My eyes widened. The copper tub was for a bath? I leaned over the enormous pot, letting my fingers trail in the water. It felt absurdly warm. I’d never had a warm bath before. I’d never even had a bath indoors; we always washed in the Lucky River, or stood naked in front of the fire and sponged off with water Ma heated on the stove. Something of my wonder must have shown on my face, because Freyja grinned at me.
“I know,” she said. “Just wait until you’re inside.”
Yes. With a grin, I decided I wanted to know what it would feel like to be surrounded by water that warm. I lifted my leg over the smooth rim of the copper pot and stepped in.
“Oh, stars!” I gasped.
Freyja made a little purring chuckle as I lowered myself into the water. It was blissful! After so many weeks in our little cave, huddling under the furs as the weather outside got colder and colder, I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be warm. How delightful it was to let my body relax, to stop holding my shoulders tight against the tremors of cold. My eyes closed as I slipped my head under the water.
Softly, something brushed my arm. I blinked open my eyes to see Freyja’s dark hand holding a towel to my skin.
“Just relax,” she purred. “I’ll scrub you.”
Her touch moved up my arm. Despite the warm water, my skin prickled as the towel dragged across my collarbone. Fenris loved to kiss the back of my neck, to run his lips and tongue below my ear to the curve of my breast. It always made me flush with heat to be touched there.
And here, hidden beneath the steam of the hot bath, my body coiled with that same sexual tension as Freyja pulled the towel over my neck. She hummed to herself, then worked her fingers into my hair. As she leaned forward, the soft heat of her breasts pressed against my shoulders.
I bit my lip. Damn, I shouldn’t feel this way. I’d never been this close to another woman before, never been naked with another woman who wasn’t part of my family. As Freyja’s fingers pressed into the muscles of my neck, the image of Nøkkyn’s whores flashed through my mind. Their beautiful bodies, adorned with gems, glowing in the firelight. They way they had come together, pressing lips and hands to soft curves, rubbing each other until they gasped with pleasure. Heat unfurled inside me, and my thighs stiffened against the metal tub. Freyja’s hand dropped to my clavicle, pulling the soft towel with it. Her fingers dipped the towel into the water between my breasts.
“Tell me about your husband,” Freyja said.
She had both her arms around my shoulders, and her breath was hot against my ear. My heart raced beneath her hand as she brought the towel out of the water and began to make slow, lazy circles across my breastbone. Even through the heat of the bath, I felt my own sex growing hot, responding to her touch. Oh, stars! I’d never wanted a woman before, but right now I ached for her touch.
Stop it, I tried to tell myself. She’s just being friendly.
“He’s...” I stammered, trying to think through the highly inappropriate cloud of arousal which had engulfed my mind. “He’s...great.”
“Hmmm?” Freyja purred. Her hand dropped again between my breasts. “Do you share? You and your husband?”
“Share?” My voice was rough and breathless.
Freyja pulled my hair back and ran the towel across my shoulders. “Yes, share. He’s not the possessive type, is he?”
Somehow, although the throb of my own heartbeat was nearly deafening and my thoughts nigh obliterated by the hot, needy pulse of desire in my core, my mind still managed to pull an image of Týr from my memory. Not Týr from last night, silent and shadow-shrouded, but the naked and smiling Týr who’d made love to my husband with me, our bodies moving in unison beneath the darkness of the Ironwood Forest.
“No,” I gasped. “H-He’s not possessive.”
“Good.” Freyja pushed me forward into the water. “Now, soak your head. Let’s see what we can do with your hair.”
FREYJA WASHED MY HAIR with something that smelled sweet and left a rainbow-colored slick across the surface of the water. Then she helped me climb out of the tub, my body dripping and freshly scrubbed. Freyja showed me where to touch the copper pot to make the water drain; it hissed and gurgled as it swirled back through the plug in the bottom. Beneath the thin scrim of oil across the surface, what was left of the bathwater looked as gray as mud. Apparently, I really had been filthy.
Freyja helped me dry off then stepped back and tilted her head to one side, examining me. The memory of King Nøkkyn’s towering black frame assessing me in my family’s cramped cabin rose in my mind; I shifted uncomfortably beneath her stare.
“You really are quite lovely,” Freyja finally said.
I frowned. “So I’ve heard.”
Her delicate features folded in confusion. “Darling. Why does that upset you?”
I shook my head, willing away the sudden, unbidden image of three fresh graves lined up on the edge of my family’s potato field.
“For all the good it’s done me, I wish I’d been born plain,” I said, wiping my hand across my eyes.
Freyja’s brow tightened, and she wrapped her hand around my chin, tilting my head to meet her dark, serious eyes. “Don’t say that. Beauty is another form of armor, you know. Wear it well, and it can get you anything you want.”
I had no idea how to respond to that. Freyja pressed a quick, light kiss against both of my cheeks, then stepped back.
“You need clothes,” she said. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
With that, she spun toward the enormous, wooden wardrobe and pulled open the doors. With a low creak, they swung open into the room, revealing a rainbow of thick, rich fabric nestled together in the darkness. Freyja grinned as she pulled dresses into the light and piled them on the bed.
“This,” she said, “is going to be fun.”
THE MONSTER CHAINED: CHAPTER NINE
Freyja laid a dizzying array of outfits across the bed and then spent a very long time pulling them over my head, frowning as she examined me, and pulling them off. I waited for her to touch me again, to send another bolt of heat and arousal through my body, but she was entirely focused on the clothes she’d laid across the bed. I was surprised by my own disappointment. I wanted her touch, and the thought made me flush with shame. I really wouldn’t have been out of place in Nøkkyn’s harem.
“There!” Freyja exclaimed. “That’s the one!”
I glanced down. I’d hardly been paying attention to which one of the dozens of outfits Freyja was currently fiddling with, so I was mildly surprised to find myself wearing a dark blue dress made of a thick, rich fabric with an intricate golden trim. The sleeves and hem were long, but the front was almost scandalously low cut. It revealed the full curve of my cleavage and stopped only just before my nipple.
“Oh!” Heat rose in my cheeks. Even the green dress my mother altered for me to wear when she sold me to King Nøkkyn had covered more skin than this.
Freyja gave me a wicked grin. “I know. You won’t believe what you can get away with in a dress like that. Now, sit.”
I sat, and Freyja bent to slip a pair of dark shoes on my feet. I wiggled my toes, trying to get used to the feel of having something wrapped around my toes.
“Just let me know if they’re too tight,” Freyja said as she straightened.
The shoes felt like blocks of stone around my feet. Perhaps that was how shoes were supposed to feel?
Freyja turned from my shoes and looked around the room with a huff. “Designed by a man,” she grumbled. “No dressing table.”
As she pushed the pile of dresses toward the head of the bed, I remembered what she’d told me before I climbed in the tub. Loki had a hand in this. I swallowed hard against the gathering tightness in my throat. I may have been the daughter of slaves, raised in the shadows of the Ironwood, but even I had heard the terrible stories about Loki the Lie-smith. Stealing Iðunn’s apples of youth and beauty. Luring King Thiassi to a great funeral pyre and executing him.
“You mentio
ned Loki?” I asked.
Freyja nodded in a distracted way as she pulled a red leather bag from beneath the dresses. She opened it next to me, revealing a bewildering assortment of tiny clay pots and little wooden brushes. Each pot or brush was held in place with its own thin leather strap.
“Is he really Fenris’s father?” I pushed.
“That’s what they say,” Freyja replied distractedly.
She was frowning at the pots with a look of intense concentration. I couldn’t make sense of it; to me, they looked damn near identical. Freyja’s brow furrowed as she pulled a tiny, wide-lipped pot from the collection, loosened the cork, and stared inside as if it held the answers to every question she’d ever dared to ask.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Her lips twitched upward. “Thor has Mjölnir,” she said. “I have this.”
I frowned at the tiny container pinched between her fingers. “That’s your weapon?”
Freyja’s lips curved even further, and she pulled a wooden brush from the case. “Exactly. These are my weapons. Now, lean forward and close your eyes.”
I did as she said. Something soft and feathery brushed across my eyelids. There was a rustle, the clink of another bottle, and the brush returned, this time flitting across my eyebrows.
Kohl, I thought. It must all be some variation of kohl. As the brush touched my cheeks, I remembered the three beautiful women in Nøkkyn’s bedchamber, with their dark, lined eyes and plump, red lips.
“Good,” Freyja said. “Open your eyes.”
She stepped back, tilted her head, and studied me as if I were a gutted salmon at the fishmonger's. My hands crept together in my lap, and a nervous tickle danced through my gut. Why did I care what she thought about my appearance? Why did I care what anyone thought? The only one who mattered was Fenris, right?
Fenris. Guilt pierced my chest. My husband was out there somewhere, surrounded by warriors, getting attacked and stabbed and the Nine Realms knew what else, while I took a bath and got dressed. Like a whore.
Freyja finally smiled. Her expression was radiant enough to dispel some of my guilt, although my stomach still felt uncomfortably tight.
“Now, the lips,” she said.
She pulled yet another bottle from her bag and removed the cork. It popped as she pulled it free, and the room filled with the subtle scent of roses. Freyja frowned slightly.
“This might be too pink. Let’s see. Pucker up!”
I blinked at her in confusion. Without waiting for my response, Freyja leaned forward and rubbed a finger across my lips. Before I had time to react, she rocked back and examined me again. Slowly, her smile widened until even her dark eyes were dancing.
“Perfect!” she said. “Do you want to see?”
I nodded dumbly. Freyja replaced the stoppers, tucked her clay bottles into their appropriate slots, and pulled a small mirror from her bag. Its back was golden and engraved with an elegant pattern of lines that I took to be writing.
“What does that say?” I asked.
Freyja’s face darkened for a moment. “Sweet nothings from Óðinn. It’s not important. Come on, have a look.”
She pressed the little mirror into my palm. For a moment, I watched the shimmer of reflected light from the mirror’s surface move across the ceiling. Then my curiosity caught me, and I raised the mirror to my face.
I gasped.
Freyja laughed from behind the mirror. I lifted my hand to my cheek and touched it, just to make sure the image in the golden mirror was actually me. I’d never had an especially clear picture of what I looked like; we didn’t own anything with enough sheen to cast an accurate reflection, let alone a mirror.
I knew I was beautiful, at least if I took the town’s word for it. I’d glimpsed my own reflection in the still waters of the Lucky River and in the distorted waves of the glass windows in the wealthy houses. I knew I had high cheekbones, large eyes, and dark lips. But the exact details of my face had always been a mystery.
And so I had never realized exactly how powerful those cheekbones, eyes, and lips could be. Damn the stars, Freyja was right. I looked like a queen from one of Bard Sturlinsen’s stories, the one with blood red lips and ice cold eyes. The one men died for.
All of a sudden, my life fell into place. This was why Maddie Erikson had ceased to be my friend once breasts began to push at the chest of my threadbare dress. This was why all the boys of the village had wanted to dance with me under the sparkling lights of the Harvest Festival. And this was why I had been deemed sufficient payment for a year’s worth of our tithe to King Nøkkyn, enough to replace the purple oak my father should have felled.
Tears pooled in the eyes of my reflection, and the mirror began to shake in my hand. Freyja reached forward, closing her fingers around mine and lowering the mirror to my lap. I blinked several times, trying to force back my tears before they could ruin the black and shimmery blue Freyja had spread around my eyes.
“Armor,” Freyja said. Her voice was cold as steel. “You see what I mean?”
I nodded, swallowing hard. Yes, I saw what she meant. If I’d had Freyja’s armor last winter, I could have used it. I wouldn’t have needed King Nøkkyn. I could have married any of the village boys, low born or not. If I’d shown up on his elegant stone doorstep dressed like this and plied him with kisses and sweet talk, promises and tears, I probably could have married Bryn himself.
I glanced at my hands, which were clenched around the golden mirror in my lap. If I’d married Bryn, I would never have met Fenris. The thought made me feel numb and hollow. I dabbed my eyes carefully and met Freyja’s gaze.
“Do you know where Fenris is?” I asked.
Her expression softened somewhat. “Come on. Let’s go look.”
THE MONSTER CHAINED: CHAPTER TEN
Freyja pulled open the door, linked her arm with mine, and smiled at me. Her lips shone like the summer sun reflecting off the water, and her heavy eyelids shimmered in pale pink. We walked into the hallway together, and I tried to mimic her posture, holding my head high and thrusting my barely restrained chest out.
The hum of conversation rose slowly as we rounded the corner and entered the large room at the end of the narrow corridor. I’d been right; it was a feast hall. Long tables with wooden benches lay under flickering torches, lined with platters of meat and bread. My stomach groaned at the rich, savory aroma. I almost wiped my mouth, only remembering the rose-scented polish Freyja had spread across my lips at the last minute.
To our left, an enormous pair of heavy wooden doors stood wide open. Thick afternoon sunlight streamed onto the straw-strewn floor, and tiny dust motes danced slowly in the golden beams. Groups of warriors sat at several tables or stood together clutching flagons of mead.
Freyja pulled me into the sunlight. The room fell silent. I shifted awkwardly in my elegant shoes. My toes felt pinched, and they ached even after taking scarcely a dozen steps.
“Hello, boys,” Freyja said, her voice a warm smile.
Slowly, several of the upraised faces began to register in my mind. There was Baldr, staring at us as if he’d never met me. And Frey, his face frozen in a sort of half smile.
“My lady Sol?”
I spun toward the voice. Bragi. The Æsir who’d kept me from dragging Fenris away last night after he vomited mead all over himself. The memory made my stomach curl.
Bragi’s eyes traveled down the front of my dress in a way that did nothing to improve the clenching in my gut. Then he swept his arm out and bowed low, as if I were a queen. I wondered if he was mocking me, if they were all about to burst into laughter.
“You do clean up radiantly,” Bragi said, his resonant voice echoing through the room. “You were beautiful last night, but today you outshine the sun. Please, allow me to introduce you to the pleasures of Val-hall.”
Freyja’s hand tightened on my arm. “Thank you, Bragi. Not today. We were just showing ourselves to a table.”
Bragi stepped back, but not be
fore I caught the scowl on his face. Baldr stood as we walked past his table and fell into step with Freyja.
“How are you finding Asgard, Sol?” Baldr asked. His beautiful eyes stayed on my face instead of dropping to the curve of my chest; I tried to ignore my treacherous flicker of disappointment.
“Lovely,” I managed to say.
In silence, Freyja pulled me to a bench near the middle of the room. The table before us was heaped with platters of bread, trays of little, smoked fish, a thick, yellow cream that looked almost like butter, and mountains of roasted potatoes still in their earth-brown jackets. I tried not to stare at the feast as Freyja exchanged a glance with Baldr, who sat down to join us.
“Baldr is very polite,” Freyja said, pulling a plate toward us. “He won’t make love to you unless you really want him to.”
She winked at me. Behind her, Baldr gave me the same blandly attractive smile he’d worn last night when he’d asked me to step across the fire and join the Æsir. Freyja’s words sounded almost like a joke, but I had the sinking feeling she was being serious.
“The rest of them—” Freyja continued. “Well, no one’s going to be rude here. They’ve all gotten their arms broken once or twice by some of the women warriors. But, give them an inch, and they’ll take it. You understand?”
I didn’t, but I nodded anyway. My stomach groaned beneath the blue velvet dress; I worried drool was about to leak out of my immaculately polished lips. It had been a long time since I’d seen so much food.
“Oh, by the Realms, eat something!”
Freyja pushed a plate toward me. I almost moaned in appreciation as I grabbed a potato, cut it in two, and brought half to my lips. Stars! Real food, not bloody, charred deer meat, or a half-frozen rabbit carcass.
I’d devoured the potatoes and almost finished an entire loaf of bread when Freyja touched my arm. When I met her eyes, she leaned forward until I was staring directly at the dark gap between her breasts. I stopped chewing.
The Complete Fenris Series Page 38