Back in Astrid’s chambers, Fenrir yowled. The beating of wings sounded above them; then, a distinctive, rapid, repeating bird call. Freya’s eyes flew open.
Something whizzed past them. It was dangerously close to Astrid’s ear; she heard a whoosh and a clatter, and felt the wind move her hair.
Freya reacted first, unpinning Astrid from her grasp and landing lightly on the stone. She swore loudly.
Still overwhelmed by the kissing, Astrid did not register at first the tips of Freya’s fingers, glistening red in the moonlight. She did not understand the broken arrow in her hand.
“Freya,” she said, “you’re bleeding.”
Freya’s hand went to her ear. Thank the goddess. Just her ear, though it was nicked pretty badly—Astrid could see the sky where skin should be.
“It’s nothing,” Freya said. Her voice was cold. She walked up to Astrid, grabbed her arm roughly, and forced her back against the wall. “Do you see this?”
Freya was waving the broken arrow in Astrid’s face. Someone had been down below and seen them above and thought to kill them.
Someone had seen themkissingand thought to kill them. Someone who happened to have a weapon.
“An opportunist,” Astrid said at once. Her first instinct was to alleviate Freya’s concerns. “They missed.”
“You need to get off this balconynow,” Freya said. “Someone just tried to assassinate you.”
Astrid followed Freya’s orders to come inside and sat at the end of her bed. Fenrir curled up into her lap and she scratched his ears absently. From the antechamber, she heard Freya barking orders at the félag and the running of boots.
In her daze, Astrid was not worried about being assassinated. The arrow had come out of nowhere, so it was easy to imagine it as an act of the goddess and not an act of a mortal.
A sign Astrid shouldn’t let herself be close to Freya.
Freya came back. Blood streamed down the side of her head, onto her neck, pooling at the collar of her jacket. Had they really kissed just minutes ago? How easily they went back to being themselves. If Astrid pretended they had never kissed, how would Freya respond?
“Varin is setting up a safe room for you within the castle,” Freya said. “You have to follow me. We don’t know who did this or when it will be safe for you to appear in public.”
“Freya,” Astrid said, but Freya was done talking, her singular focus shifted to Astrid’s safety.
She so wished the arrow belonged to the goddess. If it belonged to someone here, and they really were intent on harming Astrid, and they’d seen her with Freya on the balcony…
They already knew how much Freya meant to her.
Chapter Thirteen
Freya stayed up all night making arrangements. The steward secured a windowless interior room for Astrid’s protection, and Freya ordered the félag around as if she was queen herself, fortifying the area.
Scholars were moved to inns in the bordering towns, if they weren’t asked to go home entirely. The excuse Freya and Varin had come up with was this: the air was dry, and so many people in one place posed a fire hazard. The goddess herself had warned Brenn a fire could happen if the scholars did not leave, they said.
The historians, remembering the great castle fire of four centuries past, moved quickly to outlying buildings. For the first time, Freya was grateful for the history fair.
Meanwhile, Guthmar was an inebriated pest. He was too drunk to nock an arrow, Freya knew, but she was more suspicious of his retinue than ever. As she made her demands, she was reminded of his astuteness.
“You have a lot of power here for a lady’s maid,” he said under his breath. He was there with one of his bodyguards, who shook her head at Freya apologetically.
“Please remove him while we deal with this fire hazard,” she said to the bodyguard, and to her credit, the bodyguard maneuvered Guthmar away. Most of his staff was used to wrangling him like a lost puppy.
Just because Freya disliked Guthmar didn’t mean he was the assassin. The castle was full of strangers. Any of them could be harboring secret hatred for the Torden queen and her reign.
Once Astrid’s rooms were prepared, the félag escorted the queen to the doorway.
Freya watched for Astrid’s reaction to the confined space. Astrid said nothing. She merely scooped up Fenrir, adjusted her crown, and entered the room.
Freya’s shoulders relaxed. These rooms had only one entrance, and it was guarded by half a dozen guards who could easily take down any assassin. She’d not been surprised that Hedda volunteered to be one of the two additional guards within the antechamber that led to the main room.
