by Resa Nelson
“If the Scaldings aren’t my family, then who is?”
“Your mother died when you were born,” Lumara said. “But I can’t tell you anything about your father. If you know who he is, it will put your life at risk.”
“Why would knowing put my life at risk? Does my father want to kill me?”
“No. Your father loves you.”
Skallagrim snorted in disbelief. “If he loves me, then where has he been?”
“Protecting you. Loving you.”
“I don’t believe you.” But when Skallagrim looked in Lumara’s eyes, he saw no trace of deception.
I have to know who my father is. If I’m not a Scalding, does that mean I’ve wasted my life by striving to become the best of the Scaldings? By doing everything within my power to bring honor to the Scalding name?
If I’m not a Scalding, then what am I?
“Tell me,” Skallagrim said. “I’m willing to accept whatever risk is involved.”
“I’m not.”
Skallagrim stared at her in disbelief. “You talk about choice. The choice to kill. The choice to love. The choice to be happy. It seems to me this is my choice, not yours.”
“That may be,” Lumara said. “But if you put yourself at risk, you also put our future children at risk. If they can’t be born because you are killed today, you are putting the life of every mortal in this world at risk. If we don’t have children, there will be no one here to protect everyone else. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”
In that moment, Skallagrim realized she had given him an answer to the most desperate question that had haunted him since childhood: did he have Scalding blood? Could his father be a Scalding? Did he truly belong to the Scalding clan?
I don’t need to be a Scalding. I’m the only man who can father the children who will have the power to save the mortal race. That’s better than being a Scalding.
That thought gave Skallagrim the same peace he’d felt when Lumara first kissed him.
For the first time, Skallagrim believed he understood his life and what he needed to do with it.
More important, what he wanted to do with it.
It’s far more important to be a good father to children with the power to save mortals.
Answering Lumara’s question, Skallagrim said, “No. I’m not willing to risk our children’s existence for the sake of satisfying my curiosity.”
At the same time, Skallagrim had a difficult time believing all that had just happened in the course of a single evening.
Have I gone mad? Could it be that my eyes played tricks on me and that Lumara isn’t a dragon? Could she be confounding me because she’s a brigand who plans to rob me?
Lumara laughed. “Stop thinking such silly thoughts!”
Skallagrim froze.
Did she read my mind?
“I can’t read your mind,” Lumara continued. “But it’s impossible for you to hide your thoughts. They’re all over your face.”
That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.
Skallagrim relaxed, thinking about all the times his friends had said the same thing.
Maybe it’s real. Maybe all of this is real.
“Of course, it’s real,” Lumara said. “But we must take care. I could claim to be a Scalding.”
Skallagrim laughed. “You? A Scalding?”
“If I say I’m a distant cousin, how will they know that I’m not?” Lumara smiled. “Claiming to be a Scalding will let me hide in plain sight.” Her voice took a more serious tone. “But we must take even greater care with the children. We shouldn’t tell them the truth about who we are—who they are—until they’re old enough to understand it’s a secret they must keep at all costs. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Skallagrim chuckled.
“Why do you laugh?”
“I imagine,” Skallagrim said with a grin, “I’ll be the first dragonslayer to ever marry a dragon.”
CHAPTER 22
With every year that passed, Frandulane felt more claustrophobic on Tower Island.
He didn’t mind until the day his cousins Einarr and Tungu stopped talking when they saw him approach.
Frandulane had spent the afternoon with his young son Mandulane in the farmland circling the Scalding homes near the island’s golden tower. Frandulane delighted in listening to the questions his son asked the farmers and the way Mandulane liked to pet the cows.
After leaving the farmers to their work, the Scalding father and son took their time walking through a lush green pasture toward home. “Whatever you want to do when you grow up is fine with me,” Frandulane told his boy. “If you like the work that farmers do, you can join them in the fields.”
Mandulane looked down and dragged his feet through the soft grass. “They’d make fun of me.”
“Who would make fun of you?”
“Everybody.”
“I wouldn’t make fun. Your mother wouldn’t either. Did you know she was a milkmaid before she married me?”
Mandulane looked up with brightness in his eyes. “Truly?”
“You can ask her when we get home. She could teach you how to milk a cow if you want.”
The brightness in Mandulane’s eyes faded, and he looked down again. “I don’t want Mama to be sad.”
Frandulane understood his son’s trepidation. Although Mandulane’s birth had happened with ease, Frandulane’s wife had failed to conceive during the following years. Pregnant once more, she worried every day about her unborn child. “I don’t want her to be sad either. But teaching you how to milk a cow might cheer her up.”
Mandulane gave a serious nod but didn’t look up.
When they reached the Scalding settlement and walked across the stone courtyard, Frandulane spotted his cousins, deep in conversation.
But when they looked up and saw him, they stopped talking.
“Run home and help your mama,” Frandulane said to his son.
The boy’s eyebrows knit into a quizzical expression. “Help her with what?”
“Whatever she’s doing.”
Quick to obey, Mandulane ran toward their home at the opposite end of the courtyard.
Watching to make sure his son ran out of earshot, Frandulane approached Einarr and Tungu. “What kind of trouble are you getting into now?”
The cousins stared in silence for a few moments and then burst into laughter.
“Look who’s talking about trouble,” Einarr snickered. “The former scoundrel of Tower Island who let his wife turn him into a pussycat.”
Tungu made mewing sounds like a hungry tabby.
Einarr gave his mewing brother a pat on the head. “Good kitty. Nice kitty.”
Shame wrenched Frandulane’s heart. In an attempt to defend himself, he said, “I care about my wife. Nothing wrong with that.”
Einarr guffawed. “Not unless you like being led around Tower Island by the nose!”
Tungu waved his hands as if shooing a fly away. “Go home to your woman. The big boys are busy.”
They wouldn’t have dismissed me so easily before I got married.
It didn’t seem so long ago that Einarr and Tungu had accompanied Frandulane on a mission to find his brother Skallagrim and end his days as a dragonslayer. If he’d succeeded in killing Skallagrim, Frandulane believed he’d be the one living the enviable life of a dragonslayer today.
Instead I’m stuck on this island where no one respects me.
In the past, Frandulane had brushed aside any cruel comment about his devotion to his family because he cared for them and wanted his wife and child to be happy. But today he felt like a man who’d been walking in hip-deep snow for weeks on end without food or shelter. Weariness overcame him. Frandulane felt as if he couldn’t take one more step.
What kind of man am I if all of the Scaldings laugh at me? What value can I be to my family if no one on this island takes me seriously?
“I can do as I please,” Frandulane said. “And if I please, I can come into your home wh
en you sleep and do what I did to Skallagrim.”
Einarr and Tungu exchanged glances.
“Do you mean what you failed to do to Skallagrim in Gott?” Tungu said. “When you failed to kill him in his sleep because you mistook a pile of bedding for him?” He nudged Einarr in the ribs. “If you think you can kill us, you’ll first have to learn how to tell the difference between a mortal and his bed!”
Frandulane relaxed his thoughts into the way he used to think before he became a married man.
He remembered who he used to be before a beautiful milkmaid and a son softened his heart.
No wonder they ridicule me. I’ve forgotten how to talk to them.
Frandulane smiled at his cousins. “Lock your doors before you go to sleep tonight. Or your own wives may wake up widows tomorrow morning.” He paused for effect. “And once your dead bodies are dragged out of your beds, I’ll show your widows what they’ve been missing.”
Einarr yawned. “No one’s afraid of you anymore, Frandulane. Those days are long gone.”
Now steeped in remembering who he used to be, Frandulane drew the dagger from beneath his belt and held it at Einarr’s throat before either cousin could blink. “Those days,” Frandulane said, “are back. Tell me what you were discussing when you saw me with my son.”
Einarr held still, but Tungu moved for his own dagger.
Before Tungu could touch his weapon, Frandulane threw his elbow into his cousin’s eye while still keeping the knife at Einarr’s throat.
Tungu yelled in pain and collapsed on the ground.
Frandulane kicked him in the face for good measure.
“The Boglands,” Einarr said. “We were talking about the Boglands.”
Frandulane shook his head as if trying to make sense of Einarr’s words. “Why?”
Tungu grabbed Frandulane’s leg with both hands, but Frandulane kicked him away. His action jostled the hand holding the knife, and the blade nicked Einarr’s neck. Moments later, a thin line of blood trickled from the cut.
“Let me go,” Einarr said with a wince. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
Frandulane tucked his dagger back under his belt and then offered a hand to Tungu and helped him stand up.
Einarr pressed the edge of his sleeve against his neck until it stopped bleeding. “It’s all about the iron,” he said.
Frandulane gave him a blank stare.
“Think of it,” Einarr said. “The greatest wealth in the world is the worth of a sword. Especially a dragonslayer’s sword. The value comes from the work put into it but also from the iron. Where is raw iron harvested? In the upper Northlands. More specific, the Boglands. Where is that raw iron smelted into blooms that blacksmiths use to forge swords? The Boglands. Where do few dragonslayers travel because dragons are scarcely sighted there?” Einarr gestured for Frandulane to answer.
“The Boglands,” Frandulane said. “But what has that got to do with you and Tungu?”
Tungu spoke up, sounding irritated while he held his face as if worried his eyeballs would fall out from the force of Frandulane’s blow. “We went up there to scout the place last week. Wanted to get an idea of the people who go there to trade for blooms of iron. What paths they take. What time of day they travel. How easily we could stop them.” He let his hands fall away from his face. “But then we got found out by a dragonslayer, so Einarr killed him.”
Frandulane’s heart sank at the worry that his cousin had stolen an opportunity away from him. “Skallagrim? You killed Skallagrim?”
“There are more dragonslayers in the world than just our cousin,” Einarr said. “No. I didn’t kill him. It was someone else. Probably a Southlander.”
“You,” Frandulane scoffed. “You couldn’t kill a dragonslayer. It’s impossible.”
“Not if you wait until the dragonslayer sleeps,” Tungu said. “If you keep quiet and be quick about taking the dragonslayer sword resting by his side, it can be done.”
Frandulane stared at his cousins in astonishment. “You killed a dragonslayer while he slept?”
Einarr sniffed as if offended. “You try killing a dragonslayer when he’s awake. It won’t go well.”
Frandulane shook his head in disbelief. “That’s the most cowardly thing I ever heard.”
Tungu grinned. “Would you rather be called a coward or have wealth in your hands? I say that’s the easiest question I ever had to answer.”
Einarr and Tungu laughed.
“We’re talking about going back tomorrow,” Tungu said. “We didn’t want to be there when people found the dragonslayer dead. Didn’t want anyone to think we had something to do with it. We came back here. Relaxed for some time. And now when we go back to the Northlands, no one’s got any reason to suspect.”
“Who saw you in the Northlands?”
“No one,” Einarr said.
“Of consequence,” Tungu added. “We stayed off the main roads. Took animal paths. Saw a few kids here and there. None old enough to remember our faces.”
Frandulane doubted that was true but didn’t mind the risk. “I’m going with you. I can vouch for you if need be. Tell anyone who asks that you were on Tower Island when the dragonslayer was killed.”
“Go with us?” Einarr gave a narrow look. “To the Northlands? You think you have what it takes to rob with us? Fight with us? Kill with us?”
Tungu scowled at Frandulane. “You think your wife will give you permission?”
Anger piled up like bricks in a wall around Frandulane, reminding him of how he felt in his younger days on Tower Island.
He remembered who he was before he met his milkmaid wife and fathered their child.
That memory made Frandulane happy.
“I need permission from no one,” he said.
CHAPTER 23
The next morning, Pingzi Po woke up with a start and cried out in terror.
Her cry woke up her husband, Hsu Mao, sleeping next to her. Half asleep, he said, “Did you have another portent dream?”
Pingzi clutched the sheets, still reeling from what she had seen in her sleep.
I’m home. I’m safe. Nothing can harm me here.
She answered her husband’s question. “Yes. A dragonslayer has been killed in the Northlands.”
Hsu Mao grunted. “You care too much about the Northlands. It’s their problem if a lizard kills one of their dragonslayers, not yours.”
Torn between wishing she’d never experienced the portent and the instinct that she needed the information it provided, Pingzi focused to remember the details. It helped to speak them out loud. If her husband didn’t want to hear them, he didn’t have to listen. “I saw Fiera in the portent dream. She picked me up in her arms, and we flew through the skies to the Northlands.”
Hsu Mao turned away from her and blocked his ears.
Ignoring him, Pingzi continued for her own benefit. “Fiera took me to witness an attack on the dragonslayer, but it wasn’t a lizard that killed him. It was men.”
Hsu Mao rolled over and looked at her. “Men?”
Pingzi nodded. “Who would kill a dragonslayer?”
Her husband pondered the question. “Brigands?”
“Brigands have just as much to fear from lizards as anyone else in the Northlands. Maybe more. They travel alone on the roads. They face a greater threat than anyone else of being attacked by lizards. They need dragonslayers more than anyone else. It would make no sense to kill one.”
Hsu Mao sat up next to her. “Do you think it might be demons?”
Pingzi knew he asked because of her experience as a demon queller. “I don’t know.”
“What else did you see in the dream?”
“Blood,” Pingzi whispered. “There was so much blood. Walls of it.”
“From the dragonslayer?”
“I don’t know.” Pingzi rubbed her arms. “It felt so real that I feel covered in it. I want to wash it off my skin.”
“There’s no blood on your skin. You’re fine.”<
br />
“I know. It just feels that way.” Pingzi climbed out of bed and got dressed. “I need to go to the Northlands.”
“What?” Hsu Mao jumped from the bed and put clothes on to keep up with his wife. “Why would you go to the Northlands?”
Pingzi twisted her long hair, piled it into a knot on top of her head, and secured it in place with a large wooden comb. “If there’s a demon killing dragonslayers, I’m needed there.”
Hsu Mao pleaded with her. “But you’d be placing yourself in danger. What if the demon kills you?”
Pingzi crossed her arms. “You forget you speak to a demon queller. Or do you think I’m so old that I’ve lost my abilities?”
Hsu Mao’s stunned face told Pingzi that she’d hit upon the truth. In victory, she flounced out of their bedroom and into the front room of their home to a low table surrounded by thick pillows. She noticed the steaming cups of tea on the tabletop and sat on a pillow in front of one.
Her ward TeaTree, now a grown man and budding merchant, walked into the room with two more full cups in hand. “Good morning, Madam Po.”
Hsu Mao stormed into the room, ignoring TeaTree. “I forbid you to go to the Northlands.”
Pingzi laughed and sipped her tea.
TeaTree stayed silent and took a few steps back until he bumped into Benzel, who rounded the corner behind him. TeaTree yelped in surprise.
“Apologies, TeaTree,” Benzel said. Despite his white beard and heavily wrinkled skin, Benzel held TeaTree’s arm steady for the sake of the merchant, not his own balance. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I’m fine,” TeaTree whispered. “But I don’t advise moving forward.” He nodded toward the still-seated Pingzi Po and Hsu Mao, who now paced around the table.
Ignoring TeaTree’s advice, Benzel strode toward the table and took a seat on a pillow across from Pingzi. “What did I miss?”
“I’m going to the Northlands,” Pingzi said. “There might be a demon there that needs quelling.”
“If you need help,” Benzel said, “I’ll be glad to come along.”
Pingzi smiled. “I think that’s a fine plan.”
