“You are exaggerating. She is wonderful.”
Sigvid is simply overreacting since his mother will stay between Blackwood and Thrain’s home until after the Winter Solstice. Perhaps Avina can leave with her instead of returning to her father or the Manchineels? Frida will be far comparable company to those waiting to force her into the arms of a random nobleman.
Her father has already arranged for her to marry, so it is odd that he has not yet sent troops to drag her back to the palace.
“Ha! We shall see if you feel the same after an hour in her presence.” He sweeps past Avina, glancing around. “Where is Thora?”
“Lod’s house. Something about wanting to spar, but she will return to tend the farm tonight while we are out.” Thora had seemed eager to leave this morning. She hardly touched her morning meal or spoke to them. Avina twirls a loose curl in her finger, beginning to worry if there might be some truth about Frida.
“Fuck, she is here.” Sigvid adjusts a newly lit candle in a wall sconce for the third time. “Up! I need you to be presentable.” He barks.
“I am nothing if not presentable!”
They emerge onto the deck to see a carriage rattling up the dirt road to Blackwood.
Sigvid is a tightly wound spring coiled at her side.
The fur-cloaked footman hops to the ground when the horses stop, striding toward the carriage door.
Queen Frida emerges in a lovely maroon Salt gown bearing intricately embroidered knots. A gorgeous white mink scarf encircles her neck. Her chestnut hair is woven in a braided circlet atop her head, casting her like a Goddess.
“My dear. It's so good to see you.” Frida’s friendly smile twinkles in her eyes. A silver goblet is clutched in her hand, sloshing around a white wine.
She ascends Blackwood Inn's steps and embraces a shocked Avina instead of her oldest son.
“Hello, Mother. Good to see you, too.” He tilts his head to the side, focused on her goblet. “You do realize it’s barely morning.”
“Shall we wait until late morning to begin our festivities, Sigvid?” Frida slowly pivots her long, graceful neck to assess him coolly. “If I recall correctly, that was the time you raped and kidnapped a Province Queen during your escape from the Arena.”
Her savage response struck Avina so off guard that she snorts.
“My dear Avie, you were naked outside his cell. Which marked the second time you chose to dangle yourself like a savory morsel.” Frida pats Avina on the back, with almost pity in her voice. After finishing the contents of her goblet, she sweeps through the front doors without another word.
Sigvid leans down to Avina’s ear. “Still find my mother delightful?”
“I believe I used the term ‘wonderful.’” She shakes her head, curls shuffling over her shoulders. She glimpses at the road and muses if they will miss her if she departs for Thrain’s far earlier than their invitation for mid-evening. The footman carries a massive chest between her and Sigvid, forcing them apart.
“Try it, my little Queen. Abandon me with my mother, and I will see just how far we can fit the handle of my other axe up that sweet pussy of yours.” He rakes his knuckles over her cheek before following Frida inside.
Avina scrunches her nose in annoyance. When she returns to the entryway, she finds the dowager Queen already at the crates of Ridge wine that Sigvid brought up from his collection in the kitchen.
“Not a bad batch,” Frida says, quizzically holding the bottle. “I must know why you are still here, Avina. Don’t you have a marriage to that Manchineel fellow? After Rendel, I thought you’d had your fill of those weaselly men.”
“Mother,” Sigvid says, removing the bottle of sparkling wine from her hands. “I captured Samson, and he is imprisoned here in Toftlundshould you wish to insult him further. The engagement was a trick, and she agreed to nothing. Let us talk about anything else.” A loud pop sounds from the bottle, and Sigvid pours more wine into her goblet.
Frida thanks him and then roams about the central hearth, examining every piece of furniture as if it might engage in a personal conversation with her. Just as Avina thinks she might be able to slip away to finish the book she has been reading, Frida turns back on them.
“Why?” Her deciphering orbs flit between Sigvid and Avina as if she cannot decide which one she wishes to target. “Why kidnap her? Surely, I am not that poor of a mother.”
“It has nothing to do with you, Mum. What has happened between us is our business.” He is firm, moving closer until he stands at Avina’s side. His hand slips along her lower back, teasing a faint blush across her cheeks.
Frida snatches up his motion like a raven with a field mouse. “Enlighten me, then, my son.”
“I begged him.” Avina feels the strength of their gazes like the burning of the sun’s rays. “I couldn’t go through with another marriage to a Manchineel and asked him to stage a kidnapping. Your son was marvelous enough to agree.” Avina’s lie comes so naturally that even she believes her words.
Sigvid remains impassive. She can sense his mind whirring over her sudden mistruth.
Frida relinquishes Avina from her focus, leaving her mind gasping for air.
