by Bec McMaster
Wind stirred through the leaves, and a fir shed its cloak of snow. The blonde dreki warrior snarled, her braids whipping over her shoulder. The sudden gust of wind almost drove her off her feet.
Tormund looked down.
Then up at Haakon.
“You and your bloody quests,” he snapped. “Don’t get yourself killed,” he told Marduk, stabbing a finger through the air. “We’ll be back. And we’ll bring reinforcements, if need be.”
Marduk flashed a dazzling smile over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, my giant friend. Solveig’s not going to kill me. She already told me that would be too kind.”
“Kya,” Haakon said, barely puffing as they both paused on the hill overlooking the town.
Tormund bent over, resting his hands on his thighs. “How the hell are you… still standing? We… ran… must’ve been… ten miles.”
Maybe even fifteen.
“Five miles at best,” Haakon called over his shoulder as he started down the hill, his boots sinking into ankle-deep snow. “And we need to keep moving fast. Those dreki might think us inconsequential humans, but I daresay their leader won’t. The second Solveig hears we’ve escaped, she’ll start hunting us.”
“Mother of dragons.” Tormund pushed upright, his entire side aching. “After this is done, I’m going to drown myself in a vat of ale.”
“Who’s paying for the ale?” Haakon shot over his shoulder. “They took my coin pouch.”
“Well, that’s just purely fucking convenient,” he grumbled. “Marduk. Marduk is going to owe me an ale. Or ten. He can bat those pretty eyelashes at the innkeeper’s wife or something.”
“First, we have to rescue him.”
Which meant finding King Harald’s court. “Will Solveig be watching the entrance to her father’s court?”
“I don’t know,” Haakon replied, “but if it’s anything like Rurik’s court, then it’s bound to be heavily guarded by dreki who aren’t inclined to know us or care whether we hail from the Zini clan. And we also have to locate it first.”
And fast.
Tormund looked toward the town as all his hopes of finding a friendly innkeeper started to vanish in a cloud of wishful thinking. “Let me guess, we need to find someone who knows where the court entrance is. And then we need to bribe them—presumably with my coin—and somehow convince the guards posted at the entrance that our mission is of vital importance. But we can’t tell them why, because they may support Solveig.”
“I have… a bit of a different plan.”
“You always have a different plan.” He could feel Haakon looking at him. “Oh, no. Don’t you even give me that look. No more plans. I am done!”
“You may like this plan,” his cousin teased.
“Unlikely. No. No. No. My final answer is no.”
“It involves a certain redhead….”
Tormund skidded to a stop, his mind going blank. “I’m fairly sure that redhead made her intentions—and loyalties—clear. The last I saw her, she was flying into the mountains with Solveig. They were probably going to ransack a village or two, or perhaps kidnap another dreki prince and hold him for ransom.”
“I don’t think so. I was listening to the pair of them. Solveig agreed to deliver Bryn to a small village named Kya. Something about a hell of a thirst for ale after this shithole of a job.”
Tormund’s head whipped toward his cousin so fast he almost tore a muscle. His nostrils flared. “I thought you didn’t want me going anywhere near that lying redhead?”
Haakon merely shrugged and strode toward Kya. “I was watching her face when you started to lift your axe to defend Marduk. She launched herself to stop you before you could enter a fight you couldn’t win. Maybe she betrayed us, but I don’t think it came as easily to her as you think. She didn’t want you to fight, Tormund, because she didn’t want you to die.”
“At least one of us is convinced of that.” That lump was back in his throat. “I truly thought… it was going to be her.”
Haakon clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe it is her? You’re not the only one who has tasted betrayal, Tor. Árdís had a reason to let me think her dead—and if I’d given up then and there, I would never have known the happiness of loving her again. Does Bryn not deserve the same chance to explain why she betrayed us?”
Ah, fuck. Tormund stared down at the chimneys of Kya. “You’re only saying that because she’s the only one we know who may have been to King Harald’s court and might possibly know the way.”
Haakon’s face hardened. “I would never cast your heart to the wolves for the mere possibility of an easy road to rescue Marduk. But I don’t want to see you suffer as I did—the lack of answers can eat at a man in a way I know only too well. I don’t want that to happen to you. The pair of you aren’t done until you both agree you’re done. Didn’t a wise man once tell me that?”
Damn it. Tormund stroked his beard. Haakon was right. He wanted answers. And worse, he wanted to look her in the eye as she gave them—to see if there was any damned good reason to forgive her.
“That wise man is wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. You do realize I’m going to have to talk her into betraying Solveig?”
Haakon smiled. “I’m sure if anyone can convince her, it will be you.”
Fifteen
Tormund found her in a tavern down by the waterfront.
The raucous sound of laughter echoed to the eaves, but Bryn sat alone, her back to the room and her head down as she idly toyed with something in her fingers. A mug of ale sat in front of her, untouched.
“So you were working for the dreki bitch all along,” he said, hauling out the chair next to her and straddling it.
Bryn’s hand snapped closed over the necklace she was holding, but he caught a glimpse of the pendant. A falcon in full flight, clutching a spear. She tucked it inside her pocket before turning to face him. Red circles of heat formed in her cheeks, but her chin tipped up. Shields firmly in place. “The pay was good, the job a simple one. Find a missing dreki prince and let Solveig know where he was.”
He flicked his finger to the innkeeper and gestured toward Bryn’s mug. “Something on your mind?”
Bryn’s hot-eyed stare met his, and she was clearly on the back foot. “Why are you here? Why are you pretending I didn’t just betray you?”
“I’m not pretending any such thing.”
“You’re not angry,” she said slowly.
A not entirely accurate assessment. Anger stirred through his belly, like a sleepy leviathan. But he’d never found giving into it worth the cost of his temper. “I daresay you had your reasons.”
You had better have had your reasons.
Her gaze lowered.
It was the first time she’d ever yielded, but it seemed whatever she was searching for couldn’t be found in the foaming head of her ale. “Solveig promised you were not to be harmed. She would set the pair of you free within the week. And yes. I had my reasons.”
“Were they worth it?” he murmured, leaning closer. “Worth betraying us?”
“Yes. They were.” Light stirred on the flutter of those red-gold lashes. “I owed you no allegiance. You were a means to an end. A job.”
And here came the counterattack….
He lifted a hand and gently brushed the end of her braid over her shoulder, determined not to let her bury the pair of them in anger. “Strange. Because I was under the impression there was something building between us.”
Bryn froze.
“Stop it,” she said, tugging her face away sharply. “Stop touching me.”
There was a fierceness to her expression that made all his senses tighten. He’d seen that look in a cornered dragon. Injured and lashing out because there was nowhere safe to go. He’d never told Haakon the truth—that he’d let that creature go, because killing it wasn’t in him.
He curled his hand into a fist. “What’s so dangerous about a simple touch?”
“There’s nothing dangerous about it.
I just don’t want it.”
Tormund stilled, watching her. “I think you’re lying.” He held up his hands. “You want these on your skin. You’ve always wanted these on you. And I think the reason you won’t let me touch you is because you don’t think you’ll want me to stop once I do.”
A flash of fury lit her eyes, but there was something else there. Something haunted. “Is that what you keep telling yourself?”
“I kissed you. And you definitely weren’t saying no, Bryn. But you ran away before things got interesting and now I think I know why. It was what I said, wasn’t it? About how brave you were. About how loyal you were.”
She looked away and that was answer enough.
Betraying him had bothered her. And while she might pretend otherwise, there were deeper feelings stirring within her.
It assuaged some of the hurt that burned like a hot coal in his chest. This wasn’t just something he felt. Bryn felt it too, but she’d clearly be damned if she’d give into it.
“I warned you,” she said softly. “But you wouldn’t listen. You didn’t want to listen.”
“It’s a failing of mine when I’ve got something in my sights.”
“What do you want?” Hot green eyes flashed to his. “Do you want me to beg for forgiveness? Because if so, then you shall be left wanting. I don’t beg, Tormund.”
“No. I have a proposition for you.” He reached up to his neck, undoing the leather thong he wore tied around his throat. A ring dangled from it, made of solid gold and carved with ancient runes. He placed it on the table between them. “I need to find a way to see King Harald, but the security at his court is tighter than Haakon’s leather trousers. You get me in to the king and I’ll give you the ring.”
Bryn stared at it as though he’d thrown a snake onto the table between them.
“This is—”
“Yes,” he said bluntly. “It’s a ring that once graced the hand of the ljósálfar king’s finger, according to a dreki prince I met in Iceland. Andri claims it was the spoils of a long ago war, when the dreki turned back the ljósálfar invasion and closed the portals that led to their home world of Álfheimr. I bet Andri for it, and I won. He’s bad at cards.”
“The king of the light elves’ ring,” she breathed. “And you believe him?”
“Dreki can’t lie—and Andri is not the sort of dreki who twists his words. I believe him.”
“This is worth a… a king’s ransom. Every dreki in the world would kill to get their hands on it. If any of the ljósálfar remain here on the mortal plane, they would die to get it back. And you will give it to me for a chance to see King Harald?”
“That’s how you like it, don’t you? Payment.”
She trembled. “Yes. I do. But this is worth more than a mere boon. You could buy a castle with this. You could buy a dozen castles. You’re a fool to give it away.”
“So some have called me in the past. But this mere boon is worth more to me than a simple ring. Or a thousand castles.” It was a chance to see if there was more between them than he dared hope. He rolled it between his fingers so the runes carved into the gold caught the light. “Yes or no, Bryn?”
“You’re asking me to betray the war marshal. I was named a Friend to the Sadu Clan, Tormund. Throwing that away is akin to cutting my throat.”
“But are you a Friend to the war marshal? Or to the king?” he countered. “I find it interesting that Solveig has Marduk locked far away from the court of her people. Isn’t that a little odd? If this entire endeavor is sanctioned by her father, then I will eat my trousers.”
Bryn’s fingers stilled on the scarred tabletop.
“Besides, she asked you to find him, didn’t she? Well, you did as asked. Now I’m asking you to help me help the king.” He forced a smile. “If Solveig kills Marduk, then King Harald will find himself with a war rather than an alliance.”
Bryn turned the ring on its end and spun it across the table before snatching it up. He felt as though a door just slammed in his face.
“As you wish,” she said. “Payment taken for services rendered. I’ll take you to see Harald, but be warned: he’s a dreki king. He’s not the kind of man to bow to mere mortals, and Solveig gets her temper from somewhere.”
Marduk had said he was an honorable creature. “I’ll take my chances.”
She pushed away from the table. “And then we are done, big man.”
Tormund drained his ale, before slamming the tankard down. Done was far too final a word for what he had in mind, but she wasn’t ready to hear that yet. “And then you owe me no further debt.”
The entrance to the Sadu clan court lay at the top of a mountain.
For once, Tormund didn’t complain about the hike. Bryn felt his silence like an unspoken censure.
At the top of the mountain, a weathered timber door led into a house-shaped mound that was covered with grass. A wizened old man sat at the door, smoking a pipe and watching them stride toward him.
“I thought dreki courts lay in the hearts of volcanoes,” Tormund murmured.
“This is merely the entrance. The portal to the actual court lies within,” she replied.
It could have been any other underground homestead across Norway. And the guard could have been a shepherd, if not for the alert golden glint in his eyes and the sheer size of him as he stood. “Are you lost?”
“Not lost, no.” Bryn cleared her throat, drawing a second cord from around her throat and revealing the small golden claw that hung there. “I am here to seek audience with your king.”
The guard glanced toward Tormund, but the claw pronounced her a Friend of the clan. He finally nodded her through. “No weapons.”
It was what she’d expected.
Tormund unsheathed the massive war axe he carried and dropped a pair of knives on the table behind the guard.
Bryn started unsheathing her knives. “Don’t touch the sword,” she told the guard. “It’s Valkyrie made and won’t appreciate it.”
She could feel Tormund’s eyes upon her as she started divesting herself of weapons: the six knives she had secreted about her person; a pair of brass knuckles with sharp little points one could flick open for extra pain; the bone flute she could shoot a poison dart through; a set of ten darts painted with leviathan blood; the pair of pouches she wore at her belt that were filled with ground dragon bone and vials of lindwurm tears; and finally, the small box full of pigments and needles that she used for her art.
The dreki guard peered down his nose at her.
Bryn sighed. “It’s hardly a weapon.”
But she drew the cord over her neck and laid her amulet next to her sword. The falcon amulet winked at her in the light, and though the sensation of Freyja’s blessing was less than it had once been, she could still sense it.
“Enter,” the guard said, swinging the door open. “But mind your step. For the shadows are long and full of teeth.”
“What a lovely welcome,” Tormund muttered as they entered the little hovel. “Positively sets the mind at ease.”
At the far end of the hovel stood a golden ring nearly ten feet high that was covered in runes. It appeared to be set into the wall, but the faint shimmer of the air within it hinted at the entrance to another world. Ripples of eerie green light played through the shimmer.
Chaos magic.
Once used to create dreki portals, until their practitioners were deemed too dangerous to survive. And now the curse that dogged her every step.
“Through here.” Bryn sucked in a deep breath and strode through the shimmering green curtain.
The portal slid over her skin like a shock of cold water, leaving her breathless for an instant.
And then she was through and stepping down into the heart of the Sadu clan court. Two guards stood at attention, but though their narrowed eyes recorded every inch of her, they let the pair of them past.
The soaring roof of a natural cavern greeted her eyes.
An enormous pair of stone dreki
had been carved guarding the overhang beneath which they stood. Stairs wound their way up, up, into the gallery above them that would lead into the heart of the Sadu court.
It was warmer here than it had been. Tormund stripped out of his oiled coat, slinging it over his shoulder. “Which way to the king?”
“Follow me,” she told him. “And be humble. Dreki are full of a sense of their own pride, and Harald’s court is larger than the one you have known. This is their world, and the warriors will not take lightly the presence of an arrogant stare.”
“I have known a few dreki in my time,” he replied mildly. “I’ll treat each and every one of them as though they’re Sirius.”
“The Blackfrost likes you,” she reminded him.
He winked at her. “By the end of the day, this court shall like me too.”
Bryn climbed down the stairs slowly, regret filling every step. She shouldn’t have given into this decision. To present Tormund to the king meant betraying Solveig, and even if Solveig’s actions thrust Bryn into an uncomfortable position between the war marshal and her father, Bryn knew whom she’d rather cross.
But the second Tormund had asked she’d been unable to say no. She’d long thought herself used to such condemnation, but seeing the look of betrayal in his eyes lanced straight through the shields she’d erected around her heart, revealing a heretofore unknown weakness within her.
Damned no matter which way I look….
Find a missing dreki prince….
“I should never have taken this job,” she muttered. But the offer of absolution had been irresistible.
The drekling handmaid examined her letter, then moved toward the door. “I will present your letter to the king, Brightfeather, though it shall be at his discretion whether he replies. In the meantime, avail yourself of the food and wine.”
And then they were locked inside the antechamber alone.
Bryn scrubbed a hand across the back of her neck. “My letter was brief. Harald will come, if only to see what mischief his daughter has created. King Harald is no fool.”
