Chapter Thirty
Sleep eluded Astrid. She tossed and turned, but guilt ate at her. Freya was trapped in the temple like a caged animal against her will, and Astrid had put her there. She had used her powers as queen to override her beloved bodyguard’s wishes.
Now that Guthmar and his retinue had left, Astrid was sure Freya would be upset that she hadn’t done more to keep them around. She couldn’t see how she could have kept them longer—it wasn’t like she could ask them to stay back from a country whose king had just been murdered.
Other things caused her concern, too. Freya, and how she would react when she was fully healed.
The assassin, out there somewhere. Ruga, still in Vakker Castle with an assassin on the loose.
Sydlig, politically unstable, ready to make a big change with their king—maybe someone who would ally with Lynby and go to war with Torden.
How hard it would be to make up with Freya. How much she wanted her by her side, warming her bed. How deeply it would hurt when Astrid lost her.
She tossed and turned some more.
Hours later, as sleep just barely began to lay claim to Astrid, a loud yowling brought her to full consciousness. She sat up abruptly in bed, upsetting Fenrir—the source of the noise.
Fenrir stopped yowling, tilted his head, and then yowled again when Astrid did not move.
“Very well,” Astrid said. “I will do something about Freya.”
She’d made a mistake—one of many. Pushing Freya away was futile. They were bound by their wyrd to be together—this, Astrid did believe with all her might. Keeping her distance only delayed the inevitable, and for what?
Astrid pulled a cloak over her nightgown, slid Freya’s dagger into its sheath, and checked the window.
Thank the goddess she had a window to look out of again—the moment Freya had gone to the temple, Varin had had Astrid’s things moved back to her old rooms, assured by the many guards on patrol and the thorough sweep of the castle that she was now safe.
Through the window, the night sky was yet dark, and a chill crept through the glass to Astrid’s fingers. She shuddered.
Apologizing would put Astrid’s mind at ease. She needed to let Freya know she didn’t mean to rob her of her agency. Perhaps the temple was treating Freya well, and she would want to stay.
At the very least, Freya deserved a choice.
Hrothgar and Sigurd, standing watch at Astrid’s door, followed her silently to the stables.
Two half-asleep orcs sprang into action to bridle her horse.
Astrid pinned her cloak closed and accepted Hrothgar’s help onto the horse’s back, and then the three of them were off.
Blessedly, no one told her leaving the castle was a bad idea, though it occurred to her Freya or Varin would have. Or Hedda.
The night ride to the temple was objectively peaceful—but the peace was misplaced, stifling in its solitude. Lanterns lit the way as they approached the town. The bugs were dead, most birds gone south.
Astrid arrived at the temple with the gut feeling that something was very wrong.
“I’ll run ahead,” Sigurd offered.
Astrid wished she could approach herself, that it was proper to do so. She watched from horseback as Sigurd rang the bell at the entrance and a priestess came to greet her with a furrow in her brow.
“Something is amiss,” Astrid said to Hrothgar. She dismounted the horse and led it by the reins to the entrance.
“We don’t know when,” said Esja, the head priestess. “One of the others heard her wake, but they thought she needed to relieve herself. Three priestesses heard the horse leave.”
Gone, then. Freya was already gone. Like Astrid, when she was caged, she would find her way out, one way or another.
Esja paled when she saw Astrid. “Your Majesty. Can I get you some tea?”
“Do you know where Freya may have gone?” Astrid asked.
“We do not know, Your Majesty. I apologize.”
Astrid’s heart twisted.
“She will be back soon, I’m sure,” said Hrothgar. “She is extremely competent, Your Majesty. She can care for herself.”
Despite her worry, Astrid recognized the truth in Hrothgar’s words.
“I tried my best to make her feel welcome,” said Esja. “I do not think she liked it here.”
“She didn’t,” said Astrid. “We will have to let her come back on her own.”
Astrid could give her that—time away, chosen on her own terms. She assured Esja she laid no blame upon the priestesses.
“I am sorry to keep you up and busy,” Astrid said to her félag.
“It’s what we are here for, Your Majesty,” said Hrothgar.
Gratitude swelled in Astrid’s chest. No matter how much she isolated herself, she was not alone.
The lanterns around the stable were fully lit when Astrid returned. A stable girl ran toward the main castle, stopped when she saw Astrid, and turned around and ran back.
Astrid allowed the staff to take her horse with her pulse racing. “Why are we so active tonight?”
“We had an unexpected visitor, Your Majesty,” the stable girl said.
“And who might that be?” she asked.
Shrouded in shadow, Tassi stepped forth from one of the stalls. “I’m the visitor.” He bore deep bags under his eyes, and his clothing was soiled with dirt and sweat.
“I thought you left,” Astrid said. “Did something happen?”
The assassin, she thought. Oh, stars, the assassin.
“Is Guthmar well?” she asked, voice rising.
“For now, he is, yes,” said Tassi. “He has Skarde’s old guard. They do not like him, but they will defend him.” He cleared his throat. “He is kinder to them than Skarde was.”
Astrid touched Freya’s dagger under her cloak. “What’s happened, Tassi?”
“I have kept something from you,” Tassi said. “I wasn’t sure it was worth sharing, but now I think it is important. It’s about—”
Everyone looked up as another horse approached. The animal moved unnaturally fast, as if enchanted. As the horse and rider entered the ring of light from the stables, Brenn came into view. The stable staff rushed forward to help her from her horse.
“Why are you gathered here?” Brenn asked, breathless.
“Finish what you were saying,” Astrid ordered. “Brenn, you will have to wait.”
“I met Guthmar years ago. He is a good man, and I knew I wanted to marry him,” Tassi started.
Astrid tried to hold her composure.
“He has his quirks, as you know. I love him deeply, and I always will. His heart is so big—he loves everything, everyone, and so I accept where his heart goes, and I am happy to share his light with others.”
“There is no need to defend your love,” Astrid said. “I understand the things you appreciate about him.”
Tassi nodded in acknowledgment. “A month before we left for Torden, he met a woman. She was a visitor to the Sydlig court, a well-respected adviser with connections to nobility. She was witty, kind, and a good listener. When Guthmar talked to her, she genuinely cared about everything he said, no matter how odd or mundane.”
Astrid’s blood chilled. “Tassi,” she said, “are you meaning to tell me you barely know…?”
“I have gotten to know Alvor over the past few months. She…is quite different than I am. But I believe she hides much.”
Alvor, only married to Guthmar briefly before coming to Torden. Impossible. Why would King Skarde have let Guthmar take someone so new to court with him to serve as Sydlig’s ambassador?
“She’s our assassin?” Astrid demanded. She turned to Brenn. “Did you know this?”
“Of course I did not know,” said Brenn. “I think Freya would have.”
“Freya would have been more cautious of someone new,” Astrid said, knowing she was coming off as snippy, beyond the point of caring.
“Perhaps she missed this one thing,” Brenn said gently.
“Freya doesn’t miss anything,” said Astrid.
“I don’t know if she is an assassin,” Tassi interjected.
“She fell ill shortly after we left for Sydlig. She stayed behind in Vakker—in the city. Her stomach is not good. Guthmar wanted to hold everyone up and wait, but she insisted we go on without her. I had a feeling…and I tried to follow her to the city, but I couldn’t find her. ”
“Was she poisoned?” Astrid asked.
“I don’t know. She didn’t have the king’s brother’s pustules, if that’s what you’re asking. But that was a late symptom,” he threw in quickly.
Astrid grabbed Tassi by the shoulders. There was fear in his eyes, and also defeat. She wanted to shake answers out of him. “What are you hiding from me?”
“Only my hunch, Your Majesty,” he said.
“And what,” Astrid said, “is your hunch?”
Tassi swallowed. “I hesitate to say. I do not like to throw around accusations. And it would hurt Guthmar.”
“Unless Guthmar has been the assassin all along, and he poisoned Alvor?” But that didn’t make sense.
Even if Guthmar was adept with poison and arrows, he’d been there for the second assassination attempt, just as frightened as everyone else.
Astrid had seen him string a bow, and his form was poor.
He would not have been able to make the shot that killed King Skarde.
“He wouldn’t,” Tassi said. “He would never.”
Brenn nudged her staff between the two of them. “Queen Astrid, I hope I do not speak out of turn, but I must insist on your attention immediately.”
Astrid released Tassi. He slumped back, closed his eyes.
“Go,” said Astrid. “King Guthmar needs you.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Tassi. “Thank you for hearing me.”
As Tassi mounted his horse, Astrid turned her acid glare to Brenn.
“Your Majesty.” Brenn curtsied.
“You know where Freya is,” Astrid guessed.
Brenn’s knuckles were white against her staff. “She’s not safe, Queen Astrid.”
Astrid’s mind went blank. “She’s not safe?”
“She’s in danger,” said Brenn. “I don’t know where she is. I saw a poor image of a woman playing the lyre, lined in red and fraying at the edges.”
“The Rosebriar Inn,” Astrid whispered. It made sense that Freya would go there, and the connection to Astrid touched her. But… “What kind of danger is she in, Brenn?”
“I would go immediately,” Brenn said.
“We’re hours away. Will we make it in time?”
“We have to try,” said Brenn.
Astrid lifted her head at the stable girl. The staff rushed forward, helping everyone onto their horses. Astrid, Brenn, Hrothgar, Sigurd.
And Hedda, running from the castle. She wore no armor, unlike Hrothgar and Sigurd. Astrid caught sight of the scar on her face, the flash of short blue hair pulled back, the angry glare in her eyes.
“I’m coming,” Hedda choked, hands on her knees for support. “Please get me a horse.”
“We need to go,” said Brenn.
“You’ll have to catch up,” Astrid said. She was calm—a leader sending her soldiers into battle. This, she knew how to do. This, she would do for Freya.
She had no choice.