Chapter Twenty-Six
Eight priestesses hunched over Freya’s bed, and all Astrid wanted to do was scream at them to leave her alone. At the center stood Brenn, eyes closed, clutching her staff tightly. The chanting of the other eight priestesses made goosebumps rise over Astrid’s skin.
Ruga patted Astrid’s back to remind her she had support.
Blessedly, against Astrid’s advice, Ruga had remained with her through these last two impossible weeks.
Astrid could not sleep, but without Ruga, she would not have eaten either.
She would not have had a shoulder to cry on, her sisterly love to hang to like a lifeline.
On the bed, Freya’s forehead broke out into a sheen of sweat, and her eyes moved rapidly under her eyelids, as if experiencing a vivid dream.
Brenn staggered back just as Freya gasped to life. Freya thrust herself upright. The priestesses moved as one, pinning her down, still chanting.
“Let go of her!” Astrid screamed. “Can’t you see it worked?”
The priestesses did not listen to their queen. Instead, they finished the chant. Ruga took hold of Astrid’s elbow, keeping her in place so she would not jump forward and start stabbing at them the way she had slashed at her own guard when Freya had been shot.
“Water,” Freya croaked.
Brenn scrambled to bring her the pitcher. The chanting softened and petered out to nothing. Its absence was somehow more chilling than its presence had been.
Freya’s trembling hands grasped the pitcher, and Brenn held the base as Freya drank directly from the lip in greedy gulps.
Astrid broke free of Ruga’s grip and threw her arms around Freya. Her bodyguard was sweaty, and she smelled sour, but she was alive. Stars, she was alive. Grateful tears landed on the collar of Freya’s borrowed priestess robe.
Freya’s hands rose to hug Astrid back, but her grip was weak and wavering, feather-like.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Freya Wedd,” Astrid murmured into her collarbone.
“Not just yet,” Freya promised.
Someone cleared their throat, and the patter of the priestesses’ sandal-clad feet left the room.
Astrid had forgotten they were there. She pressed into the skin of Freya’s neck and felt the warmth of her—proof that she could survive anything.
“Do you need space?” Brenn asked over Astrid’s head.
“No,” said Freya. “It’s all right.”
Astrid pulled back and knelt at the side of the bed. She took Freya’s hand in her own.
“Hello, Ruga,” Freya said. “I am flattered that my near-death is important enough to summon you all the way over the channel.”
Her gray eyes were bright in the light of the evening sun. Astrid leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple, and Freya flashed her a smile.
“I am glad you are awake and well, Freya,” Ruga said.
Freya snorted. She always had liked to get under Ruga’s skin, and when she couldn’t, it bothered her. It was impossible to needle someone so pure of heart as Ruga—the only reason Astrid did not intervene in their dynamic.
“We are narrowing our assassin search to orc women,” Brenn announced. “Freya caught better sight of the assassin than anyone else.”
“Two weeks and not even a lead,” Freya said dryly. “You people really do need me here.”
“Yes, we do,” said Astrid.
“Is there anyone who raised your suspicions in the past?” Ruga asked.
“Everyone does. We’ve had many strangers in the castle lately,” Freya said. “And, the last time we had an arrow shot at us, someone saw us together.”
“Intimately, you mean,” said Ruga.
“There may have been some intimacy, yes,” said Freya, unashamed.
Astrid had been so useless during all of this. Here they were, questioning Freya right after she’d woken, and Astrid had completely forgotten the circumstances of the first attempt. Their first kiss, interrupted. “I’m so sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“I knew,” Brenn admitted.
“So it’s not necessarily someone close to you.” Ruga’s shoulders slumped with relief. “I feared it was someone in the félag.”
“It might have been better if it was, no?” Brenn said. “We have not narrowed down an identity or a location or a motive. At least we would have something to go off.”
“I do not like to think of spies in my midst,” Astrid said. She stroked the side of Freya’s face, and Freya let her. “The assassin did target the Sydlig king. He died of his wounds.”
“Can we rule out the Sydlig retinue, then?” asked Brenn.
“A country’s people can surely turn against their own,” said Astrid.
“I wouldn’t rule out anyone,” Freya said, stretching. “I need to pee, badly, and then I will look into it straight away. It does not bode well for us that the assassin has such a strong lead. She could be anywhere.”
The room was silent. Brenn and Ruga looked to Astrid, and only when Astrid felt their burning glares did she speak. “You need to heal. I won’t allow you to overexert yourself with an investigation.”
“What?” Freya asked. “Where are my knives?”
“Freya, no,” said Astrid. “I am having you sent to the priestesses’ temple. They will be able to watch over you and track your healing progress. You’ll be much safer there from any assassination attempts.”
“Only the people in this room know about the plan,” Brenn assured Freya.
“You want to keep me out of trouble, you mean.” Freya’s features cooled from frustration to something calculating. “You’re getting rid of me because you’re scared.”
“Freya—” started Astrid.
“No,” Freya said. “You’ve pushed other people away.” She swallowed, clearly considering her next words before saying them. “You pushed Ruga away.”
“That’s vicious,” Ruga chided. “Astrid is only part of the reason I left Torden. It wasn’t Astrid’s idea to betroth me to an elvish princess. It was yours.”
“You agreed to it, though. Happily,” Freya said.
Astrid pushed down a wave of guilt. “I want you to be safe. I can’t lose you.”
“I’m the one who advised the rest period,” Brenn added. “This is my idea. Nobody else’s. I’ll check on you often. Keep you posted on how everything is going.”
“I cannot find an assassin from inside the temple walls,” Freya protested. “Where is Varin? I need to speak with him.”
“He’s busy with interrogations,” Ruga said. “He has it handled.”
“Does he?” Freya scoffed. “Two weeks, no answers. He must move faster.”
“Please leave us,” Astrid said. Sorrow nearly choked her. “Get out.”
Ruga took Brenn’s arm and escorted her from the room.
“You don’t mean what you said,” Astrid said. It was hopeful more than anything.
“I do. You shut yourself off from people because you think you cannot be close. It was something I admired about you,” Freya said, “until it applied to me.”
Astrid licked her lips. “I am sending you to the temple. Please rest, Freya. If you love me at all, please rest.”
Freya turned away from her. Astrid tried to be understanding. Once, Freya had locked Astrid too in a room for her safety, and it had broken Astrid down. Astrid understood; she had been in the same position. The resistance was not unreasonable.
But Freya’s words still hurt.
“Would you like your dagger back?” Astrid asked.
“No,” Freya said quickly. “Keep it on you at all times.”
Knees aching from where she’d knelt on the floor, Astrid stood. “I will have Ruga draw a bath for you, and then Hrothgar will escort you to the temple. Please, as my subject and my…friend, follow my orders just this once.”
Freya said nothing. Astrid gathered her emotions to face Ruga and Brenn, whose muttering she could hear in the antechamber, and left Freya to sulk.
Ruga and Brenn were quiet when Astrid entered the antechamber.
She was grateful, and fairly certain she could not speak without crying.
Two weeks, she’d spent worrying, sleepless nights by Ruga, who stayed awake and told Astrid tales of Branwen and Elketh and her new rose garden and the delightful things that now occupied her days.
Two weeks of torturous waiting, only for Freya to wake up and cut Astrid with her words.
There was part of Astrid that thought Freya was right.
Astrid was protecting Freya by sending her away—protecting her from assassins and political enemies, but also from Astrid herself.
And maybe Astrid was guarding her own heart.
She’d had time to think about death and love and the roles they played in her life, and she knew they’d been taking higher precedence than a queen should allow.
There was little energy to spend on ruling a country when the person she cared for most had nearly died.
Freya was right. And Astrid was a coward.