Freya blushed.
“We can keep him for now. If he’s a nuisance, though, please find him another home.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
A knock came at the door. Hrothgar stepped in, took notice of the cat, and quickly schooled their features. “The priestess for you.”
“Let her in,” Astrid said.
Brenn entered, eyes flickering between Astrid and Freya. She did not miss anything. She bowed quickly and said, “May I check your arm, Your Majesty?”
Astrid held it out for inspection. Brenn made quick work of applying pressure to the elbow, the wrist, the delicate bones of Astrid’s hand. Freya watched in silence.
“The sling can come off. You should be able to use your arm for normal activities, but do be careful not to overwork it. I’ll come check on your injury in one week.”
Freya helped Astrid remove the sling once Brenn left. Astrid rolled her shoulder, straightened her arm, and let out a laugh.
“You have no idea how good it feels to be free again,” said Astrid.
“I’m sure,” Freya said, already missing the feel of Astrid’s hair in her fingers.
Chapter Ten
The history fair was an annual source of dread to Astrid.
The fair had been Vera’s idea shortly after she arrived in Torden. She’d proposed the event directly to Astrid, suggesting it would be good for morale. A reminder to Torden’s people about their past and Astrid’s role. Right away, Astrid had known how effective the idea would be.
She could not have predicted then how much she would grow to hate it.
The library was meticulously arranged for the event—rows and rows of tables brought in, important books and documents laid out, artifacts under glass so the visiting scholars could look but not touch.
Usually, Astrid endured the fair by mentally occupying herself with what she’d do when it was over—perhaps a luxurious bath of some sort to reward herself for making it through the day.
When anyone approached her with questions about the great feat that had won her the position of queen, she answered as curtly as she could and redirected attention to Vera.
Unfortunately for Astrid, Vera had taken a strong disliking to Guthmar. Vera ignored every one of Guthmar’s probing questions.
“Is this the actual arrow you shot or a symbolic representation?” Guthmar asked, having dragged Astrid over to a table with a slightly bent iron arrow on prominent display. The placard read:The arrow shot by Astrid Karrsdaughter which impaled Ulfur Rowansdaughter, thus ending the battle at Westgate and forcing Ulfur’s troops to retreat.
Astrid did not believe the display required further explanation.
“It is in such good condition, even after all this time,” Guthmar went on, unable to read Astrid’s cold expression. Or, maybe, unwilling to stop even though he had. “I can only imagine how clean a shot it was.”
“It was a clean shot. I was there,” Hedda cut in.
Until this year, Hedda only ever attended in official capacity as the captain of the félag, but Astrid had told her she was not worthy, and here Hedda was, ready to prove herself. She wore not her standby leathers, but her civilian clothes—present on her day off. Astrid let Hedda take over.
Once, Hedda and Astrid had been soldiers under Ruler Lyn. It was odd to think now of when they’d been equals. Their relationship had transformed since then.
Astrid had seen glory in the pursuit of becoming a soldier after her soft upbringing. Before becoming queen, the worst thing that had ever happened to her was her parents dying of natural causes. Back then, she’d thought it was her wyrd to become a strong, powerful, and admirable soldier like the heroes of old.
Of course, Ulfur murdering Ruler Lyn in cold blood had dashed Astrid’s hopes for a life of battle-ready servitude, and Ulfur’s rallying of a rebellion force had drawn even the regularcastle guard into Torden’s civil war. Once Astrid was crowned, she inherited a country cut in two: not just Torden, but TordenandLynby. A fragile balance, sure to shatter at any random catalyst.
She’d been struggling ever since, leagues away from the person she’d hoped to become.
“Marvelous,” Guthmar said as Hedda explained the setup of the battlefield on that day. Even thinking about that important event made Astrid queasy. She was beyond relieved Hedda had stepped in.
“Can you still shoot so well?” someone asked from Astrid’s side. Astrid jumped. Guthmar’s wife Alvor had snuck up nearly as silent as Freya.
