“The three of them—Ambassador Guthmar and then Alvor and Tassi, who do not have titles. They’ve been introduced as his spouses, but not each other’s. Are they…all together, do you know?”
“It’s much like here,” Vera said. “Their relationship would work however it does on an individual basis. The ambassador is part of the royal family. They don’t necessarily have greater or fewer spouses than anyone else in Sydlig.”
This was the good thing about having Freya around. Astrid had been paying attention to Alvor and Tassi’s interactions with the castle staff, but she had not been paying attention to their relationship dynamic.
“Freya?” Astrid prodded.
“There’s a distance,” said Freya, “between Alvor and Tassi. I get the impression they don’t like each other much.”
Astrid watched them openly. Tassi managed to distract Guthmar from gazing at Vera with a book about mead-making. While Tassi and Alvor didn’t stand close, they didn’t avoid each other either. Both spouses touched Guthmar with ease—affection, even. Resting their hands on his shoulder, leaning over him to turn the page. Astrid wasn’t sure how to read into them.
To be fair, she was out of practice with romance these days.
“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Freya said. “Thanks, Vera.”
“Get him out of my library, or you’ll regret it,” Vera said.
“Understood,” said Freya.
It occurred to Astrid that Vera was the only person who could threaten Freya without any consequences.
“Ambassador Guthmar,” Astrid called, “is there anywhere else you would like to see?” Hopefully outside, she thought to add, but she didn’t want him to feel unwelcome.
Guthmar’s finger hovered over a picture from a book. His smile screamed true delight, saliva clinging to his tusks. Completely and totally uninhibited. “Birds,” the ambassador said, as though he had never heard of the concept. “How magnificent are these!”
He held up the book for Astrid to see. The page was indeed graced with a breathtaking image of a bird. If Vera had been feeling more indulgent, she might have told them who had illustrated it and what sort of bird it was.
“We have an aviary just down the hall,” Astrid said.
Guthmar jumped up from the chair, slamming his book shut. He passed it off to Tassi, who politely replaced it on the shelf. “Let us go at once,” he said.
Astrid led the way to the aviary. It was open, two stories tall, with its own tower and huge windows. Even though she couldn’t be outside, she felt like she could breathe in here, with the cold wind coming in from the outdoors.
The aviarist greeted them when they arrived, but they’d taken him by surprise. He dabbed sweat from the base of his horns. Astrid tried to leave him alone as much as she could; he was an orc who loved birds more than he loved other people.
Upon their entrance to the aviary, Freya’s peregrine falcon made a little squawk and descended from its perch. She lifted her arm for it to land. Her hands were gloved in leather, but her hawking gauntlet was thicker and went farther up her arms, and she was not wearing it. The falcon’s talons sank into her arm, and she did not so much as flinch.
“How fascinating,” Guthmar said. He cautiously approached the bird, lifting up a hand as if he meant to touch.
Freya shook her head once.
“He does not like to be pet,” the ambassador guessed, his voice laced with sorrow.
“No,” Freya said. “She does not.”
“Female peregrine falcons are much larger than males,” the aviarist supplied in a small voice.
The ambassador recovered quickly. “What is her name?”
“Huginn,” said Freya.
“Huginn,” Guthmar repeated, feeling the name in his mouth. “An odd name for a bird.”
“Tassi is an odd name for a man,” Freya countered.
The air was sucked out of the room. Astrid’s diplomatic side kicked in, ready to smooth things over, when a great guffaw bubbled out of Alvor’s throat first, followed by Tassi. Guthmar joined in. The aviarist pretended to be busy with a merlin on the other side of the room.
Guthmar spoke first after the bout of laughter. Belatedly, Astrid realized she should have participated, and Freya might have laughed, too, and now it was too late and it looked as though nobody on her court had a sense of humor. Embarrassment flushed her skin.
