The Valkyrie's Bond (Halfblood Rising Book 1)

by Lucy Roy

  Rini had just finished the laces on the back of Freya’s gown when there was a knock at the door. Freya called for them to enter, and Byrric strode in, shutting the door behind him. Before speaking, he waited to the side of the door until Rini had finished and given him a farewell curtsy—a thing Freya might expect to look odd, being done in midair like it was, yet somehow Rini managed to make it look graceful.

  He wore his formal black uniform, wings held high at his shoulders. He’d taken to keeping them out in recent days, Freya had noticed, whereas he normally kept them retracted while indoors. His gait seemed stiffer than normal, too, which, considering his typical surly demeanor, was saying something.

  “Lessia has asked the queen permission to sit near you at dinner tonight, so I wanted to speak with you before we go.”

  Freya frowned, then nodded. “Yes, she mentioned wanting to sit near one another. Who else will I be sitting with?”

  “Ordona and Isadora, so far as I can tell. I’d recommend doing what you can to strengthen your budding friendship with Isadora so that you have one royal ally who isn’t your own queen while she’s here.”

  “Budding friendship? I’ve gone on one walk with her.”

  “She hardly has any female companions in Dystone, and you spoke for quite awhile today, especially after Lessia left you both. Presumably that means you got on well enough.”

  She nodded, utterly unsurprised he knew she’d been with Isadora and Lessia earlier. “Alright, fair enough. Is Lessia truly that bad?” Freya had heard stories of Lessia’s hard demeanor and violently strict way of governing her lands, but stories were so often exaggerated. So far, all Freya had seen of the empress’ contrary demeanor were a few seeming-attempts to irritate her, and poor ones, at that.

  “She’s… tricky,” he said slowly. “I’d planned to take some time with you before her arrival to discuss the best ways of handling her, but as we’ve been a bit short on time, for now I would recommend avoiding time alone with her. She’s an opportunist and has no qualms manipulating others if there’s something she wants.”

  Freya turned back to the mirror and leaned forward to examine her makeup. “Are you afraid I might give up the keys to the kingdom before they’re even in my hand, Commander?” She flicked a glance at him in the mirror, but the smirk faded on her lips when she saw the serious expression on his face.

  “No, Freya, but there are a fair number of aspects of ruling you are not well-versed in yet. She knows that and will attempt to exploit that ignorance, perhaps call your abilities into question, drag your weaknesses to the surface. You need to be prepared for that.”

  Anger sparked within her as she spun to face him. “My ignorance, as you put it, is through no fault of my own. You are the one who kept me away!”

  “A decision I stand firmly behind,” he told her smoothly. “Don’t mistake me, Freya. I know there is a good deal you could have gleaned from your time here had I brought you to live with me, but the time you spent living among your people will be invaluable.” His tone began to shift toward irritation. “You know that, have always known that, so I would appreciate a bit less petulance and a bit more gratitude for the fact that you were allowed to live a normal life!”

  “A few months per year wouldn’t have diminished that experience!” Stepping off her dressing pedestal, she put her hands on her hips. “I would still be who I am, but I wouldn’t be as likely to need these pep talks before dining with foreign royalty!”

  His gaze remained cool and level despite her anger, something that only served to infuriate her even more.

  Forcing herself not to let him get to her any further, she sat down on her divan and tugged on the slippers Rini had chosen for her, ignoring him as she settled herself.

  Once her shoes were in place, she sat up straight and let her hands rest in her lap, forcing a calm composure.

  “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment, looking up at him. “As much as I’m loathe to admit it, I’ve been quite nervous these past few months. Ordona has given me heaps of information on the royal families, but it’s quite a lot to absorb, especially on top of my studies and all of the other preparation I’ve done with the king and queen.” She shook her head and looked out the window. “You and Mother taught me so much growing up, but handling things like nervousness and unease has never been a thing I needed to concern myself with.”

  He folded his arms across his chest, but he didn’t bother offering words of comfort, nor did she expect him to.

  “Lessia can be difficult, but Isadora is not. You’ve spent time with her on your own and got along well. Being as shy as she often can be, that tells me you managed to find a good place with her. Keep fostering that, because it will be valuable in the future.”

  Freya nodded slowly, recalling that Isadora had opened up considerably once Lessia had left them in the gardens earlier. “And Willem? Isadora seems quite lovely, but Jonas said he was a bit… different.”

  A small muscle feathered in Byrric’s jaw before he answered. “Willem is a bit more difficult, yes. That’s why getting in with Isadora will be a great benefit. While he may be a bit off-putting on his own, if she favors you, he will, too.” He gestured toward the door. “Come, dinner will be starting soon.”

  Standing, she double-checked that her hair was still in place, then allowed her father to offer his arm. Taking it, she bit her lip, working up the nerve to push a bit further.

  “And what of the other royals?” she asked as they stepped into the hall. “Who else will be dining with us tonight?”

  “Willem’s siblings, Isadora’s cousins, and Jonas, of course, as well as the governors and their families. The courtiers who’ve arrived with the other monarchs won’t be joining us.”

  Freya let out a quiet breath. Then, focusing on the smooth marble floor before her, she decided to push her luck just a bit harder. “You’ve told me a fair bit about Lessia and her methods of ruling, but you haven’t said hardly a word about Willem and Isadora’s methods.” She looked up at him, painted curiosity on her face. “Do you feel they’re good rulers? Strong?”

  Byrric looked straight ahead, his own expression like stone, betraying no hint of what might be going on in his mind, then nodded. “As they are relatively new to their thrones, it isn’t easy to make that determination from afar, but I believe they are as strong as humans can be. Their reigns are pitifully short compared to ours, and they have far less time to create an heir, so there is always someone chomping for the throne. Willem is cold, but Isadora balances him, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Their subjects seem happy, more or less, and any internal strife has been nearly nonexistent. On the whole, Dystone is a fairly calm country and a good ally to have.”

  Nothing to indicate an unstable monarchy, then, Freya observed.

  Byrric was never one for small talk and Freya couldn’t think of anything productive that might fill the gap in conversation, so they walked the rest of the way in silence.

  When they arrived at the dining room, Aer and his parents were just arriving. He seemed to have gotten word of what Freya would be wearing, as his cravat and the jeweled fastenings on his white velvet doublet complemented the shades of peach that were woven throughout Freya’s gown. His dark hair, so often tousled these days, had been brushed back for once, the ends just touching his ears. He extended his arm toward her, giving Byrric a short nod when he handed her off.

  “You look lovely,” he whispered as she curled her hand around his forearm. “You really should keep Rini on as your personal assistant after the wedding.”

  Freya drummed her fingers on his arm. “Hmm. That’s quite enticing, actually.”

  They waited for a servant to announce the royal family before going in. The sight of all of the guests—perhaps forty in total—either bowing or curtsying when they walked in was a bit unnerving, as Freya was used to being on the other side of shows of deference.

  Once they were inside, she and Aer turned and faced the doors, stepping off to the sid
e and bowing to their king and queen, who strode in together behind them. The king waited several beats before allowing their guests to rise.

  “You get used to it,” Aer whispered, a small smile on his face, noting her discomfort.

  Before she could respond, another servant came in and announced dinner was to be served. As everyone made their way to their places, each marked with a place card, Freya scanned the guests to see who’d been placed where. Ordona and Salazar sat at opposite ends of the table, facing one another. The queen, as Byrric had suggested, had seated Freya to the left of Isadora, who sat at Ordona’s left. Lessia had been placed at Ordona’s right, directly across from Isadora. Freya had hoped she’d be beside Aer, assumed it, even, so she was surprised to find herself placed between Isadora and Myria, with Aer to Salazar’s left at the other end of the table. Byrric sat to Salazar’s other side.

  Aside from the governors, there were a few other guests Freya hadn’t yet met—a tall blond male who bore a striking resemblance to Myria, and two females with hair the same titian shade as Collin whom, Freya assumed, were Governor Maddix’s daughters. Human, Lind, and Jotnar guards of each house were stationed at intervals around the room.

  Freya wasn’t quite sure what purpose Ordona’s seating arrangements served, but knowing the queen, each decision had been very deliberate. She was happy to be beside Isadora, at the very least, although she could’ve done without Myria to her left. Despite their somewhat amicable relationship of late, Myria was still quite tiring to be around.

  Dinner was a fairly simple affair. Freya made small talk with Isadora, discussing plans to possibly take a trip into Iladel in the upcoming days. Lessia, resplendent in a glittering teal gown that would’ve put the finest of the queens’ gowns to shame had its owner not worn such a dour look, spent most of the meal talking with Ordona, relieving Freya of the need to include her in conversation. Freya tried to watch them, see how they interacted, hoping she might glean some lesson on dealing with alpha females, but Isadora seemed intent on avoiding being included in their discussion, and Myria kept insisting on speaking to Isadora over Freya’s lap.

  By the time dessert was served, Freya was inwardly cursing Rini for lacing her corset so tightly and the queen for seating her beside Myria, whose simpering had hit a new level of irksome.

  “My goodness, I don’t think I can manage any more!” Isadora said with a laugh, touching a hand to her stomach.

  “It’s these dreadful corsets,” Myria complained. “I think Lady Balthana should enact a law when she’s queen, outlawing them entirely.” She gave Freya a sweet smile. “Wouldn’t that just be lovely?”

  “It will be my first order of business, Lady Bryton,” Freya said, forcing a smile.

  Ordona smiled graciously at Isadora. “Maghda has been with us for some time now and has a tendency to outdo herself on occasion.”

  “I’m certain she’s got quite the feast planned for your wedding, then,” Lessia said, lifting her golden goblet to her ruby lips.

  Freya smiled her thanks to the server who set a plate of lindberry sorbet in front of her. “Maghda is one in a million, I can assure you.”

  It wasn’t until they’d exhausted all polite topics of conversation that the version of Lessia her father and Ordona had warned her about emerged. It seemed odd, as though the empress had been waiting for an opportune moment to strike, diving in for insult almost instantly when Isadora began to talk of Freya’s nuptials.

  “Now, Ordona, speaking of the wedding…” Lessia smiled at Freya and took a small sip of her wine before continuing. “What is the deciding factor for determining betrothals in Lindoroth? Practices here seem a bit different than before.”

  Ordona angled her head and gave the empress and easy smile. “Well, Lessia, it’s quite the same as in Jotunheim, you know that. There isn’t simply one factor that decides who will marry whom.” She set her goblet down and gestured down the table toward Salazar. “Take Salazar and myself, for example. My father was a wealthy lord-turned-governor in Saith and was renowned amongst his citizens. My mother, bless her, was highly intelligent and beautiful. King Avinald and Queen Lynda saw a beneficial alliance there, so they sought my hand when I was hardly walking.”

  Lessia gave Freya a curious look. “What of your son, then? Lady Balthana is quite beautiful, to be sure, but she is, after all, the daughter of a military man.”

  “Oh, my,” Myria muttered, taking a large sip of wine. Freya shot her a glare before addressing the empress.

  “My father is a highly respected commander and long-time friend to the royal family,” Freya corrected Lessia. “My mother was the strongest witch of her time.” She laced her tone with a bit of syrupy sweetness. “Also, as I am sitting right before you, I would appreciate it if you took some care before attempting to insult me, my family, or the decisions of my king and queen.”

  She didn’t risk a look at Ordona, but she could feel her approval from where she sat beside her.

  “My lady, I meant no offense, of course. I only ask because betrothals typically involve powerful alliances and, well, to be quite honest, I don’t see where you fall.” She picked up a pastry and eyed it. “You’re a halfblood, which makes you a good fighter and a powerful witch, but what can you do for Lindoroth? So far, all I’ve seen is two younglings enamored of one another. I might expect someone of your… lineage to become a knight, perhaps continue working with the marshals.”

  “Aerelius and I were fortunate enough to form a strong relationship in our early years,” she said, keeping her words clear, precise, and as deliberate as possible. “So if you’re insinuating that my monarchs and parents chose me for the prince due to our feelings for one another, please allow me to put that concern to rest.”

  “That’s all well and good, dear, but what of the royal lineage? What will you do when it comes time to bear his young?” Lessia turned the pastry over in her fingers, examining it as though expecting spiders to crawl out. “Have you even checked her fertility, Ordona?”

  Isadora and Myria gasped, and Freya’s eyes widened in shock. But Ordona, to her credit, remained cool.

  “That barbaric practice was abandoned centuries ago, Lessia,” Ordona replied, a touch of weariness to her voice. For several millennia, females, especially those of high-ranking families, were often subjected to invasive magical procedures to ensure their fertility. One of the first things Ordona had done when she and Salazar took their crowns was to outlaw the practice entirely. It was something that had caused a good deal of controversy, but by and large, the citizens of Lindoroth favored the decision.

  There was a moment of tense silence as Lessia took in Ordona’s refusal to be cowed by Lessia’s insinuations. Freya racked her brain for a response, for anything to say, but all she saw was red.

  Isadora cleared her throat, dragging the empress’ attention away from the queen.

  “Well, I for one think emotional ties will make for a stronger marriage,” she said. “If you already know one another as well as you two seem to, well, I dare say you’ve got it better than any of us did!”

  “Indeed,” Ordona murmured.

  There was a bit of an awkward silence before Myria spoke. “Lady Balthana, I’ve been meaning to ask how preparations for the wedding are going. Are they nearly complete?”

  Isadora beamed. “Oh, the planning part is so fun, isn’t it?”

  Freya sent a grateful look at Myria, who didn’t show so much as a flicker of emotion in response, then faced Isadora. “It truly is. If my dressmaker weren’t such a genius, I’d worry I wouldn’t fit into my dress after all of the tastings I’ve endured!” Freya gave her a conspiratorial grin, then picked up her wine. “Aside from that… we’ve just finished seating arrangements this morning.”

  “Oh, I do hope you haven’t seated me with anyone dreadful,” Myria griped. “I just can’t bear sitting next to someone for four hours who’s unable to hold a conversation.”

  Isadora bit her lip and smiled. “And your vows?
Have you written them?”

  “Are you writing them?” Lessia asked, seeming to thaw slightly. “They always seem like such a waste of breath to me.”

  “No, we’re going with the traditional incantation,” Freya replied, softening her words as best she could.

  Lessia nodded. “Yes, simple is often best. Crispin, bless his soul, wanted us to write our own, but I simply couldn’t be bothered.” Her lips curved into a small smile. “Isadora, you seem the type to write your own prose.” It was a simple statement phrased as a question, yet her smile implied something more, something Freya couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  The human queen smile bashfully. “Yes, Willem and I composed sonnets for one another. It was quite romantic, really,” she said dreamily, but Freya thought she detected a note of discomfort in her tone.

  “Empress, how are your accommodations?” Ordona asked. “Apologies for the change in subject, but I meant to ask when you arrived, and it just slipped my mind. Is everything to your liking?”

  Freya tried to get her aggravation under control as she waited for the other guests to be served their desserts. Shifting her focus, she watched as her friends and the highest-ranking officials in Lindoroth, Dystone, and Jotunheim talked and laughed. The din had become considerably louder in the hours since dinner began, thanks largely to the many jugs of wine that had been served, but as plates were placed in front of guests and everyone began to tuck into some of Maghda’s finest desserts, the noise level dipped lower than it had during the meal.

  She’d only gotten a few bites in when she heard Aer laugh at the other end of the table. Something about it had her curious, so she looked over, assuming all of the males had fallen half into the bottle by now. She was surprised to find Aer looking back at her. He gave her a crooked smile, then tilted his head to the side in a seemingly affectionate gesture. The glint in his eyes told her it was more, though, so she followed the tilt of his head until her gaze landed on the man who sat to his left. King Willem’s brother Reginald, if her memory served. Handsome, by human standards, he was broad and blue-eyed, with blond hair tied back with a leather cord, wearing a jovial grin.