Astrid led her back to the table with Hedda and Hrothgar. Freya felt herself clam up. She could not say the things she wanted to in front of the félag. The other tables were full, leaving them with little choice. She wished Astrid had never run away, that they could have had this conversation privately in her rooms.
“They know,” Astrid said, gesturing to Hrothgar and Hedda. Reading Freya’s mind. But surely she didn’t mean it the way it sounded.
“They know what?”
“About… About us.”
Freya flushed with embarrassment. Slipping, always slipping lately. She spent too much time around Hedda and Hrothgar for them to not pick up on these things. If they were truly good enough to be part of the félag, of course they would know the depth of her connection to her queen. Just because she was more observant than the average person didn’t mean no one else could notice things.
The orc server stopped by their table. “Any more for our valiant soldiers of Torden?” the server asked, winking.
Freya glanced down at herself. The leather she wore was darker than the others’, but she supposed compared to everyone else in the inn, she did most resemble a soldier.
“Yes, please. Appreciate it.” Astrid answered with such comfort, Freya was taken aback once more. It was easy to forget Astrid had not always been the queen. Once upon a time, she had ordered drinks at many establishments with her fellow soldiers on their nights off.
A sick feeling crawled over Freya’s skin—comprehension. Running away had given Astrid the opportunity to relive a life she no longer had. Tonight, Astrid was a soldier again, out with friends. No responsibilities, no making tough choices.
Astrid turned to Freya and smiled. Was this how Astrid had been back then, too? A happier person?
“Excuse me,” Freya said, and bolted for the door.
The fresh, biting air calmed her just a little. She was scared she might have vomited right in front of everyone if she didn’t escape. She ran her tongue over her teeth, counting them, then took several deep breaths, like Brenn had taught her to.
The door to the building squealed open. Freya recognized the cadence of Astrid’s footsteps before she saw her.
“We can go back,” Astrid said. “I’m sorry for causing you so much distress.”
If only she knew.
“You need to be better guarded than this,” Freya said. “Someone could have followed you. Guthmar recognized you when you left, you know. It’s possible he wasn’t the only one.”
“I have Hedda, and Hrothgar, and you.” She leaned against a barrel printed with the inn’s insignia. “I am perfectly safe here.”
But you weren’t before, Freya wanted to say. Hedda had been the only protection on the journey here. And Freya was sure Hedda had insisted on joining Astrid, and that Astrid had meant to be alone.
She tried not to feel hurt that Astrid had tried to get away from her. She failed.
Astrid reached for Freya’s shoulder. Freya let Astrid touch the leather and forced her body to be still.
“Is there anything else bothering you?” Astrid asked.
Funny, how Freya did not know Astrid as well as she thought, but Astrid knew Freya just fine.
A million things bothered Freya all the time. The things she wanted, the things she could not have. Blood on her hands, her scars an ever-present reminder of how far she’d gone in contributing to the violence of the human territories.
What bothered her now was this: She had dedicated her life to protecting Queen Astrid, but she had not once thought to try to make her happy.
Happiness was an experience for other people. It wasn’t meant for someone who had poisoned entire camps’ water supplies for a warlord. It wasn’t meant for someone who had made herself into a weapon. Weapons could not be happy.
But… Freya remembered the unshakable smiles of Ruga and Elketh on their wedding day. A delighted laugh from Vera, newly appointed as Torden’s librarian, as she discovered her favorite text in the collection. Brenn, greeting Freya thousands of times over with a smile because she was pleased to see her friend.
Maybe Freya wanted happiness too.
“Stars, I’ve made you cry,” Astrid said. “I’m so sorry, Freya. I’ll go back to the castle. You were right. It was foolish for me to come here. I just needed a break so badly.”
Freya brushed away tears on the back of her gloves and looked up at Astrid. The queen’s eyes were watery in the dim light of the evening. Guilty about hurting those around her by running away, and guiltier for enjoying herself so much once she had.
Freya took Astrid’s hands in her own. “Let’s stay here.”
