Chapter two #2
No sheep! Baldur snapped his great jaws at the other dragons in annoyance. Both fell back a pace, their heads bowed in deference. While Idunn might technically outrank him, there was no doubt among the dragons about who was in charge on this mission.
Honestly, you made it across the sea without this much complaining, I pointed out as Baldur began to descend toward the river.
A dark mass of rocky cliffs was now visible in the distance, but it was difficult to make out anything else through the rain and the dark clouds that filled the sky. You can manage until lunch.
There were no sheep in the sea, Idunn grumbled. I like sheep.
Baldur led us along the river until the city came into view.
Pointed roofs, wooden masts, and stone walls took shape as we sailed above the river, which wound around the western edge of a great stone outer wall before disappearing into the distance.
A massive gate appeared to be the only way into the settlement, and at least a dozen ships of varying sizes were docked in the sprawling river nearby.
The castle rose from a craggy hill above, encircled by a second ring of stone on which turrets faced each of the four cardinal directions.
Welcome to Hovedstaden, Kjaere.
Hearthmother above. It’s huge. What are the walls for?
Defense, Arik replied. Those walls have stood since the opening of the Rift.
That long?
Longer, if my father is to be believed. Come on.
The sky seemed to grow darker as Baldur made ready to land in a mostly empty field some distance from the city wall. The few sheep present scattered as four large dragons squelched into the muddy ground.
“Ugh,” Branka winced as Bryndis shuddered and released her hold on their form. Water clung to the braids in her hair, making it shimmer as she turned her head toward my mate. “Was it necessary to land in six inches of mud? Why can’t we fly directly into the castle?”
“Drage aren’t supposed to fly directly into human settlements except during Dragejakt. Plus, I’d like to be dressed and armed before meeting the king,” Jorgen joked as he shifted out of Sigurd’s bronze scales. “Although I’ll happily watch you stalk through the city wet and naked, love.”
Branka rolled her eyes and threw a boot at him.
Baldur was still in dragon form, waiting for me, I assumed. He snorted, a great plume of steam rising from his nostrils.
After nuzzling her mate’s neck, Idunn released her hold on my body. I grimaced as I took a stumbling step forward and felt the icy mud slide between my toes.
Baldur extended a wing above me to block out the falling rain, curling his body protectively around mine. The heat roiled off him rather like a campfire, but it did little to chase away the goosebumps erupting down my arms and legs.
Alright, Kjaere? Arik asked.
Fine as always. I wiped the blood from under my nose and took a breath to clear the pounding headache and dispel the usual nausea. I don’t suppose I’ll ever just get used to this?
The pack that Idunn had carried in her foreclaw was soaked through.
Everything was wet except for the cloak, which had a waterproof lining.
I grimaced as I dressed in the wet clothes, which clung in all the wrong places as I forced myself into them, and made a mental note to wrap everything inside the cloak next time.
Get used to what? Baldur and Arik rumbled the question simultaneously. I hid a smile as they mentally argued over control of their shared body.
Being cold and wet all the time. It was colder than I’d expected for spring, but I supposed we were still far south. Likely the northlands were warmer by this time of year. Feeling sick after every shift.
There was no getting the mud off me, so I resigned myself to wearing my leather boots over my wet, muddy feet. Maybe there would be a warm bath waiting for me at the castle. When I was dressed, I threw the cloak over my shoulders and leaned against Baldur’s side to absorb some of his heat.
Baldur snorted as he curled his wing protectively around me. You should take her to see a healer while we’re here.
I’m aware. Arik’s voice was laced with impatience. Let me out, you overgrown lizard.
She is cold. You can wait.
I’m always cold, I laughed, patting Baldur’s scaly snout as he huffed a cloud of steam over me. He rested his head in the grass to meet me at eye level, since his head was almost as large as my entire body, and I placed a kiss between his nostrils. Let me have my mate, please?
I could have sworn he rolled his eyes as his form shuddered. The wings and scales retracted, leaving Arik standing in his place. He quickly swept me into his arms, dropping a kiss on top of my soaking wet hair. Protective bastard.
“Hate to break this up,” Jorgen said as he wrapped an arm around an equally bedraggled looking Branka. “Again. But it’s rather damp.”
“Fine.” Arik quickly pulled on his clothes and gazed toward the city walls. “I suspect we’ll be collected before we reach the gate.”
“Collected?” I trudged after him through wet grass and mud, and what I suspected was sheep dung. Branka and Jorgen brought up the rear of our party.
Arik slowed enough for me to walk beside him, offering me a steadying hand whenever the mud unbalanced my footing.
“We were likely seen,” he explained, catching me as I squelched into a particularly deep puddle. “My father won’t want us stopping in the city. Safer to send his guards to escort us.”
“Why wouldn’t he want us to stop in the city?”
Arik gave me a sardonic look. “You’ve never met nobility, have you?”
“Just you.” I nudged him with my elbow. “Are you not typical?”
He laughed, the sound full-throated and unbridled. He threw an arm around me as he dropped another kiss on my head. “Anything but, as you well know.”
“Only you could find mud and sheep shit romantic,” Jorgen quipped as he and Branka squelched behind us.
“At least someone does,” Branka added. “What’s that?”
We turned our gaze to where Branka pointed. A blurry mass of something was just visible through the rain near the ancient stone walls that surrounded the city.
Arik tensed beside me. “Our escort. Keep your weapons handy, but out of sight.”
“You think your father would kill you out here?” I asked as the blurry shapes coalesced into at least twenty men, heavily armored in chain and leather.
Most wore their hair braided and their chins bearded like the Chaosborn, but their armor was far more gaudy than the leather vests of the drage.
Metal plates hung over their chests, backs, and thighs, covering chainmail beneath.
Even their horses appeared to be armored as they thundered toward us, sending sheep scattering and mud flying around them.
Arik gripped my hand more firmly. It’s not me I’m worried about.
As the guards approached, their horses steaming in the cold and wet, the symbol on their leader’s armor became clear: the silver face of a snarling wolf.
The leader’s horse whinnied in protest as he yanked the reins and stopped directly in front of us. His party closed ranks in a circle around us, each with their hands upon the hilts of their swords.
Arik’s face betrayed nothing as the leader removed his helm. He was unfairly attractive—younger than I’d first guessed—with dark hair cut short, a lock falling across his brow as it was plastered with rain. His face was clean shaven and his jaw square, and he studied our party with cold, gray eyes.
Eyes that I was intimately familiar with.
Prince Edvard smiled, but the expression was anything but inviting. “Welcome home, brother.”