Balder counted to three—
ugh, three—
and Siegfried could swear Woden tore off before Balder even finished saying three. With a neigh, Enbarr launched into flight. At least, it felt like flight, for how there was nary a jostle to the smooth gait.
Siegfried bent low over the unicorn’s neck, his brow resting against the base of the horn. How did he get into this? He tightened his thighs lest he fall. Thankfully, he’d at least been exercising, although most of that had been with Freya.
“Wave Walker, tone down your thoughts,”
Enbarr admonished him.
“I’ve had to tell Freya the same. There are some things I do
not
want to know.”
Enbarr was the first to reach the sands of the beach. He strutted in front of the waves, his lion tail arching upward. It was a short while before Woden and Sleipnir arrived, the one-eyed man glaring at them.
“My superiority is proven, yet again,”
Enbarr said.
“Now that we have conceded that, you need to concede yet again. Bright Mane will wed Wave Walker, Woden.”
“Absolutely not,” Woden said, folding his arms across his bare chest.
“You’re going to risk Bright Mane like that?”
Enbarr shook his head.
“I should not be surprised. Especially considering your past actions. Or, should I say inactions?”
“Her name is Freya. Would you cease with the goofy unicorn appellations?” Woden demanded. “Annoying, absurd appellations. Alliteration. Why are they called appellations if they’ve nothing to do with apples?”
“Enbarr, do you mean that Freya is still in danger?” Siegfried asked, trying to ignore the similarities between Freya and her father.
“The spider is still free to weave his web, is he not? If you recall the prophecy, it said she would bleed for a cold throne. She bled in Folkvang because that grotesque Two-Legs mare hated her. Loki assisted and escaped.”
“If there’s a spider, just step on it.” Woden rolled his eye. “Hecate got her out of Folkvang. She’s safe on Avalon. All this because of a bug.”
Enbarr pranced into the surf until the waves surged around Siegfried’s knees. The unicorn lowered his head. A wave larger than the rest rose, roaring toward them. Enbarr leapt and turned to land on the crest, letting the water carry them back to shore. When the wave receded, there was a dark shape on the sand.
They approached it, as did Woden. Siegfried’s stomach clenched at the sight of what lie on the beach.
Enbarr bucked, tossing his mane, hooves flailing, as if he were losing control. Siegfried landed on his back in the sand while the unicorn writhed in the air, his tail lashing behind him.
“Gods. No,”
Enbarr screamed in Freya’s voice.
“Please, please, no. Siegfried, where are you?”
Siegfried shuddered and levered himself from the sand. “Enbarr, what the hell was that?” He took a deep breath, trying to suppress the cold fear.
“What is to come, maybe. Prophecies can be changed. But I will not be the one to cause Bright Mane distress. Nor will it be you.”
He stood beside Woden, looking at what had washed up on the sand. A purple-scaled fish, or what had once been a purple-scaled fish. The head was missing. It was torn, filled with small crabs, devouring its guts.
“Do you see now, Woden?”
Enbarr said, standing opposite the one-eyed man. He nudged the carcass with a hoof.
“This sign could mean dozens of things,” Woden said, gesturing at the dead fish with
Gungnir.
“Like what?” Siegfried asked at the same time Enbarr said,
“Name one.”
“Well…” Woden poked the dead fish with his boot, sending crabs scuttling away. “Your prophecy was about spiders. These are crabs. So, obviously Freya is going to get crabs—well, they look like crabs—from the faun, who is probably fooling around with dryads. Fauns always fool around with dryads. That’s why you were yelling all those things in Freya’s voice. When she was asking where he was, he was probably with a few dryads. Fauns adore the tree spirits.”
Even Enbarr gaped, the little beard on his chin quivering.
“Um, did everyone forget about hunting?” Freya strode out onto the beach, blood spattered across her armor and matted in her hair.
“That’s right,” Woden said. “We need game for—”
“No, we don’t,” Freya said. “Freya’s got game. Lots of game. I wasn’t sure what was edible, so I killed a whole bunch of stuff. Some of it is half-cooked or totally scorched. But it’s all dead. We got us a giraffe, an elephant, a rhino, two lions, a cougar, and a tiger.”
“You killed all that already?” Woden asked.
She shrugged. “I just flew around and killed stuff. The problem is that the dead animals are all over the island. How am I going to carry an elephant? Or a giraffe? Freya’s mighty, mighty armor only so mighty.” She struck her breast. “But considering I did the work, you can haul the carcasses back, Woden. You’re supposed to be strong. And I did all the killing.”
“My daughter enjoys
hunting?”
Woden said. “Well, considering we both share the same preference for lack of armor… Armor is for cowards, yes?”
Freya ignored him, walking closer. She stopped when she saw the dead fish.
“This
is what you caught? Um, I don’t think I want to eat that.”
Siegfried didn’t want to worry Freya. He’d make sure he kept her safe. “It was Woden’s catch. He was just bragging about it.”
****
Loki sat in his wooden throne in Utgard. Soon, soon it would be the Frost Throne. He looked at the sleeping llama and hippo near the foot of the throne. He’d exerted some of his anger there, his sheer frustration with himself. He had discounted his niece too quickly.
She
had used Oblivion. He hadn’t realized it then, but she’d managed to exert enough control over Oblivion to stop it from hurting her and taking her over. It only made sense that she’d be strong enough to come back from that potion.
The question was, how could he persuade her to want to use it? Siegfried would be there to stop him, probably afraid to leave Freya alone again. He wished he hadn’t marked her face, but he was so certain she would have been his to use.
At the very least, he didn’t want Freya fighting against him. How long until she was able to develop her powers enough to turn his own Oblivion magic on him? Hecate was an expert with it. If Freya had a fraction of her aptitude…
That was really why Loki had fled Folkvang. He hadn’t wanted to fight Hecate, not with Balor and Siegfried there, too.
He couldn’t kill Freya. She was his blood. Perhaps he would imprison her indefinitely until she changed her mind. And if she didn’t, she’d be out of the way. All those carefully laid plans could so easily be destroyed. He never should have left her with Siegfried.
If he kept her alive, he’d still be following the one rule he abided and he’d have her as leverage against Hecate and Woden. His mistake before had been letting the humans have custody of her. This time would be different, but he would still have to use mortals. He couldn’t very well go after her in Asgard.
Chapter Thirteen
Siegfried deposited Freya on the yellow sheets, patterned with pink shells. He barred the door of the cottage Hecate had given them—a cottage on the opposite side of the island from the sumptuous splendor of Hecate’s hall.
He took a slow walk around the single room. Someone had lived here before. There were maps so old they might disintegrate if touched. These maps were tacked to the walls and marked in fading red ink. Battle plans. There were a few empty bottles upon a shelf, and an eye patch. It was obvious to Siegfried that this was a favorite spot of Balor’s. He didn’t think Hecate knew, else she would not have recommended such a place to the new couple. What mother would recommend some hideaway for her daughter and soon-to-be husband where a judgmental Fomori king might appear?
He opened the closet and winced at the smell. More empty booze bottles tumbled out. The labels read Ulster Uisge-Beatha. It seemed Balor was a heavy drinker. Siegfried noticed, too, the deep claw marks in the wood that admitted ragged patches of sunlight. Siegfried closed the yellow curtains.
“I needed that hunt.” Freya sat on the bed, gloriously naked. “It was a good way to curb the frustration with my father.”
“I thought you might,” he said. “I’m trying to work out a plan. Woden is being stubborn, trying to punish the both of us. Believe me, I don’t mind having you as my slave. But you should be able to claim your birthright as Princess of Asgard. The Aesir will look down on you if you’re beholden to me and not my wife. They do not understand our relationship, that I’m just as beholden to you.” He folded his arms across his chests. “I am, Freya. You, with your constant need, your candid speech… Everything about you holds me surer than shackles.” He rested a hand on the windowsill. “There is only one way Woden won’t be able to say me no. That’s if you’re pregnant.”
“Whaaa?” Freya almost tumbled from the bed.
“Can you think of a better way? It’s the one way Woden won’t be able to try to wed you to gods-know-what.” He thought of MacMidhna. That man best fit the description of a “gods-know-what.”
She’d gone absolutely pale. “A baby? Me? I’ll lose the baby. I mean lose as in misplace it. What if you didn’t want me if I gained weight? What if you mistook me for a beached whale? What if—”
“Freya, did you think I’d swive you without considering those possibilities?”
Freya tilted her head. “Master, I’ve been taking a potion. A tested potion of Hedwig’s. It’s to prevent pregnancy, so I know it’s well-tested, or else she’d have been filled with the children of all her drunken sailors.”
Siegfried gave her a smile. “I’m relieved. I wish you’d told me. But I’d planned for a child, if it happened.”
“You did?”
“I know what happens when a man takes a woman as much as I took you.” He gave her a wink. “But for now, I want you to pretend to be pregnant. Do you think you can do that?”
“Of course I can.” She grinned maliciously.
****
The vines and foliage moved away from Siegfried’s hooves. Freya had wanted to see more of the isle and so had he. Especially because it appeared this was where they would be spending most of their time when not aboard the
River Queen.
He’d slowly redirected their path closer to their little cabin. He had ideas, oh so many ideas. Already he missed the privacy they’d had at sea and he wanted to recreate it. Fortunately, his magic allowed for that.
The sharp intake of breath told him she anticipated sex as much as he did. It would be nice if they could forget their enemies—and her father—for a little while and he could have her alone and swive her silly…sillier than she already was.
The days before they arrived on Avalon had been bliss. He tested her, pushed her to her limits, and loved every moment of watching that beautiful little body twist in her need for him. But she always exceeded his expectations. She really was completely his, in every way Siegfried had dreamed.
She plucked a purple Calotropis from a vine and placed it under her headband to frame her face. She gave him a shy smile, and his lust surged. He bent to kiss her nape.
“Ready?” she asked and bit her bottom lip.
“Bring the mists to surround this area. Set your trident aside and bare yourself.”
As Freya did as instructed, he began to play his panpipes. The trees moved together, becoming denser, forming an impenetrable bower for them. There were vines…lots of vines and thick tree roots.
The vines wrapped around her wrists and twisted tree roots slipped around her slim ankles. A carpet of the white-flowered pineapple lilies bloomed underneath her feet. The vines pulled her hands down to place her on all fours, atop the bed of lilies. A thin vine threaded through the links of Brisingamen and tugged her head to rest on a pillow of pink and red Ixora. The roots holding her ankles spread her legs wider. He knew she would do this, but there was something about taking her will from the equation. The tall lilies between her thighs brushed lightly against her pussy, making her writhe in her bindings. That just would not do.
The lilies continued their gentle torture, and he brought his liana vine switch down firmly across her upturned rump. She cried out. Then he brought down for a second and third whack. He continued until he felt she’d been punished enough. He never counted when he punished her, only continued until the red stripes were in stark contrast to her pale flesh.
He watched her expression as a soft vine entered her pussy to stroke her insides. She moaned and whimpered, but when the vine moved deeper, she struggled again. The tree roots stretched her legs wider. And this time, Siegfried used his bare hand on her ass. A switch would not allow him to feel the soft flesh heat beneath the well-deserved rebuke.
He wondered if the Garden of Eden had been as pleasurable. There were endless things he could do to her out here. And to think, he’d been disappointed with his powers at first.
He stopped her torments for a moment to kneel beside her. Winding his hand in her hair, he lifted her head and kissed her mouth. She returned the gesture with such fervor. He gave her ass another slap, then returned to his pipes. The vine continued to stimulate her dripping folds.
“Good, Freya,” he said. “That’s right, take it.”
She gave a throaty moan, beyond speech now. He held his pipes with one hand. With the other, he plucked one of the tall pineapple lilies, reaching beneath her to graze the white flowers against her white breasts. Her pierced nipples hardened under the gentle assault.
“Don’t come, Freya. I want you to wait for me,” he said.
“It’s difficult,” she cried, a sheen of tears in those pretty eyes. She began to snarl, but there were no clouds.
He bent to kiss her tears away. “Yes, but I know you can. I know you’ll do this for me. You’ve done it before. Why cherish the drizzle when I can have a storm. I want to ride the storm.”
He was surprised how long she held back on her own, with no devices to facilitate his aims. She did not beg much, having learned that Siegfried wouldn’t give in until he was good and ready.