Siren Slave (12 page)

At last, Swan was ready to take on her most difficult job yet. No one would see her until she reached the dungeons. This “stone hut” of a palace had a few small passages used for servants, and Freya knew which ones would and would not be used.

****

Odilia jolted awake at the tinkling of glass scattering across the stones. She remained still in her bed, but the keep was now silent. That should not be. Her guards should be going to ascertain the source of the shattering sound.

More breaking glass. The sound was definitely coming from within her quarters.

She pushed the furs aside, grabbed the top one to wrap around her, and rose. She walked to the solar, where the large looking glass stood, propped against the wall. The other looking glasses had been destroyed, their frames empty, silvery entrails spilled across the stone in the moonlight. She clutched the fur tight.

“Odilia,” a voice said.

She took a step back. Was the mirror talking to her? True, she had known of such magic for a long time. She was a sorceress, able to concoct potions and cast spells on mirrors. Yet, those mirrors were not supposed to actually speak to her, not unless she’d finally succeeded…

“I am here,” she said, bowing her head.

“Then we have your attention.” The voice was raspy, neither male nor female.

She slowly approached the mirror. Her slippered feet stepped upon the shards, grinding them further into oblivion under her bulk.

Her reflection was swallowed by shadows bleeding across the glass. The darkness coalesced into a shape, the silhouettes of Odilia’s furniture behind it. It had no eyes, no mouth, naught—only a dark figure. Odilia fought the urge to cry with joy. One of the gods had responded.

“Freya must be destroyed,” it said.

“Yes. That is my goal as well.” Her heart fluttered. This was what she had been waiting for.

The shape, as if suddenly illuminated by the sun, became the loveliest visage she had ever seen. Her breath caught, watching the beautiful one. Not Hecate as she’d hoped. No, this personage was very male. Male enough to make her desire him physically if she had such desires.

“Call me the Beautiful One. It is what you were thinking,” he said.

“Why do you want Freya dead?” she managed when she was able to speak through her dry throat.

“She is more powerful than you think,” he said. “You will have to take care. We must harness that power and destroy her as we do.”

“However much power she has, she drinks alcohol as a fish drinks water. I simply need to poison the ale. That will also take care of most of the guards and soldiers.”

He laughed. “No, no poisoning her unless she will not submit. And I think she will. I have proven methods.”

“How can you do that? I…I do not doubt you.” She bowed at the waist. “I want to learn what you would teach me, to do your work.” She straightened, forcing herself to breathe.

“Your greatest risk is being discovered. Take one of the mirror shards from the floor. Use it. You will be able to view others reflected in any other mirror. This should help you see. We are going to assist the Druids I’ve sent.”

“You sent the Druids? I wasn’t actually going to do this myself. I was going to give a servant the task.”

“It must be you, sorceress. You and my mirror magic. Oh, come now, you didn’t think you were managing that on your own. I’ve watched you for a long time. We cannot risk failure.”

“Spying on everyone through mirrors… If I had the ability to do that in all the Remi lands—”

“I’ve given you the ability to see anyone anywhere through your mirror, anyone in front of any mirror of human metal as you need it to accomplish this task.”

When the Beautiful One was gone, Odilia splashed more blood on the mirror and looked into Freya’s bedchamber. The new maid was reclining on a triclinium couch. She tapped a heel impatiently against the edge of the teal cushion. There was a heap of blankets atop the bed, concealing a most likely drunken Freya.

The maid glared at the empty bottle of wine, then stood up and began to empty Freya’s drawers. The maid grimaced at the clothing, tossing it onto a pile. A few items received a nod and were placed back into the drawers. She removed what appeared to be a scroll. A wicked smile spread across her face as she read.

Odilia knew that lusty look, for she had seen it on others enough times. What had Freya written on those scrolls?

****

Siegfried sipped watered wine with one of the Roman guards. He wondered if the real Swan would show tonight. The Remi dungeons were filled. Security had been tightened and suspicion had grown, as the wedding drew nigh. Swan did her part and did it well, but she would be no match for this many Romans. Remi guards were one thing, and she might have friends among them who let her pass, some of those same men he’d played games with tonight might be faking their friendship with Freya.

Siegfried knew already that the locks on the cells had been changed from the complaints of a Remi warrior who had assisted with the project. His goal now was to distract the guards if Swan did come. He spoke loudly, as if he were drunk, making callous jests about the barbarians. He’d seen the bottles of Delirious at the top of Hedwig’s satchel. He had slipped some into the guards’ wine when heads were turned. As they drank, Siegfried had begun to stride along the cells, loudly taunting the prisoners. He needed to keep up this act and remain above suspicion.

He tried not to count his steps as he waited, idly tossing more insults at the prisoners, ignoring the chunks of bread the guards chucked at the unfortunates. He did not want to start counting lest he end on a bad number, like six.

Some of the people in the cells were no more than children. A few women bore bruised faces and clothing torn so that it barely concealed them. It was difficult not to signal for his crew to invade the town and engage the Romans tonight.

Swan, it seemed, had good timing. The guards were alternating between admiring the stitching on their robes and clutching their heads. Some had even wandered away when Siegfried heard the click of heels on stone—in the opposite direction of the stranger’s approach. The footsteps stopped just around the corner.

Siegfried could not risk revealing himself to Swan tonight. If she were caught, she’d know too much, but he’d done his best to protect her. He didn’t think she was in any danger from the guards. Most were drooling. He’d probably given them too much of the potion.

He leaned against the wall, as if unable to stand. “All you…all you barbarian dogs.” He pointed at a torch instead of the prisoners and wobbled. “You’re…you’re going to…to…” He slid down the wall to land on his ass and let his head fall to the side.

“Barbarian dogs?” a prisoner at the end of the corridor snapped. The man’s voice was cultured, an accent Siegfried didn’t recognize, but it was slurred from drink. “I suggest you examine your reflection in a looking glass, you inane waste of breath. You are assuredly a mongrel of the worst—”

A guard tossed his wine goblet down the hall. “Shut up. Unless you want a beating.”

“Oh, please do attempt it,” the unseen man drawled. “I was inebriated before, but my senses return. I would gladly embrace the opportunity to generously give in kind for your crude, clumsy assault on my noble personage.”

“Too much to drink, Etainen?” a guard asked, examining a jeweled ring on his finger. “I like rubies. Can see my reflection in the stones. I think. Vision is blurry. Feel a little sick.” He grabbed at his head. “That man keeps giving me a headache. A very bad one.”

Siegfried didn’t answer, just fell onto his side. He watched the guards continue to mumble through his lowered lashes. There was a quick thud, then another, and the guards nearest him crumpled. He followed the curve of a black boot made of some material he’d never seen, up and up, over the muscular calves to above the knee. Swan wore something similar to a toga, slit up the sides to give her legs room to move and clinging to her ass. Black pearl combs held curling red tresses back from her face, which was covered below the eyes with a thin veil. Eyes painted in silver appraised the situation.

Quick footsteps along an adjoining corridor. Voices. A guard stepped around the corner. His hand immediately went to his blade, and Siegfried wanted to curse.

“Why are you sleeping? On your feet now,” the man barked, two more sober men coming to flank him on either side. Two drugged guards struggled to their feet, wiping drool from their mouths as they assisted each other.

Siegfried would have to intervene. He started to stir while her attention focused on her adversaries. They were much bigger than the small-framed woman. He’d just have to kill them all. There were four besides the two that remained unconscious, because Rome seemed to love six. But with him and Swan here, that made eight.

The end of her staff rammed a Roman in the gut then slammed into another’s kneecaps. A spinning back kick caught another in the jaw, sending his head against the wall. She landed in a crouch, brandishing the staff as she faced the last. The crouch also revealed an enticing view of white thighs. Aye, he’d been much too long without a woman. He bit his tongue to curb the thoughts of those pale thighs wrapped around his hips as she lay beneath him, her bloodstained staff resting against the wall of his cabin.

He forced his attention to the woman, content to watch until she needed assistance. She jumped, pushing herself from the crouch and tossing the staff aside as she delivered a punch to the Roman’s shoulder with her left fist, following it up with a blow on the back of the Roman’s exposed neck with her right.

At some point, Siegfried realized he had stopped breathing. He’d rarely seen men fight with that much speed and force. Who was this Swan? What sorts of positions would that body be able to handle?

She surveyed her work before giving her hair a toss then retrieved the staff and gave it a spin. She stopped over Siegfried before giving him a hard kick in the ribs. He should have expected as much if she’d heard him railing at the prisoners.

“Swan?” one of the prisoners asked.

She shook the key over her head. She was excited to be here. She was having fun. But how had she gotten the key? He’d thought Swan would be an expert at lock-picking.

When she’d unlocked the first cell, she held both hands up palms forward and shook her head.

“You want us to stay put?” someone asked. Swan pointed at the people, then the wall. “Can you not speak?”

She gave another shake of her head, knocking loose a few more of the curling red strands. She grabbed the man by the shoulders and steered him against a wall, then made the “stay” motion with her hands again. She tossed her hands in the air and proceeded to unlock more cells.

There was a long-suffering sigh from a far cell. “Swan, do finish what you’re doing and release me from this vile, stinksome hovel.”

“Volos, quit your whining,” Siegfried heard the poor man in the cell with the noble snap.

Swan cast a glance over her shoulder at the speaker, then opened every cell before that one.

“You, you did that on purpose, abandoned me to languish,” Volos said when the cell was unlocked. Siegfried tried not to chuckle.

“She just granted you a stay of execution,” snapped a man at this Volos character.

Volos did not look like the underweight noble Siegfried had expected. The man strode proudly from the cell, his knee-length silver
hair floating behind him, the sheen somehow not dulled from the dungeon grime. His clothes had not fared so well. The black leather breeches were torn, as if from a battle, yet the visible skin was intact. His silver tunic, of some unknown material was streaked with red. “Yes, and I am grateful for that. Undoubtedly, of course.” He headed straight for the Romans, ignoring Swan’s frantic gestures. His movements were that of a skilled warrior—light on his feet, alert. Siegfried made ready to leap.

Volos knelt swiftly and picked up a guard with one hand. The Roman looked at him from above his busted mouth. “Next time you arrest someone, ensure he is a lawbreaker.” He tossed the Roman away with a sound of disgust before wiping his well-manicured hands on a commoner’s tunic. Then he looked at the commoner’s sweat-stained garb and sighed.

The thrown Roman’s head hit the stone with crack, blood flowing down the man’s nape in a thick river. Volos’ nostrils flared, but he turned his attention to Swan.

“Kind-hearted outlaw, where is it these mongrels keep the items they’ve confiscated?” he asked sweetly. “I have had my person subjected to all sorts of abuse, not the least of which was having my heirlooms pilfered.”

Swan strode toward a barred door. She unlocked it and let the long-haired man rummage until he found a long silver scepter with a large ruby adorning the end and a diamond-studded leather belt. Siegfried thought that whoever this Volos was, wherever he was from, he might make a fine match for a princess like Freya.

“On second thought, I shall take a Roman for my troubles.” Volos easily hefted the bleeding man over his shoulder, a smile playing on his lips. “Very well, I am ready. We may leave now. Here is a gold piece for you, Swan. Do not mention you ever saw me here.”

She silently accepted it, then proceeded to usher the people out with wild hand motions.

“Ah, wait,” Volos said, taking Swan’s shoulder. “I can do nothing for whatever these dogs may have done to you, fair savior, but I owe you more than a gold piece.”

Guilt hit Siegfried hard in the gut. The Romans must have cut out her tongue. He’d always heard she was talkative. Yet another woman suffering for her very real support of him, just like Julia. He should’ve sent someone to collect Swan before she endangered herself further. But what of the lives she’d saved? There were never many easy answers in his line of work, were there? It would also be a shame for the rebellion to lose such a skilled warrior.

Volos let his Roman captive tumble off his shoulder, onto the damp stone, then fell to one knee, his silver hair fanning about him to whisper against the stones. He struck the area over his heart with a fist. “I, Volos, of the noble and prestigious House of Jarilo, do hereby extend an invitation to the mysterious Swan to join me in a reprieve from this lawless life in repayment for the blood debt that I now do owe.”