deeper than the one she used for her usual silly rants. Only, she couldn’t control it at all. “Maybe I can do something more.”
She turned to leave, but Pompey grabbed her arm, wrenching it in the same way he’d done outside the palace.
Freya reacted without thinking. “Let go of me.”
She didn’t want him to touch her again and only now realized she’d been summoning the Blood Call when she sensed the beating of Pompey’s heart, the flow of the blood pounding through his veins in his rage. That had been the drumming sound. She had been slowly tugging at him with her magic, building up a slow seething within his veins as he continued to utter one foolish thing after another. She fought a smile when he began to scream as several blood vessels in his cheeks popped. A window shattered, lightning scorching the sill. He dropped her arm. The shattering glass restored her reason. Disgust twisted her stomach.
Ignoring the calls of her parents, she ran from the room and made her way to the soldiers’ barracks, where her real friends were. It would be best if she were surrounded by the warriors who knew she was Swan. Surely they would calm her and work out a plan for the far-distant days when she would be queen and Rome would suffer if they meddled with her.
Her powers frightened her a little. Oh, but not so much that she felt guilty about what she’d done to Pompey. She would do it again, maybe until his heart exploded in his chest. That was what frightened her. Some part of her had enjoyed his pain, but it was pitiful retribution for what he was doing to her people.
****
“Freya,” a Remi soldier bellowed as she entered the barracks. “We have a game of hnefatafl going. You’re just in time to be defeated by me in the next round.” Her warrior-friend, Berengar, laughed loudly at his own joke, but he frowned as she drew near. “What troubles you? You look as if you’re going to be sick. What happened in the market?”
Freya froze. There were several long tables and sleeping furs and weapons strewn about the windowless, rectangular chamber. She wanted to talk to the soldiers, the way she usually did, but tonight, she couldn’t. For the first time, she had no one she could confide in.
Hartwin, the prankster of the group, rose to take her arm. “Whoa, Frey, it’s all right. We’re here.” They escorted her into the back room, the one Berengar used for lecturing soldiers. It was also used for personal discussions with Freya, a place where she could say things she didn’t want heard by anyone else.
“Nothing a little ale won’t fix,” Faramund said, but he sounded uncertain.
The room was cool as always, underground, nestled amidst the rooms for storing weapons, food, and any other supplies, along with the cells.
There would be work in those cells for Swan tonight, even with Etainen and Pompey here. The executions and torture would not happen tomorrow. Releasing any pirate supporters would be risky, but these were her people and they were just as afraid as she was. She’d read of Roman torture methods. It was obvious Odilia planned the torture for Freya’s wedding day as yet another insult. Until now, Odilia had no idea how Freya felt about Rome, but she knew how Freya felt about blood.
Freya would use her magic to release the prisoners before they could be tortured. If her people were afraid of her powers, if they thought her a monster, at least they’d be alive to think it.
When Hartwin sat her down, Faramund placed a drink beside her. Each man sat on either side of her. She looked around the table at her friends, her three closest friends. Not quite the friends princesses usually had, but certainly more fun than the stuffy women who talked of sewing and never expressed opinions other than their favorite Roman fabric color. She loved these Remi warriors, yet she felt as if she were apart from them now that she had fey powers. But surely she could talk to them about at least a few of her
She turned to leave, but Pompey grabbed her arm, wrenching it in the same way he’d done outside the palace.
Freya reacted without thinking. “Let go of me.”
She didn’t want him to touch her again and only now realized she’d been summoning the Blood Call when she sensed the beating of Pompey’s heart, the flow of the blood pounding through his veins in his rage. That had been the drumming sound. She had been slowly tugging at him with her magic, building up a slow seething within his veins as he continued to utter one foolish thing after another. She fought a smile when he began to scream as several blood vessels in his cheeks popped. A window shattered, lightning scorching the sill. He dropped her arm. The shattering glass restored her reason. Disgust twisted her stomach.
Ignoring the calls of her parents, she ran from the room and made her way to the soldiers’ barracks, where her real friends were. It would be best if she were surrounded by the warriors who knew she was Swan. Surely they would calm her and work out a plan for the far-distant days when she would be queen and Rome would suffer if they meddled with her.
Her powers frightened her a little. Oh, but not so much that she felt guilty about what she’d done to Pompey. She would do it again, maybe until his heart exploded in his chest. That was what frightened her. Some part of her had enjoyed his pain, but it was pitiful retribution for what he was doing to her people.
****
“Freya,” a Remi soldier bellowed as she entered the barracks. “We have a game of hnefatafl going. You’re just in time to be defeated by me in the next round.” Her warrior-friend, Berengar, laughed loudly at his own joke, but he frowned as she drew near. “What troubles you? You look as if you’re going to be sick. What happened in the market?”
Freya froze. There were several long tables and sleeping furs and weapons strewn about the windowless, rectangular chamber. She wanted to talk to the soldiers, the way she usually did, but tonight, she couldn’t. For the first time, she had no one she could confide in.
Hartwin, the prankster of the group, rose to take her arm. “Whoa, Frey, it’s all right. We’re here.” They escorted her into the back room, the one Berengar used for lecturing soldiers. It was also used for personal discussions with Freya, a place where she could say things she didn’t want heard by anyone else.
“Nothing a little ale won’t fix,” Faramund said, but he sounded uncertain.
The room was cool as always, underground, nestled amidst the rooms for storing weapons, food, and any other supplies, along with the cells.
There would be work in those cells for Swan tonight, even with Etainen and Pompey here. The executions and torture would not happen tomorrow. Releasing any pirate supporters would be risky, but these were her people and they were just as afraid as she was. She’d read of Roman torture methods. It was obvious Odilia planned the torture for Freya’s wedding day as yet another insult. Until now, Odilia had no idea how Freya felt about Rome, but she knew how Freya felt about blood.
Freya would use her magic to release the prisoners before they could be tortured. If her people were afraid of her powers, if they thought her a monster, at least they’d be alive to think it.
When Hartwin sat her down, Faramund placed a drink beside her. Each man sat on either side of her. She looked around the table at her friends, her three closest friends. Not quite the friends princesses usually had, but certainly more fun than the stuffy women who talked of sewing and never expressed opinions other than their favorite Roman fabric color. She loved these Remi warriors, yet she felt as if she were apart from them now that she had fey powers. But surely she could talk to them about at least a few of her
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