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hadn’t been able to stop them from searching her bedchamber. At least they’d left the mattress alone. Odilia had been the one to orchestrate the searches, insisting that those in the palace must also abide by the rules.
    The Roman grabbed her arm, wrenching her shoulder. “I’ve been looking for you, peasant. You’re assisting pirates, bringing down destruction on your own people. You’re looking for Siegfried, that foolish Cimbri dog attempting to assist that barbarian king, Vercingetorix.”
    “What? Pirates? No, I was helping that hooded woman, the one covered in goat dung,” Freya said. “She’s my…friend.” That was probably the biggest part of the lie.
    She tried to pull away, but the soldier’s grip was tight. Unfortunately, she stumbled backward with her usual clumsiness. The Roman caught her, hoisting her up so her feet flailed in the air, her knee aching. She knew enough that she was in serious trouble. In the end, if she were discovered, it wouldn’t matter if she was the Remi princess or not.
    “Ow, ow. My arm!”
    He drew his sword, seemingly unaware of the silence surrounding them. “Then you were helping a thief who is part of the threat against Rome, barbarian. I saw you earlier. I saw you give the merchant gold coins. There is no way you could afford such. And then he gave you a box. What was in the box?”
    “I…I don’t know.” That was the truth. She had no idea what was in the box.
    “Was it a message? That was an expensive box. Gold and mahogany and pearls, not the purchase of a peasant. Tell me the truth. I questioned the merchant already. If you lie, I’ll know.”
    “What’d you do to Ulf? He’s just an innocent merchant selling goods to anyone with coin.” That’s what the crowd had been watching. This Roman had probably had Ulf arrested for the suspicious act of being a merchant who sold something pricey.
    “He’s a seafarer, giving mysterious boxes to dirty urchins. Now talk and I might let you keep your tongue.” He raised the blade to hold it inches from her throat.
    I won’t use the Blood Call. I won’t. But what if he decides not to let me keep my tongue? The “might” isn’t reassuring.
    Drizzling rain began to fall, dark clouds gathering above.
    “Cease, General.” The voice was deep and so firm it caught Freya by surprise. No one spoke this way to a Roman, especially not in a Germanic accent. She had to learn her powers soon so she could also do that. She twisted in the soldier’s grip to see the man who dared to speak to a Roman—apparently a Roman general—in such a tone.
    Freya squeaked again and lowered her head. But the image would be burned there forever. The people hadn’t fallen silent just because the soldier questioned her. Sadly, the people were accustomed to scenes like this.
    The real reason for the crowd’s silence was staring down at her right now from atop his great bay stallion, flanked by an entourage clothed in expensive furs and jewels. The stallion was definitely one of Enbarr’s, given his thick, waving mane. Yet, the rider looked unsteady on the horse’s back. He wore a fur cape fastened over one shoulder with a gold medallion. His arms were encased by armbands of beaten gold. A gold diadem studded with rubies rested on his brow, leaving no doubt that he had to be Chieftain Etainen.
    His stormy-blue eyes were like chips of ice above his dark-blond goatee. He had a sharp face, softened only by the gold strands in his hair. Handsome. The bastard she’d be forced to wed would turn out to be handsome and have a commanding voice. Freya had been imagining something thready and nasal.
    “This is not yet Rome, General Pompey.” Etainen maneuvered his steed forward, managing to look confident and grim despite his unsteady seating. “If you wish her to be dealt with, let the Remis handle her. Or I will handle her.”
    Handle me…
    One of his capable hands had strayed to one of the twin swords at his hips. Etainen was Rome’s