Siren Slave

by Aurora Styles

  “Except Siegfried can’t steal people’s powers,” Hedwig said. “And Siegfried isn’t a Fomori and fights Romans instead of Lugh. He’s also not a water dragon, doesn’t use fist weapons—did you not notice the bow?—and he has different colored hair. Alien, you really are an ass. This isn’t an infatuation. She’ll probably kill me for saying this, but she was going to marry someone she didn’t love to pass along information to Siegfried. She was going to marry that Etainen person for him.”

  “Who’s this Attaining person?” Woden asked, twirling his beard.

  She’d never mentioned why she was still going to go through with that match after she was fey. Now Siegfried knew. But what was fifty or so years if she’d live for an eternity? Damnit, he saw it all now. He wouldn’t belittle the sacrifice she’d been willing to make. She’d taken risks when she had no idea she was fey. Then she’d still taken astronomical risks. And she’d been willing to help him get Julia, even after what Julia had done. She wanted him to be happy. That was love, wasn’t it? She loved someone she barely knew. Why? And of course she would let him have his perverse way with her if she loved him.

  “This daughter who explodes things, she shall be my heir. If anyone refuses to recognize her, we can spend some father-daughter time, raining waves of blood, carnage, and glory upon those cowards. But she needs someone strong as her husband. I will have a contest of strength to win the hand of my Freya. It can all be done in days. Asgard has already discarded Laws for the Marked Fomori, lest anyone was not clear on what I said a few moments ago. She can wed, but only the greatest warrior in all the Otherworld. A man who drinks blood instead of mead, a man who dines upon the entrails of his vanquished.”

  “Uh, Woden, that’s disturbing,” Hedwig said. “I don’t think I’d find cannibalism attractive at all.” Siegfried remembered Freya picking what she called questionable things from her teeth after she’d snapped apart Merrick.

  “Furthermore, Aillen MacMidhna,” Woden continued, “you will remove those Marks from her face. You were the one who created the Marks.”

  “I cannot remove them,” MacMidhna said peevishly. Yes, this was a meeting between equals, not a king and his subjects. “I designed them to be permanent. That’s what they are. They are there to mark and subjugate Beasts. If Freya roars, perhaps she should be Marked. As I said, I will compete for her and treat her well. I would be respected as your heir to the realms that would not accept her. Methinks they would accept her if she were wed to me, considering my office. A lesser man would balk at the ability to control another that way.”

  “It’s a formidable burden, frightening to a lesser being,” Airgetlam said, clearly speaking from experience. “You see the fangs, feel their hatred of you, but you can forcibly control their powers. You can feel their anger, even feel them speculating subversion, which is useful. If she’s even part Fomori, this isn’t something you would want to experience.”

  “You can’t judge on blood, as well you should know. If Lugh did that, you would never be Warden of Summer Isle, Nuada,” Woden said, giving the man a cocky smirk. “Unless you note that she has my proud blood in her veins, as is evidenced by her ability to explode her enemies.”

  Airgetlam rose and Hedwig made a gagging sound. “I was, indeed. Born into a low caste of the elves, I was never permitted to become a warrior, though I had no small amount of skill with the spear. I had no interest in raising cattle or crops.” His eyes glazed over. Siegfried had the impression Airgetlam had been waiting for just this moment to tell this tale. “So, I took to stealing. I, too, had been an outlaw. But I only stole small items, like bread or ale. Like all criminals, I was eventually and rightfully caught.

  “The Ard Righ was there the day my hand was to be chopped off. He was camped there for the Great War. I was stubborn, obstinate to the last. Until Lugh intervened. I was in awe that the Ard Righ would take notice of me, a man with a spear skill greater than my own. He made me a deal. If I suffered the removal of my hand as a man, without fighting, he would take me into his ranks as a spearman. I agreed.

  “I proved myself able and was given the honor of commanding the Ard Righ’s forces, bringing destruction to the Beasts. I earned my position there as Warden of Summer Isle. I was also given a new hand.” He flexed the silver one. “It is much better than my old one.”

  “Oh, no,” Hedwig said. “Lugh, can’t you stop this?”

  Airgetlam removed a leather pouch from his hip. He reached into it and plopped a skeletal hand onto the center of the table, alarmingly close to the venison. “Here before you is a reminder of my old inadequacy, a reminder of what I shall never be again, a reminder of how Lugh Lamfada raised me up to greatness.”

  “No one wants to see your damned severed hand,” Hedwig bellowed. “No one cares what it symbolizes. We just want it off the table. Throw it away. Who walks around with decapitated limbs as some kind of badge of pride? That’s not a badge. It’s the reason why you’re almost as celibate as Alien or Balder.”

  “The hand is a bit disturbing,” Woden conceded. He looked to Siegfried. “Fig-Reed is not quaking, so I assume he has not touched my daughter’s powers, else he would have died in fear and awe of the wonder that sprang from Woden’s loins. So, she will find her match via this tourney. Aillen, your abilities should make this easy enough for you. And wash your hair.”

  There was a break in the conversation as all watched MacMidhna contemplate the lank strands of his hair. Siegfried took his chance. “If your aim, Lugh, is to put your people at ease and you do not wish to kill Woden’s daughter, your only choice is to give her custody to me,” Siegfried said calmly. “For me, it is as simple as ordering her not to touch Oblivion. Lest you seek to equate me with Balor the Power Thief, my interests are not in Asgard or the Otherworld. My goal remains the same, that people should live in freedom. My efforts only touch the Otherworld as far as the fey who is involved with our enemies, the one who gave the Druids the tool to Mark Freya. Woden, I do not see how you can see this differently.”

  “I do not want my daughter with a faun.” Woden slammed his mead horn on the table. His fist went through the wood, yet the horn remained unscathed. “Cannot waste booze,” he muttered.

  “Freya pledged herself to me with the old words, and I accepted that pledge,” Siegfried said, stunning the table into silence. “Freya is mine. No contest can change that.”

  “I thought that’d be obvious already,” Hedwig said. “Siegfried did say he and Freya made a necessary alliance. Hmm, wonder what that alliance could be?” She rolled her eyes.

  “Siegfried, come with me,” Lugh rose and a scantily-clad serving woman pulled his chair away. “We will adjourn to Woden’s solar. If you are serious about this, you will sign the documentation that will hold you legally responsible for Freya.”

  “No,” Woden said. “My daughter is not to be given to a faun mortal as a slave. A faun would scandalize her delicate sensibilities.”

  “You can institute the laws you wish here,” Lugh said firmly. “But other realms do not follow Asgard’s laws. Others will follow the old Laws and treat her as a Marked Fomori. Unless you wish them to impose their laws on your realm? If she is pledged, there is nothing even you can do.” Lugh’s voice was softly cold.

  Siegfried tuned out the argument that followed, knowing the decision had already been made. He tested the power of his bond with Freya, the power of those Marks. Was she happy yet? It always felt intrusive to touch her emotions, but they’d been intimate.

  As he concentrated on her, he felt frustration, sadness, and a little bit of joy. Odd. Was she starting to be happy that he’d left her? Why did that disappoint him?

  He was almost saddened for Freya, that Woden hadn’t followed them to the solar to argue the point further. Did he care so little?

  But it was only he and Lugh in the room. The Ard Righ studied him with those blue eyes as Siegfried read the documentation on his lap. It notated all the applicable Laws and Siegfried’s responsibility. Freya
would have no rights beyond what Siegfried gave her. It also frequently noted that Siegfried would be wholly responsible for Freya’s actions.

  But some of it was more disturbing. In the kingdoms where the Law would be enforced, she would have to be restrained, collared or chained. Permission would have to be granted for her to pass through. She would have to be accompanied by Siegfried at all times.

  “You are new to our ways, Siegfried,” Lugh said. “You are a mortal and have custody of the child of the most infamous fey in the Otherworld. You had best learn our ways quickly.” He rested an elbow on the curving arm of the triclinium couch. “And you have no designs on Asgard, truly? If Woden is disregarding the Laws, he could still make her his heir. Other fey, who still abide by the Law, would respect you as heir, but not Freya, just as they would have for Aillen.”

  “I respect her and her opinions,” Siegfried said simply.

  “How many laws would you disregard?”

  “I do not know enough of Asgard’s laws. I’d give the people enough freedom to live their lives their own way without my intervention.”

  “Ah, so you’d keep the state of near anarchy,” Lugh said. “You did notice that Woden nearly threatened me with another Great War, did you not?” When Siegfried didn’t answer, he went on, “Disregarding the Law is no small thing. With Asgard, I’ve always had to take the path of least resistance, not intervening unless forced. Woden always keeps to his own business. So like the Beasts. No wonder he bedded Hecate. Asgard only interferes with Jotunheim, which is not my jurisdiction. I would keep it that way. Now, are you ready to sign?”

  Siegfried took a deep breath before placing his signature on each sheet of parchment.

  Chapter Ten

  Odilia stretched upon the bed beside Pompey and gave him another filled cup. The blood of the former Captain of the Guard, Berengar. They were running low, but the General’s condition was improving since his altercation with Freya. She smiled, dipped a finger in the goblet, and sucked the metallically flavored droplet off the edge of her claw-like fingernail.

  He raised the cup to his lips. His jowls worked as he drank the dark liquid, a brown mole bobbing between the folds of flesh. He was aging, feeling tired. The Beautiful One had told her what to do to heal him and it had worked. Not that she loved him as a woman loved a man. They had a friendship; they thought alike.

  “How do you feel?” she asked when he handed her the empty goblet.

  He wiped the red stain from his lips with the edge of the silk blanket. “Slightly stronger. I’m surprised that this seems to be working. I thought it would take months.”

  “I was promised that this would happen quickly.”

  “It is hot in here of a sudden,” he said, pushing back the blankets, exposing his naked flesh. She did not turn away. She did not mind ugliness. Humanity was a sea of ugliness—ugly, stupid cattle. But Pompey was not stupid. Freya was. Freya was also beautiful, another anomaly.

  “Any word on Freya?” Pompey asked.

  She saw his wormlike member stir at the mention of the girl’s name. While Odilia had never lain with Pompey, she was angered that some part of him stirred to life at the mention of that little ewe’s name.

  “I will check my mirror again. She keeps a mirror with her at all times. I’ve been seeing nothing but the inside of her satchel.”

  “Never underestimate an enemy. Until you see their bloated, gray body, you can never be certain that they are no longer a threat. Even locked in a dungeon, an enemy can escape.”

  “You are right, of course,” she said. “When we find her, I will make you an exquisite drink from that young blood. After I make her submit.” The Beautiful One had suggested that, a much better idea than simple death. But that plan had gone awry. The Marks the Druids put on her face were to have given Odilia control of her. Instead, Siegfried had taken her away. Was it still possible to make her submit? That would be the final shame for Freya.

  “I want her first,” Pompey said.

  Odilia nodded. She would like to watch the disgust Freya would experience at being taken by such an old man as Pompey. But she did not want Pompey to experience enjoyment in the act. Somehow that would make her think less of him.

  “What did you mean by making her submit?” Pompey asked.

  “A conquered enemy isn’t necessarily a dead enemy,” Odilia said. “True, the gods to which I sacrifice the dead will subjugate them. Berengar still has not died, because I yet see defiance in his eyes. Great defiance. Before we let them die, I want them to learn who their rulers are, why they must give all to their betters, and then to give it. It demoralizes the rest of their resistance, seeing figureheads or even those they knew well submit. If those stronger than they bend the knee, it instills the reality that rebellion is futile.”

  “Where is the rest of the blood?” Pompey asked. “Surely a body has more fluid within it.”

  “Greedy, aren’t we? No, the rest of the blood, as required, has gone to the Beautiful One in the mirror.”

  “Yet Hecate has not answered you. Worry over the Beautiful One. It is the one helping you and helping me. I’d say this was nonsense, but I’ve felt its power already. I don’t want to anger it.”

  “It isn’t an it but a he. A gorgeous he.”

  “Does cold Odilia finally feel a stirring between those gray thighs?” He squeezed one and laughed.

  “Of course not. I admire him as I admire a statue.”

  “You don’t care what you look like, do you? No, you know you look rather manly.”

  “Sexuality is nothing. A temporary feeling. A distraction. Something that makes people rut like cattle. A feeling that should be squashed so humanity doesn’t spread its filth.”

  “But I will rut with Freya. I will have her on her knees, my hands wrapped in that skein of pale hair. Obviously, I am an animal. Go ahead and make her submit if you like. I’ll have her submit to me. It will excite me more, seeing her cowed. I want her subdued first. What if she doesn’t submit? What if she remains stubborn? What if the rest do as well?”

  “The Beautiful One has given me some items to aid in the process.” Odilia grinned and tugged her skirts over her broad flesh. “Like all my subjects, her spirit will be broken, even if it takes help.”

  “Ah, Milady,” her servant, Angelus, said from the other side of the door. “A man Freya spared brought a message. She said something about being a mouse in the shadows waiting to bite you. And, General, sir, someone calling herself Hedwig the Sea Witch said to tell you ‘Hello.’”

  Pompey perked up. “Hedwig, the maid with the incredible tits. Spare that one. I want her taken alive if possible.”

  “You are all making a mess of this,” said a feminine voice. The door was thrown aside, revealing a serving woman. Her hair had been shorn like the other women. A chicken was tucked protectively in her arms.

  “Who are you to be so brazen?” Odilia demanded.

  “It isn’t for you to question,” the woman said. “Freya is alone, without Siegfried. Now is the time to strike, but I suggest you heed me if you want to succeed. You’re also going to need the potion I brought.”

  Defiance and a gift from a stranger. This was the one the Beautiful One had told Odilia to expect, was it not?

  ****

  “Why did Woden make that remark about not trying to be Ard Righ himself?” Siegfried asked as he, Balder and Hedwig rode along in Balder’s carriage. He wanted clarification on this matter.

  “Woden may appear oblivious at times, but he is well-liked,” Balder said as he tuned his lyre. “He frequently hosts social events, so it is a grave insult if one is refused an invite. Had Woden joined the Great War on Balor’s side, he would have pulled much of Lugh’s support. If he’d started a third side, he would have taken a lot of people from both. I think Lugh is afraid that Father might one day decide he wants to be Ard Righ. Having Freya wed to one of Lugh’s people would ensure he never would.”

  Woden was not guaranteed a victory if he de
cided to pursue greater power, but he could make things miserable and difficult for Lugh. On a whim.

  “At least her marriage to MacMidhna was avoided. He is called the Puppeteer for good reason. He’s always surrounded by his henchmen made of straw and cloth, the Masked Ones.” Balder paused a moment to contemplate the strings of his lyre. “They move on their own, doing his bidding. But he also has the power to control others’ movements with strings of magic.”

  Siegfried shuddered, imagining that man forcing Freya to do things with him, having her under his complete control. A good thing he had not brought Freya. MacMidhna, desperate for a female, might have made her do something to incriminate herself so he could apprehend her. It was easy to see how a man with MacMidhna’s powers could have contrived something like the Marks of the Condemned.

  It seemed it was Woden’s reputation that kept Freya safe. But what of Hecate? How was Hecate, a Fomori, able to go about as she pleased?

  “Lugh’s afraid of Hecate, isn’t he?” Siegfried said.

  “Hecate used Oblivion without becoming truly tainted by it. She was able to stop. No one’s ever done that.” Balder gave Siegfried a half-smile and reached into his cape. “Speaking of Freya, read this.” He set the scroll on Siegfried’s lap.

  Siegfried had no idea what he was going to learn about Freya from the damned scroll. He poured himself a goblet of wine and was thankful that Balder and Hedwig were on the opposite side of the carriage from him.

  He didn’t want to know much more about her, didn’t want to know what went on in her head. It had made her more appealing, knowing that she’d agreed with his cause instead of supporting Rome. He was still angry with her for lying to him after he’d revealed himself. It proved she could not be trusted.

  But if she’d told me how she felt, if I’d believed even a word, I would have cheated myself out of that time with her. That’s why she kept lying, isn’t it? Still, it would have been better for her if her first experience had been different.

  As he read, he realized exactly why no one had answered his questions about the scrolls, why Freya had gotten so red in the face when they were mentioned. The hero in the tale was an outlaw, fighting against a power-hungry empire. The heroine was a beautiful noblewoman. This did not surprise him, but it did frighten him a little. She really did care for him or at least her idea of him. He slowed when the hero of the story, Bow, had the female alone. How had Freya imagined her meeting with him would be?