Chapter four
Eisa
“This way,” the king’s steward said, voice clipped. His sneering smile made Idunn growl deep in my chest. “The king has assigned you chambers in the keep.”
The steward’s torchlight wavered as we climbed the narrow stairs, the sounds of voices and renewed merriment in the Great Hall fading below. The stone seemed to swallow noise, muffling the scuff of the guards’ boots as they trailed behind us to the second floor.
Arik’s hand was cold in mine, and I prodded his end of our mental bridge. Are you alright?
His fist tightened as his thumb stroked the back of my hand. I should be asking you that.
Me?
You just got engaged without your consent.
I almost stumbled a step, and Arik steadied me with a firm hand around my waist. His voice was amused as it echoed in my mind. That bad, is it?
No. It wasn’t bad. In fact, the idea made my heart thump erratically, which was completely irrational. We were already mated. A handfasting meant nothing at this point.
You can say no, Kjaere. It changes nothing. It will not change how I feel about you.
And how is that?
I looked up into his grey eyes, which flashed to molten silver slits. His lip twitched with a barely-perceptible smile. Do you really not know?
A flood of something warm and bright washed over me. I felt it shivering down my spine and heating my core.
Beside me, Branka pointedly cleared her throat as her eyes narrowed between us, and I felt my cheeks heat. I don’t want to say no.
His hand squeezed mine, his voice a purr in my mind. Good.
The word made my stomach flip wildly as we emerged into a broad upper hall, and the steward unlocked a wooden door.
He led us into an elegantly appointed sitting room where a fire already burned low.
A long table stood to one side, bare save for a pitcher of wine and several sparkling glasses.
Tapestries dulled the chill of the stone walls, and two intricately carved wooden doors opened off the chamber, one on either side of the small room.
The guards behind us stepped forward, two remaining on the stairs behind Branka and Jorgen as two more took up positions by the windows, their gazes fixed on nothing as they tried to blend in with the wooden furniture.
The steward cleared his throat. “His Majesty extends the courtesy of private chambers,” he said, eyes flicking toward me with obvious distaste. “The ladies will be here.”
“The ladies?” Branka asked, her brow furrowed as she glanced at her mate.
The steward looked even less inclined to speak to my friend, and he sighed deeply as he inclined his head. “Of course. The gentlemen have separate sleeping arrangements down the hall. If you’ll follow—“
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.” Jorgen stepped forward, his hand protectively on Branka’s back. “I’d like to see you try to separate us.”
The steward blanched at Jorgen’s fierce glower and turned beseechingly to Arik. “Your Highness—“
“No.” The word landed with enough authority that I didn’t even register the jarring effect of Arik’s title. My mate turned, his silver-ringed eyes glinting dangerously in the firelight. “We are mated.”
“A distinction His Majesty does not recognize,” the steward replied, thin-lipped as he stumbled over the words. “And, as you are not wed—“
A low sound rippled from Arik’s chest. He released my hand and stepped closer to the steward, close enough that the old man had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze. “Yet.”
The steward audibly swallowed, and I hid my smile as my ridiculous heart did a little flop in my chest. “As you are not wed yet, it would be improper for—“
“Our bonds are more ancient than your king’s crown.” Arik let Baldur shine through his eyes with just enough threat to make the steward whimper. The guards around us shifted uneasily. “And it will take more than a mortal king to separate me from my mate.”
The steward swallowed, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “The king’s instructions were explicit.”
“You can shove his instructions up his royal ass,“ Jorgen grumbled, arms crossed over his chest in a posture that spoke of ease to anyone who didn’t know how quickly he could draw a blade.
“But—“
“No.” Arik’s command was final. “We will sleep here. All of us. And the guards—“
“They must remain,” the steward begged. “For your protection.”
“For the king’s peace of mind,” Arik corrected, his face stony as he contemplated the guards, sizing them up. “Fine. They can guard from outside the door.”
“The king has commanded—“
“Outside. The. Door.” Arik’s glare at the guards by the windows was sharp enough to cut glass.
“Very well.” The steward sagged in defeat as he nodded, waving the guards out and summoning a battalion of servants. They moved quickly and quietly, carrying in basins and bedding as they made the beds and laid out linens and washing supplies in each of the rooms.
One of the women had shackles around her ankles, and it took Arik’s vise-like grip on my hand to stop me from shifting as fury coursed through me.
Now is not the time for this, he soothed as Idunn’s fury roared through my chest.
I want to free them.
I know.
All of them. I turned to look up at my mate, and I knew that Idunn’s azure gaze peered out of my own.
Arik nodded, a silent promise.
The four of us remained at the threshold of the shared parlor until all of the servants had made a quiet exit.
“I will have a meal sent up,” the steward declared, his confidence seemingly renewed by the mundane task of ordering servants around. “You are to remain here until summoned.”
Arik raised a brow, but inclined his head just enough to be polite. “Of course.”
The steward withdrew, torch bobbing away down the stairs. The guards remained in the hallway, their backs turned to us as the door clicked shut behind them, leaving us standing in the quiet room where only the crackles of the fire interrupted the sound of our beating hearts.
“Well, that went better than expected,” Jorgen declared as he dropped his muddy pack in the middle of what was likely a very expensive rug. “I believe congratulations are in order, Dragehersker.”
Arik rolled his eyes as he dropped our packs next to Jorgen’s and moved to the wooden table. His brow creased as he examined the wine in the pitcher and gave it a sniff. “I’m going to need something much stronger than this.”
“Agreed,” Branka sighed, flopping down on the green velvet chaise beside the fire. “Accommodations could be worse, though. I thought your father hated you?”
“He does.” Arik’s tone was clipped as he downed a glass of wine and poured another, handing it to me.
His hands were warm as they brushed mine, and I didn’t bother resisting the urge to lean into him a little. You know you will be a great dragehersker, don’t you?
I’ll certainly do my best. Easier with you by my side. He tapped the lip of my goblet, a smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. Drink, Kjaere. You’re pale.
I’m always pale.
More pale than usual, then, he amended, his voice warming me from the inside out. And since I can’t currently do what I’d like to do to put some color in your cheeks, this will have to suffice for now.
I barely managed to turn my spluttered choke into a cough as his lips quivered in amusement.
“Will you two be doing that all the time, now?” Jorgen drawled, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched us from the fireplace.
“Doing what?” Arik asked, his steady voice revealing nothing as he returned to the table to pour the rest of the wine.
“Staring longingly into each other’s eyes while the rest of us wait around for you to remember we exist.” Branka glanced at her mate, who rolled his eyes theatrically as he took a glass from Arik. “It really derails the conversation.”
“Apologies, Branka,” Arik said, handing her a glass with a raised brow. “I didn’t realize you’d want to participate.”
This time, it was Jorgen who choked on his wine, but Branka grinned playfully. “As if. It’s already crowded with the dragons involved.”
Arik returned to my side, his hand slipping around my waist. He guided me to one of the wooden chairs near the table and pulled me into his lap.
“Hearthmother, save me,” Jorgen muttered as he sat down beside Branka on the chaise. He lifted her muddy, booted feet and settled them into his lap. “Don’t you think we have more serious things to discuss?”
“Like why we aren’t in the dungeons? Or the stockade?“ Branka agreed.
“If you get mud all over the furniture, we will end up there,“ Arik said, frowning as Jorgen worked at Branka’s laces. “I’m certain that the king needs something from me, or we wouldn’t have been granted the favor of privacy.”
“You are his dragehersker,“ Jorgen pointed out, finally winning his war with the boot laces. “Perhaps it’s just common courtesy.”
Arik sighed as the boots joined the muddy pack on the floor, his breath warming my neck. “Common courtesy is not something my father cares about. He wants something. Badly.”
“Something to do with the Althing?” I asked, craning my neck to look at him. “What is an Althing?”
“A meeting of the jarls.” His face was grave and pensive, and I felt his mind rifling through the few details we had gleaned from our audience with his father. “But there hasn’t been one for years.”
“What would he need to gather all the jarls for?” Branka asked, wiggling her toes as Jorgen rubbed her feet.
Arik and Jorgen exchanged a dark look, and it was Jorgen who responded, “War.”
“War with whom?” I asked. “With the odemarksdyr?”
Arik shook his head. “The drage have always been alone in that fight. This is something else.”
The ground chose that moment to tremble, the stones of the castle grinding against each other as dust fell from the ceiling.
Arik’s grip tightened on my hip as the four of us stilled, waiting with bated breath as we counted the seconds the shaking lasted.
Eight seconds. Nine.
“They’re getting longer,” I murmured, once the tremors finally stopped. Pounding footsteps and barked orders were audible outside our doors, but no one came to confirm we were unharmed. I supposed the king wouldn’t consider it a great loss if the castle came crumbling down on top of us.
“They’re coming from the Rift.” Arik squeezed my hip, and I sensed Baldur reaching across the sea to Kindra.
They felt it, Baldur confirmed. Patrols are going out now.
What color is the Rift? Arik demanded.
I stiffened, remembering the fissure of black nothingness that had swallowed up the ice and the inky touch of something invading my mind.
Something the dragons refused to talk about.
Blue, replied Baldur after a moment. I felt Arik relax a fraction as his eyes met mine.
“Should we go?” Jorgen asked.
Arik shook his head as I tried to push the memory away. “Revna can handle it. By the time we returned, whatever fight there was to be had would be over.”
“This isn’t normal?” Branka asked.
Neither Branka nor I had any context for how the Rift normally behaved. We had only seen it on the verge of a Rifting and in the wake of whatever had tried to spill out of it a week before.
“The Rift is usually quiet for weeks after a Rifting.” Arik patted my hip, and I rose as he strode to the fireplace and stared into it for a few moments.
His thoughts were a churning swirl between us.
“Right now, we need to focus on getting the Book. Then we can get out of this godsforsaken place and back to Ironholm where we are actually needed.”
“After we see Sigrid,” I reminded him. My hand went instinctively to the place on my chest where her gem had scarred me, and I felt the spot warm just for a moment. “We need answers, too. About the necklace. About the darkness.”
Arik nodded, his eyes steely as the firelight reflected off them. “We do. Jorgen and Branka can take the Book back while we fly north.”
“That’s all well and good,” Branka said, stretching like a cat, “but there’s one tiny problem with your plan. Two, actually.”
“And those are?” Jorgen shot his mate a bemused look as she nudged his hand with her stockinged toe in silent command to keep massaging.
“First, we need to find the Book and somehow sneak it out of the castle with no one the wiser.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Arik replied, his tone of finality suggesting he’d already decided exactly how we would accomplish this.
“Care to share?” I asked, leaning on the edge of the wooden table as I drained my glass of wine.
He shrugged. “I have my ways.”
Jorgen laughed as he kneaded the arches of Branka’s feet. “Cocky bastard. You have no bleeding idea, do you?”
“A problem for tomorrow.” Arik smiled and turned his silver gaze back to Branka. “What’s the second problem?”
Branka’s look of consternation slowly morphed into a wide grin. “The second problem is that, apparently, you have a wedding to attend.”