Freya cleared her throat. “I will check in with Brenn.”
Stars. Astrid had not thought of that. How could King Skarde have visited without Brenn knowing? Had Astrid left the goddess’s favor for fighting her wyrd?
Unease swirled within Astrid, made worse by Freya’s disappearance.
Two of the félag joined Astrid and Varin: Sigurd, who had served as her double while Astrid was in hiding, and Norga, who Astrid had known since her own training back in the day. She’d have preferred Hrothgar, or even Hedda, but both of them were exhausted after the night guarding her, so she had told them to catch up on sleep.
Freya’s quiet steps slid in behind Astrid as she began to ascend the stairs.
“Brenn?” Astrid asked.
“Sent her home,” Freya said.
Astrid stopped and faced Freya on the stairs.
Perhaps Freya needed to sleep as well. The whites of her eyes were red around her gray irises.
“Brenn’s magic is much weaker surrounded by all these people,” Freya said. “She admitted she’d been having nightmares since coming here, but they were useless to parse through. All they did was scare her.”
Astrid continued up the stairs. Though Freya had tried to explain before how Brenn’s magic was different from that of the orcs who served as priestesses in Torden’s temples, Astrid had little understanding of magic in general. Brenn was more sensitive—more empathetic, perhaps, than was entirely useful.
Sigurd and Freya reached out to grab each of Astrid’s arms as she faltered on the steps.
When had Astrid started thinking of people in terms of howusefulthey were to her?
That was something she needed to work on while she was being conscious of incorporating the old version of herself. The old Astrid would never have thought of Brenn in such a way. Where was her compassion?
Freya’s voice was tight when she released Astrid’s arm. “I am begging you notto bludgeon yourself on the stairs again, Your Majesty.”
“You’re right. Yes. Sorry,” said Astrid.
A guard waited at the top of the stairs. He took Varin’s arm when they got close and whispered something in his ear.
“Back down the stairs,” Varin said. “They’re in the library.”
“I thought King Skarde would be in our guest apartments,” said Astrid.
“Guthmar is hiding in the library, and King Skarde has caught word.”
Down the stairs again they went, Freya boring holes in Astrid’s back with her eyes.
For an older orc, Varin’s pace was brisk. Never a good sign, when it came to Varin. The closer they got, the more audible the yelling became. Astrid held the end of her cloak so as not to trip as she rushed through the open library doors.
“You’re not my king,” Vera was saying. “I don’t bow to you.”
“I demand you hand over my cousin right this second,” King Skarde boomed.
He was surrounded by his retinue—attendants and soldiers, most of whom looked like they would rather be somewhere else, and two bedraggled priestesses. The soldiers had swords extended in Vera’s direction, which she was understandably not taking well to. She shoved the weapons out of her face, only for them to be pointed at her with renewed vehemence.
Vera would certainly be injured soon if Astrid did not intervene.
“King Skarde,” Astrid said. “I insist you refrain from skewering my favorite librarian.”
The king jolted. “Queen Astrid,” he said, cloying. “In Sydlig, we are usually present to greet our guests.”
“Yes, well, perhaps you forgot to send word you were coming.”
King Skarde stared. Astrid stared back, cocking her head in challenge.
