“It’s not so easy to let go, is it?”
Freya huffed. “Said like you’re talking from experience.”
Brenn’s expression darkened. “There are things about me you don’t know.”
“I’m not in love with her,” Freya insisted.
“I believe you.”
Freya looked into Brenn’s eyes. What she wouldn’t give to have the powers Brenn had—the ability toknow. Brenn wouldsay those abilities were only given to those chosen by the goddess.
Very well. Freya fought hard for everything she did know, and she would continue to do so, goddess or no goddess.
A commotion broke out down the hall back in the foyer. Freya readjusted her gloves as she took them out of Brenn’s hands, tilting her head to listen.
Brenn’s eyes widened first. It was her reaction that spurred Freya to action.
Freya broke into a run. She threw herself into the foyer with such force that she slammed directly into Hedda’s burly chest. Hedda reached out to steady her, surprise and hurt registering on her face. One of the ambassador’s bodyguards was beside her, looking rather more upset than the stoic exterior Freya noticed earlier.
“What’s happened?” Freya demanded, clutching Hedda’s leather armor with both hands.
“You have the priestess,” Hedda said with relief. “The queen’s been hurt.”
Chapter Eight
One second, Astrid was descending the stairs, and the next, she was on the floor with bruises all over and an arm that didn’t move the way it was supposed to.
Astrid was distracted. Trying to get the ambassador out of the castle, when all he’d wanted to do was see every room on every floor. She’d needed fresh air badly. She hadn’t had Freya by her side.
She had tripped down anentireflight of stone stairs.
And now she was bedridden in the infirmary when she had important things to attend to.
“I am perfectly fine,” she insisted to Brenn, who stood over her. “Not ambushed by enemies. Just some blasted stairs. Tell everyone to hold back the funeral bells.”
“Your Majesty,” Brenn said, “I insist. Please drink some of this.”
Astrid allowed Brenn to tilt the concoction into her throat. The taste was pleasant, at least. The castle healer—not magical at all, merely an herbalist—usually forced Astrid to drink teasthat tasted like something meant to exit the body, not enter. The magic tingled on her tongue.
“Is Freya here?” Astrid asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” came Freya’s voice from the other side of the room.
Astrid tried to guess at Freya’s reaction, but her spymaster was stoic as ever. Freya wasn’t likely to believe Astrid had taken a tumble down the stairs out of distraction and clumsiness.
“You’ll be healed up in a week or so with the magic,” Brenn said, but she wasn’t looking at Astrid. “Don’t move the arm unnecessarily, or else you may extend your healing time.”
That wouldn’t be a problem. Brenn had wound up Astrid’s arm so tight in the sling, she couldn’t move it if she wanted to.
The familiar soft scuff of Freya’s boots trod to Astrid’s bedside. “You’re sure you didn’t hit your head?” Freya leaned over her. “Your Majesty,” she added belatedly.
“Yes, I’m sure. Just the arm. Have you checked on Hrothgar? They blunted my fall quite a bit with their body when I fell on them.” Hrothgar had grabbed Astrid’s arm, wrenched it out of its socket, then promptly fallen with her. The arm popped right back in, but a lingering ache told her the damage was more than superficial. She could only imagine how Hrothgar felt.
“Hrothgar is going to be fine. Your healer is looking after them.” Brenn stepped back, allowing Freya to take up the space.
Freya had not exactlyaskedAstrid whether it was acceptable for Brenn to join them in the castle, but Astrid liked the way Brenn cooled hot attitudes anywhere she went. And, if Brenn hadn’t been here, Astrid would be choking down some brutal, eye-watering tonic.
“My head is fine,” Astrid said.
