by Bec McMaster
There has to be a twist.
“You don’t want to be named heir?” she questioned suspiciously. Whether he liked her or not, Sirius wanted the line of succession to be very clear in everyone’s mind.
Sirius rubbed at his knuckles, and when he looked up at her, his blue eyes were searing. “I didn’t say that.”
There was the twist.
If he didn’t want to marry her, and yet he wanted to plant himself in the line of succession....
Árdís scrambled away from him, looking longingly at her sword across the chamber. All it would take would be one dreki princess with her throat cut. The dreki whispered through her veins, alarmed by her fear, but the blasted manacle locked her away from the other half of her nature.
Sirius knelt, picking up the knife he'd taken off her. Despite the handsome cast of his features, his expression was cold. "I told you I wasn't going to hurt you."
"If I recall correctly, the exact words were, 'I don't intend to hurt you.' There's a world of difference in that sentence."
He looked up and held the knife out to her, hilt first. "I don't want to hurt you. I'm not here to hurt you. I just want you to listen to me."
Árdís stared at the knife. "Mating or murder. They're the only two ways I can see you getting what you want."
"There's another way."
Another way? She couldn't— And then she realized what he meant. "Exile."
"It seems we're of a mind." Sirius unfolded himself slowly, and reached for her hand with exquisite gentleness. He folded her fingers around the hilt, his expression beseeching. "We both saw what happened in that throne room. Let's pretend I'm correct and you're not really heading for your training session with Master Innick. Let's pretend I know what that ring you wear on your chain represents, and that I saw the look on both you and your mortal lover's faces when I chased you from the inn...."
She pressed a hand to her leather bodice. Few dreki moved among mortals. Even fewer paid attention to their customs. "You saw him?"
"I could smell him all over you. And now you're leaving, and that suits both of us," he said. "Go to him. I don't care."
She still couldn't quite fathom it. "You wanted to mate with me eleven years ago. You made that quite clear."
It was one of the reasons she'd first fled the court, yearning for something more. And she'd found it for nearly three glorious years, until her mother finally tracked her down.
A slight sideways sweep of his lashes. "Dreki change."
"Give me one good reason to believe you." She stepped closer to him, putting the tip of the knife to his unprotected breast. Sirius glared at her, but he didn't back away, and Árdís tipped her chin up stubbornly. "Because I never promised not to hurt you. And I find it quite difficult to believe you suddenly changed your mind about wanting to mate with me. I'm not stupid enough to think 'I don't like you' is a strong enough reason."
"You don't want to mate with me."
"I don't have any good reason to do so," she hissed. "I despise you and mating with you earns me nothing but a bond we'd both hate. My motives aren't opaque."
He looked away.
Árdís pressed forward, the tip of the knife finding resistance. Blood welled on his shirt. "You're hiding something."
"You're hiding many things—"
"And I'm not leaving until you tell me what you're hiding. I don't trust you not to immediately turn me over to my mother, or to set my uncle's pack of dreki dregs upon me. Maybe you don't want to get your hands dirty, but you're content to let them do it for you." She looked into his eyes, determined to call his bluff. "So I'm not leaving until I hear the truth, even if I do have to mate with you as a consequence."
Stalemate.
The pair of them glared at each other, until Sirius's gaze dropped to the collar of her gown. She didn't know what he intended as he reached for her, but he tugged the silver chain around her throat free, his fist curling around her marriage ring. "Who is he?"
"If you think I'm going to give you a name, then you're out of your mind. And he's gone from my life."
Sirius slowly opened his fist and examined the plain ring. "And yet your heart still belongs to him. Or you wouldn't be wearing this."
"It's none of your business." She jerked it from his hand and stuffed it back within her bodice. Then she shoved him back against the wall and put the blade directly against his throat. "Enough games, tell me what you're hiding."
"The same thing you are," he spat.
Árdís froze.
"You're married?"
It was impossible.
Sirius traveled occasionally, but there'd been no hint of a human in his life, and he'd never bothered to correct his father's vehement intention to grind all humans beneath his heel.
"Not married."
"Mated."
"Not mated." The fury showed in his eyes.
And suddenly she knew.
There was one very, very good reason he wouldn't wish to bind himself to her. Árdís backed away, lowering the knife. "You found her, didn't you? The other half of your soul; your twin flame."
Her people called it kataru libbu, a bastardized version of Sumerian that at its most basic meant an alliance of the heart, and yet was so much more.
Soul mate. The missing piece. Forever.
One that was undeniably yours, and likewise.
Her heart felt like it clenched into a tight little ball. She'd loved and she'd married, but she'd also hoped to find something more between her and Haakon.
Yet, it was dreki males who first knew.
And without that instinct, Árdís had never been entirely certain.
"Who is she?" she whispered, jealous of him all of a sudden.
Sirius pushed away from the wall, looming over her. "It doesn't matter. She's nobody. And nothing will ever come of it. But just as you would prefer to keep his name to yourself, so would I."
"Ylve?"
"Sweet goddess, no! Who would ever lie with that bitch?"
Whoever it was, she had to have arrived in the court beneath Hekla sometime in the last ten years for him to change his mind about acceding to his father's wishes and taking Árdís as a mate.
Sirius captured her jaw. "I can almost see you thinking. Her identity is none of your concern. Just know she's my reason to want to avoid this mating. Is it a good enough reason to trust me?"
"Good enough. Because if you betray me, I'll tell your father everything you just said. Whoever she is, she's clearly unsuitable or you would have pursued her openly."
"The second you do so, you condemn her to death," he growled fiercely.
"Good. Maybe it will help whittle the ranks of your father's followers."
His grip tightened unconsciously. "She's not... she's not someone my father would care for. And I want power. I cannot have both."
Which left only those who had been born in Árdís's father's court. Her people. Those she'd fought so hard for, until her mother finally found the one thing guaranteed to drive her away.
"You want to tell my father?" He laughed bitterly. "Then go ahead, Árdís. How will you feel when the blood on your hands is that of someone who loves you?"
It struck her deeply.
"I won't say a word." Backing away, she held the knife between them. "I'm going. You get your wish and so do I. Allow me enough time to get as far away as I can before you rouse the alert."
"Judging from the presence of the drekling in the next cellar, I think the alert shouldn't be too far away," he said softly. "Just how did you get past Haldor?"
Árdís froze. "What drekling?"
He sighed. "I can smell the brand on him, Árdís. And you've both been making enough noise to make it easy to track you. You're playing a dangerous game."
"You're not going to stop Marek from escaping?"
"Father will be furious." Sirius's lashes obscured his eyes as he glanced down, fingering his dagger. "And I might be able to smell him, but it appears I didn't see a thing."
&nb
sp; Árdís released her held breath. "Why?"
A faint malicious smile kicked at the edges of his mouth. "Because father will be furious. And I don't particularly enjoy seeing drekling burned alive. Just don't get caught. Stellan would like nothing more than to bring you to heel, and he'll most likely insist I do the honor."
"I didn't know you cared."
"I don't." The Blackfrost gave her a dark look. "But if I'm forced to do his bidding, then my mate will never, ever allow me near her."
Who could it be?
For a second she felt an odd sense of kinship with him. Both of them were forced to play a role they despised. But she was taking her chance to escape it.
"All you have to do is defy your father, just once," she whispered. "Then you could have it all. You're strong enough to challenge him. And if you don't like what they're doing to the court—"
"Oh, Árdís." A humorless smile stretched over his mouth. "If only we could all be so naive. My father has never been the threat."
Árdís's blood ran cold.
"And he's not alone." Sirius reached out with his hand, curling his fingers to snuff the flame of the torches. "Go. Before I think myself a fool for letting you escape. Before your enemies rise to tear you down. Go. And don't come back."
She didn't hesitate any longer.
Árdís hurried back to Marek's side, and together they fled.
7
Gulls pinwheeled overhead, squabbling among themselves for scraps. Haakon watched as his men loaded the ship, helping to haul some of the heavier items aboard. The waters of Reykjavik harbor gleamed like the flat plane of a mirror, and ships bobbed in the water here and there. Rising over the town in the distance, snow-capped mountains taunted him.
Somewhere out there lay Hekla, several days ride to the east.
It wasn't as though he expected to see a dreki in the skies, but some part of him hoped.
No matter what she'd told him.
But the sun was setting, and the ship was loaded. His men laughed as they slapped each other's backs and headed down the gangplank for one last night in Reykjavik.
Twelve hours, and he would leave these shores forever.
"Have you made up your mind yet?" Gunnar asked.
Haakon startled, and tore his gaze from the skies. "We sail with the dawn tide."
"Aye, but are you coming with us?"
A knot of uncertainty lodged in his gut. Haakon dragged his fur-lined gloves off, his breath fogging the cool night air. "I don't know yet."
"Bloody hell," Gunnar muttered. "There's nothing here for you anymore."
"My head knows that," he replied, tucking the gloves behind his belt. "But my heart is not yet ready to accept it. She's here, Gunnar. A part of me doesn't want to leave. Not until.... Not until I'm certain there's no hope remaining."
And she'd kissed him, even as she'd told him to go and raise children with another woman. He could still taste that kiss on his mouth. The decision tore him in two. He'd meant to confront her and demand answers, but every answer she'd given him had only roused more questions.
"I thought she told you there was no future between you."
"Aye." He hadn't mentioned everything to the men, just granting them a curt shake of the head before he sank himself into a night of drinking. Gunnar knew more than most, but not everything. Only Tormund held that honor. "And then she kissed me. If we hadn't been so rudely interrupted...."
"She's no good for you. You know the truth. She told you to go with her own lips. And yet here you are, twisting yourself into knots again." Gunnar scowled. "I wish you'd never laid eyes upon that—"
"Careful." She might be deceitful, but she was still his wife.
Gunnar sighed, slapping a hand on his shoulder as they turned back to the inn for one last night. "Bloody cursed dreki. Life was simpler when we just had to kill them."
Inside the inn, the men were settling in with tankards. Haakon found one shoved into his hand and sipped at the warm beer. He hadn't the heart for it tonight. But Tormund and Bjorn saw him angling across the inn toward the stairs and cut him off before he could vanish.
"Have a drink with us!" Tormund said, forcing him onto one of the benches, a heavy hand upon his shoulder.
"I want a clear head tomorrow." There was nothing worse than sailing on a gutful of bad beer.
Bjorn scowled, but Tormund grinned at him through his beard. "Bjorn and I have a bet. I don't think you're going to be on that ship when it sails."
"He'd be a fool if he wasn't," Bjorn muttered.
Tormund ruffled the boy's hair. "You're young. You've not yet known the lure of a woman who's captured your heart. It's a siren song, boy, and once a man hears it, he's more than willing to throw himself overboard for the slimmest chance he'll taste heaven before he drowns."
"I told her I was leaving," Haakon said sharply, swilling a mouthful of beer. "I meant it."
Tormund marched his fingers across the table idly. "Aye. You meant it. I could see that when she left. I could also see what a man looks like when he's got his hopes up."
"That wasn't what you said," Bjorn added. "You didn't use the word hope at all."
"I didn't want to blister my cousin's poor innocent ears," Tormund shot back.
Haakon rubbed at his eyebrow. "Tormund—"
"She kissed you, aye?"
"She told me to go find another woman and beget children."
"That's not fair," Bjorn broke in. "You can't influence him."
"Didn't hear that rule." Tormund shoved his empty tankard toward Bjorn. "Go fill this for me. And get another one for Haakon."
"Fill it yourself."
Tormund lifted his brows, and Bjorn straightened to his full height, growling under his breath as he stomped off.
Tormund rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "You're a bloody fool if you get on that ship. I know what the rest of them think—that it's been a long seven years hunting for a bloody ghost. They're weary for home. They don't want to see you hurting anymore. But I know the truth. You'll carry that woman in your heart to the grave. I saw it in your face the second she stormed into your life all those years ago. She might have told you to go marry and breed fat, happy children, but then why is she wearing your fucking ring still? Something made her leave you. Something drove her away. And I don't think she's told you the full truth of that yet."
Haakon's gaze sharpened on his cousin's face. "She was wearing the manacle. She couldn't lie to me."
"Aye, but did you ask the right fucking questions?"
His breath arrested. Jesus. "You're not helping."
Tormund shot him a grin. "I've got twenty Danish kronerr riding on this. I don't intend to help."
Haakon drained his tankard. Nothing Tormund said was a revelation. The same arguments had been ringing in his ears for days.
But she would have to meet him halfway.
He wasn't going to waste the next seven years of his life hoping she'd give him the time of day. "It's her choice," he said, slamming the tankard down. "Not mine. Not this time."
"And if she does come to you before you leave?"
Haakon swallowed the flash of hope that seared his insides. "Then I don't know what I'm going to do."
"I do." Gunnar snorted, leaning on his shoulder as he slung his leg over the bench Haakon was sitting on. "You'll stay. Despite all argument to the contrary. Despite good common fucking sense."
Tormund hesitated. "Just don't—"
"Do anything foolish," Haakon promised. "I'm not going to storm the dreki court singlehandedly."
"Wasn't what you were saying a month ago," Gunnar grumbled, slinking down onto the seat on the other side of him.
Some of the men had had to restrain him. "I wasn't in the right frame of mind a month ago."
After all, he'd just discovered that the wife he'd feared dead, or worse, had been the dreki. It wasn't his finest hour.
"You have less than twelve hours." Tormund drummed his fingers on the table.
"Thank you. I hadn't noticed."
"Might as well get some sleep. It's going to be a long sail home," Gunnar grunted.
"She'll come," Tormund disagreed, shaking his head. "I'll put money on it."
Gunnar reached out and offered his hand. "Fifty kroner."
"Done." Tormund grinned, clasping hands with him.
"Do you mind not betting on my future," Haakon muttered. "Where the hell is Bjorn with the beer?"
"Thought you wanted a clear head?" Gunnar asked.
He'd changed his mind.
"I told you, I'm not the one making the decision. It's been three days. I told her I was leaving. She knows I'm sailing with the dawn. If there's some part of her that still holds a place for me in her heart, then she has one last chance to admit it. I'll wait for her until morning."
"And if she's not here?"
He dragged his gaze toward the window, sighting the harbor. "Then I'll set sail with the rest of you. And never return."
Árdís had never resented her mortal form more than she did in that moment.
Rain poured from the skies in a steady curtain, as she hauled the donkey Marek sat upon, up the steep slope. At first she'd been grateful, for it would make it harder for anything in the skies to see her, and few dreki would be flying on a night like this, but after almost six hours of being wet and miserable, she was starting to wish for clear skies. And the donkey—stabled near the servant's portal for their use—might have been trained to accept the scent of drekling, but it clearly didn't like her.
How long would it take for her to be missed from court? The portal had cut her journey by days, but the press of time still weighed upon her.
It was doubtful anyone would miss them. Not until dark when the guard's rotation changed, according to Marek. That should give them at least a full day's head start.
But what was a full day on foot, compared to a single hour in the skies for most dreki?
They wouldn't be looking for her on the ground, true, but it still made her feel entirely too vulnerable.
The blasted bracelet around her wrist made shape-shifting impossible, and it was becoming very easy to hate it.
