Chapter Five
How could this have happened? Freya had planned so meticulously, sought out every detail, extracted and organized and memorized. She had anticipated the need to keep close watch over the ambassador, but not that King Skarde might send someone else.
She could not fathom a benign reason for the old ambassador’s replacement.
On her way to the dining hall, she tapped Mara on the shoulder and asked her to introduce the topic of the replacement to Guthmar’s attendants during the meal.
In the dining hall, three long tables seated the entire castle: one for the staff, one for the garrison, and one where Astrid, the félag, and Guthmar and his spouses sat.
Freya waited against the wall near the staff table, listening in on the attendants’ conversation.
They were unhappy to be here; traveling for a month was rough, and Guthmar was an orc who stopped at every town to see the sights.
They told stories of him holding them up at rustic inns, interesting houses with oddly shaped windows, beds of flowers with unusual colors, bustling markets with trinkets he’d peruse for hours.
Easily distracted, they said. Not scared of inconveniencing others by taking up their time.
But nobody mentioned anything about him being cruel.
In fact, the impression was that Guthmar was foolish.
He’d been sent in lieu of the king’s brother, Elgir, who from all rumors was a hostile, unpredictable person.
Was the replacement a good indication, then?
Had King Skarde intended to intimidate Torden with Elgir, then changed his mind and sent the less frightening Guthmar instead?
Or was it meant as an insult? As in, here is this silly man, and this is how much of a threat we think you are?
Freya couldn’t make head nor tail of it.
Was it possible the change was a mere coincidence? Brenn would say nothing was a coincidence and everything was in the hands of the goddess. Their wyrd had been set in stone long before they were born. Freya, of course, did not believe in anything this simple.
The worst part of the switch was that Astrid relied on Freya to handle these matters, and Freya had failed.
How disappointed the queen must’ve been.
Freya was seldom wrong about anything, seldom caught by surprise.
And here they were, completely unaware of a significant change the goddess apparently had not seen fit to share with Brenn.
Freya itched to sneak away and speak to Brenn about this development, but from now on, she wouldn’t be able to leave the queen’s side.
The castle staff were discussing the upcoming history fair with the new attendants—something Freya had already prepared for.
Only those invited would be allowed through the castle gates, but more strangers in the castle while they were already dealing with this ambassador crisis…
Sometimes Freya wished she could split herself in two.
Freya would write to Brenn. She needed her nearby: her guidance and her steady presence were invaluable. From now until Sydlig saw fit to recall their ambassador, Freya would have to use every resource available to her.
“And who’s this?” one of the ambassador’s human attendants asked. Ingirun, Freya thought her name was.
Everyone at the staff table turned to Freya. She waved.
“That’s the queen’s shadow,” a kitchen girl said behind her hand.
“The what? Is that an official position here?”
“She’s Queen Astrid’s attendant,” the kitchen girl clarified. “You won’t see the queen without Freya.”
Subconsciously, Freya’s hand went to her dagger.
She felt the hard, comforting ridge of the pommel through the fabric of her tunic.
She liked her nickname and what it implied.
Astrid was never alone under her watch, never vulnerable.
Freya was Astrid’s sword, the whisper in her ear, the shadow at her feet.
“A bit overbearing for a lady’s maid,” Ingirun commented.
“Yes,” the kitchen girl agreed.
Freya was not offended by this assessment.
“She’s handsome,” one of the orc attendants said, and Freya snapped to attention, puffing out her chest. She did a quick sweep of the table and caught the orc attendant ogling her. She was picking up on their names quickly—this was Hjotra.
Freya winked.
It couldn’t hurt, especially with Mara unavailable, to get close to Guthmar’s attendants.
They could be good sources of inside information, and Freya could let out some of the tension that wound her up every day.
Freya had been with an orc before, early on when she had come to Vakker—a woman from the kitchens who had since moved away.
At the time, the orc’s penetrative tongue had been a shock, but Freya’d gotten used to it.
The idea of forging a new connection exhausted Freya, however. Questions about the scars on her hands. Boundaries to set, emotions to evade. The dynamic with Mara had been simple. With these new attendants, Freya didn’t know what to expect.
When Guthmar’s people left the hall, Freya followed them silently. They went to their respective assigned rooms without wandering. Good. She’d check in on them later and make sure they were still there, but for now, her confidence in the attendants being exactly who they said they were had grown.
Freya waited in the queen’s bedroom as Astrid removed her crown, brushed out her braid, and slid off her armbands.
Freya was called over to undo the laces she’d done earlier.
This time, she removed her gloves right away and got it over with.
Untying the prisoner, she told herself. Not undressing her queen.
“What are you thinking, Freya?” Astrid asked.
Freya hadn’t spoken since they’d come back, so lost in thought had she been.
“I don’t like the ambassador switch.” Freya ran a hand through her hair and her fingers came back oily. She was suddenly embarrassed to be so close to the queen. When was the last time she’d washed her hair?
“What do we know of Guthmar?” Astrid asked. “Other than the things he told me at the table.”
Freya had noticed the ambassador’s penchant for talking someone’s ear off.
“I haven’t gleaned as much as I’d like. He’s the king’s cousin—I’m sure he shared that with you.
His attendants don’t think highly of him, though not for the reason you’d expect.
He made many sojourns on the way up here.
Not just in the towns, though he always wanted to try every variety of mead.
Apparently, he also stopped for flowers he didn’t recognize. To smell them.”
“Well. That’s not exactly malicious, is it?”
“No. If anyone in his entourage was set on harming you, I doubt it would be him.”
“Harming me?” Astrid’s hand went to her throat. “I was more worried about… Court sabotage, maybe. Or Sydlig having information we don’t. How much influence he expects to have over me. The imposition of it all.”
Stars. Freya really was deprived of sleep. She hadn’t told Astrid about Brenn’s prediction, and she didn’t plan on doing so. She could help Astrid avoid catastrophe on her own.
“The political side. Of course,” said Freya.
“Have you any indication Guthmar’s entourage would cause me physical harm?”
“They would all be dead if I thought they would hurt you,” Freya said.
Her words hung in the air between them, and after an extended silence, Astrid laughed. “Was that a joke, Freya?”
“Too dry, I suppose.” Freya’s cheeks warmed. She wasn’t sure if it was a joke, but her sense of humor tended toward the dark side.
“I would have understood sooner if I wasn’t so exhausted,” said Astrid. “Listening to Guthmar all night… However long he plans to stay, it will feel like an eternity.”
“That, we do agree on, My Queen.”