“Nine,” Freya whispered. Nine people. A collection of attendants, if Astrid had to guess. Maybe some soldiers or guards who had helped them get here safely, not that traveling through Torden was unsafe. She hoped some of them would head right back after dinner.
When the group was close enough to hear, Astrid stepped forward. An orc at the head of the group swung down from his horse. He had broad shoulders and a softness around his stomach, and his skin was smooth and unblemished, unaccustomed to labor.
“Welcome to Vakker Castle,” Astrid said with a tiny dip of her head.
The orc bowed grandly. “Ambassador Guthmar at your service, Your Majesty.”
Something was off, but Astrid couldn’t discern what, exactly. “We were anticipating you earlier.”
Two of the orcs on the horses flanking Guthmar’s dismounted and bowed to Astrid. They did not have the look of attendants. The woman to Guthmar’s left wore finer fabrics than even Astrid dared to wear lest she ruin them, though the orc did have the hard look in her eyes of someone who hadn’t lived her entire life in the lap of luxury. Her hair was a striking magenta, tied into the same kind of loose braid Astrid preferred. The orc man to Guthmar’s right was shorter than him and stocky, hishorns looking a tad too big for his head, and his hair was short-cropped. The two orcs were similarly dressed in the royal purple and stag motifs of Sydlig’s court.
“My husband, Tassi,” Guthmar said, gesturing to his right, “and my wife, Alvor.”
Astrid forced a smile. She had not invited this ambassador here, and she certainly had not invited his spouses. “Welcome. We have prepared a meal for you, if you are hungry from your travels.”
Guthmar laughed throatily. His entire retinue joined in, like hunger was an inside joke they’d developed on their journey. “Much appreciated, Your Majesty. Please, lead the way.”
Astrid caught Freya’s eye as she turned to the great hall.
“Your Majesty,” Freya whispered loud enough for the félag to hear. “The ambassador we were expecting is named Elgir.”
The ambassador brought his spouses and his two bodyguards with him into the dining hall, forcing everyone who usually dined with Astrid to move over to make room. The benches were overcrowded and hot. The food was good, though the hall was half-full of people who’d already eaten, waiting for the queen to finish her own meal.
They’d spared no expense to greet the ambassador. The skald stood in one corner, enthusiastically reciting a love story with the musical accompaniment of a lyre.
“How were your travels?” Astrid asked lightly. She was tempted to pry into why Elgir had been replaced with Guthmar, but was unsure whether it was rude to ask outright. She had no idea if Freya had dug into Guthmar’s background.
Next to Astrid, Hrothgar dipped a spoon into their stew. Her captain ate next to her, both as a sign of their respected statusand as extra protection in case something were to happen in the great hall, which Astrid did not find likely. She did find, however, that Hedda had been a better conversationalist than Hrothgar.
“We traveled well,” Guthmar said. He swirled his goblet of mead. Astrid had not counted how many times it had been refilled, but she thought the staff had stopped by at least thrice. “I always forget how lovely Torden’s towns are. Hospitable, too.”
Astrid nearly flinched, thinking of humble inns housing this grand orc and his people.
The husband and wife were quiet, observing, which made Astrid distrust them instantly. She wished she’d had time to consult Freya. Neither Freya nor Astrid had predicted the spouses would be here, and Astrid didn’t know their histories.
As time went on, Astrid’s sense of alarm dimmed. She found it easy enough to engage in conversation. If she didn’t please the ambassador, she at least avoided offending him. The more they conversed, the more she relaxed—he was prone to talking, sharing more than he needed to, and she could sit there and give the occasional nod.
The ambassador hardly seemed a threat. Astrid noted he did not wear a sword. Of his entourage, only his bodyguards carried weapons. After a while, the ambassador’s attendants came for dinner. Astrid had witnessed them bearing Guthmar’s generous travel bags, and she was not surprised at their fatigue from carrying the luggage up the stairs. The attendants joined the housekeeping staff at their table, and the kitchen scrambled to bring them fresh food. Some were human and some were orcs. They did not look ready for battle, either, though Astrid was not sure how the ambassador kept four attendants busy.
When he’d heaped more food onto his plate, Guthmar settled back, cradling the goblet close to him. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, aren’t you?”
Astrid’s eye twitched. “It was clear enough in His Majesty’s letter to my steward.”
“Well, what I’m doing here rather than Elgir, I mean.” He lowered his voice. “Elgir is His Majesty’s brother, and not of good temperament. They got into a fight shortly before he was meant to leave.” He tsked, like fighting with one’s sibling was childish, and Astrid felt a pang of guilt at her past conflict with her own sister. Becoming royalty did divide people so.
“I am King Skarde’s cousin,” Guthmar said. “And I was meant to be the consul of… Stars, what was it? Alvor?”
“Ravn,” his wife supplied.
“Right. Ravn. But I got promoted, so you’re stuck with me.” He laughed then, full-bellied, and launched into some story clearly designed to brag about his closeness with the king.
Good, then. Freya would at least have done some research into his background, as she had for all of the consuls.
Astrid’s attention wandered as Guthmar’s story became more convoluted and harder to follow. As if by instinct, she sought out Freya, who stood against the wall closer to the staff table, practically invisible. She was some distance from the on-duty guards, but when two orcs from the kitchen came in with a heavy platter, she rushed forward to help them carry it to the attendants. After they’d delivered the food, the orcs patted her on the back in a familiar way that put a knot in Astrid’s stomach.
But that was silly, Astrid reasoned. Freya had cultivated relationships with the castle staff because it helped her stay informed of things Astrid had no way of figuring out for herself. That was what spymasters were for.
Astrid couldn’t remember how she’d gotten by before Freya had come around. She’d had no spymaster before, hadn’t even considered the possibility of hiring one. It was the kind of position only shady, corrupt rulers would need, she’d thought, before Freya had proved her usefulness.
