Chapter Two
Queen Astrid Karrsdaughter, orc ruler of Torden, would’ve rather been anywhere but here.
She listened with waning patience to the steward’s rundown of issues brought up at the assembly.
Often, the complaints Torden’s citizens raised with Varin filled Astrid with unease—either because she had not thought of addressing something herself, or because they seemed so insignificant as to hardly be worth the administrative effort.
The steward was a tolerant orc. More tolerant than Astrid was capable of.
As the steward droned on, Astrid glanced behind her. Her spymaster was missing. Astrid had known this instinctively; she felt the absence of Freya even when she did not see her, like a draft against her side. Astrid had not seen Freya slip out of the meeting, but that was no surprise.
The steward’s spectacles repeatedly fell to the end of his nose and had to be pushed back up.
Astrid watched the rhythmic nature of this action, the inevitability—the slow descent downward, the quick, precise push upward, and the sniffle that followed, his tusks wavering as if preparing for a sneeze.
Maybe she needed to order him a new pair of spectacles.
She fiddled with her dark red cloak and absently noticed some of the thread was coming loose on the left side.
Astrid glanced back once more.
“Your Majesty?” the steward said.
With a flush, Astrid realized it was not the first time he’d called for her attention. “Yes?”
Varin coughed. “We received a letter of some importance today.” Which was a nice way of him saying, You will actually want to listen to this part.
“From whom?” Astrid asked.
Varin’s eyes darted to the left and right. The room was full of Astrid’s félag—the guards she trusted the most, her inner circle. None of them would spread confidential information that could put Astrid at risk.
Astrid nodded to Varin.
“It’s from King Skarde of Sydlig, Your Majesty,” said Varin.
Astrid leaned forward in her chair, suddenly alert. The king to the south, communicating with her by a letter sent to her steward? “What does it say, Varin?” And why was she not told of this important letter earlier? Was Freya aware?
“King Skarde is sending an ambassador to Vakker Castle,” Varin said, “and a consul to every major city in Torden.”
A ringing sounded in Astrid’s ears. “Did Skarde share his rationale?”
“The letter states he was made aware of our international relations with the Elven Islands. He desires to have a more active role in Torden’s future.”
Astrid slumped in her throne.
This year, she had married off her sister, Ruga, to the elf princess Elketh Ceridwen of Branwen in exchange for the support of their renowned military. But King Skarde…
The last time Astrid had seen Skarde, she’d traveled on horse for a month through the notoriously difficult Sydlig Forest to meet with him to discuss whether he would offer Torden military support.
In response, he had constantly changed the subject, laughed in her face.
The orc king had a serious set to his brow that made his laughter unnatural in contrast.
Astrid had reached out to Skarde on other occasions—she’d written him pleasant letters to congratulate him on his marriage to his fourth wife, and to commend the fantastic harvest Sydlig had a few years back—but only received responses from his steward.
Generic “thank you, we hope you have been well,” messages that did not inquire about whether Astrid and Torden were actually doing well.
For a king, Skarde struck Astrid as apolitical when it came to anything other than himself. And if her assessment of this were true, then it also had to be true Skarde thought something happening in Torden would negatively impact him or his country.
Which begged the question: Did Skarde know something Astrid didn’t about the future of Torden?
“I’ll write the earls to warn them about Sydlig’s incoming consuls,” said Astrid. That would go over well.
Varin’s eyelids drooped and he stifled a yawn.
Astrid felt a pang of remorse. Her sister Ruga had done a lot of the administrative work around here, things no one else thought to do, and everyone was working overtime to fill in the gaps ever since Ruga left.
Astrid began to look back again and stopped herself. Only then did she notice the room was unnaturally quiet. She looked from the guards, who stared at her, to the steward, whose forehead was coated in a sheen of sweat.
“Queen Astrid,” said Hedda at her side. “I believe you would like us to get back to business?” And then, in a lower voice: “I’m on kitchen mop duty today.”
“Stars,” Astrid murmured. “Meeting adjourned.”
As she walked back to her rooms surrounded by guards, she heard Freya fall into step behind her, and finally relaxed her shoulders.
When Astrid’s wrist cramped from writing to the earls, constructing a half-truth about why they needn’t worry, she forced herself to take a break.
The words on the paper blurred in her vision.
She had an urge to scream. The félag would come running into her rooms, but she could do it just once. Get it out of her system.
“Shall I take these to the courier when you’re finished, My Queen?” Freya asked.
Sometimes it seemed as though Freya could disappear and reappear like a breeze, tumbling in and then back out of Astrid’s presence. Astrid had a strong preference for in.
“Yes, that would be wonderful, Freya. Thank you.”
Though there were two chairs in Astrid’s sparsely furnished antechamber, Freya always opted for standing.
Astrid stared into the low embers of the fire. Freya took her duties seriously, but Astrid truly missed the ease with which she had been able to talk to her sister.
Astrid had been at this politics game for a long time, and it was easier when others shared her burden. Ruga had always helped, uncomplaining, up until the end. Tears welled in Astrid’s eyes. She blinked them away before Freya could see.
“Is something the matter?” Freya asked.
Of course Freya would notice her mood anyway.
“I’m wondering how much of an imposition the ambassador and the consuls will be.
It bothers me that the king reached out to my steward rather than me.
I don’t suppose you caught word of this first?
Have you had a chance to look into the identities of the consuls? ”
“No, not yet.”
“Where were you, then?” Astrid turned to face Freya. “During the meeting?”
Freya stood with her mouth slightly ajar.
In moments like this, Astrid was reminded of how vulnerable Freya could be—she was a weapon, yes, but she was just a woman, too, a human who barely reached five feet in height.
Astrid had always been impressed that Freya could make herself seem much taller through sheer force of presence or much smaller at will.
Freya ran fingers through her short, ink-black hair before she spoke, and Astrid found her eyes tracking Freya’s gloved hands.
“You were well protected by the félag. I didn’t realize you would notice me missing, Your Majesty.”
I always notice you, Astrid thought to say, but she held her tongue. Freya had not answered her, which meant Astrid would not be getting an answer any time soon. “What do you think of Skarde sending the consuls?”
“I worry King Skarde may know something we don’t.”
Astrid swallowed. “About Ulfur’s plans?”
Ulfur, who had rallied against Torden’s last ruler to divide the country in two.
Astrid and Freya had been working under the assumption that Ulfur was too busy with her own headstrong warlords in Lynby to turn her attention to Torden—especially knowing Torden had a much more organized military and the Elven Islands on their side—but nothing was ever a given now.
Things that once made sense didn’t follow the old rules anymore.
“Yes, if Ulfur is plotting something, and Sydlig caught whiff of it,” Freya said.
Her hands were behind her back, her posture unusually rigid.
Freya had worked for Astrid for over a decade, and Astrid liked to think she understood her body language by now.
Freya hoarded information the way the greedy hoarded gold. Not knowing would tear her up inside.
“May I make a suggestion?” Freya asked.
“Of course.”
“I think it would be wise to demote Hedda for your safety.”
Astrid blinked. Hedda was the captain of Astrid’s félag—she’d had restricted duties after an outburst several months back wherein she’d publicly denounced the queen, embarrassing Astrid’s entire legion of guards and making her control over her people appear weak.
Granted, Hedda was quick to anger, but she’d served the ruler before Astrid, too, and cared deeply about protecting Torden.
The incident had taken Astrid aback and planted a seed of doubt in her heart about Hedda’s loyalty.
She suspected the outburst was more about Astrid’s involvement in ending the romantic relationship Hedda had shared with Ruga prior to Ruga’s engagement, but there was a worse possibility.
It could also mean Hedda secretly hated Astrid, and had for a long time.
How Astrid disliked questioning her own people.
“We’ve put Hedda through enough,” Astrid said. “She’s apologized for her actions. The castle floors sparkle with her punishment.”
“She harbors resentment toward Your Majesty,” Freya said. Her voice was toneless; she spoke not out of passion but logic, something Astrid always found impossible to argue with. “For separating her from Ruga, and for how we’ve approached her punishment.”
Astrid considered. “I’m reluctant to demote her completely. Perhaps we can discuss the change with her? Give her the chance to argue her case.”
“We need someone stronger. Less emotionally charged,” Freya said.
“Who do you have in mind?”
“Hrothgar. They’re strong, loyal, and have never had an outburst like Hedda. They don’t drink, either.”
The quick response shouldn’t have surprised Astrid, but for Freya to have a solution ready, she’d been considering it for some time. Freya was always two steps ahead of everyone else, it seemed.
“I wish you’d discuss these matters with me as soon as you think of them,” Astrid said, keeping her tone light, keeping the frustration out.
“I don’t like to present you with information until I’m really sure, My Queen.”
Stars, but Freya was stubborn. Maybe one day, the two of them could come up with solutions together, if Freya didn’t tire of working for Torden.
That was an unpleasant thought. Eager to distract herself, Astrid began the laborious process of folding the letters. “Bring me my seal?”
The door to Astrid’s bedroom opened and closed, the only indication Freya had left. She returned a moment later. Without looking up, Astrid held out her palm to accept her seal and wax.
Cool skin grazed her hand instead. Startled, Astrid stared and stared at the bare hand in hers, crossed with pale scars.
She followed the length of the arm up to Freya’s face—frozen as if in a trance, her wide, dark pupils reflecting the flickering flames of the fire.
Astrid sat similarly frozen, wondering what would happen next, what she was supposed to do, if anything.
Wondering what this meant.
Her fingers twitched, almost giving in to the temptation to close her hand over Freya’s smaller one, just as Freya snatched her hand back. Both Freya’s hands were ungloved, the other tightly gripping the wax and seal.
As far as Astrid knew, Freya only removed the gloves in front of her.
Astrid held her breath. A second passed, then two.
“Sorry,” Freya said. She shook her head as if shedding her trance. “I… I’m sorry.”
“What—?” Astrid started. What’s on your mind? she thought she may have been about to ask. What compelled you to touch me?
With a clatter, Freya dropped the wax and seal onto Astrid’s side table, then disappeared into the shadows. Astrid gawked at the space she’d occupied. Freya’s silhouette lingered in her vision like a ghost.
Astrid brought the wax over to the fire to warm. Probably nothing, she reasoned. Freya was worried about the consuls, just like Astrid was, and she’d been distracted enough to pass her the wrong hand. The goddess knew Astrid did that every once in a while, too.
But Freya was usually so calculated and mindful.
Astrid watched, transfixed, as the wax melted, puddling in its metal warming cup. The phantom sensation of Freya’s hand lingered on Astrid’s own.