Brenn scrambled to bring her the pitcher. The chanting softened and petered out to nothing. Its absence was somehow more chilling than its presence had been.
Freya’s trembling hands grasped the pitcher, and Brenn held the base as Freya drank directly from the lip in greedy gulps.
Astrid broke free of Ruga’s grip and threw her arms around Freya. Her bodyguard was sweaty, and she smelled sour, but she wasalive.Stars, she was alive. Grateful tears landed on the collar of Freya’s borrowed priestess robe.
Freya’s hands rose to hug Astrid back, but her grip was weak and wavering, feather-like.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Freya Wedd,” Astrid murmured into her collarbone.
“Not just yet,” Freya promised.
Someone cleared their throat, and the patter of the priestesses’ sandal-clad feet left the room.
Astrid had forgotten they were there. She pressed into the skin of Freya’s neck and felt the warmth of her—proof that she could survive anything.
“Do you need space?” Brenn asked over Astrid’s head.
“No,” said Freya. “It’s all right.”
Astrid pulled back and knelt at the side of the bed. She took Freya’s hand in her own.
“Hello, Ruga,” Freya said. “I am flattered that my near-death is important enough to summon you all the way over the channel.”
Her gray eyes were bright in the light of the evening sun. Astrid leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple, and Freya flashed her a smile.
“I am glad you are awake and well, Freya,” Ruga said.
Freya snorted. She always had liked to get under Ruga’s skin, and when she couldn’t, it bothered her. It was impossible to needle someone so pure of heart as Ruga—the only reason Astrid did not intervene in their dynamic.
“We are narrowing our assassin search to orc women,” Brenn announced. “Freya caught better sight of the assassin than anyone else.”
“Two weeks and not even a lead,” Freya said dryly. “You people really do need me here.”
“Yes, we do,” said Astrid.
“Is there anyone who raised your suspicions in the past?” Ruga asked.
“Everyone does. We’ve had many strangers in the castle lately,” Freya said. “And, the last time we had an arrow shot at us, someone saw us together.”
“Intimately, you mean,” said Ruga.
“There may have been some intimacy, yes,” said Freya, unashamed.
Astrid had been so useless during all of this. Here they were, questioning Freya right after she’d woken, and Astrid had completely forgotten the circumstances of the first attempt. Their first kiss, interrupted. “I’m so sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“I knew,” Brenn admitted.
“So it’s not necessarily someone close to you.” Ruga’s shoulders slumped with relief. “I feared it was someone in the félag.”
“It might have been better if it was, no?” Brenn said. “We have not narrowed down an identity or a location or a motive. At least we would have something to go off.”
“I do not like to think of spies in my midst,” Astrid said. She stroked the side of Freya’s face, and Freya let her. “The assassin did target the Sydlig king. He died of his wounds.”
“Can we rule out the Sydlig retinue, then?” asked Brenn.
“A country’s people can surely turn against their own,” said Astrid.
“I wouldn’t rule out anyone,” Freya said, stretching. “I need to pee, badly, and then I will look into it straight away. It does not bode well for us that the assassin has such a strong lead. She could be anywhere.”
