Astrid couldn’t stand it any longer. “I am still your friend,” she said.
Their cloaks were wet from the rain, and they both smelled faintly of horse. Astrid had not reserved a room yet, but she was considering it. She needed to know if Hedda was comfortable staying overnight. Initially, she’d thought Hedda would sneak out with her as part of the plan and then leave, but Hedda had insisted on joining her. Astrid wondered if Hedda considered herself on-duty or if her role was more like watching over an unruly child.
“Can you be friends with someone you’ve sworn fealty to?” Hedda swirled her mead, staring into its murky depths.
“I meant, I am on your side,” said Astrid. “And I forgive you for your behavior at the midsummer festival, whatever that means to you.”
Hedda looked up sharply. “What about me? I have to forgiveyou.”
Astrid’s next sip was bitter. Just like before—she was stepping on others to help her rule rather than relying on her own skills. Choosing who sacrificed what.
“I know,” said Astrid.
“May we speak about you and Freya?” asked Hedda.
Goosebumps spread over Astrid’s arms. “Pardon?”
“It’s a little hypocritical, isn’t it?” Hedda huffed. “You and Freya, sneaking around like lovers when you know you shouldn’t be. But I have to be the mature one who can handle losing a relationship.”
Astrid closed her eyes. The resentment leveled in her direction, boiling right under the surface of Hedda’s skin, was a lot to take in. “Ruga needed to get away from Torden.”
“That’s not your choice.”
“It was hers. And she made it.” Astrid opened her eyes, gathered her courage. “It’s my fault. She was miserable here, Hedda. She needed to get away, and we needed the alliance with Branwen. It worked out for all of us. Can’t you see how much happier she is there?”
Hedda was quiet. Even when they were soldiers-in-arms, she had never been adept at swallowing harsh truths. “We were good together.”
“Would you have gone with her?” Astrid asked, gently as she could. “I’m telling you she needed to leave. Would you have left Torden to stay by her side?”
The question was rhetorical. Hedda stood from the table, shoved it away, and stalked to the other side of the room.
Having her gone was a relief. Someone ordered stew, and it smelled incredible. When the server came by Astrid’s table, she asked for two bowls.
Alone with her thoughts, in the anonymity of a soldier’s disguise, Astrid realized how much she needed this. She would give up her queenhood in a heartbeat to drink in this little inn on the sea forever. How little pressure it was to just be a normal person, not to have to make any tough decisions that hurt the people around her. She was inept as queen.
All of the books in the world could instruct her in strategy, but they could not prevent the country she ruled from going towar. They could not teach her how you were supposed to care for an entire country and also value people as individuals.
The tales of rulers who played favorites were never flattering.
Hedda returned to the table in time to eat the stew while it was warm. Astrid waited for her to finish. When she was done, Hedda wiped her mouth on her sleeve and threw back the rest of her mead in three loud gulps.
“You’re right,” Hedda said, gruff. “It was for the best. I just wish we had the kind of relationship where you could tell me before acting on something that impacts my life. I don’t know how queens work, but I thought I knew you. Queen Astrid is a stranger to me after all these years.”
Astrid’s heart ached. She and Hedda had been friends. Close friends, even. They had trusted and relied on each other, laughed together and shared food over fire at the soldiers’ camp. It was one part of their relationship Astrid had to mourn when she became queen, like so many others.
You could not be queen and be close to anyone.
“You are right, too,” Astrid said. “About Freya. Do many people know?”
“I brought it up to Hrothgar. We were in your antechamber together these past few nights. Just something about the way you look at each other.” Hedda waved her hand in a somewhat lewd gesture. “I assume you coupled. We both noticed the shift.”
Astrid nodded solemnly. “And you resent me for it.”
“I resent that my own relationship was not allowed to succeed or fail on its own merits,” Hedda said. “I do not resent love itself. And she clearly does love you.”
Astrid hardly dared to join the wordlovewith her feelings toward Freya, as though voicing it would doom them even more. It was one thing to have felt Freya’s skin under her hands and against her lips. It was another to hear Hedda call out what was so clear to others.
“It cannot last, even if it was appropriate for me to court my…” Attendant, spymaster? No single word described Freya’s role. “She’ll live for eighty years, like all humans do.”
