by Lucy Roy
With a sigh, she drank down the dregs of her tea, wincing at the bitter taste of the leaves that had found their way through the infuser.
“It will be alright, Freya.” Ana stared down at her own cup. “When you go… it will be alright.”
“I know it will,” Freya muttered.
Chapter 2
Freya was woken several hours later by rough shaking and her aunt hissing in my ear.
“Freya, wake up! There’s been an attack!”
Freya bolted out of bed, her mind instantly alert as she lunged toward her armoire.
“Where?” She flung the wardrobe’s doors open and pulled out a fresh pair of leathers and began tugging them on. “Was it draugs?”
“Yes, at Keranal’s,” Ana replied breathlessly.
Freya paused in the middle of fastening her jacket. “Draugs attacked a tavern? What in heavens for?”
Ana shook her head. “Not a clue, but the marshals are there now and there are at least a dozen patrons injured. Ashton just called for you. Do you need me to come?”
“No, stay here. If I need any backup, I’ll send for you.”
“Alright. Be safe, Freya.”
Once her protective gear was secure, Freya stepped onto the front porch and let out her wings, leaping into flight and shooting toward the tavern she’d been dragging raucous drunks toward the marshals’ wagon not three hours prior. She did a quick loop around the area to check the side streets for any movement before landing silently in front of the small building.
A marshal stood a few feet from the door, a male called Gideon, who she’d been friends with since she began working with them four years ago.
“What do you have?” she asked him.
He jumped at her sudden and silent appearance. “Freya! You startled me.”
She flashed him a quick grin. “Apologies. My aunt said you called for me?”
He nodded gravely, then jerked his chin toward the door. “Ashton is just inside. I think he’s waiting for you.”
Nodding her thanks, Freya stepped through the doorway and cast her eyes around the darkened establishment. The smell of old ale mixed with death assaulted her nostrils as she stepped further inside, causing her face to scrunch. The stench was forgotten as she took in the scene before her, though. Ana’s report had been accurate—there were about a dozen patrons bearing injuries of an attack. A few clutched their heads, no doubt thanks to hard blows, while others were pressing rags against seeping wounds.
“Ah, Freya.” The warm voice of Ashton Carinald, one of Watoria’s five senior marshals, reached her. She and Ashton had become friends not long after she moved to Watoria when she was thirteen. Three years her senior, he’d been the first to suggest she train with the marshals. Their friendship teetered on the edge of romantic at times, but considering her imminent departure from Watoria, she tried very hard to keep from giving him any type of false hope.
She frowned as he approached. “How long ago was this?”
He dragged a hand through his blond curls and blew out a breath as he gazed around them. “Maybe three hours ago, so far as we can tell.”
“Three hours? How—” She huffed out a breath though her nose. “They were entranced?”
Ashton shook his head. “Poisoned. We found a vial of widow venom on the ground outside and the doors were locked. They’re only just waking up.”
Frowning, she began to make her way around the room, examining the patrons as she went. She crouched down beside a witch with skin pale as chalk who was clutching her heart.
“May I see?” she asked gently.
The female nodded and pulled her hand away, revealing four vicious claw marks across her chest, the edges hard and blue.
“I didn’t see much.” Her lips trembled as she struggled to meet Freya’s gaze. “I felt the hit, then it all went black.”
“These are draug claw marks,” Freya said, glancing up at Ashton briefly before continuing. “It may take a bit longer to heal, but give it a few hours and you should be good as new,” she told the female with a smile.
The female returned her smile, and Freya gave her hand a squeeze before shifting position so she could get a better look at the male bear shifter slumped on the floor beside her.
She assessed the large gash across his neck and gave him a questioning look. He grimaced, then nodded and tilted his chin up.
Touching a finger to the male’s jaw, she nodded. “These are draug marks as well. Slightly different, though. A bit more jagged than hers,” she said, indicating toward the female. She winced and lightly touched the edge of the wound. “Have you tried shifting to heal yourself?”
The male nodded. “It was the first thing I did, but my strength still hasn’t returned.”
Freya gave him an encouraging smile. “Give it time. I know how painful draug venom is.”
“A pack was seen roaming the outlands a few days ago,” Ashton informed her. “They emptied the till and relieved all patrons of their valuables before leaving.”
Freya gave a hum of annoyance and stood, wiping her hands on her pants as she turned to face him. “I killed one earlier. It was climbing over the bulkhead across from the fishery. He was alone, though.”
“What did you do with the body?” Ashton asked sharply.
“I dumped him in the ravine.” She cocked her head to the side, her lips quirking. “He made a nice crunch when he landed.”
Ashton ran a hand over his face and shook his head. “Considering how strictly Caelora guards the Jotunheim border, don’t you think it would have been wise to report that when it happened?”
Freya’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t the first time Jotnar draugs have gotten into our lands. Caeloiran knights are strong, but until they agree to send more support to the coast, draugs and their ilk will continue to come in by sea. And as I said, I dealt with it.”
“And you’re certain he was alone?”
“Yes.”
Ashton’s brow lifted in question.
“Yes, Ash, I am certain he was alone,” she said with a smirk. “They’re defensive creatures. If he had others with him, they would’ve come after me. That and he was talking about dragging me back to Jotunheim in exchange for a handsome reward. It’s unlikely he would’ve been willing to share such wealth.”
Ashton chuckled darkly. “I would’ve paid to see that fight.” He scanned the patrons around them. “Is there a chance this could be payback, then?”
Freya’s eyes widened at his insinuation. “You think this is my fault?”
He shifted his stern gaze back to her, and a small muscle in his jaw twitched. “I think retaliatory attacks are something draugs are known for, considering their defensive nature.”
Freya blew out a small breath to keep herself from delivering Senior Marshal Ashton Carinald a backhand worthy of his title.
“If that were the case,” she said slowly, “they would’ve come after me and Aunt Ana, not a bunch of people I don’t know.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Are you certain you killed it?”
“I stunned it and sliced its neck with my own feather. It’s dead as a goddamn doornail.”
Ashton’s warm brown eyes ran over her face, then cast a glance toward the door where another officer had just entered and gestured for her to follow him outside.
When they stepped into the cool night air, his expression softened, and he brushed a thumb across her cheek. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for it to seem as though I don’t trust your judgement.”
“Apology accepted.” She grinned, then backed away when he tried to reach for her and pull her closer. “I’ll do a few more sweeps around the city and let you know if I find our assailants. And, if it will ease that pretty mind of yours, I’ll also confirm that the body I dropped earlier remained where I left it.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, one that melted the bit of annoyance she’d allowed to creep in.
Once outside, she stormed away from the buildin
g, frustrated at the turn the night had taken. With a leap, she was airborne, banking hard to arc over the nearby buildings. She flew down dark alleys and streets, her wings pinned to her body, cutting through the air soundlessly. Keeping her eyes and ears peeled for any sort of disturbance, she did a thorough air patrol of the North Ward, moving next into the East Ward’s marketplace, and, finally, the residential neighborhoods that dotted the Southern and Western Wards.
As she continued her sweep, her concerns seemed to be valid. A few drunks stumbling home, a couple fornicating behind the town hall, and a few vagabonds settling in for the night under a bridge were the only activity she saw. When she glided over the outermost neighborhoods, her worry grew. If the draugs had already fled the city, there was little chance they’d be caught.
When she’d covered the rest of the city, she turned eastward, aiming for the spot where the sun was beginning to lighten the sky. In the soft glow of dawn, the deep ravine appeared like a thick black line drawn in the ground around the city. Banking low, she eyed the surrounding area carefully. It was unlikely any draugs in the area would attempt to recover their fallen comrade, but it wasn’t in Freya’s nature to assume anything of those creatures, wretched as they were. The Jotnar were, on the whole, quite intelligent and not unlike the Linds, although the lower strata of their society—draugs, huldra, and their ilk—couldn’t make that same claim. They ran on instinct and greed, which was often more than enough to get them killed.
Rubbing her fingers together, she blew on them, forming a soft ball of glowing light that illuminated the air around her as she descended into the darkness. Coming to a silent stop, she held the light at shoulder-height and looked around.
The draug was just as she’d left him—dead, his body broken, the boulders he’d fallen on coated with blood and whatever muck had spilled when his flesh tore on contact with the sharp granite.
Annoyed that Ashton’s words had caused her to question her own methods, Freya pulled a vial of accelerant from the pouch at her waist and cracked it open, pouring the contents over the thing’s ruined body. She flicked the small light that still glowed in her hand downward, setting the corpse ablaze. After watching for a few moments as the green flames slowly turned the draug to ash, she took to the air for what she hoped would be the last time for the night. She’d check in with Ashton later in the morning, but for now, she wanted—needed—rest.
Freya landed quietly on the cobblestone street in front of her house, keeping her steps silent as she ascended the stairs toward the front door. She knew it would be of little use—if she knew her aunt, Ana had refused to go back to sleep until she knew Freya was home and safe in her own bed. At times, it annoyed Freya that her aunt had fallen so effortlessly into the role of mother after her own had died. But despite Ana’s softer nature, she was nearly as good a fighter as Freya, having been subject to the same training regimen in her youth, centuries ago. Unlike Freya’s father, though, Ana hadn’t followed the same path most of their kind did, by entering the military or law enforcement field. Instead, she’d chosen medicine, acting first as a physician in the field for Lindoroth’s royal army, then as a traveling physician in Watoria, a job that kept her aunt busy most days.
Freya turned the knob as quietly as she could, hoping in vain she could avoid the annoying screech that almost always sounded halfway through a full turn. Much to her dismay, the old mechanism squealed, sharply announcing her entry.
When she stepped through the foyer and into the kitchen, she came to a halt, her eyes widening, then narrowing to slits as she took in the scene before her.
Her aunt sat at the table, a look of resignation on her face, her hair rumpled as if she’d actually attempted to get back into bed. A fresh cup of steaming tea sat in front of her. Four males, slender and resplendent in their gold-adorned navy blue uniforms, stood at attention in the four corners of the room, the white epaulets and bronze shields pinned to their lapels identifying them as Iladel’s palace knights. The crest of House Harridan, Lindoroth’s ruling family, was carved into the metal—two large, golden lynx reared on their hind legs in mid-battle. Each guard wore a longsword at one hip and an onyx-handled dagger at the other.
Freya’s nose twitched as she took in their scents, the sharp, earthy smell identifying them as wolf shifters, the type most commonly employed by the monarchy.
A fifth male, tall and foreboding, with dark brown hair shot through with streaks the color of cinnabar, stood beside Ana. His uniform was pitch black with mother-of-pearl buttons. The gold epaulets identified him as the commander of King Salazar’s Royal Army. The corner of his mouth quirked up when Freya appeared, amusement at her surprise lighting his aged gray eyes.
Freya allowed herself three seconds to recover, then tilted her chin up and folded her arms across her chest. “Commander.”
He inclined his head in greeting. “Freya.”
“Are you here to drag me off?”
The commander set down the glass of water he’d been drinking and folded his arms, mimicking Freya’s pose. “You should have been on a ship days ago.”
She walked toward the stove and poured herself a cup of tea from the kettle that still sat there steaming. Ignoring the guard to her left, she busied her hands doctoring her tea with cream and a bit of honey before turning to face the commander again. Leaning against the stove, she crossed her legs at the ankle and took a slow sip of the steaming liquid. She held back a smug smile as the tension in the room thickened, refusing to acknowledge the dirty looks she was sure her aunt was sending her way.
“Is there a reason you couldn’t wait until daylight to make this visit?” Freya asked. “It’s been a busy night, as I’m sure you know.”
“Ah, yes.” The commander nodded knowingly, and she winced at the impending barb. “You killed a single draug that was sneaking onto a deserted street, if I’m not mistaken, while twelve of Watoria’s citizens were being beaten and robbed less than a mile away.” He strode forward, stopping a foot away from her, hands now clasped behind his back. The authority behind the gesture, the kind one had achieved after spending several centuries as a warrior, oozed from him, slapping Freya’s own sense of confidence down in a single hit.
“Odd coincidence, isn’t it?” he mused. “One draug keeping one of the city’s strongest fighters occupied while his comrades attack elsewhere.”
Freya ground her teeth together. Commander Balthana delighted in irritating others when they misstepped, and the pleasure he took in goading her, trying to get a rise out of her, was clear in his eyes.
“Yes, I suppose that would be an odd coincidence,” Freya said slowly, cursing herself for not considering the possibility when she’d spoken with Ashton. “Although, organized crime has never been their strong suit.”
“Quite true.” He held up a finger. “But a good warrior knows that her biggest enemies are ignorance and assumption. You allow your assumptions of a creature’s behavior to be dictated by what you think you know.”
With a sigh, Freya straightened her shoulders. “If you’re going to cart me off to Iladel, I’d like to at least get a few hours’ sleep before I go. May I have that, at least?”
The commander clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. Your disdain for your obligations has caught the eye of those above me. I’m under orders to bring you—kicking and screaming, if necessary—to the capital now.”
“But—”
He held up a hand at her protest. “No, you may not rest. The belongings you’ve already packed have been taken to the carriage and will be loaded onto the ship for Iladel shortly. What you may do is change out of those filthy clothes and be in the carriage out front in ten minutes. I have an army to lead, and chasing the king’s wayward students is preventing me from doing my job.” He ran his eyes over her hair and sighed. “And do something about that hair. It looks as though you’ve been rolling in mud.”
She held his stare for several moments before giving him a small smile. “I’ll
be ready shortly. Feel free to let Ana go back to sleep,” she added, glancing down at her aunt, who already appeared halfway there. “She’s had a rough night as well.”
Not waiting for permission, Ana stood.
“Safe travels, Officers,” she said quietly. “Commander.”
He nodded a farewell, then turned back to Freya once Ana left the room. “Ten minutes.”
Pushing herself away from the stove, she brushed past him. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
When she reached her room, she found her aunt perched on the edge of her bed, Freya’s repaired jacket draped over the back of a chair.
“Thank you,” Freya said softly, picking it up.
“I couldn’t very well trust you to do it right, could I?” she mumbled. “Half-witch or not, using your magic to sew has never been your strong suit.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Freya asked, sitting down gently on the end of the bed. This was a conversation they’d had countless times, and though Freya knew the answer, she needed to ask one last time before she left. “I’m sure there are plenty of opportunities for healers in Iladel.”
Ana smiled sleepily and shook her head. “No, my job here is done. I’ll come visit when I can, though.”
“I know,” Freya said with a sigh. She flopped back on the bed and closed her eyes. “Gods above, why does he have to be so… tyrannical?”
“Centuries of experience being such? Best not to goad him, dear,” Ana warned. “It’s a long way to the capital from here, and the king and queen don’t take kindly to their commander being harassed.”
“Harassed,” Freya scoffed. “If anyone’s being harassed, it’s the two of us.” She gave Ana a small frown. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“I’ll go to sleep once you’re gone,” Ana said, sitting up. “I don’t think either of us intend for you to leave here without packing the rest of your things, so let me help.”
