In this place, where enemies could lurk in the shadows, she’d needed to be unequivocally strong and impenetrable.
Yet everyone had seen her break for Freya.
She cursed herself once, then twice, and then the tears came.
Ruga enveloped Astrid in her arms. Their dynamic had always been like this—Ruga the caring sister, even though she was younger, and Astrid being cared for. Astrid had pushed Ruga away, emotionally and physically. She had not resisted when Freya proposed Ruga’s marriage. Ruga was not far in Branwen, but she was free from the burdens Astrid had handed to her every day. Free to choose for herself what she wanted. Free to choose love.
Astrid had given Ruga the fate she wished for herself.
With Ruga’s arms around her, Astrid waited until her eyes dried and a deep cold crept past her cloak. She dabbed her face on the furry hem and breathed in painful gulps of night air.
Someone approached quietly, footsteps on the dry ground.
Astrid did look back this time. It was Hedda. The former captain of Astrid’s félag was careful to look at her queen and notat Ruga, even though Ruga was the one who said, “Hello, Hedda. How can we help you?”
“Ruga,” Hedda said, nodding. “Your Majesty, Guthmar and his retinue will be leaving soon. He wishes to speak with you.”
Astrid had asked Guthmar what was going to happen with Sydlig’s throne, and in response, he had locked himself in his rooms. She suspected, in the absence of the king and the king’s brother, Guthmar himself would serve as king in the interim until Sydlig’s council had time to sort out the succession.
The assassination of the king would make this a difficult job to hold, particularly for someone who would rather watch birds than rule a country.
Astrid felt a pang of sympathy for Guthmar. She had not wanted to be queen; she knew what it was like to have such responsibility thrust upon you.
“I will speak with him,” Astrid said.
When they got there, Guthmar was packing his bags with the help of Alvor and Tassi. Tassi removed several items from the bags—gifts, Astrid realized, from people around the castle, ranging from silverware in the kitchens to the book with the birds. Alvor muttered to Tassi, but his hunched shoulders gave no room for this indulgence.
Astrid understood why. It did not look good to come home with a series of trinkets from the country where the king had been murdered.
One of the guards from Guthmar’s retinue was present, but there was no sign of the other staff.
“The serving staff was sent home,” said Tassi, brusquely, when he saw Astrid’s unshielded bewilderment. “Our otherguard is with your armorer, who was kind enough to offer fresh equipment for the rest of the late king’s retinue.”
King Skarde’s guards still roamed the castle, angrily upturning whatever mattresses or upholstery they felt would contain the assassin’s secrets. Astrid had been careful to appease them with as much food and drink as they wished so they would be less inclined to turn around and stab her.
“Only brought the servants because my cousin insisted,” Guthmar grumbled from his luggage. His voice was gravelly, like he’d been crying or drinking. When he looked up, his eyes were red, and his horns twitched.
Astrid recognized this brand of exhaustion well. “If you need any assistance, just let us know how we can provide for you.”
“Who is this?” Alvor asked.
Ruga stepped forward. Had they really not met? Astrid supposed Ruga had been by her side while Guthmar dealt with his own problems.
“Ruga Karrsdaughter. The queen’s younger sister, and Queen Consort of Branwen.” Ruga shook hands with Alvor, and her face brightened. “Oh, do you hunt? My wife loves to hunt. Perhaps we can arrange a visit in a more peaceful time. Branwen is such a beautiful island. A change of scenery might be beneficial—”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think now is a good time,” Alvor said, taking back her hand. “We should discuss the succession.”
“Of course.” Ruga backed away politely.
Where would Guthmar be without his spouses? Astrid wondered as Guthmar rubbed a hand down his face.
“The council is not fond of me,” said Guthmar. “But then, they were not fond of Skarde either.”
“Guthmar,” Tassi warned.
“It’s all right, dear,” said Alvor. “We should be transparent.”
“Thanks, Alvie.” Guthmar patted her hand. “The council may go with me, or they may go with someone else. We will have a mourning period for the current king, of course.”
