“I don’t know, Freya. I’m sorry.” Brenn placed her head in her hand. “I do not think your time has come yet.”
“This was the queen’s loss you mentioned,” Freya said, and she was suddenly sure. She had been worried about other factors, like Astrid losing her own life or her reign or their love for one another, but she had not considered that the prophecy referred to herself.
“Yes, this could be a loss,” said Brenn. “But I was mistaken to tell you so soon. It feels far away. Very far.”
“So I won’t die,” Freya said, feeling frustration creep over her. “This is why I don’t trust the goddess. It would be nice if, for once, she could give you a clear signal.”
“Like the assassin’s gender?” Brenn asked.
Freya reached for her weapons out of instinct, like she could take on the goddess with just her dagger and her audacity, but it was missing from the belt at her hip. She had, after all, gifted it to someone else.
“Is she all right?” Freya asked. She did not have to specify who.
“She is uninjured,” said Brenn. “And quite worried about you.”
“You have to heal me,” Freya said, “or figure out a way to keep me around longer. She needs me.”
“Yes,” Brenn agreed. “But Freya, you will need time to heal properly. Months or years. You’ve been badly poisoned. You may not regain your full strength for some time.”
She’d been unconscious, she realized. Of course. It was hard to remember reality in this strange place. “How long have I been gone? Is she protected? Is there anything I can—”
Brenn held up a hand to silence her. “You have been asleep for two weeks. We have the Vakker priestesses healing you in addition to my own talents. I suggested I could reach out to you in a vision to see if that would help. Sometimes waking the mind awakens the body.”
“Stars,” Freya said. It was no good if Brenn had called on the Vakker priestesses. They had made their contempt for the way the temples in the human territories conducted their magic clear from the day Brenn arrived in Vakker.
Being out for two weeks was even worse news. The archer would have had time to leave Torden or else, if they were determined enough, make a new plan of attack.
Freya could not stop letting everyone down.
Brenn shifted her staff to her other hand. “Keep healing, Freya. You are right. She does need you. I think the goddess smiles on you, however much you reject her. You will make it through this.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “You are too stubborn not to.”
“Can I see her?” Freya asked suddenly. “Can I see Astrid here?”
“She wouldn’t be real,” Brenn said. “You’ll have to wake up.”
“Stars, are you serious? If I could, I would.”
Wake up, Freya.
The voice surrounded them. Brenn’s lips moved, but the voice was too powerful to be hers. The walls of the temple shook. Stone cracked and crumbled. Freya slipped and landed on her face. She was aware of the temple falling around them, giant chunks of stone blocking her view of Brenn.
Wake up, Freya!
Chapter Twenty-Six
Eight priestesses hunched over Freya’s bed, and all Astrid wanted to do was scream at them to leave her alone. At the center stood Brenn, eyes closed, clutching her staff tightly. The chanting of the other eight priestesses made goosebumps rise over Astrid’s skin.
Ruga patted Astrid’s back to remind her she had support. Blessedly, against Astrid’s advice, Ruga had remained with her through these last two impossible weeks. Astrid could not sleep, but without Ruga, she would not have eaten either. She would not have had a shoulder to cry on, her sisterly love to hang to like a lifeline.
On the bed, Freya’s forehead broke out into a sheen of sweat, and her eyes moved rapidly under her eyelids, as if experiencing a vivid dream.
Brenn staggered back just as Freya gasped to life. Freya thrust herself upright. The priestesses moved as one, pinning her down, still chanting.
“Let go of her!” Astrid screamed. “Can’t you see it worked?”
The priestesses did not listen to their queen. Instead, they finished the chant. Ruga took hold of Astrid’s elbow, keeping her in place so she would not jump forward and start stabbing at them the way she had slashed at her own guard when Freya had been shot.
“Water,” Freya croaked.
