“From someone in the kitchens?” said Hjotra. “Stars, Freya, you sound like the steward.”
Ingirun snorted.
Freya closed her eyes. She needed answers badly. The staff knew everything—she’d made herself approachable to them for a reason. These two had to have some information. Freya couldn’t just interrogate them outright.
“Sorry,” said Freya. “Long night. I thought this place was a hidden hole-in-the-wall for Torden, so I am surprised anyone from Sydlig has heard of it.”
The two relaxed. “That’s all right, Freya,” said Ingirun.
“Is Varin being his usual cranky self?” Freya said, cracking a smile she hoped looked remotely genuine.
“Ugh,” said Hjotra. “Couldn’t piss without him knowing. How many questions did he ask us?”
“At least a thousand,” said Ingirun.
So Varinhaddone his job. Maybe he’d cleared the two of them early on and given Guthmar permission to release them. The idea of letting suspects go didn’t sit well with Freya, but she was glad to have confirmation something had been done.
“Sounds tedious,” Freya said.
“Truly,” Ingirun said. “Say, do you want to go in on a room together? We’ve been making stops all day, and we are awfully tired.”
“I won’t be staying,” said Freya.
“I suppose I’ve never seen a priestess stay anywhere except the temple,” Hjotra said good-naturedly.
“Right,” Freya said. There was no way these two wouldn’t gossip about seeing her in novice robes here. She could only hope it would take a while to get back to anyone important. “Well, it was nice to see you.”
“Won’t you stay for just another drink?” Ingirun pleaded. “On me. I’m so curious about Torden traditions. It would be nice to know some things before we get established here.”
Freya’s first instinct was to say no. The years in Torden had made her soft, though. She had once been a transplant to the country, taken in by its people and welcomed despite her past.
“I suppose just one drink would be fine,” Freya said.
The barmaid brought another, and the attendants interrogated Freya about Torden’s culture: What was Freya’sfavorite part of Torden? Where were the best markets for fresh fish? What kind of labor would Freya recommend for someone who wanted to get to know the country? How did the forestry industry compare to Sydlig’s?
Freya’s eyes started to close as she answered the tedious questions. She downed the ale steadily. The faster she sipped, the faster she could get out of here, but they’d know she wanted to escape them if she drank too quickly.
Freya had to leave while she could still get on her horse. She was already so tired. Maybe she could find a wind-sheltered corner of town to sleep in—she’d slumbered through worse conditions. She would just have a nap, and then be on her way.
The sight of the bottom of the tankard was a surprise to Freya. She set it down a little too roughly, her movements sluggish. This damn injury. She needed more rest than she’d thought.
“Well, ladies,” Freya said. “I’ll be taking my leave now.”
She stood from the bench and black spots filled her vision. With a gasp, she grabbed the edge of the table.
“You don’t look well,” said Ingirun.
She didn’t feel well. This went beyond exhaustion, beyond a wound in the process of magical healing.
“Will you please stay? I’ll order a room for you at once,” Hjotra said.
Freya gathered her bearings, leaning her hip against the table. In front of Ingirun and Hjotra were two untouched tankards of ale. Had they finished their first round? She couldn’t remember. She recalled them sipping, but not gulping.
“What did you do to me?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” asked Hjotra. The orc stood to help Freya, touching her elbow, but Freya nudged her away.
She caught a whiff of them again. Fresh laundry. But hadn’t they been traveling all day?
