When Brenn had done what she could, she had Sigurd bring Freya to Astrid’s temporary, secure rooms and set her on the bed over Astrid’s plush blankets. Sigurd helped Astrid out of her blood-soaked tunic and into fresh garments. Dimly, Astrid registered Sigurd telling her that they’d scoured the area, but the assailant had gotten away.
Someone handed Astrid a cup of hot tea. The cat rubbed against Astrid’s legs, but she could not bring herself to pet him. Meanwhile, Brenn kneeled at Freya’s side, occasionally murmuring a chant that made the crease between Freya’s eyebrows lessen for a few minutes.
After Astrid’s tea had long grown cold and bitter, a herd of orc priestesses flooded the small room. They muttered to each other as Brenn explained the situation. One of them unscrewedthe lid of a jar of pungent herbs, and then they surrounded Freya so Astrid could not see.
A trembling hand pressed into Astrid’s shoulder through her cloak. She looked up. Varin watched her, grave-faced. She had not seen him come in. She had barely noticed anything but Freya and her care for the last several hours.
“You have a visitor, Queen Astrid,” he said. “It will be better for the priestesses to not feel the pressure of their monarch’s scrutiny.”
What poor timing. “Send them away. I do not wish to leave.”
“I will watch her, Your Majesty,” Brenn promised. The look in Brenn’s face—the wariness toward the other priestesses—soothed Astrid, if only briefly. Brenn would make sure the priestesses did not do anything Astrid disapproved of.
And queens always had to greet visitors.
“Very well,” Astrid said. Her voice was still thin. “Send for me immediately if there are any changes.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Astrid made no effort to move. Gently, Varin lifted her arm over his shoulder and got her back on her feet.
“I’ve sent out search parties to find the assassin. We do not know much about their appearance—only eyewitness accounts of a silhouette in a window. We have no idea of clothing, gender, or the type of bow used. They have horns, from several recollections, so we are only suspecting orcs.”
Varin had to repeat himself three times before Astrid understood. When she did, she blinked at him in surprise. Of course, it was nice to have Varin’s help, but Freya would investigate this and neutralize the threat.
The revelation hit her like a blacksmith’s hammer. Freya could not investigate. She might never investigate again.
To Astrid’s dismay, she could not remember a time before relying on Freya to take care of such matters. How would Astrid live if Freya didn’t?
She staggered, but Varin had come to a stop in front of the félag guardroom. Astrid did not remember the path she’d walked to get here.
“Who is the visitor?” Astrid remembered to ask. Her heart had been clawed from her chest; she hardly cared to entertain a guest.
Varin pushed the door open. Daylight streamed into the room over a series of bunk beds. At one of the tables where the guards played cards and Tafl, an orc with silky purple hair in a flower-patterned dress paused, her fingers clenching a game piece.
She dropped the piece onto the board, eliciting a gentle swear from her opponent—Hrothgar, Astrid realized.
“Oh, Astrid!” the orc exclaimed, and rushed to throw her arms around her.
“Ruga,” Astrid said, delayed. She could not bring herself to return the hug.
“How is she?” Ruga asked. She searched Astrid’s face, and her expression grew somber. “Oh, never mind. Shall we find somewhere private?”
Astrid allowed herself to be led to one of the guest apartments on the floor below as if in a trance. The room was sparsely decorated and stale and the sun was abnormally bright against Astrid’s dour mood.
“It is nice to see you,” Astrid forced herself to say. She was not sure if it was true. Normally, she would be elated. It was hard to feel anything.
“Varin sent for me,” Ruga said. “I took the first ferry over from the island. Is there anything I can do?”
Astrid snorted. Ruga knew her well—well enough to not ask how she was doing.
“The priestesses will have to heal her,” Astrid said, voice cold. She was echoing what Varin told her, she knew from some deep part of her brain, but she could not recall when he had said it. “There’s nothing else to be done.”
Ruga sat on the end of the bed next to Astrid. “How long have you been together?”
“What?” Astrid asked, jerking her head.
“I’m happy you acted on your feelings, truly,” Ruga said. “You held off for far too long.”
