Siren Slave (16 page)

Freya groaned and stirred before going still and silent again. She was shivering. He tightened his grip.

“I did manage to flee with some of our belongings,” Balder continued, looking over his shoulder. There was a satchel there, something Siegfried hadn’t noticed before.

Siegfried shook his head and followed Balder into the hut. He hoped the bard did not plan on remaining.

“I’m going to seek shelter in a tree,” Balder said, as if he could read Siegfried’s thoughts. “Storms always provide brilliant inspiration.” But he did not leave. He helped Siegfried light a fire, making idle conversation about how he and Freya were switched.

“How is it you have magic if you were born from humans?” Siegfried asked.

“I went to the Well of Wisdom,” Balder said. “It supposedly imparts intelligence on fey, but it also makes humans and animals magical if they drink from it. There’s a price, always a price paid to Mimir the Guardian of the Well. He’s a demanding, strange sort. I think his solitude has made him cold. He requested an eye from my father, the eye that allowed Father to see the future. And from me…” Balder sighed. “He took any fighting ability I might have had.”

Siegfried pondered this as the bard wove them blankets and pillows from firelight. The door creaked when Balder was leaving, waking Freya. She sat up and glanced around, eyes wide. The bard stopped and turned, closing the door behind him.

“Where am I? Etainen? Balder?” Her eyes flashed purple, then red.. “What the hell is wrong with me? Where’s Hedwig? Where’s Morrigan? I feel strange. I heard them before I…the catacombs. You rescued me and I… Oh, gods, that was lovely. No, it was horrible. Please, I need Hedwig. Now.” The last word was a snarl.

“Freya, Morrigan sent you with us,” Balder said. “We’re in a sodden hut far away from Folkvang. All will be well.”

“You don’t look like you believe that at all,” Freya said. Her eyes were red again when they snapped to Etainen. “You’re now part of this…whatever
this
is, too? I’m getting very tired of being the last person to know about anything.”

“Perhaps you don’t realize the situation.” Siegfried hoped he might find some human metal nearby. “I have been accused of your parents’ murders.”

“They’re dead?”

Fuck
. He probably should have revealed that to her in a more tactful way. “I’m sorry, Freya. There isn’t time to mourn now.” It was pouring rain again. “I intend for the both of us to get out of this alive. But I am going to need your cooperation.”

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I have to go back.” She rose, then wobbled on her injured knee. Siegfried caught her and adjusted her so she remained upright, secure against his chest.

“No. You’re wounded, and you’ll be remaining with me. In case I forgot to mention, your friend Odilia managed to possibly implicate you in your parents’ murders, thinking you might have been telling the truth about what you’d said to Pompey. I am not talking about the apology.”

“I gathered that,” she snarled.

“You are right, at least, about Odilia disliking you. Sit like a good girl and let me see to your wounds.”

Freya relaxed after sparing him a scowl. “I’m not looking at my wounds.”

He sat on a small stool. She turned her head away. Siegfried knelt before her to examine the wounds. Some were deeper than others.

Her hands kept busy by plaiting and un-plaiting a small lock of hair. “I’d appreciate something to drink. Ale if you have it.”

Balder tossed her a skin. “You don’t have bandages, do you?”

“No,” Siegfried said as he tore the edge of his toga. He’d already decided to keep Freya close, possibly even out of the hands of the fey. He felt some pity for her losses and for her position as a pawn in various schemes. This was at least something they had in common. “Balder, go, find what I need,” he added when the bard handed him bandages woven from rain water.

He lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to look at him. “If anyone asks, you are my slave girl. You’ll do exactly as I say and speak only when I give you permission.” The last was really only necessary for his sanity. “You give them any reason for suspicion, and they will search you, then haul you back to Folkvang.” Freya nodded, sorrow shining in the corners of her eyes. He fought the urge to kiss away those tears.

When he was finished caring for her, Freya began to sift through the pack Balder left for her. She clutched the comb to her breast, a frightened expression on her face, before attempting to detangle her hair. She seemed to relax with each snarl that was eliminated from the sodden tresses.

“Rest.” Siegfried stood. “If you need us, we’ll be close by. Do not leave.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Going back to Folkvang is out of the question. You will be slain if you go back there, especially with your wounds. Morrigan and Hedwig are going to try to get your friends out of there, and my men. I am going to hunt nearby for food.”

“Wait. I’d like a word with you. Several, actually. I’m already over just one word.” At least she seemed normal now, speaking nonsense, eyes no longer flashing red.

He waited in the doorway. She had wrapped herself in the blankets, yet still shivered. “I see the way you’re looking at me after what you saw in the catacombs. I’m not going to explode you, you know? No, I guess you don’t. No matter how many asinine things you said to me, or what you may think of me, you saved my life more than once. So you can just stop looking at me funny.”

“Say what you want, but I don’t trust you.”

She looked away. “Then that makes two of us.”

So she didn’t trust her own powers. She knew something was wrong. He should tell her, but not until he had her powers under control.

****

Freya lay on her side, curled beneath the furs. It was going to be a long wait, but a wait well worth it. There was no way she could be around Etainen now, not with the way he looked at her.

It was lonely here, with nothing but her thoughts. Sleep would not come, only more disturbing revelations. Why couldn’t she manage a single tear? Balder, Hedwig, any company would have gladdened her. Her men though…what had happened to them? Worry and fear combined into a nearly debilitating nausea. How was she to get back to Folkvang with an injured knee?

She sat up, removing a small mirror from the satchel Hedwig had sent. She wouldn’t let Etainen see her tears. She had to fix her puffy eyes. In the candlelight, she peered into the mirror. She froze in shock, the looking glass nearly tumbling from her fingers. Were the black, claw-like marks from above her brows to the middle of her cheeks a dream? She’d had nightmares about this. She was a fugitive, with a man she could barely stand, and Marked. She gave herself a pinch and nothing happened. Still, she could be in a very deep sleep after all the ale Hedwig had given her.

If these were
the
Marks, she would go mad within a sennight, destroying people, whether or not she wanted to, a complete loss of control. But there was time to make this right. When life gave blueberries, make blueberry ale, right?

She smashed the mirror on the floor of the hut. “No time for vanity.”
Not when Etainen could try to use me. Not when my fey enemy could find me here and make me pledge myself. I’m no beauty any longer, but that’s all right. I still have a purpose. I know who I can go to, who deserves powers like these at his command. I just need to get to him before anyone else takes advantage of this bad situation.

In the darkness, she waited until she heard nothing outside. If she waited too long, Etainen would be back. She needed time to get away from him on her injured leg. Her wings were too unreliable to count on.

Her clothing, her combs would all have to remain here. The worst was that she had no idea where she was.

She crawled to the rear window. There was no walking easily on this knee, no matter how much she wanted to. Her knee protested, but she shoved herself through the window and continued on all fours. The pain was nothing compared to the pain of having to continue this ruse about loving Rome or of what could happen if she stayed.

It seemed an eternity before she reached the outskirts of the empty little village and the blessed darkness of the trees.

“Freya,”
a voice in her head said, a lilting male voice full of pride.
“Prepare to run. Don’t talk to me. If you must, think. As you get closer, you’ll feel less pain. I promise.”

Freya did run, ignoring the damp and the cold. She didn’t know to where, only that she must get to whoever was trying to help her. What if it was one of the fey trying to kill her? She’d have to take her chances. But this voice was different—warm, peaceful. She stopped shivering.

****

“Where would she go?” Siegfried demanded, grabbing the front of Balder’s tunic. Folkvang was too far now.

The mirror shards on the floor of the hut caught the light of the torch in Siegfried’s hand. Where would she run to? She had to be desperate, knowing her situation.

“There’s no need for that,” Balder said, swatting at Siegfried’s hand. “I am tired of people like you intimidating me because I am not a warrior.” When Siegfried dropped him, the bard spoke again. “She’s with Enbarr. No harm will come to her. He’s very devoted to her, and he’s probably the best one for her now.”

Siegfried stiffened. “So he took her to the Romans for help?”

“Why would he do that if they’re looking for her?” Balder asked. “Enbarr will bring her back to you. For being the Fox, I thought you’d have known that. We are all here to help you and Freya.”

He didn’t see how helping both he and Freya was possible. Then, there hadn’t been much time for explanations. “We head out in a straight line from here, into the wood.” Siegfried was not going to wait for a one-horned beast.

The instant they were surrounded in the darkness of the trees, Balder took off, leaving Siegfried alone. Mere mortal that he was, he could not hope to match that speed.

****

Freya rested her head on Enbarr’s neck, his heat radiating through her. She wasn’t cold now, seeming to be wrapped by a warmth that surrounded the unicorn.

“You must promise me that you will never let that Two-Legs come near with the intention of riding me ever again. Despite his many shortcomings, He Who Cannot Sit a Horse will see to you. I know you don’t like it, at least not all of it. Your thoughts are as loud as a hall of drunken dwarves with their mining picks.”

She blinked. “Why would they bring their mining picks to a hall?”

“That is not the point. Dwarves bring their mining picks and forge equipment everywhere. You must trust your Two-Legs stallion.”

“Are you a traitor, too?”

“Oh, yes, because I, Lord of Unicorns, abandoned my home for numerous years to be treated like a common horse, watched while I bred, providing the Remi with countless, beautiful young, only to betray you. I listened to all your woes, nuzzled your shoulder, listened to you weep about Rome, only to betray you. All I have done, I’ve done for you, sweet Bright Mane.”
His head swiveled. Long lashes flickered over sky blue eyes. It was difficult to be angry with such a beautiful, adorable creature.
“Of course it is. I have been your guardian.”

“Are you—”

“Your thoughts have always been very loud.”

“A lot of good you did against those knife-fetishists. And you let them do this to my face.”

“I knew you would survive. There is not much I can do. My involvement with you must not be known. If word were spread that He Whose Mane Tames the Winds was assisting you, it would be much worse for you. Dark magic of the worst sort would be unleashed upon you. Protecting you is my purpose, not putting you in more danger.”

“He Whose Mane Tames the Winds?” She remembered seeing that name before, but it had never been explained, had only been mentioned in reverence. Enbarr was…
him
?

Enbarr snorted.
“I would think you would be impressed. More of a realization of the obvious than surprise.”

“I’m still wondering why we are not moving. Why even come to rescue me? If you’re as powerful as the text implies—”

“You needed someone to talk to, someone to comfort you.”

“You know what these Marks are, Enbarr. You take me to Siegfried. Before I go mad. Before my enemy finds me.”

“I’ll take you where you need to be. I won’t let anyone harm you. I’m too quick to be caught by your enemies. Now, bury your face in my mane and weep or rage. Think of all that troubles you, all that you’ve lost, my Bright Mane. I love you, know that.
And I promise you, you’ll be glad for those Marks before all of this is over.”

How could Enbarr’s words disappoint her, frustrate and anger her, yet be laden with such love? She did as he asked. The horn between his eyes glowed, brilliant, prismatic light shining around them. It felt as if she’d mourned her losses for weeks. Her spirit began to feel restored.

“I remember when Hecate asked me to be your guardian. I knew I had to, yet never looked forward to a Two-Legs babe. Two-Legs young look like goblins, all pink and wrinkled, only toothless. Not nearly as lovable as unicorn offspring. You drooled on my mane the day Shadow Weaver brought you to the Remi. Shadow Weaver, Hecate, insisted as part of the bargain that you see me each day. It was at least a year of drool and ages of sticky fingers in my hair. I think I started to love you the day you said your first word. ‘Enbarr.’ It sounded more like ‘In-baw.’ I love you as if you were my own foal, my Bright Mane. I would not have been able to heal your spirit did I not love you. That was pure unicorn love.”

She hugged him tighter. How could she not trust him when he wrapped her in rainbows of love?

“We share many things because of what we are. Our hearts and souls belong to the sea and sky, the stars. I will protect you, so let go of your fear of the Romans, of He Who Cannot Sit a Horse. I will not be far. You are Horn-Kin, you know?”

“Horn-Kin?” This was something she had not learned.

“Some elves worship unicorns. They all aspire to this status. You are the second. There are only three of you. It means we protect you as one of our own. I am the only one able to bestow this honor. You are Bright Mane. My Bright Mane. It is a sacred honor, sweet.”