Freya slid in behind Guthmar’s chair. She patted the blade at her hip, and Astrid nodded.
“You never clarified why you sent your ambassador, not to mention the consuls in every major city. You’ve never offered to help us before, so I have to assume you’re spying on us,” Astrid said. “Why get involved now? Have you taken up with Ulfur’s people?”
The king unsheathed his sword. Sigurd and Norga surged forward, blocking Astrid with their arms. No longer held off by Astrid’s félag, King Skarde’s guards came through, packing in like a mound of dead fish at the market.
Astrid shuddered. “Am I to take this as a yes, King Skarde? Are we at war?”
Skarde’s chest heaved. The point of his sword descended and scraped against the floor.
Vera would have something to say about that, Astrid thought.
“We are not at war,” King Skarde said, “but if you do not allow me to reclaim my useless cousin, I may reconsider.”
Useless. Too similar to how Astrid had caught herself thinking about Brenn. She looked at King Skarde and saw how cold he had made himself, how calculating he had become as king. Maybe he had always been like this.
But Astrid hadn’t.
“Consider Guthmar officially under my protection until you can tell me exactly what’s going on here,” said Astrid.
“My brother,” King Skarde said, spittle flying, “is dead. Guthmar poisoned him.”
“Poison?” Astrid said. The idea of Guthmar poisoningsomeone was so absurd, she wanted to laugh. “Do you really think this kind man is capable of poisoning someone?”
“Yes,” said King Skarde. “My brother told me so, right before he died. He and Guthmar shared mead the night before he became violently ill. We had the mead tested.”
Which meant Skarde had forcibly made someone else drink it, Astrid guessed.
“And it was poisoned,” King Skarde went on, like he thought Astrid was slow to understand. “So Guthmar has done it.”
Guthmar cried some more. “Did he really think…? He died thinking that I killed him?”
“Didn’t you?” King Skarde said. “You’ve always been unpredictable, Guthmar. Unfit to do anything that required more than picking daisies in the garden.”
“I like daisies,” Guthmar said weakly. “They are beautiful.”
“Do you have any proof Guthmar did this?” Astrid asked. “Did he ferment the mead himself?”
“I do like mead,” Guthmar said. “Though I know not how to make it.”
Astrid fought back a sigh. Of course, during the one night she took away from her responsibilities, the entire queendomwould fall apart. “King Skarde, what is your plan if I do give you Guthmar?”
“Giveme my own cousin,” King Skarde said, snorting. “The plan is to take him home and behead him, of course.”
“That is where we are at odds, Your Majesty,” said Astrid. “I would like him alive.”
“You are a terrible queen and a worse woman,” King Skarde said. “I do not trust you to defend yourself from Ulfur’s warbands any more than I would trust a horse to be my treasurer.”
“I had a horse that could count, once,” Guthmar offered.
Astrid and Skarde glared at him.
“Have I done something to make you lose faith in my competence, Skarde?” Astrid asked, forgoing his title deliberately. He puffed up like he was going to say something, but she cut him off again. “The last time we spoke, we treated each other as equals. What’s changed?”
Astrid waited with her heart in her throat. If Skarde had news about Ulfur moving in… She didn’t know how she could preserve her old self and defend the country from active war. It wouldn’t be possible.
“I received word from a reliable source,” the king began, “that you planned to redirect Ulfur to us first to buy yourself time after the alliance with Branwen.”
“Your source is wrong,” Astrid said. Her mind felt jumbled, unsure. What did Branwen have to do with this? The alliance between Torden and Branwen—cemented with the marriage of Ruga to Princess Elketh of Branwen—had been supposed to deter war, not encourage Skarde to act. Was Ruga safe there, or would Skarde come after her, too?
