Siren Slave (35 page)

“Did you think I was such an ass that I’d force her? This is about her developing some sort of infatuation with me because…” Siegfried looked around and lowered his voice. “Because I’d be her first. She can choose a man now, and she should. This is my thanks to her for her assistance, what she risked, and for the apology I owe her.”

“No wonder she’s upset.”

“If she is still upset when we return, you should speak with her. It’s obvious she’s starting to develop…affection for me. Introduce her to other types of men, not drunken sailors. Polite, gentle men like Balder.”

“I could, but she’s not going to want any of them. Not that your men aren’t very satisfying once they are cleaned up. Especially that Dick.”

“Dirk.”

“Whatever, some penis-sounding name. But from what Hecate’s told me, Freya is just as stubborn as her mother when she’s made up her mind about something.”

“Hedwig, don’t waste your breath arguing with Siegfried,” Balder said, coming up behind the two, a wide smile on his face, a blush on his cheeks. “We have to hurry.” Siegfried hadn’t noticed the gilded carriage pulling up behind him. It was pulled by
five
white reindeer with silver antlers. Had he been so distracted he hadn’t heard the bells? He thought of the nipple rings he’d seen in one of the shops. They had bells on them.

“Well, Balder, what do you suggest I do?” Hedwig asked. “When we get back, that rock’s probably going to be underwater.”

“I brought one of her scrolls for Siegfried. You have a few minutes to discreetly purchase a few items from that shop.” Balder nodded toward the business with the wares that had interested Siegfried. “This carriage doesn’t move until you do.”

Siegfried usually picked his battles and usually won. This was not a battle he cared to fight. He tried to pay the merchant with gold, only to discover gold was not the coin of this realm.

When he’d gone outside, he found Hedwig, snorting at some kiosk vendor’s potion collection, insisting his wares were made all wrong.

“You tried to pay with gold?” She laughed. “We can make metal and jewels. Real jewels do have some value. But we try to stay away from human metal. Booze, potions, or magic objects are our currency. Booze is preferable, because we are in Asgard.” She rolled her eyes and handed him two bottles of ale. He’d never seen her drink ale, so this ale must be solely for use as currency. “You want the rest of my booze, except for the white wine? I get enough things for free.”

He returned to the shop and purchased eight items for Freya. He would make her shoes. Perhaps that was something to do to distract him on the carriage ride. Making clothing as the fey did would be a useful skill.

****

Asgard itself was a snowy continent. The fabled rainbow bridge, Bifrost, was really a rainbow that one could somehow walk upon, or so it had been explained. It was visible through the haze of snow as they’d ridden along.

Valhalla had a spiked fence of silver. Large skulls adorned the top of every several spikes. Siegfried guessed they were Jotun skulls, given their massiveness. Valhalla itself was a building of gray stone with thick, pine beams, carved with silver images of beasts and warriors. It was only two stories tall, but incredibly long and wide. It was what Siegfried had expected, but still odd to behold outside of murals and carvings.

“You look nervous,” Balder muttered as they entered the great silver doors, pulled open by two scantily-clad maidens.

The hall was strung with garlands of frost, frozen in place to create a lace-like structure over the ceiling. From the beams dripped icicles in the shapes of fanciful birds. Great, icy fountains spewed forth eruptions of golden mead. Most of the founts depicted fantastical beasts like giants, dragons, and serpents. The hall was filled with long tables, decorated with more of the frost garlands and groaned under the weight of various foodstuffs. Siegfried counted twelve tables, six on either side of the pine-green carpet trimmed in black. Six and six. He shuddered.

On a silver dais, blue curtains were pulled aside with finely worked silver twine to reveal the high table. Thirteen tables total. A very bad number, especially paired with sixes. Above this table was a mural of a one-eyed man slaying baleful-eyed giants. This was framed by a silver serpent forming a circle, eating its tail. Jormungandr, the legendary sea wyrm.

The large man sitting at the head of the head table looked exactly like the one fighting the giants in the painting. He could only be Woden, with his flowing, white-blond beard—the exact shade as Freya’s—its length ending somewhere under the table. His one eye appeared to focus on everything and nothing all at once. Leaning against his towering Frost Throne—a throne made entirely of silver ice, carved dragons frozen in perpetual stances of battle—was his spear,
Gungnir,
its tip glinting in the torchlight. It glowed as Freya’s trident did, but this spear was not made of pearl and abalone, but ice.

He thought Freya would hate this place; she was always cold. Why would she ever want the Frost Throne? Especially if she sat in it wearing that short armor… Siegfried groaned at the thought, her round ass, barely covered as it rested upon the throne, that round ass he so loved to spank.

“Ho, Balder, you return from the mortal realm,” Woden bellowed, rising to point his spear at him. A grin lit his face, warming it to something almost human when it had seemed as granite before. Woden’s face betrayed none of the emotions Freya’s did, but the smile on his face was becoming very familiar. He realized then that Woden had been bored until they arrived.

And Woden was wearing a loincloth of long white fur, a thick silver belt clasping it beneath muscled abdominals. A brown fur cape was clasped over his shoulder, the silver medallion pinning it shaped like Jormungandr.

“I am here, Father,” Balder called, waving. “And I’ve brought friends.”

“Hedwig. I approve.” He winked his one eye at his son. “I worried you’d taken up sewing when you went to assist Freya. Glad to see you accompanying my son, Sea Witch. Surprised you came. Bet you’ll never make another bet with Hecate.”

“It isn’t like that with Hedwig and I,” Balder said, blushing.

“Balder’s a virgin,” Hedwig whispered to Siegfried. “He saw me naked once and he fainted.”

They neared the high table, past the rows of beautiful yet strange creatures, most with some sort of animal feature, be it donkey ears or frog legs.

“Is this faun one of your lovers or Hedwig’s?” another man asked from Woden’s left as Balder took the seat on his right. The man had long hair of a brilliant, unnatural red that sifted over his shoulders to fall somewhere below the table. His eyes were black, and his lips twisted in a sneer, a sharp contrast to the tight purple tunic he wore, trimmed with orange and pink fur. What kind of creature did that come from?

“This is Siegfried the Fox, Father, Loki,” Balder said. “He’s been with us in the Rhinelands.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Woden asked. “He doesn’t look like a fox. Doesn’t even have a tail or red hair. Besides, he’s part stag.” He turned to a human woman dressed in a metal bustier and a brown leather skirt that barely covered her ass. A servant or a slave? “Fetch the faun some wine. Ah, Fig-Reed, do you have any preference?” He scratched his head. “What kind of name is Fig-Reed?”

“A dry red,” Siegfried said.

“Never heard of a dry red called Fig-Reed,” Woden said, but the woman had gone already to fetch the wine. There were other human women in similar attire attending to the many guests. Siegfried noticed for the first time that the fey women, scattered amongst the men at the tables throughout the hall, wore tight-fitting, low-cut garments of bright fish scales, like what Hedwig wore most of the time. They were wearing similar shoes to Hedwig’s as well, complete with coral heels. A few had painted their faces with the Marks.

As the talk turned to pleasantries, Siegfried was torn between studying Loki and the man across from Woden at the other end of the table. The other man was wearing a cape that was near blinding. It seemed to be made of gold threads that matched the yellow of his hair. His eyes were a bright blue, his teeth a perfect white. He wore a white tunic, a black eye in the center of a sun over his heart. A gold diadem with diamonds glittered on his brow. In the center was the sun symbol again, only made with onyx. Lugh Lamfada, the Long Arm, Ard Righ. He seemed to watch the conversation as well.

“Why are you all still hanging about in the Wine-Lands?” Woden asked. “Nothing there but a river and huts and those Greeks.”

“Romans,” Siegfried said.

“Whatever. Can’t tell the bloody difference. So what are you doing there? Oh, whatever.” Woden waved off Balder before he could answer. “Now, introductions.” He pointed to the man opposite him. “This is Lugh Lamfada, the Ard Righ. At Lugh’s left is Nuada Airgetlam, Warden of Summer Isle.” Airgetlam was a black-haired elf with silver eyes and a silver circlet, bearing the Ard Righ’s sigil. At least, Siegfried assumed he was an elf, considering he had long, pointed ears. He also remembered Nuada Airgetlam as the author of many of the texts he had been given to read. “At his right is Aillen MacMidhna, Administrator of the Ard Righ’s Justice.”

Aillen MacMidhna was leering at Hedwig, who was purposely not looking in his direction. Siegfried did not blame her. MacMidhna looked as if he had not washed his hair in ages. It hung around his face in black, greasy black strands. His face was sharp and gaunt, giving him the appearance of a frilled lizard, given the white collar he wore. Below the white collar was a loose tunic with green and orange zigzags.

“White wine for Hedwig,” MacMidhna called, winking at the Sea Witch, a gesture that made him look like he had a lash stuck in his eye, or perhaps some sort of facial tic.

“No, not from him,” Hedwig said and MacMidhna’s face turned red. “Alien, get away. Loki would have better luck than you. Perhaps you ought to follow his lead and swive most of the animals in the Otherworld.”

“The Trickster comes!” Woden and Nuada said, raising their tankards of mead. “Lock up your cattle!” When Nuada lifted his tankard, Siegfried realized the man’s hand was solid silver, yet it could move. Enchanted metal?

Loki sighed. “At least I keep my options open. They call them bed
furs
for a reason.”

“Though it is always a pleasure to come to Asgard to partake of your fine food and listen to Balder’s unparalleled skills, I’m afraid I am here on business,” Lugh said.

“What business and why does it make you afraid?” Woden asked. “I was looking forward to challenging you in
hnefatafl.
I will beat you this time. It will be wholesale slaughter at my hands. I shall send you home weeping. Then you shall know true fear.” He laughed, a booming sound. “All shall know of Lugh’s unprecedented annihilation at my hands.” This was
too
much like Freya, so much that Siegfried wanted to quit the place.

“They wish to talk about Freya,” Loki said, casting an irritated glance at his brother. “The woman has been accused of murdering her parents, her human parents.”

“Uh, Loki, you’ve been accused of a lot worse,” Hedwig said. “If we mentioned all that, this stupid dinner would last forever, because it’d take eons before anyone had an appetite again.”

“You’re so refreshingly blunt, Hedwig,” Lugh said with a smile. “The deaths of mortals are hardly my concern. There is a bit of an uproar—”

“Haha, a pun,” Woden said. “I see what you did there. Up
roar.”
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Let it be known, that on this day, it was discovered that our sober Ard Righ does have a sense of humor.”

Lugh did not appear amused, but the rest of the hall laughed. Most men would not dare such with a man of Lugh’s power. Woden, it seemed, was an exception, able to get away with whatever he dared. So, Woden was some sort of threat to Lugh’s power, because Lugh was treading carefully.

“What our Ard Righ is saying is that your daughter roared,” Nuada Airgetlam said. “The Romans simply seek to impose law on lawless lands. All the better for the people who are too foolish to govern their own lives. She has a problem with rules.”

“The tribes do have laws and they’ve managed to survive for quite some time without Roman intervention,” Siegfried said. “You cannot claim that other lives are owed to the empire.”

Nuada Airgetlam tapped a silver finger against his goblet, as if he wanted to draw attention to his hand. “I might be worried she’ll try for Asgard’s crown next. Hecate’s daughter…Oblivion…I’d be wary.”

“Leaf Clan of the elves?” Balder sat his lyre on his lap, his left arm securing it. With his other, he held the tankard of mead Siegfried hadn’t seen him touch.

“Yes, one of the proud, yet unworthy followers of the unicorns,” Nuada said, bowing his head. “You’d do well, Woden, to forge an alliance with He Whose Mane Tames the Wind. You’ll need the unicorns if Freya finds out how to use Oblivion magic. The Lord of the Unicorns would be your best ally. He has to know of Freya by now. He might deign to grant you an audience if you made your problems known.”

Siegfried remembered He Whose Mane Tames the Winds mentioned several times throughout the texts he’d been given, though there had not been all that much information about him. He was a mysterious creature, weaving in and out of the tales when it suited him. If Enbarr balked at offering audiences to those of Woden’s stature, Siegfried wondered what it meant that Enbarr had allowed him to ride him. It had been unwise of him to dismiss Enbarr’s importance.

“Hecate has been…more than problematic.” Lugh frowned. “She could be dangerous, though her long existence has, perhaps, finally tamed her. Beasts know no laws, Woden, Hedwig. Nor do they want them. The possibility of another Beast wielding Oblivion could be disastrous. Is Freya a Beast?”

Woden shrugged. “I don’t know what her powers are. You worry overmuch. She was raised by mortals.”

“I know Balor was your friend, Woden.” Nuada cleared his throat and gave Woden a grave look. “But even you realize they were on the wrong side. Otherwise, you would have joined Balor.”

“Asgard remained neutral, if you remember,” Woden said. “If there are two Beasts and they are friends, it is not surprising they would fight together, along with other Beasts. The Fomori had their own kingdom then. I have no interest in wearisome politics. Remember, Freya is not Balor’s daughter. She is mine. While you may still bear a grudge against Hecate, I have done naught against you. Methinks you should be grateful that I spared you Asgard’s frosty wrath.”