Siren Slave (9 page)

Where in the hell was she getting this information? She looked like she sincerely believed it. Druids, human sacrifices, poisoned drink?
Cod?
So, Siegfried’s supporters were feeding her misinformation. It was looking more and more like her loyalties were to Rome.

“Anything else, Freya?” Pompey asked. “We’ll have Roman wine at your wedding feast, wine that’s not been opened.”

She sighed with relief. “Good. I hate to see good drink abused like that. Personally, ale-head the next morning is toxic enough without adding poison to it. Oh, and one other thing about Siegfried. Dry, red wine from Trier is his favorite, so he probably won’t poison that. In fact, he’ll probably steal it, so we should keep an extra watch on it if we have any.”

That much was true.

“I’ll put extra guards on the storage areas, men I trust,” Pompey said.

“I sent word to the cook,” Freya said. “Bertha. She’s going to make you a special brew to make you feel better. It might even be in your chambers by now.”

“Thank you, Freya,” Pompey said. “By the way, you aren’t supposed to wear purple.”

Freya glanced at Hedwig, leaning against the wall, a hand resting on the curve of an ample hip, low-lidded gaze fixed on Pompey. “I said she’s wearing purple. I burned that hideous piece of rubbish she was going to wear. If you want to take it up with me, feel free, Pompey. You could try to…discipline me.” She licked her lips and gave her hips a shake.

This made Pompey’s eyes glaze. “I might have to take you up on that offer. But, Freya, that color—”

“I can explain,” Freya said. “Hedwig knows purple looks best on me. Especially Tyrian purple. See how it brings out the frosty tones in my hair? No other shade does it like that. But I was having some concerns, losing sleep, especially with the Druids trying to kill me.”

“What do Druids and Tyrian purple have to do with each other?” Siegfried asked.

Freya sighed and rolled her eyes. “Isn’t the connection obvious? People always say you can’t take anything with you when you die. But people always say they see ghosts wearing clothing. I imagine it’d be really awkward if ghosts pranced around naked. Could you imagine waking up to some warrior standing over your bed, cock dangling? You might laugh or you might be afraid. But back to the actual point…I’ve concluded that ghosts are seen wearing the last thing they wore in life.”

“That…makes sense?” Pompey said.

“Right,” Freya said happily. “So if the Druids are successful, I want to wear Tyrian purple and a toga, because I just love Rome, forever and ever. I want people to think I’m the ghost of some long-dead Roman nobility. I thought about wearing one of those leafy crown things, too, but I can’t remember if they’re Greek or Roman.” She shrugged. “So, I settled on this winged band. This is why I’m wearing the toga. In case I die. So, I hope you’ll relent so I can sleep better and honor Rome in my death.”

Pompey was nodding at her indulgently and admiring both of the women. Siegfried had no idea how to react to Freya’s…logic. If that was the right word for it.

“I also wanted you to know that I think it’s really great, everything that Rome’s doing. In fact, I sleep better at night, a lot better at night, knowing that Rome’s protecting me from things like pirates.” She gave a whimsical sigh, her dark eyes turning glassy. “Rome, the beacon of freedom and justice, a bastion of civilization…”

There was just no way she was faking that. She droned on and on and on. Rome was this and that and everything “good and right.” She rambled on about their beautiful clothing, about how she admired Pompey for his work with pirates, and even complimented those ridiculous helmets.

“So, I hope you’ll forgive me,” she finally concluded.

“Yes,” her handmaiden said, though Siegfried doubted she was a maiden. “That Odilia’s a stupid bitch. She’s just jealous, because you’re cute and you’re marrying that what’s-his-name.”

“Oh, Hedwig, you haven’t met Etainen. This is my betrothed,” Freya said, gesturing at him. He wondered if Freya realized they hadn’t been officially introduced.

Freya grabbed Siegfried’s hands then. “I just know we’re going to be so happy together.” If her smile got any bigger, he thought her face would crack. “We have so much in common already. I can’t wait to talk to you about all things Rome.” She squealed in excitement, bouncing on her heels.

Hedwig steadied her before she fell.

If Freya would just keep silent, Siegfried thought she’d be pretty enough. He doubted silence was something she did very often. Hopefully she’d mind her silence when he handed her over to the king of the Gaul tribes.

“Think nothing of it, Freya,” Pompey said, patting her arm.

“I’m going to go read Ovid again. The
Metamorphoses
is my favorite tale. Well, next to Tacitus’
Germania.
He paints such an accurate description of tribal people. Fortunately, people like you, Pompey, are here to save us all from being uncivilized brutes.” She batted her lashes. “Thank you again.” She even gave Pompey a hug and a kiss on the cheek, which left Pompey with a smug smile.

Siegfried thought of some of the odd texts that had been passed to him through his channels, strange tales in soft but sturdy leather bindings. Different stories of the gods. Was Rome trying to manipulate their religion now? Combining the tribes’ gods with their own? The tone of the tales reminded him of Tacitus’ condescending tone as he wrote of the tribesmen.

“Wait,” Pompey said, halting Freya’s exit. “You can thank me properly tomorrow night. Etainen will be happy to let me be the first to sample your charms. I invoke the right of
primae noctis.
”

Freya spine went rigid. “Did my parents agree to that?”

“Of course, Freya. Are you—”

She squealed, beaming. “How wonderful. It would be an honor to be thoroughly swived by a man much older, whose put so much time into serving Rome and keeping us safe from ourselves and—”

“Look to me if you want to be swived until you’re cross-eyed and can’t walk for a sennight,” the maid said. She grabbed Freya and shoved her out the door, without so much as a “by your leave” to either Pompey or Siegfried.

This was followed by an “Oof. I’m bleeding again.” Where in the hell had her parents found that maid?

“A fine woman,” Pompey pronounced. “Both of them. At least you have a bride who’ll drink and game with you.”

“So you don’t want me to speak with her?” Siegfried raised a brow.

“By all means, don’t let me keep you from enjoying your betrothed. I look forward to enjoying her first.”

Siegfried wanted to spit out his wine. Just who or what was this princess who carried around double-ended phalluses, kissed like a whore, and was happy to bed Pompey? No one he wanted to be involved with.

****

Odilia gazed into her mirror and scowled at the vivid white streak running through hair she kept cropped, the square jaw that belonged more on a man than a woman, the bright red stain on her lips that made the rest of her skin seem even more pale. But she was not scowling at her reflection. She looked through her image, into the blackness beyond that swallowed the expanse of the looking glass.

Hecate had not appeared. All Odilia’s attempts to contact the powerful goddess had failed so far, but she had found other uses for the mirror. Odilia smiled and dribbled blood across the glass. An image took shape of Freya, sleeping on a triclinium couch. Her hair spilled over it while a maid brushed the pale tresses. Odilia tapped her chin as she inspected the scene.

Most likely, Freya was passed out after too much drink. She’d had so much in the audience chamber. Oh, she would make a fine specimen for Etainen this eve, with black circles under her eyes and her skin too red. Odilia laughed. No, Freya was not fit to be a queen at all, not after what she’d said about her parents in front of Pompey.

Freya had been completely wrong. All the Romans asked were slaves and money, a request easily granted.

The Remi would join Vercingetorix to stand against the Romans under Freya and Etainen, if Freya could sway him, if she batted her eyes enough. Odilia had never before thought Freya intelligent, not with her random, skittering observations and remarks. Now, Odilia knew. Freya truly hated Rome and the order it would bring. It made sense. Order and Freya had always been adversaries.

“Odilia,” a deep voice said from behind her.

She turned to see Pompey as she pulled the maroon cloth over the looking glass. The Roman had not even knocked. “Ah, General Pompey. I’m concerned. Clearly, Freya will not see reason. It is now more important than ever that we put a plan into effect. We cannot let this match proceed. We cannot risk that Etainen will not be able to tame her. Etainen might find a blade betwixt his ribs from her men if he does what he needs to control her.”

“I spoke with Etainen, but—”

“Her parents have tried to speak with her many times. Not on these matters, that I’m aware. But they tried to make her cease her gambling, drinking, sneaking into the market. Yet they haven’t accomplished even that. Now, you ask one of Rome’s hounds to tame another dog? Bah.”

“Freya apologized,” Pompey said quickly. “Rather sincerely. It seems you and she do not get along.”

“And you believe her? That woman has always been rebellious.”

Freya
apologized?
She had never so much as retracted a single statement that Odilia’s hair looked like the Roman men’s fashion, but her irritation with Pompey was tempered by the relief that he had not seen the image of Freya and her maid in the mirror.

“I believe you were wrong about her. Her loyalty seems true. In fact, it seems you and she work for the same goal, only she has no idea of our work behind the scenes.” He explained all Freya had told him, fighting a smile even.

“We are not bringing her in on our plots,” Odilia said. Freya had batted her lashes at Pompey, she just knew it. “We’ll keep her ignorant. But poison, I like poison to dispose of Adele and Iccius. If Siegfried isn’t going to do it, I will. Adele and Iccius are useful, but not as loyal as they need to be, else their daughter would not be as she is. Her poor blood is apparent.” She continued to stand in front of the mirror. “Let me hear our terms again.” There was no point in persisting in a fruitless argument. No matter the setbacks, one must focus on the future.

“If it turns out as you say, Rome will position you as ruler. Two-thirds of all children born will be given to us as slaves. Two-thirds of all the harvest and beasts, including the horses, shall also be given to Rome. And you shall have our protection. Of course, we’ll also get all the other prisoners who have roused suspicions by not conforming to our order.”

Odilia liked hearing the first part. She would rule Folkvang and the Remi. She could care less about the price. She would have what she wanted, and they would be a part of illustrious Rome. Besides, selling others into slavery would give her a chance to punish her enemies. Freya had to go, especially if she would not be Odilia’s puppet, as her parents had. That meant Etainen had to go, too. Odilia would not settle for anyone else ruling the Remi but herself.

When Pompey was gone, Odilia considered her plans. Freya’s misinformation about the poisoned drinks actually seemed like a very good idea. Where those mysterious assassins failed, Odilia would not. Poison the drink, all of it. She was above suspicion.

If she sacrificed the Remi princess, surely Dark Hecate would hear her and appear in her mirror at last.

****

“Get up. How are you asleep after only seven skins of ale?” Hedwig demanded, kneeing Freya in the ribs.

“Huh?” Freya said, frowning at the spot where a new bruise must be forming. “Can you stop abusing me? How long have I been asleep?”

“No, and long enough. That chieftain person isn’t coming to the midnight banquet, after all. Some servant was just here. I don’t really feel like answering the door, because there’s always someone on the other side.”

Freya pushed her hair from her face. “Then why did you wake me if we don’t have to go to that banquet?”

“It’s midnight. The night is still young. I want to go to the barracks. Soldiers. Men. You wanted to go there, too. If you don’t want to go, I’m still going.”

“You’re my maid now. Want to help me get ready?” She rubbed her brow. Her whole body was completely relaxed. Why wasn’t she sad? “Why do I feel strange?”

“Because I mixed some of my Delirious potion in with your ale. I saw you almost starting to cry when we left Pompous. I wasn’t certain if that was because of Ulf or me slamming you into the doorway. Your betrothed has a very nice ass. And no, I’m not helping you get ready. You might have lice or some shit. Do your own hair. I have to get myself ready.” Hedwig snorted and began dressing an exotic wig.

****

“This is my new maid, Hedwig,” Freya said to the warriors in the dark barracks. Despite the frequent scowls, eye rolls, and snorts of disgust she received from Hedwig, the presence of another fey was a comfort.

They began to play
hnefatafl
over drinks fetched by Faramund. The evening was passed in a peaceful manner until Cook Bertha entered, dusting off nonexistent crumbs from her apron. “Milady, you must leave.” Bertha had been struggling to keep Freya in line for as long as Freya could remember, which might have something to do with the streaks of gray through her dark hair. The poor woman had been charged with minding Freya, to teach her the womanly arts of singing, dancing, and sewing when others had given up out of sheer frustration.

Were the Druids back? At the slight worry—only slight, because she was, after all, surrounded by warriors and had the Sea Witch—there was a pang in her temples. Then the worry was gone.

“Why? Are we in danger?” Freya asked.

“Yes,” Hedwig said. “My wine is empty.”

Faramund ran to get her another.

“It’s Etainen,” Bertha said, wringing her hands. “The chieftain. Oh, dear. Oh, dear.” Nothing ever made Bertha nervous. Except Freya.

Freya stood. “Did something happen to him? Has there been an attack?” Another pang.

“No. If only. He is on his way here. He is going to see you gaming with the guards and soldiers.”