Chapter Thirty-Three
Three days later, Freya resumed her usual place behind the queen as Astrid wrote to Sydlig’s council about the assassin who had killed their king. In the letter, Astrid explained that she welcomed them to come take the assassin as soon as they had their succession in order. Freya hoped that was enough time to get what she wanted out of Alvor.
The decision to keep Alvor around rather than let Astrid kill her had been made in the heat of the moment. Freya could pretend like there were more answers she wanted out of her, like she really did want Hedda to have a task to prove her worthiness, but she knew that wasn’t the full truth.
When she’d looked into Alvor’s eyes, Freya had seen herself reflected back.
Was Alvor’s job not hers, once upon a time? Granted, Freya had never been asked to kill a king, and she did not think she would have aimed for such a large target on someone else’s behalf. Too dangerous, too much risk to herself.
But she had killed warlords and those who served them at the behest of others. Was it so different that she’d had no choice,that she’d done what she did to survive, when Alvor was not forced to do the same? If Alvor had come to the queen for mercy from the start, explained who she’d been working for and why, Astrid would have protected her.
As for Freya, she’d only had herself. No one else had been willing or able to protect her. Not until she got to Torden.
She had not yet decided if keeping Alvor alive was another form of protection.
Astrid finished writing and set down her quill. Her back was tense, and, in understanding of their new boundaries, Freya took hold of Astrid’s shoulders and massaged them in a kneading motion. Her hands were healed fully, but the recovery from the poison still overwhelmed her sometimes. She had taken to sleeping long hours, but otherwise, she felt not so different from her usual self.
“You always know how to help,” Astrid said with a sigh.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Freya said.
The sound of the crackling fire filled the room. Freya looked down at her queen. If not for Astrid, Freya could’ve been in Alvor’s position somewhere, or dead. It was only a matter of time before her bad luck caught up.
Believing in bad luck was dangerously close to believing in the existence of her wyrd. Freya leaned back, releasing Astrid’s shoulders.
“I pray Sydlig doesn’t plan to send anyone to Torden any time soon,” Astrid said. “I only just got rid of them.”
“Or Alvor did,” Freya said darkly. “I’m sure they will be busy handling their own affairs for a bit yet.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Freya built up the courage to speak. “Astrid, I want to get something off my chest.”
Astrid faced her. “Anything, Freya.”
Freya’s chest warmed. “We haven’t established where we go from here. What we plan to do with ourselves. Each other, I mean.”
Astrid tilted her head. “Follow me,” she said.
Easy as anything, she took Freya’s hand and led her to the bedroom. Maybe that was evidence enough of how far they had come since the beginning. Not long ago, Freya had touched Astrid’s hand by accident and faced days of mortification afterward.
Astrid sat on her bed and patted the spot next to her. In the corner of the chamber, Fenrir dozed away. The hearth in this room was unlit, but Freya was sure the luxurious rug kept the floors warmer than they used to be.
Her influence was everywhere.
She took Astrid’s hands in her own, but her mind was blank, emptier than it had ever been. She was always thinking, scheming, solving, but when it mattered most, her thoughts failed her.
“I love you,” Astrid said, saving Freya from whatever she’d been about to say. “I will always love you. I am worried it will have significant impact on my rule, but I do.”
“I’ll steer you back to logic if it ever does.”
In the dark room, Astrid’s eyes were shiny. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible someday.”
“When I die, you mean,” said Freya.
“Yes,” said Astrid. “It’s not fair. Your life is so much shorter than mine. It feels like a sign. That you’re…not meant for me.”
Freya squeezed Astrid’s hands—skin to skin, pulse to pulse. “I don’t feel that way at all,” she said.
