Astrid knew Ruga well, too—well enough to know when the subject was being changed. Ruga was good at things like this. Distracting people to help them, or delving deeper into the bad feelings when that helped more. All Astrid did was hurt the people around her. Cause others to suffer, like Freya was now.
The truth was, Astrid and Freya had been acting on their feelings for years. Every time Freya patted her weapon from across the room to assure Astrid she was protected, she displayed her love. Every time Astrid waited for Freya to go to sleep before falling asleep herself, it was an act of love. This had been going on for a long, long time—and Astrid did not know how to determine its origin, the point at which Freya had tipped from an employee who had proven competent to the most important person in Astrid’s life.
“Is it good to have acted on them?” Astrid asked, voice cracking. “Even though I could lose her?”
“Even so,” said Ruga. Her lips turned up in a rueful smile. “You deny yourself everything, Astrid. You deserve to indulge where you can.”
To hear Ruga affirm Astrid’s feelings brought tears to her eyes. Naturally, her feelings brought her to this mental state in the first place. She had allowed herself too much.
“Was it obvious?” she asked, thinking of Hedda and Hrothgar. Astrid supposed you could only exchange so many meaningful glances across a room before someone noticed. She had been careful to hold all her other emotions close, and yet this one came through clear as day.
“Yes,” said Ruga. “More so from Freya than from you, if you don’t mind my saying so. I do not see her protecting the other Torden citizens—or Brenn, even—the way she does you. She cares for you deeply. I would wager she has done so for a very long time.”
“Queens cannot have love like this,” Astrid said. “I was beastly today.”
She could only imagine how she had looked, not only to her own people, but to the Sydlig retinue. Like she could not be controlled. Lashing out at her own félag. She would have to issue an apology to anyone whose head she had nearly taken off. The embarrassment would set in later.
“Everything ends,” Ruga said. “That does not mean it is not worth experiencing.” She set her head on Astrid’s shoulder lightly. The circlet she wore, signifying her as Queen Consort of Branwen, tickled Astrid’s ear.
“You were sweet to come, Ruga, but I think you should leave,” Astrid said. It was about time she started behaving like a queen again. “There is an assassin on the loose, and they have targeted both me and King Skarde. I cannot promise your safety.”
She had completely forgotten about him until she said his name. He might be dead, for all she knew. She did not care if he was. She did not care about Sydlig, or Ulfur’s battle-worn Lynby, or her own country.
Her only concern was her human handmaiden.
Someone knocked gently on the door. Ruga answered.
“Hello, Brenn,” Ruga said. Kindness seeped from her voice, and empathy. Two things Astrid was not capable of at the moment.
“Hello, Ruga. You’re looking lovely. Things are going well with Elketh, I take it?”
Astrid looked up in time to see her sister blush.
“Verywell,” said Ruga. “She certainly keeps me busy.”
“I have heard much about her,” said Brenn. “I do not doubt it.”
“Is there an update?” Astrid croaked from the bed, feeling like she was the only one worrying, even though it couldn’t possibly be true. “How is the healing process?”
Brenn turned to Astrid and gave her an awkward bow. “King Skarde does not fare well, Your Majesty. We do not expect him to survive the day. I spoke with Varin, who is concerned about retaliation from Sydlig. It does not look good for us. He thinks certain nobility left behind in Sydlig could view the assassination as your doing. It would mean more war.”
Astrid could not convey enough how little she cared about this. “And Freya?”
“Freya is…” Brenn cleared her throat, and Ruga gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We are keeping a close eye on her. The arrow was poisoned, as you may have ascertained. The poison is in her blood. We are doing what we can.”
“What you can,” Astrid repeated. “Brenn, please be honest with me.”
“I don’t know,” she said, and she threw up her hands. “I don’t know, Your Majesty. I am so sorry. We have everyone working as hard as they can. Some people cannot be saved.”
Astrid stood from the bed. She set back her shoulders, pushed out her chest. The change in her posture changed her mindset too, made her voice stable where it had been hoarse.
“I want you to leave,” she said, “and do whatever convening with the goddess you must do to determine whether she will live. And if you see that she will not, you must stop it.”
“Astrid, you can’t ask that of her,” Ruga said. “Only so much can be done.”
“No, that’s all right, Ruga,” said Brenn. “I will leave and see what I can find out. I’ll come back to check on her as soon as I can.”
“Thank you, Brenn,” Ruga said, because Astrid wasn’t going to.
