by Bec McMaster
She was here for her own purposes. For Solveig’s. The second the dawn broke, he’d know all of it.
“Don’t say those words.”
Tormund’s brow furrowed in confusion as she strode through the water. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”
Nothing. You did nothing. Except remind me of the truth. Bryn shook her head. “I’m not yours. I will never be yours, nor you mine. And though one day you may not think it of me, I truly don’t want to break your heart.”
He surged toward her, as determined as ever. “That’s not your choice to make. It’s my heart to give as I so wish. My heart to break.”
“But the guilt will be mine.”
She broke from the river as swiftly as she could move, water sluicing down her naked body. And she knew he watched her go, hunger darkening his eyes.
But she didn’t look back.
To surrender to mercy now would be to lose everything she’d ever yearned for. She couldn’t come so close, only to fail now.
She could restore her name and her sisters’ faith in her. She could return to the only home that had ever opened its doors to her. She could be immortal again. Brave and fearless and knowing nothing of this cursed doubt that had dogged her steps ever since she was cast into oblivion.
Bryn’s hand closed around the ring in the pocket of her shirt, and she rubbed her thumb over it, bringing it to her lips. “I have him,” she whispered.
The ring instantly warmed as Bryn slipped it on. She twirled it on her finger, feeling a little uncomfortable with the sensation, but done was done.
Time to end this now, before she could break the giant fool’s heart.
Tormund deserved to know the truth.
Even if he never looked at her again the way he did now.
Thirteen
Tormund woke the next morning, the itch of unfulfilled desire aching within him. Which was a hell of an awkward way to wake when one was surrounded by two other males. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he cocked his knee under his blankets so Haakon—who was stoking the fire—didn’t notice, and then shifted his aching erection.
He didn’t know what he’d done to drive Bryn from the water yesterday morning—and his arms—but it had something to do with what he’d said.
You’re so perfect. So fucking beautiful. Brave. Loyal. Powerful. And mine, Bryn. All mine.
Fuck.
He’d gone too far, too fast. And she’d fled.
You idiot. You know she’s guarded.
And the second she’d lowered her shield just a fraction, he’d shoved his way through with all the brute finesse of a wounded bull.
“Morning,” Haakon murmured, setting the frypan on the coals.
Tormund grunted and pushed onto his elbows. There was no sign of Bryn. Not that he’d expected it. The ruins they’d found to camp in were devoid of sexy, frustrating women.
“Sleepless night?” Haakon murmured with a faint quirk to his lips. “Or a lonely one, judging by the look of you?”
Tormund tossed his boot at the bastard. Damn it. “I would have slept better if some fool wasn’t snoring like a wounded dragon beside me.”
“Bryn doesn’t snore that loudly.”
“I was talking about you.”
Haakon pushed to his feet, tossing Tormund’s boot up and catching it. “She clearly didn’t sleep any better. She took off an hour ago. Haven’t seen her since. Said she wanted to clear her head, which I thought meant she wanted to get away from you.”
Tormund scowled. “Thanks. You let her go off alone?”
They’d flown for miles yesterday, with Marduk trying to hone in on his sister’s whereabouts, and while they’d left Queen Zorja’s dreki court miles behind them, they were still in the wilderness.
“She can take care of herself,” Haakon pointed out. “She took her sword.”
“I’m not worried about her,” he lied, noting that Bryn’s pack remained, though the merlin was gone too. “If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s for Bryn to be the scariest thing out there on the slopes of this mountain.”
“You look worried.”
“I’m not worried.” Pushing out of his blankets, he tried not to look like a kicked puppy. “I hope you’re cooking me breakfast.”
“Maybe.” Haakon tossed the boot back. “You throw that at me again and I’m going to toss it in the river.”
“You toss it in the river and I’m going to make you fetch it.”
Haakon laughed shortly. “Well, you are in a mood.” He rolled his eyes. “Breakfast for my prince, as soon as I can cook it.” Bowing several times, he backed away, heading for the supply bags.
“Speaking of princes, have we seen our precious little princeling?”
“Right here,” said a drawling voice behind him.
Tormund spun around, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw Marduk hop from rock to rock on his way up from the river. “Damn it, man. Could you sneak a little less sneakily?”
Marduk laughed under his breath, balancing on one stone as though to defy mere gravity. Dawn light gleamed on his golden hair, which was swept rakishly across his forehead. “My apologies. I sometimes forget you mortals have such terrible hearing.”
Tormund exchanged a look with Haakon. Haakon arched a brow.
“The river?” Tormund asked.
Haakon cut Marduk a look, then sighed. “Tempting. But he did carry us yesterday, and despite his protests, I know his shoulder’s still sore.”
“It’s fine,” Marduk broke in.
Dreki. Tormund shook his head. Almost as prickly as certain redheads.
“By the time we landed, you were flapping like a lame duck,” Tormund said. “And you’re clearly in no hurry to leave again this morning, despite the urgency of your mission. Which makes me think you doubt your wings.”
“I don’t doubt my wings,” Marduk snapped. “But Ishtar is moving. I get a sense of her, and then she vanishes again and it takes me an hour or two to sense where she’s gone. Right now, she’s… gone again. And so I have to wait until I can pinpoint her direction.” His lips pressed thinly. “While I can fly, I don’t think it would do me any good to be flapping around up there in all directions for hours.”
“Gone where?” Haakon asked.
“I think she’s transporting herself via portal,” Marduk admitted. “It’s not something I know a lot about, though it’s starting to make sense why her cave was warded. I don’t think she knows how to shift shapes and flying isn’t as easy as it looks. When we first shift, we start with short flights and wing strengthening exercises.” His gaze hardened. “And Ishtar’s spent her entire life locked away in the dark.”
Physically, she wasn’t the strongest female Tormund had ever set eyes on either. Just looking at her roused all of his protective instincts, though he’d noticed that something about her set Bryn on edge.
It certainly wasn’t jealousy.
“And you never knew she existed?” Haakon handed him a plate of something.
Marduk looked at it dubiously. “Is this—?”
“Don’t ask,” Tormund interrupted. “Best just to eat it.”
“But it smells like—”
“I know.” He winced. “Just eat it.”
Marduk took a careful bite as Haakon handed Tormund his own plate. The prince dutifully swallowed. And then shrugged. “Not as bad as I expected.” He wolfed down the rest of the sausage and then set his plate aside. “No, I didn’t know she existed until Zorja told me.” There was a wealth of loss in those eyes. “But it makes so much sense now. I’ve always had these dreams, as though I was searching for something and I could never find it. I used to wake in tears when I was a kit. And every day felt like there was something wrong. Something…. It’s like this phantom sensation that half of you is missing. I thought it was the dreki myth about soulmates. I thought I was merely yearning for the other half of me, and that my mate was out there somewhere, but I just hadn’t found her. I thought all male dreki felt this way.�
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Marduk’s head suddenly snapped toward the north-west. “There she is again.” He pushed to his feet. “Are we ready to leave?”
Tormund shoved his feet in his boots and hauled a shirt over his shoulders. “I’ll find Bryn and then we’ll pack. We’d best set out as soon as possible. We’re not the only ones looking for your sister.”
“And we’re the friendliest,” Haakon muttered. “Do we know where those Keepers went?”
“No. Unlike Ishtar, I can’t sense them,” Marduk replied.
“Take your axe,” Haakon called.
Tormund gave him a flippant gesture, then snatched at the handle of his axe and tossed it in the air. “Yes, Mother.”
Marduk caught Tormund’s wrist as he strode past, his nostrils flaring. “Wait,” he snapped. “I can smell more than that horrible sausage now.”
They all fell still.
Tormund’s hand curled around the hilt of his axe. “What is it?”
“Dreki.” Marduk cocked his head and scented the breeze. “There’s at least ten of them.”
“Ten of them?” Haakon’s sword cleared its sheath with a steely rasp. “Are they friend or foe?”
“I don’t know.” Marduk’s golden brows drew together in a frown. “I don’t recognize their scents.”
According to Sirius, Zorja had sworn not to send her people after them, but she’d warned them the Keepers of Order wouldn’t rest until they had Ishtar in their hands again. “The Keepers?”
“Not unless they’ve found friends,” Marduk replied, the whites of his eyes flaring. “And I don’t think they have friends.”
Tormund’s heart suddenly fell. “Can you smell Bryn?”
“No.”
A piercing whistle filled the air, and then something hissed past Tormund’s nose—
Marduk spun, clearly sensing it before they did, but the shaft of an arrow sank into his upper chest. He staggered backward with a gasp and went to one knee.
Tormund whipped around, his hand firming around his axe. “Haakon!”
“Here.” Haakon stepped to his side, both of them presenting a protective wall for the prince.
Where the fuck was his shield?
“Are you all right?” He didn’t dare look at Marduk.
“Alive,” the prince gasped. “They missed anything vital.”
Nothing moved out there in the fog. But tendrils of mist stirred, and it was becoming very clear that the mist was circling them. Only the space they stood within remained clear.
“Any chance you’re doing that?” he asked the prince.
“No. It’s not my specialty.”
“Definitely foes,” Tormund grunted. Damn it, where was Bryn? Had these dreki found her? She could more than handle herself, but—
Damn it.
“Can you fight?” Haakon spared the prince a glance.
“Yes.” There was a hiss of expelled breath, a fleshy pop, and then the bloodied arrow landed next to Tormund’s boot. The prince clasped a hand to his bloodied chest. “It will heal shortly.” He drew the knife at his hip. “But I don’t think this is going to be a friendly discussion.”
A dark shape loomed out of the mist.
Someone running.
Tormund turned toward them, hefting the axe, when Bryn suddenly burst through the fog, her face flushed with exertion.
“Jesus,” he hissed, lowering the axe. “Where were you? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Bryn held her hands up. “Don’t fight.”
Tormund’s gaze flickered back to the dark shapes materializing in the fog. “I don’t think we’re going to have that option. Where the hell have you been?”
“They won’t hurt you if you lower your weapons,” she replied. “Dreki generally don’t harm humans unless they’re provoked first. It’s against their laws.”
“That arrow nearly fucking kissed my nose,” he snarled, eyes searching the mist. “I don’t think whoever is out there is too fucking concerned about the state of my humanity.”
“It was never meant for you,” she told him.
There was something about her voice that drew his gaze back to her.
His voice roughened. “How would you know that?”
A thousand emotions flickered across her face, but it was the stiffening of her shoulders that made his gut drop. No. Not her. Tormund drew back in shock, a fist-sized rock in his throat. She couldn’t be behind this.
But then, where had she been all morning?
“Just lower your axe,” she insisted, her voice turning hard.
The mist began to disperse as if whoever had been holding it still suddenly let go of their magic.
One, two, three…. Nine shapes stood sentinel in the darkness, all of them wearing heavy fur cloaks, with battle-hardened leather body armor. Four of them were women, but they looked no less aggressive than the men.
“Hello, little princeling,” called a mocking female voice. "I've spent years trying to track you down. Imagine my delight when I hear of a trio of foreigners asking for rumors of you within my very clan lands.”
A tall, lithe figure hopped from boulder to boulder, slinging her bow over her shoulder. Thick, black hair was braided off her face, though the rest of it hung in a silken waterfall down her spine, and a pair of gold dots was painted just above the inside of her brows. She moved like a predator, her dark eyes locking upon them like a hawk sighting prey.
“Did you miss me?” she called. “Your friends led me right to you."
But she wasn't looking at him.
Or Bryn.
Or even Haakon.
No, her entire attention was locked upon the prince behind him. And when she smiled, Tormund had the feeling somewhere in her heritage there'd been a wolf.
"Friend of yours?" he said through a smile, his lips unmoving.
Marduk’s eyes narrowed, one hand still clasped to his bloodied wound. "Not... exactly."
"Prince Marduk," the woman purred, handing her bow to one of her guards in exchange for a spear. "I’ve been quite interested in your whereabouts. Last time, you left without even saying a word. My father was most put out."
“Solveig.” There was a wealth of meaning in that one name. “What are you doing here?”
Solveig? It meant nothing to him. Tormund’s head snapped back and forth between them. “What’s going on?”
“This is Solveig the Black,” Marduk replied, “from the Sadu court in Norway.”
“Fierce,” Solveig replied, with another of those wolfish smiles. “I use Solveig the Fierce now.”
Again, it felt like there was a wealth of meaning beneath the words.
Marduk stilled. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Oh, that’s such a shame,” Solveig replied. “Because I’ve been looking forward to this encounter for, oh, around ten years now.”
Oh. “Definitely unfriendly,” Tormund whispered.
“Dreki fucking politics,” Haakon muttered.
I don’t think this has anything to do with politics….
“Normally I’d love to stay and play,” Marduk said, stepping forward to meet her, “but my sister is out there somewhere in the world, and I need to find her.”
Solveig moved so swiftly, Tormund barely saw what happened.
One second, Marduk was standing there.
And the next, he was flat on his back, the breath driving from his lungs.
Solveig moved to slam the butt of the spear between his ribs again, but Marduk flipped and sprang to his feet. The pair of them stared at each other with teeth bared, and an uncomfortable sensation trailed down Tormund’s spine.
Despite the light words, this Solveig wasn’t playing. She had death in her eyes and vengeance in her smile, and perhaps Marduk finally realized it too.
“Your quarrel isn’t with my companions,” the prince said, straightening. “Your quarrel is with me. And I’m not fighting you.”
“Yes. You will.” The princess tossed him her spear, and then he
ld out her hand for another. One of her guards tossed one toward her. She caught it without even taking her eyes off Marduk. “Or you will die. Either way, I will consider our debt satisfied.”
Blood dripped between the prince’s knuckles as he squared off against her.
“He’s injured,” Tormund protested. “You cannot fight an injured man… or dreki.”
“That was just a kiss of greeting,” Solveig assured him. “And if it slows Marduk down, then he’s not worthy of the name dreki.”
“Stay out of this,” Marduk called over his shoulder. He faced Solveig. “You want to dance? Fine. Let’s dance.”
The first clash of the spears came in a whirlwind of fire-hardened wood.
Solveig’s spear slipped under the swing of Marduk’s. The butt smashed into his hand, and he wrenched the spear back, shaking his clearly smarting knuckles.
Each move the warlord made was quick and economical. The prince was bigger than she was, and stronger, but Solveig was pure, unrelenting focus. She moved as though she’d spent every night of the past decade choreographing this fight in her head, and had predicted every move Marduk would make.
Marduk landed flat on his stomach on the stony floor of the ruins, baring his bloodstained teeth. The spear went flying and his gaze slid toward it, but Solveig drove the sharp-edged blade of her spear down and it was all he could do to avoid it.
Tormund edged forward on the balls of his feet. “She’s going to kill him.”
“Don’t.” Bryn’s hand caught his, ramming his axe back into its sheath. “You draw a weapon now, and her guards will kill you.”
“If I don’t draw one, then she’ll kill him.”
“No,” she said coldly. “She’s had chances to do so if she so desired. She wants to make this hurt.”
And it was true.
He could see the fight through new eyes. Marduk had been chained within the Kamchatka court and injured in battle. And while the blood that welled from his new wound was sluggish, it was still a critical injury, dreki or not. It showed in every step he took. But Solveig hesitated when she could have moved to finish him.
Instead, she waited for the prince to find his feet before she drove the spear directly toward his face.
