Chapter Thirty-One
Head throbbing, hand aching, Freya came to on the floor of a candle-lit room. Dimly, she recognized the layout from her last stay at the Rosebriar Inn. Her first thought was that she needed to warn Astrid the owners could be bought off not to intervene when crime happened before their eyes.
Her second thought was that she was going to die.
She tried to lift her head and swore. No concussion, she didn’t think, at least. Just sore, and whatever poison had been in her drink was clouding her thoughts. Not fatal—not yet.
Her hands were bound behind her back. She shifted her whole body to get a better view of her surroundings.
A figure sat in a chair before the fireplace, her silhouette limned in warm light. The woman’s horns curled around her pink-haired head, unmistakably orcish.
With effort, Freya adjusted herself until she was sitting up. She would not die without looking her killer in the eye.
The figure before the fire rose. She stepped in front of Freya with the same muddy boots as earlier. Defiant, Freya lifted her head and looked into her murderer’s face.
“I should have known,” Freya said.
Alvor smiled. “I quite like you, Freya,” she said. “It’s really not personal.”
“Taking someone’s life is always personal,” Freya countered.
Alvor bent to Freya’s eye level. “I don’t plan to kill you.”
“No?” said Freya. “Could have fooled me.”
Alvor tilted her head. “Walk me through it. Why would I want to?”
“I won’t play games with you. If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”
Alvor stared until Freya couldn’t stand to stare back. Freya shifted her shoulder. The rope around her hands was tight, constricting. She was losing feeling, her fingertips—bare fingertips—tingling.
“I used to do this, too, you know,” Freya said. “When you want to usurp someone, you kill their leader. When you want to destabilize someone’s rule, you take out their second-in-command.”
“Funny to think a human considers herself the second-in-command to the orc country of Torden,” said Alvor. Her inflection was playful, almost mocking, and Freya tamped down her anger.
“You have always watched us,” said Freya. “You let Guthmar wander free and observed on your own. You know how important I am to Astrid.”
Alvor whistled. “Not even a title. You are close.”
“I wish you would kill me already and spare me your monologue.”
At this, Alvor laughed. “It’s a wonder you’ve made it this far in life, goading people as you do. Fortunately for you, I am entirely unbothered by your taunts. I’ve heard worse.”
Freya twisted her wrist. It was going to pop, but she thought she could get it out of the rope if she slid it at an angle. Something in there was already broken.
“You don’t work for King Skarde,” said Freya, “or else you would not have killed him.”
“On the contrary, I think plenty of people who worked for King Skarde wanted to kill him. None of them are as brave as I am, though,” Alvor said, good-humored. “Guthmar will be king now, and things will be better. You’ll see.”
What exactly was she playing at? Did she really think the council would want Guthmar to be king? For that matter, did she actually love Guthmar, or was she just a plant to gain access to the leadership of two major orc countries? And you’ll see… Did she really mean to let Freya live?
Freya could not ask any of her questions. Alvor was a cat, toying with the mouse she’d caught, and Freya did not intend to be a compliant mouse.
“I think I’m drawn to you,” Alvor said, “because I see much of myself in you. Every time you enter a room, the first thing you do is check the exits. Your back is always straight. You are alert at all times, vigilant over anything that could hurt your liege. From stairs to assassins.”
“So you did push her?” Freya said, despite herself.
Alvor laughed again. “That would be rather childish, wouldn’t it?”
“I would not put it past you.”
“I did not push her.” Alvor stood straight and stretched her legs. “Stars, you are rather short to the ground for a spymaster.”
Freya licked her lips. No weapons, nothing to fight back with. Unless she could use the furniture. And the fire.
The poker, then. Thrust it into the fire, then into Alvor’s eye.
The rope chafed at her wrists as she continued to twist.
“The staff in Vakker Castle love you,” Alvor said. “Even Guthmar’s servants became fond of you. They almost didn’t accept my bribe.”
“A shame they did.”
“You can be charming when you need to be,” Alvor continued. “I would say you’ve been a good spymaster to your queen.”
“Not good enough, apparently,” Freya said dryly. “You still convinced Guthmar’s attendants to drug me.”
“Try not to be offended. I’m very good myself.”
Was it possible Alvor was a free agent? Or perhaps she really did love Guthmar, and she’d done this for him—eliminated a source of terror in his life, taken a shot at some sort of personal vendetta with Astrid.
Or she could be hired by someone powerful. Someone from Lynby.
“I can guess who you work for,” Freya said.
“It won’t matter by the time this is over,” said Alvor.
“And when will it be over, exactly?”
Alvor smiled, and realization washed over Freya.
The plan was to lure Astrid here. Freya lashed at her bindings, abandoning the attempt to hide her efforts.
Alvor watched but didn’t stop her. “You’ll need your energy for later,” she said. “Might want to rest.”
Freya had nearly gotten her wrist out of the ropes, but she hit a sore spot—where it had been trampled on before—and curled in on herself in pain.
They weren’t alike, Freya thought. If she had to kill someone, she would have done it by now. If she meant to lure someone, they would already be here. And she wouldn’t be talking to the bait.
Alvor brought a pitcher of water to Freya and poured her a cup. Freya licked her lips, suddenly aware of how thirsty she was. Alvor held the cup to Freya’s mouth and gently tipped it back.
Despite herself, Freya drank. She would need her strength to get out of these bindings and kill her captor. The water was crisp, cool, and clear.
Alvor took the edge of her cloak and dabbed at Freya’s sweaty forehead. “There, there,” she said. “I’m sorry for this, Freya. Really.”
Freya said nothing. We are not alike, she thought.
Part of her knew this wasn’t true.