Siren Slave (13 page)

Siegfried missed the quick motion, but somehow the man’s blood was trickling from his wrist onto the stones. Volos dipped a finger into the blood, then traced a crimson line across his heart, the flesh revealed by a long tear in the tunic.

“He’s beautiful, Swan,” a woman with torn clothing said, staring at the silver-haired man.

Swan shook her head. Siegfried was filled with admiration. Most women would have jumped at such an offer. This Swan was strong in her convictions.

“So be it,” Volos said, rising. “You stay for your people. I can understand this. Perhaps it’s for the best, as I am a man of laws.” He took Swan’s shoulder in a familiar manner, leading her away from the others, nearer to Siegfried. “Yet, my debt is still unpaid to you.” He reached into his torn tunic and gave her some jewelry that had somehow been missed. With a sad sigh, he removed the diamond belt and handed it to Swan. “You keep my secret and I shall keep yours.”

Swan looked up at him in surprise.

Volos lowered his head to her neck, and Siegfried restrained himself from rising. He would if this Volos gave her any difficulty. Volos eyes half-closed as he inhaled. “You have a unique aroma, even under your perfume. I can already place who you are. Now, now, do not look so horrified. I will follow your instructions to lead these lawbreakers out of the cells to at least pay off some of this debt. More of the Romans mongrels are coming, so we must make haste.”

After he had lofted his Roman captive, Volos began directing the prisoners. Swan started to follow, then stopped.

She ran back, as if she’d forgotten. She scrawled a note with her left hand on a slip of parchment. This was left atop one of the five remaining Romans. Siegfried had heard she always left a note.

After they rounded the corner, Siegfried rose to trail them. He watched from behind each corner they passed.

She led them to the barracks and gave a nod to Faramund and Berengar.
Faramund and Berengar?
He hadn’t thought they’d betray their Roman-loving princess to help a rebel like Swan. But sometimes principles were stronger than friendship. He knew that well.

“Hartwin’s at the back of the grain cellar, ready to let them out,” Berengar said. “Hurry. All of you, get the hell out of here.”

So, all of Freya’s closest friends were working for Swan? They would chafe at Rome’s bit more than the princess, who was isolated from most of it, wouldn’t they? Their families would not be spared from Rome’s brutality. He was very grateful to these men.

“If any of you speak with Siegfried,” Berengar said, “ask him why he didn’t stop this farce of a wedding. If he’s planning on something, he’d best hurry.”

****

Siegfried straightened his fur cape, bound with a medallion of beaten gold in the shape of a Roman eagle. Then he straightened it again, even though he did not need to do so. But two was a nice, even number. He surveyed himself in the looking glass and decided he looked like a proper Cimbri chieftain.

All through the day, the Romans had been seeking the deserter who assisted Swan. Apparently, her note had been detailed. Why should he be surprised? Swan’s actions had also managed to postpone the wedding for another day. There would still be a feast this night, but Odilia and Pompey wanted to round up a new set of prisoners for wedding day executions, it seemed. To what gods would these people be sacrificed?

He grimaced and stepped away from the mirror. He thought of his beloved sea and the vessel that carried him to freedom. The people of this land who also believed in freedom needed him to continue his ruse as Chieftain Etainen. That was the thought that helped him to step from his chambers, pull on the door handle twice to make certain it was fully closed, and put one foot in front of the other until he reached the dining hall. He had already marked every exit of the palace, lest any discover more than he would like. Perhaps he should use one of those exits before he was saddled with Freya for the rest of his life.

The thought was tempting. But was it as tempting as having her lips on his, ass grinding against his cock?

****

“You’re going to be late,” Kirsa said as she pulled the brush through Freya’s hair.

“Look at her hair,” Hedwig said. “Etainen can wait until her hair isn’t sticking out like tentacles.” The Sea Witch was actually helping Freya with her hair. Granted, she was cursing the entire time, but it was more than Freya had expected.

Kirsa rolled her eyes and continued brushing. “It would have been done already if someone didn’t insist on it being brushed five hundred times.” She shook her own red hair out of her eyes. “Hedwig, you’ve said everything I’ve done to style her hair hasn’t looked right.”

“Because it hasn’t,” Hedwig said. “I’m not taking the blame if she looks like she just weathered a hurricane on her wedding night.”

“Then why don’t you do her hair?” Kirsa brandished the brush, as a warrior might wield an axe.

“That’s your job. You’ve been a lady’s maid for a long time. So, lady’s maid away.” Hedwig waved a hand at Kirsa.

Freya hardly cared. Siegfried had not shown up. Last night, despite the mercy Etainen had shown her when he thought she was a peasant of Folkvang, his actions had proven he was still as willing to obey Rome as Odilia was. Why was she so disappointed?

A body flew through the window, slamming Freya and Hedwig to the stone floor. A knife followed him, smashing the mirror, scattering shards across the wooden dresser among the wilted petals.

“Again? Really?” Freya pulled herself from beneath the man. Balder. How had he gotten this high? And… She sat up. “Why am I a target?”

“Are you well?” Balder helped her to her feet, blue gaze searching her for wounds. After perusing her, he assessed the wellbeing of his golden lyre, tucked tightly under his arm.

“As well as I can be when I can’t even get my hair done without having someone throw a blade at my head. Maybe they agreed with Hedwig.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Kirsa whirled on Freya. “You don’t jest when knives are being thrown at you.”

“Freya does. All the time,” Balder said. “It lightens the situation. I can appreciate that. Circumstances don’t change whether your heart is heavy or light.”

These fey knew far too much about her.

“Who are you, anyway?” Kirsa demanded, unable to hide the appreciative glance that made Balder blush. “How do you know Freya? Are you her lover?”

A hooded shape like those she’d seen hurling knives at her in the garden soundlessly flew through the smashed window, quickly followed by another. They landed lightly atop the bed, then grunted. Freya would have to ensure someone felled the pines outside her window.

“What’s in this mattress?” one man muttered. “The princess sleeps on rocks?”

If the situation hadn’t been dire, Freya might have laughed at a couple of assassins taken down by boxes of sex toys.

“Get out of here, all of you,” Balder yelled. He pushed Freya toward Hedwig. “I’ll handle these Druids. Somehow.” He moved the lyre before him, beginning to coax a melody from the shining strings.

Freya frowned. He was seriously going to sing? She didn’t know whether to laugh or flee. Her brain was torn between awaiting the reactions of the assassins to Balder’s “handling” of the situation or running to avoid possibly getting stabbed.

Hedwig yanked Freya against her. “You heard the man. Let’s get our asses out of here.”

Freya was nearly too surprised to move. Another knife flew from one of the man’s hands, embedding deep into Kirsa’s back.

Kirsa staggered a few steps, her eyes confused. Realization followed, then pain before she fell. Freya tried to run to Kirsa, but Hedwig dragged her toward the door.

“She’s dead, Freya. Unless you have your mother’s reanimation powers, there’s not much you’re going to do.”

“But Kirsa—” She couldn’t speak further because Hedwig poured potion down her throat as they ran. Delirious. Really? Was now the time?

“Was a bitch,” Hedwig finished, not even the slightest tinge of remorse. “Just drink the damned Delirious so you don’t think, and do as I say.”

Freya let Hedwig steer her along the corridors, still unable to shake the image of Kirsa’s shocked expression, the trickle of blood that had begun in the corner of her pink lips…

“Soldiers,” Hedwig shouted as they ran. “Come help us. We’re being attacked by men with knives.”

Unfortunately, those behind them were quicker, even with the hoods that covered their eyes. How could they do that? Not being able to see? The robes were long. Freya knew from experience that robes were difficult to run in. So were gowns. Hedwig must have read her mind and somehow used magic, because Freya’s gauzy purple toga was immediately shortened to the knees.

“Your mother is going to argue with me if you die,” Hedwig said. “You work on getting away. At least you figured out how to shorten your dress, but, uh, I’m going to stay here. Use your swan form. Fly.” She shoved Freya in the direction they were already running. “And do that Blood Call thing if it gets too rough. Man up, woman.”

“But my tri—” Then Freya was alone.
Swan form. Swan form.
She tried to focus, closing her eyes to assist and ran smack into a wall. She rubbed her bruised forehead and turned.
Focus—but with eyes open. You’re obviously not as accomplished as the Druids at running around blind.

Her heart raced, but she could feel the beginning of feathers on her arms. Her arms were wings for a moment, but they flickered back to human arms.
This is so not working.
She tried not to think how goofy she looked when her arms became wings again. This allowed her to take a few huge leaps toward the staircase. At least that was an improvement. But why couldn’t she get the damned wings to grow from her back again?

“Freya,” Berengar cried, running up the stairs toward her, his sword drawn. “You have…wings?”

“Sort of.” Her arms were still flickering back and forth as the distance closed between them. She skidded to a halt in front of Berengar. Hopefully her arm-wing problem would not prevent him from assisting her. “Hedwig needs help. Druid assassins. Kirsa’s dead. No time to explain.” That thought sent pain lancing through her skull. Maybe if she tried to think positively. But what was so positive about sharp objects flying at one’s back?

I could find out how many knife wounds it takes to die. People must wonder about that.

To her relief, Berengar sped past her, ran down the hall she had come from, and she heard the clash of steel. Was Hedwig still alive if the Druids had made it this far?

She heard footsteps and glanced over her shoulder. Big mistake. Five hooded figures pursued her. The lightning bolts were back, her vision going black, then clear again.

She did not stop as she neared the great hall, blindly finding her way and only after stumbling thrice. Hedwig and Balder still had to be alive, if the druids had not caught up to her after that many falls. There was a happy thought that didn’t make it seem as if someone was ramming a hot iron repeatedly into her temples.

She flung open the wooden double doors and didn’t bother trying to keep the wings any longer.

“Freya, you—” her mother started.

Oh. The wings were still there?
This is awkward.

Freya’s vision lasted long enough for her to see everyone gaping at her as she hurried to the other end of the great hall decorated for the wedding. She heard the boots and swishing robes of Druids still behind her. A knife flashed past her, then another lancing pain in her skull.

She tumbled and was surrounded by pastries, wings disappearing. But those pastries, they were irresistible despite the danger. Damn Hedwig’s potion.

“Ooh, honeyed bread.” Freya grabbed one as she struggled to rise. “Why are they called pastries? Is it because the honey makes some sort of paste, and—ow!” Not only had the pastries fallen, but so had the candles shaped like gods. The lightning bolts behind her eyes blanked out the pain and delirium ensued. “Isn’t it weird that the one incinerating my leg looks like Woden?” The one shaped like Nerthus had lost her feet in the fall.

A dagger pinged off her winged band. The pain in her head was back, so bad her stomach roiled. She doubled over, hearing another dagger whiz above her.

Her vision cleared, and she saw someone had patted out the flames. A Druid was dead at her feet, two arrows in his skull. Etainen stood in front of her, bow in hand. Siegfried used a bow. Did she like Etainen because of his similarities with Siegfried?

Do I still like him? I thought I’d decided I didn’t. But here he is, saving me again.

“Move your ass,” Hedwig ordered, teetering into the hall, both of her heels broken. “What are you doing on the ground?”

“Potion. Not helping,” Freya said. “Make the lightning bolts stop. I’m gonna be sick.”

“Here.” Hedwig reached into the silver and green fish-scale satchel on her hip and flung a wineskin at her. “It’s just blueberry ale, no Delirious involved.” It hit Freya right in the middle of her forehead. “Go. Drink and run at the same time. You can do that, right?”

Freya nodded and picked herself up. Was Odilia grinning while everyone else in the hall screamed for their lives? Freya could not ponder that. Not now. She fled to the balcony, grabbing the wineskin strap in her teeth before her arms became wings once again. She leapt, managing to become a swan for a few seconds. She transformed again as she hit the earth.

She stumbled to her feet again, wishing she could take the Roman sandals off. She didn’t have time to undo all the lacings. She ran, hoping she did not trip as she guzzled the ale. When she’d finished, the wings were back again, helping her take great leaps. They gleamed in the moonlight, carrying her over the obstacles in her path. The white light also illuminated two dark shapes climbing over the balcony, and more hooded figures emerged from the trees.

Well, this is a lot of Druids.

She continued on, blades whizzing over her head. Wind began to whip about her. She shivered. Would there be a storm? The wind, at least, was helping to deflect the knives and daggers.

****

Siegfried removed his arrow from the last Druid to fall. He’d been glad to use his bow rather than the twin blades strapped to his back. Archery had always been his forte. He whirled on Queen Adele and Chieftain Iccius, who appeared just as astonished as he.