Siren Slave (7 page)

Ignoring the calls of her parents, she ran from the room and made her way to the soldiers’ barracks, where her real friends were. It would be best if she were surrounded by the warriors who knew she was Swan. Surely they would calm her and work out a plan for the far-distant days when she would be queen and Rome would suffer if they meddled with her.

Her powers frightened her a little. Oh, but not so much that she felt guilty about what she’d done to Pompey. She would do it again, maybe until his heart exploded in his chest. That was what frightened her. Some part of her had enjoyed his pain, but it was pitiful retribution for what he was doing to her people.

****

“Freya,” a Remi soldier bellowed as she entered the barracks. “We have a game of
hnefatafl
going. You’re just in time to be defeated by me in the next round.” Her warrior-friend, Berengar, laughed loudly at his own joke, but he frowned as she drew near. “What troubles you? You look as if you’re going to be sick. What happened in the market?”

Freya froze. There were several long tables and sleeping furs and weapons strewn about the windowless, rectangular chamber. She wanted to talk to the soldiers, the way she usually did, but tonight, she couldn’t. For the first time, she had no one she could confide in.

Hartwin, the prankster of the group, rose to take her arm. “Whoa, Frey, it’s all right. We’re here.” They escorted her into the back room, the one Berengar used for lecturing soldiers. It was also used for personal discussions with Freya, a place where she could say things she didn’t want heard by anyone else.

“Nothing a little ale won’t fix,” Faramund said, but he sounded uncertain.

The room was cool as always, underground, nestled amidst the rooms for storing weapons, food, and any other supplies, along with the cells.

There would be work in those cells for Swan tonight, even with Etainen and Pompey here. The executions and torture would not happen tomorrow. Releasing any pirate supporters would be risky, but these were her people and they were just as afraid as she was. She’d read of Roman torture methods. It was obvious Odilia planned the torture for Freya’s wedding day as yet another insult. Until now, Odilia had no idea how Freya felt about Rome, but she knew how Freya felt about blood.

Freya would use her magic to release the prisoners before they could be tortured. If her people were afraid of her powers, if they thought her a monster, at least they’d be alive to think it.

When Hartwin sat her down, Faramund placed a drink beside her. Each man sat on either side of her. She looked around the table at her friends, her three closest friends. Not quite the friends princesses usually had, but certainly more fun than the stuffy women who talked of sewing and never expressed opinions other than their favorite Roman fabric color. She loved these Remi warriors, yet she felt as if she were apart from them now that she had fey powers. But surely she could talk to them about at least a few of her worries. “I…I said something to Mother and Father, but I feel badly now.”

“Well, apologize,” Berengar said. “That’s usually the best thing for it. And usually you do just that. Why not this time?”

“I couldn’t apologize because I finally said it, the truth. I said I was ashamed of them for not standing up to Rome. I’m not blind. I’ve always known they’re Rome’s puppets. I am
ashamed
of them.”

That point had been driven home when Pompey grabbed her breast and no one around dared intervene, except Etainen. Not that her parents could have done anything at that moment, but an action like that should have had Remi warriors leveling spears at Pompey, not standing aside.

Did she feel so bold to speak of her parents like this because she knew they weren’t her real parents? No. Her fey parents didn’t have the guts to claim her as their own daughter.

“Because of the pirate threat,” Berengar said. “That Siegfried has—”

“I know what he’s done.” Freya growled. That sounded like a real growl, perhaps another strange effect of her powers. She didn’t need any more weirdness, not now. She continued on, not wanting to let anyone think about the feral sound. “He’s fought for truth and all that’s good and right. He is the beacon of—”

“I know you admire Siegfried, but when you have others depending upon you as your parents do, sometimes it is best to take the road of lesser resistance.”

“The Romans take and take and take,” Freya said, tears starting in her eyes. “The less we resist, the
more
they take. Siegfried is the only one who takes back.”

Pompey would have taken her if it hadn’t been for Etainen. She could’ve fought back, used her new power, but she would’ve enjoyed it too much, the feeling of not being helpless, of being able to intimidate.

“You should not be thinking on this, but thinking on your future husband,” Faramund said, in his usual calm tone. There it was again, talk of Siegfried turning to Etainen. What was the worst that happened if Siegfried didn’t come? She’d be married to Etainen. But somehow, that didn’t seem quite so hellish as it did before. Etainen was hardly the man she had imagined. She didn’t think he’d beat her, not that he could, not now that she was fey. He might protect her, as if he could do that, either. He had no idea about her immortal enemies.

Freya shook her head at Faramund. “Not a good argument. Why shouldn’t I be thinking of rebellion? Especially considering my future husband is nothing but a lousy playing piece on the Romans’
hnefatafl
board.” She was being hard on Etainen. It was difficult to imagine the man she’d seen being anyone’s playing piece.

“Please don’t tell me you were in the audience when Pompey was welcomed into the palace tonight,” Berengar said.

“Fine, I won’t. But that’s when I said what I said to Mother and Father. And stupid me mentioned Siegfried, too.”

Ale spluttered, tankards dropped, good ale wasted on stone.

Hartwin wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She was glad for the warmth. A chill had gotten into her because of the storm that hovered over Folkvang. The hair on her nape stood up.

“What happened? You’ve kept silent all this time,” Berengar said. “You’re going to have to mind your tongue with Etainen. You know he supports Rome. If he hurts you, we will see him dead, and then we will have war with Rome. I don’t know how readily King Vercingetorix would accept our help. You need to be wary of what you do and say, because they will not hesitate to be rid of you and appoint a new ruler.”

“I’ll just tell Vercingetorix that I’m Swan,” she said. “I’ll tell him I’ve been freeing his people.”

“You have to marry Etainen, Freya. If you don’t, it will insult the honor of the Remi,” Berengar said.

“Honor? We lost our honor a long time ago when we greased our asses with olive oil and spread our cheeks for Rome. My temper and outspokenness have always been a problem, only you’ve been my outlet for that. I don’t see myself suddenly curbing them when you’re not there. In fact, it is suddenly worse.”
Since I got my powers.

“There are other reasons why you might have difficulty with Etainen if he wants the, ah, conventional,” Hartwin said.

They’d discussed this before as well. Freya had always been curious about bed sport and intrigued. Her men had heard the tales she wrote about Swan and the hero she called Bow.

“That, too,” Faramund said. “If Etainen doesn’t have the ballocks to stand up to Rome for his people, then he probably won’t have them where Freya wants them, either. Maybe he’d run if he read one of those tales. There have to be better men who would want to pledge eternity to her.”

Faramund had no idea how literal eternity might be in her case.

“You must apologize to Pompey,” Berengar said. “Insist you’d had too much ale and were worried over your upcoming wedding and that you didn’t mean to take it out on him. You might add in that you and Odilia do not get along.”

Faramund raked his fingers through his hair. “I would venture if you speak kindly of Rome, you can probably save the match, at least for now.”

“You do this for your people,” Berengar reminded her. “Maybe you can slowly and carefully sway Etainen. Maybe you can stand against Rome together and join King Vercingetorix. At the very least, if you can’t sway him, if you appear loyal enough to Rome, you can find a way to continue giving Siegfried information about what Rome is doing. I imagine Etainen knows many Roman plans, maybe even more than your parents.”

Freya jolted with the knowledge that she’d be better able to help Siegfried from the position of Etainen’s wife. She’d be with Etainen in most of his audiences with Roman leaders if she pretended to be a loyal wife. She wouldn’t just be another princess, but his queen.

She grabbed the
hnefatafl
board. “Who wants to be my first victim?”

If she could not beat Pompey at the moment, she could at least beat someone in her favorite game.
Hnefatafl
would give her something to do with her thoughts and her hands. If she thought any longer, she really thought she’d just scream and tear at her hair.

****

“I’m pretending to be your lady’s maid, but don’t expect miracles,” the large-breasted woman said to Freya when she arrived in her chamber. Surly Kirsa, man-obsessed Kirsa, now had a surly, man-obsessed counterpart.

“Hedwig.” Freya grabbed her arm and pushed her onto the chaise lounge resting against the wall opposite the window. Why would she possibly be glad to see the Sea Witch? “You’re my new lady’s maid?”

“Yes. Your mother, the fey one, is seriously evil. Not as evil as I am, but close, if she got me to do this,” Hedwig said. “Drink. I’ve been. There’s some of that blueberry ale for you. I have my own beverage.”

Freya decided she ought to avoid alcohol at the moment, as she would soon be meeting with Etainen. She had already had more than she should have while playing
hnefatafl,
combined with what she’d already had in the audience with Pompey
.

Hedwig was looking around the room in obvious distaste. Her chamber was one small room in the so-called palace, with a smooth stone floor and was situated just above the audience chamber. The three-story edifice seemed large in comparison to the mud, wood, and leather structures erected by the other tribes. What were palaces like in the fey world? Judging from the look on Hedwig’s face, the Otherworld must have far grander things. Perhaps they were even five stories tall.

There was the lumpy mattress covered in furs against a wall. A wooden dresser with a mirror and wilted flowers atop it, and a stool sat opposite the bed. Another wooden cabinet, painted with flowers, housed her clothing, and underneath the clothing, her precious scrolls full of her tales about Swan and Bow. Small shells sat amongst more decaying flowers on the window sill that looked out at the river. On one wall was a drawing of Siegfried’s boat, the
River Queen,
on parchment, something she’d gotten from Ulf.

“Why haven’t one of you posed as a serving maid since I was a child? Wouldn’t that have made your tasks much easier?” Freya asked, crumpling a wilted flower in her fingers.

“I hate dealing with people. Did I mention that? Quite sure I have,” Hedwig said. “If I’d been stuck in this palace since you were a babe, I would have probably forgotten something important years ago, like not killing someone who irritated me.”

“That’s not a concern now?” With Freya’s lack of control, she’d retaliate against Hedwig in some awful way if Hedwig killed an innocent. She didn’t know Hedwig’s powers, but it could promise to be an insane battle that would raze Folkvang.
Would that be a bad thing considering the amount of Romans and Roman supporters inside?

“I’d concern myself if I were you. But if I make a mistake, you’d better make excuses for me. I’m here as a favor to you.”

Freya wanted to tell Hedwig to be careful, lest Pompey or Odilia decide her odd behavior was a sure sign she was a pirate. Instead, Freya sipped some of the blueberry ale. She was proving to be enough of a focus for the two. But if Hedwig’s attitude incited some ire, she probably deserved it for all her scornful remarks about Freya. Freya just hoped she’d be around to watch. What could or would the Sea Witch do to Pompey or Odilia?

“Oh, gods. You’re depressed now.” Hedwig rolled her eyes. She adjusted herself on the chaise so she was reclining. Her shoes now had heels again. “I’d tell you to go somewhere else or tell my sea beasts to eat you, but I’m not at home, unfortunately. So, let’s hear what’s bothering you.” It sounded like Freya’s troubles were the last thing Hedwig wanted to hear.

Freya decided to make her listen to every detail, just for the fun of punishing her. She told Hedwig all that had happened since she’d left the fey at the ruins.

“Who cares about a stupid pledge to Etainen? You’re the one who’s going to have to let him ride you from now until about fifty years from now. A pledge is worth that? And he is going to be really old in fifty years. Probably wrinkly. I know what Morrigan said, but…”

“What would you do?”

“Let’s see… First off, I’d show Pompous what to do with his orders and who really is in charge. Next, I’d do the same with Etainen. No, I’d just educate the two at the same time.” Hedwig licked her lips. “Then, I’d quit this place and avoid both men. If you want that Sig-Fry man, have at him. You can stop people’s hearts. Who’s going to want to fight that?”

“That is actually tempting. Why is that tempting?” Freya started to sit on the bed, then remembered it was filled with those boxes. She elected to stand over Hedwig, arms folded.

“You’re Hecate’s daughter. Don’t you ever feel the need to do what you want and be happy? That’s what Hecate does. Let me know if you also feel any sort of urge to reanimate the dead. I really wish you’d ended up with that power. That would have been fun. Have a few drinks, make a few people who died violent deaths come back to life, leave them at the homes of their murderers, or even send them to the Roman forum just for amusement. But Hecate doesn’t do things like that. Not since she had you.” Hedwig rolled her eyes.

“This doesn’t seem real to me. I don’t know what I’m doing, Hedwig. I just know how much this means to my parents, the human ones.”