Alvor smiled, and realization washed over Freya.
The plan was to lure Astrid here. Freya lashed at her bindings, abandoning the attempt to hide her efforts.
Alvor watched but didn’t stop her. “You’ll need your energy for later,” she said. “Might want to rest.”
Freya had nearly gotten her wrist out of the ropes, but she hit a sore spot—where it had been trampled on before—and curled in on herself in pain.
They weren’t alike, Freya thought. If she had to kill someone, she would have done it by now. If she meant to lure someone, they would already be here. And she wouldn’t be talking to the bait.
Alvor brought a pitcher of water to Freya and poured her a cup. Freya licked her lips, suddenly aware of how thirsty shewas. Alvor held the cup to Freya’s mouth and gently tipped it back.
Despite herself, Freya drank. She would need her strength to get out of these bindings and kill her captor. The water was crisp, cool, and clear.
Alvor took the edge of her cloak and dabbed at Freya’s sweaty forehead. “There, there,” she said. “I’m sorry for this, Freya. Really.”
Freya said nothing.We are not alike, she thought.
Part of her knew this wasn’t true.
Chapter Thirty-Two
When they reached the Rosebriar Inn, Astrid breached the door so fast, it splintered under her boot.
The innkeeper looked up, jaw agape.
“Where are they?” Astrid demanded.
Astrid did not wear her crown, but the authority in her voice was commanding enough. The barmaid stepped back, unblocking the stairs to the second story.
Astrid thundered up the steps. The others were still dismounting their horses outside, but she couldn’t wait. She pounded on the first door until it opened, then the second, and the third. She’d made it to the fourth when an arrow half-penetrated the wood of the door, sharp and true, its point sticking at the level of Astrid’s chest. A strong bolt from a crossbow, as Freya had guessed.
Hrothgar touched Astrid’s shoulder, and she jumped.
“Allow me to go in first,” they whispered.
“She’s armed,” said Astrid.
Brenn scuttled down the hall, Sigurd on her heels. “I can help.”
Brenn’s eyes closed, and a high-pitched, inhuman hum emitted from her throat. At the tip of her staff, a large half sphere emerged, shimmering and translucent. A shield large enough to cover them all. Astrid touched it with her finger. Though it appeared intangible, it was solid as oak.
“Together, then,” Astrid said. Everyone bundled in behind Brenn, and Astrid kicked the door in.
An arrow bounced off Brenn’s shield, then another. The room was smoky, dark, unlit, like the fire had recently been put out. A sound, a fiddling—another arrow being loaded and shot. It, too, bounced off the shield.
A muffled shout came from somewhere to the right. Astrid’s shoulders tensed. She drew Freya’s bone-handled dagger.
“Reveal yourself,” she ordered.
Hrothgar’s sharp intake of breath was the only warning Astrid had. She scruffed Hrothgar and Sigurd by the back of their necks and ducked.
The arrow landed in the wall behind them. The angle was just to the side, just barely through the shield’s defense.
Brenn’s rhythmic chanting filled the room. The tip of her staff began to glow and became brighter and brighter until the center of the room was washed in light. Only edges and corners remained in shadow.
Astrid bent to Freya. She was curled on the ground, eyes wide. Someone had tied a rag around her head, stuffed into her mouth, and her hands were tied and bruised.
She was alive, though. Astrid could not help the smile that came to her face.Freya was alive.
