away.

The inner corridors were still black as pitch, but she somehow made her way about the twists and turns swiftly, nearing her chambers without running into a single, candle-carrying soul. Her hand slipped around the brass handle and she held her breath as she gave it a soft tug, saying a light prayer to the gods that it did not make a sound. It opened a crack and she gently pushed, opening it just enough that she could just wiggle inside. Quickly, she turned once she made it in and shut the door with a soft click. She paused there, listening for any noise outside of the door, her form slightly illuminated by the sun crawling up the window, of whom separated her from her high-arched balcony outside. The singular, but muffled, sound of the fjord's waves crashing into the cliffside just below the castle the only dominant thing in her ears. There was nothing else.

Her hands shook as she freed her fingertips from the door circlet, letting it clink softly against its metal base. She sighed, exhaling her pent breath, and leaned her forehead against the wood grains of the door - the action causing her hood to slide backwards and pool at her neck. Some of her golden tresses slipped free and into her face with the motion.

"Ah, come to watch Dellingr wake Dagr, my dear?" A feminine voice pitched suddenly at her back. The words were chilled and full of a mocking sweetness.

Her breath caught, heart stilling like the earth after a heavy frost. "Come, Dagr is just about to draw the day. It would be lovely if you could join us."

Us? She spun around fast, her vision a blur, and sure enough, there they were.

Her mother stood at her father's back, her left hand on his shoulder as he sat in Sifrina's favorite lounging chair. The sun had yet to reach her terrace, as she had originally thought. No, the light from before had instead come from a candle that was sitting on the small table in the center of her room.

The candle had worn down greatly, the wax melted all around the base - the candle tin casting a glare of the flaming wick.

How long had they been waiting here? She wondered, her heart starting again - this time at a painful pace. Her throat bobbed as she gulped and dread pooled in her stomach, trying to think of something - anything. Anything but the truth.