Chapter Nineteen
Freya had observed others dancing many times, but she could not recall ever dancing herself.
The sailors swayed, haphazard and without rhythm. The variety of dances had no technique to them—they were dances not of skill but of joy.
And yet Freya’s nerves were on edge as Astrid stood and offered her hands.
There was a dreamlike quality to the place as Freya took hold of Astrid.
The height difference was comical, but no one gave either of them a second glance.
Freya was not the only human in the common area of this inn; several elves were present as well, and sailor danced with soldier danced with server danced with merchant. The drink had leveled them all.
In her disguise, Astrid was just another soldier.
The perception of Astrid as something other than queen unsettled Freya’s stomach. Her feet struggled to keep up with this new side of her queen. Astrid swung Freya around, and her face broke into a huge, beautiful smile like Freya had never seen. It was enough to stop Freya’s heart.
Astrid had never looked so free. Her hair was loose, tumbling out in curls that sometimes smacked into Freya’s face and tickled her. Freya picked up the pace of the dance, paid attention to the beat of the music. She danced, and she did not feel for her knives even once.
The song came to a crescendo. Somewhere, someone shrieked with delight, and Astrid laughed, throwing back her head and exposing her neck to Freya. Freya was dizzy with giddiness, but also with the knowledge that she was entirely out of her element.
Hollers filled the room. Sweat built on the back of Freya’s neck and under her breasts and between her palms and Astrid’s.
Astrid spun her with flushed cheeks. Clapping, stomping, spinning.
Freya was an observer, not a participant, and her mind struggled to keep up with the activity through the noise. She clung to Astrid like a lifeline.
At the end of the song, Astrid lifted Freya off the ground and spun her in a large circle. Freya stumbled back to her feet when Astrid set her down and looked back at the table, where Hedda was leaned over whispering something to Hrothgar.
Both were staring.
Astrid’s smile faded as she took in Freya’s face. Freya wasn’t sure exactly what expression she wore. All she knew was that she was extremely overwhelmed and had no control over this situation.
“Sorry for lifting you,” said Astrid. “I got carried away.”
The phantom touch of Astrid’s hands on Freya’s hips made Freya’s mouth dry. “No, I…”
How could Freya understand so little of what was happening?
Here Astrid was, away from the castle and enjoying herself greatly.
While Brenn had assured Freya that Astrid was safe, Freya had not considered Astrid would be happier here.
She’d thought Astrid had run away on the verge of a mental breakdown.
She did not know Astrid to be the kind of person who could be cheered with drink and dance and music in a social setting.
“Can we talk?” Astrid asked.
The music started up again, less boisterous. A few people swayed drunkenly, but Astrid made no move to pull Freya back into the group. Dazed, Freya remembered she’d been asked a question and nodded.
Astrid led her back to the table with Hedda and Hrothgar.
Freya felt herself clam up. She could not say the things she wanted to in front of the félag.
The other tables were full, leaving them with little choice.
She wished Astrid had never run away, that they could have had this conversation privately in her rooms.
“They know,” Astrid said, gesturing to Hrothgar and Hedda. Reading Freya’s mind. But surely she didn’t mean it the way it sounded.
“They know what?”
“About… About us.”
Freya flushed with embarrassment. Slipping, always slipping lately.
She spent too much time around Hedda and Hrothgar for them to not pick up on these things.
If they were truly good enough to be part of the félag, of course they would know the depth of her connection to her queen.
Just because she was more observant than the average person didn’t mean no one else could notice things.
The orc server stopped by their table. “Any more for our valiant soldiers of Torden?” the server asked, winking.
Freya glanced down at herself. The leather she wore was darker than the others’, but she supposed compared to everyone else in the inn, she did most resemble a soldier.
“Yes, please. Appreciate it.” Astrid answered with such comfort, Freya was taken aback once more. It was easy to forget Astrid had not always been the queen. Once upon a time, she had ordered drinks at many establishments with her fellow soldiers on their nights off.
A sick feeling crawled over Freya’s skin—comprehension. Running away had given Astrid the opportunity to relive a life she no longer had. Tonight, Astrid was a soldier again, out with friends. No responsibilities, no making tough choices.
Astrid turned to Freya and smiled. Was this how Astrid had been back then, too? A happier person?
“Excuse me,” Freya said, and bolted for the door.
The fresh, biting air calmed her just a little. She was scared she might have vomited right in front of everyone if she didn’t escape. She ran her tongue over her teeth, counting them, then took several deep breaths, like Brenn had taught her to.
The door to the building squealed open. Freya recognized the cadence of Astrid’s footsteps before she saw her.
“We can go back,” Astrid said. “I’m sorry for causing you so much distress.”
If only she knew.
“You need to be better guarded than this,” Freya said. “Someone could have followed you. Guthmar recognized you when you left, you know. It’s possible he wasn’t the only one.”
“I have Hedda, and Hrothgar, and you.” She leaned against a barrel printed with the inn’s insignia. “I am perfectly safe here.”
But you weren’t before, Freya wanted to say. Hedda had been the only protection on the journey here. And Freya was sure Hedda had insisted on joining Astrid, and that Astrid had meant to be alone.
She tried not to feel hurt that Astrid had tried to get away from her. She failed.
Astrid reached for Freya’s shoulder. Freya let Astrid touch the leather and forced her body to be still.
“Is there anything else bothering you?” Astrid asked.
Funny, how Freya did not know Astrid as well as she thought, but Astrid knew Freya just fine.
A million things bothered Freya all the time. The things she wanted, the things she could not have. Blood on her hands, her scars an ever-present reminder of how far she’d gone in contributing to the violence of the human territories.
What bothered her now was this: She had dedicated her life to protecting Queen Astrid, but she had not once thought to try to make her happy.
Happiness was an experience for other people. It wasn’t meant for someone who had poisoned entire camps’ water supplies for a warlord. It wasn’t meant for someone who had made herself into a weapon. Weapons could not be happy.
But… Freya remembered the unshakable smiles of Ruga and Elketh on their wedding day.
A delighted laugh from Vera, newly appointed as Torden’s librarian, as she discovered her favorite text in the collection.
Brenn, greeting Freya thousands of times over with a smile because she was pleased to see her friend.
Maybe Freya wanted happiness too.
“Stars, I’ve made you cry,” Astrid said. “I’m so sorry, Freya. I’ll go back to the castle. You were right. It was foolish for me to come here. I just needed a break so badly.”
Freya brushed away tears on the back of her gloves and looked up at Astrid. The queen’s eyes were watery in the dim light of the evening. Guilty about hurting those around her by running away, and guiltier for enjoying herself so much once she had.
Freya took Astrid’s hands in her own. “Let’s stay here.”
“What?” Astrid asked, blinking.
“We’ll stay for the night. You can continue to drink and dance.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.” Freya was frantic now—she would give Astrid this one night off. How many more would Astrid be able to have? She was a good queen, a good friend. She deserved this.
Freya herself had encouraged Astrid to seize the moment when it came to acting on her feelings. It would be hypocritical to take that back now.
Astrid’s expression was full of hope. “It will give Hedda a heart attack.”
“And Hrothgar,” Freya reminded her gently.
“Do you think we can get them to relax?”
“No,” Freya said, laughing.
“Well, I am going to try.”
Freya let Astrid lead her back into the inn.
With new expectations set for the evening, Freya was able to stuff down her discomfort with a bit of stew.
She kept her examination of the room subtle, searching out sharp weapons and sharper eyes.
Dourly, Hedda sat by her side, drinking more mead than a guard on-duty reasonably should. Freya considered saying something.
She decided not to.
Astrid convinced Hrothgar to dance with her. Freya wondered at this side of Hrothgar, too—serious Hrothgar, sipping from a passerby’s offered ale to cool down. Freya had never observed them drinking before.
When the stranger offered the same tankard to Astrid, Astrid met Freya’s eyes and shook her head, and Freya nodded.
Freya did not care so much if Hrothgar was poisoned over the queen, she noted dryly.
As time passed, and no one keeled over from poisoned mead or pointed steel, Freya started to relax.
She was not enjoying herself—not exactly—but she couldn’t deny the openness on Astrid’s face as she looped Hrothgar into yet another dance.
This was not a place where anyone would be looking for their queen.
Hedda was smart enough to have done everything she could to ensure they were not followed to the Rosebriar Inn.
Hedda was quiet throughout the night, only the slurps of her drink keeping Freya company. Freya was just getting used to it when Hedda finally spoke.
“’Reya,” she slurred.
Freya glanced to the side. Drunk Hedda had made quite a spectacle of herself the last time Freya had seen her like this. Freya needed to tread lightly. “Yes?”
“Next time you do one of your schemes,” Hedda said, spitting the last word, “I want to be in the know.”
Freya bit back a retort about how her schemes kept the queen and country safe. “What do you mean?” she asked instead.
“I want to be involved.” Hedda peered into her drink, morose. “When there is the chance to be involved. The queen does not trust me. I need to prove myself.”
“I don’t trust you either,” Freya said, unable to help herself.
“I don’t care about your damn trust, Freya.”
Freya considered what Hedda was really asking for. She didn’t want to be screwed over again without notice. Or did she want extra assignments? She was already working extra.
“Very well,” Freya said, thinking she understood, but wondering if she would actually be able to give Hedda what she wanted. “I will let you in on my next…scheme.”
Hedda grunted. “Weird that someone who wasn’t alive at the start of Astrid’s reign has so much power.” She stood from the table as Freya’s face blazed red.
As if Freya had not earned her place here, just like Hedda felt she had. And Freya had not done anything to sabotage her position, either. She was always perfect. She had to be perfect.
“Did you reserve the rooms yet?” Hedda asked.
Freya shook her head, still fuming.
“How do you know they have vacancies? They could be full. Then where would we go? We’ll be sleeping in the streets, or dead asleep on our horses,” Hedda said, condescending. “I’ll go ask the innkeeper.”
She stormed off, leaving Freya to stew in the wake of her anger.
Freya kept her focus on a few notches in the table that looked vaguely like a bird.
She did not know how or when to order rooms at an inn—just another skill she lacked.
Freya had not been raised in a place where you could hop over to entertainment after a long day of work.
It would have been unfathomable to her just yesterday that this was something she needed to know to protect her queen.
Hedda came back, and her jaw was looser than it had been. She sat on the bench next to Freya and pushed the tankard away from them.
“Two rooms, four baths,” she said.
“Four baths,” Freya repeated, not understanding.
Hedda looked like she was about to tell Freya off. She swallowed and spoke. “They have a tub in the back, and they fill it for each customer who buys a bath. Four baths.”
“Ah,” Freya said. She smelled like horses and rain, but she did not like the idea of removing her clothes and weapons in an unknown venue. “And the rooms?”
“Hrothgar and I in one, and you and Astrid in the other. Hrothgar and I will take turns sleeping and pretending to be drunk in front of your door to guard Astrid.”
Freya wet her lips. “You can share a room with Astrid. I’ll take the shift.”
“Astrid,” Hedda started, turning to Freya, “is my friend, and has been for many, many years. She does not allow herself many opportunities for indulgence.”
“Hedda—”
But Hedda shook her head, cutting Freya off. The idea of Hedda helping Freya and Astrid have a night to themselves was more than slightly humiliating.
“We may be her félag,” Hedda said, “but you are her true bodyguard. So, guard her.”