Alvor stared until Freya couldn’t stand to stare back. Freya shifted her shoulder. The rope around her hands was tight, constricting. She was losing feeling, her fingertips—barefingertips—tingling.
“I used to do this, too, you know,” Freya said. “When you want to usurp someone, you kill their leader. When you want to destabilize someone’s rule, you take out their second-in-command.”
“Funny to think a human considers herself the second-in-command to the orc country of Torden,” said Alvor. Her inflection was playful, almost mocking, and Freya tamped down her anger.
“You have always watched us,” said Freya. “You let Guthmar wander free and observed on your own. You know how important I am to Astrid.”
Alvor whistled. “Not even a title. Youareclose.”
“I wish you would kill me already and spare me your monologue.”
At this, Alvor laughed. “It’s a wonder you’ve made it this far in life, goading people as you do. Fortunately for you, I am entirely unbothered by your taunts. I’ve heard worse.”
Freya twisted her wrist. It was going to pop, but she thought she could get it out of the rope if she slid it at an angle. Something in there was already broken.
“You don’t work for King Skarde,” said Freya, “or else you would not have killed him.”
“On the contrary, I think plenty of people who worked for King Skarde wanted to kill him. None of them are as brave as I am, though,” Alvor said, good-humored. “Guthmar will be king now, and things will be better. You’ll see.”
What exactly was she playing at? Did she really think the council would want Guthmar to be king? For that matter, did she actually love Guthmar, or was she just a plant to gain access to the leadership of two major orc countries? Andyou’ll see… Did she really mean to let Freya live?
Freya could not ask any of her questions. Alvor was a cat, toying with the mouse she’d caught, and Freya did not intend to be a compliant mouse.
“I think I’m drawn to you,” Alvor said, “because I see much of myself in you. Every time you enter a room, the first thing you do is check the exits. Your back is always straight. You are alert at all times, vigilant over anything that could hurt your liege. From stairs to assassins.”
“So you did push her?” Freya said, despite herself.
Alvor laughed again. “That would be rather childish, wouldn’t it?”
“I would not put it past you.”
“I did not push her.” Alvor stood straight and stretched her legs. “Stars, you are rather short to the ground for a spymaster.”
Freya licked her lips. No weapons, nothing to fight back with. Unless she could use the furniture. And the fire.
The poker, then. Thrust it into the fire, then into Alvor’s eye.
The rope chafed at her wrists as she continued to twist.
“The staff in Vakker Castle love you,” Alvor said. “Even Guthmar’s servants became fond of you. They almost didn’t accept my bribe.”
“A shame they did.”
“You can be charming when you need to be,” Alvor continued. “I would say you’ve been a good spymaster to your queen.”
“Not good enough, apparently,” Freya said dryly. “You still convinced Guthmar’s attendants to drug me.”
“Try not to be offended. I’m very good myself.”
Was it possible Alvor was a free agent? Or perhaps she really did love Guthmar, and she’d done this for him—eliminated a source of terror in his life, taken a shot at some sort of personal vendetta with Astrid.
Or she could be hired by someone powerful. Someone from Lynby.
“I can guess who you work for,” Freya said.
“It won’t matter by the time this is over,” said Alvor.
“And when will it be over, exactly?”
