Chapter nine
Eisa
“Explain to me again exactly who that is?” Branka had a dreamy look on her face, her eyes firmly fixed on the three men sparring with long wooden sticks in the middle of the yard.
Arne, Jorgen, and Arik had all stripped off their leathers and shirts, and the weak sun that had broken though the cloud cover was enough to make the sweat glisten on their chests.
Branka and I were similarly drenched as we leaned against the stone wall that surrounded the training yard, ostensibly to take a water break, and not to stare brazenly at the men.
In all fairness to us, their practice was mesmerizing, and the sounds of swords and shields clattering loudly around had dimmed as a ring of onlookers quit their own matches and gathered to watch them along with us.
They were a motley group of men, likely here with their jarls for the Althing. I’d never had much need to understand the politics of Stalheim, but I wished I’d taken the time to ask Arik about it before we’d been thrust into the center of it all.
Arne whooped loudly as he dodged a blow, nimbly jumping over Arik’s stick.
He must have been at least in his late forties, but he appeared in no worse shape than either of the drage fighting him.
His torso was thick with muscle and chiseled with scars that marked him a warrior as much as the other men.
He lacked the tattoos that I’d noted on so many drage men, but if I didn’t know better, I’d assume he was one of us.
Arne swung the wooden pole, landing a brutal hit to Arik’s midsection. Arik let out a grunt, his face as impassive as it had been the entire fight.
Idunn growled protectively deep in my chest. We must kill the hairy one.
They’re sparring, you ridiculous thing, I admonished, trying to soothe her agitation. Beside me, Branka was fanning herself, her dragon clearly in a similar disposition. Arik wouldn’t thank you for roasting his uncle.
Arik glanced at me, his beard twitching in amusement as he tapped inquiringly at my mental bridge. Tired already? What’s Idunn so antsy about?
You, getting killed. Watch your head! I shouted as Jorgen aimed a blow designed to strike both opponents.
Arik dodged it gracefully as if he had known the blow was coming. Believe it or not, I’m fairly skilled in this area.
Pay attention, then. I snapped. I have no desire to restrain Idunn from eating your uncle if he knocks your head off.
“Eisa!” Branka shook my shoulder, and I blinked at her in confusion. “Okay, this is getting ridiculous.”
I cleared my throat, remembering that Branka had asked a question, which I had both completely ignored and forgotten. “Sorry. What did you ask me?”
Branka crossed her arms in annoyance. “I asked who that is, but clearly we should talk about your inability to focus. Are you undressing Arik with your eyes during these long silences?”
“It’s Arik’s uncle, and no, I’m not undressing him with my eyes.” I looked around. The spectators were some distance from us, having been scared off by a growl from Jorgen when one of the men approached Branka, but I didn’t particularly want to be overheard. “Keep your voice down.”
“Then what are you doing?” Branka whisper-shouted back. “Because I know you’re not talking to Idunn.”
One of the braver soldiers from the crowd had entered the sparring ring, his friends eagerly cheering him on. Arne, Arik, and Jorgen watched as he stripped off his shirt and took one of the long poles from the rack at the edge of the training yard.
“Why do they all need to be shirtless?” I muttered, half hoping to distract her.
“Tell me, Eisa.” Branka’s eyes were fierce, their edges turning slightly gold as Bryndis sensed her irritation.
Across the ring, Arne began to walk the newcomer through the movements with the pole as Arik and Jorgen faced off against each other to the whoops and cheers of the crowd.
I sighed. “We can speak in each other’s minds.”
The confession was a whisper, but Branka heard me well enough. “You can what?!”
“Shhh!”
“You can speak in each other’s minds? For how long?”
“Since the Rifting.”
“The Rifting?!”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” I glanced around nervously, but there was still at least ten feet between us and the nearest soldier. “We weren’t sure what it meant.”
“Elysia’s glorious tits,” Branka murmured, her wide eyes falling back to the men.
Arne had easily disarmed the newcomer, inspiring three more men to strip off their shirts and join the fray.
I caught Arik’s gaze. Everything alright? Branka looks like you’ve just confessed your undying love.
I told her. About our…connection.
Branka gripped me by my shoulder. “Oh my Goddess, you’re doing it now! Is it because Idunn is a blue?”
“We think so.” I took her arm, linking it with mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“No, I get it. Wait!” Branka clapped a hand over her mouth, looking suddenly horrified. “Is it all of your thoughts, or only some of them?”
I smiled, despite myself. “It depends. Sometimes I can’t control it.”
Across the training yard, Arik took on three men while Arne and Jorgen split off to spar with two others who had joined the impromptu training exercise. He cast a raised brow at me, and I shook my head slightly. We’re fine.
Branka shuddered. “I’m not sure I’d want Jorgen hearing every single one of my thoughts. Bryndis is already incredibly intrusive sometimes.”
“It gets inconvenient,” I agreed wryly.
Heard that. Arik’s mental voice didn’t sound winded as he swung the wooden pole over and over again, catching one man in the stomach and another in the ribs. Both limped away as five more men entered the yard, their grins eager as they picked up the sticks of their fallen comrades.
I have decided I like this game after all, Idunn interrupted, purring loudly in my chest. Look how shiny he is getting.
Control yourself. I felt pink creep into my cheeks. Arik had broken into a light sweat from the exertion, his broken tattoos and the scars from his whipping standing out in sharp relief against his tan skin. You’re enjoying this far too much.
So does Bryndis. I glanced over to see that Branka’s cheeks were just as flushed as mine. Why deny that you enjoy the sight of your mate showing off?
“He is a showoff, isn’t he?”
I started, whirling toward the male voice behind me.
Prince Edvard was leaning against the wall only a few feet from us, his gray eyes fixed intently on me as a small smile tugged at his lips.
“What?” I felt Branka stiffen beside me and realized with relief that my tone was the icy one I had adopted for Arik in Ironholm, rather than the placating one I’d used for Henrik and Einar.
Good. I had no desire to be placating.
“My brother.” Edvard looked at me curiously, something dark flashing in his gray eyes. “He’s a show off. Or did you not hear me?”
Idunn rumbled deep in my chest, all amusement and lustful distraction replaced by wary distrust. It is not possible that he heard me.
I tried to soothe her with a gentle stroke. A coincidence, surely.
Baldur stirred uneasily across our mental bridge. Arik had seen his brother’s approach and was watching as he continued to spar.
“It’s rude to ignore a prince, you know.” Edvard reached out as if to touch my hair, and I flinched back. He smiled, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels. “Even more rude to forget to curtsy.”
“Apologies, Your Highness.” I gave the smallest curtsy—more a bob of the head—that I could possibly manage.
Branka followed suit, her eyes downturned. I could feel her shaking behind me, and I took her hand.
Edvard chuckled, the sound lacking true amusement. “My brother chooses his women well. You have courage at least.”
“I suppose you have intimate knowledge of your brother’s women.” The words had left my mouth before I had time to think them through. I felt Baldur rumble a warning as Arik dropped his stick and strode toward us, Jorgen on his heels.
Edvard glanced at his brother, the same dark smile still tugging the edges of his lips. “Oh, you’ll do nicely.”
Let me burn him. Idunn growled in my chest as if Edvard had threatened me with physical violence.
I felt Branka sag with relief behind me as Jorgen took his mate’s hand from mine and pulled her a step away.
“Edvard.” It was a command, not a greeting. Arik stood behind me and placed both of his hands on my shoulders. Alright, Kjaere?
Fine. My pulse was hammering, and Arik placed a steadying hand on my waist.
“What do you want, Edvard?”
“Such theatrics.” Edvard leaned casually on the fence. “I was just getting to know the woman you are abandoning convention for.”
“Being with my mate is the only convention that matters to me.”
“How sentimental you’ve become.” Edvard’s eyes flicked to mine, and for a split-second, I felt a sharp ache in my chest.
The feeling was gone before I could even properly register it, but Arik had noticed.
What is it, Kjaere? Baldur’s pulse of white energy speared across my mind, a steadying presence that calmed Idunn’s more violent instincts to eliminate what she clearly deemed a threat.
I’m fine. Idunn is just on edge.
Arik pulled me into his chest, his arm encircling my waist. “Go away, Edvard.”
The prince shook his head in disbelief. “You would truly wed a thrall, then?”
“You fucking—“ Jorgen growled from behind me, but Arik put out a hand to still his friend and stepped in front of me. It took a great deal of willpower to rein Idunn’s fury in, and I could feel Arik doing the same with Baldur.
Edvard was no weakling. Beneath the fine clothes, he had some strength.
I’d seen him ride, and I had no doubt he could wield a sword if called upon to do so.
But Arik, honed by years of fighting in the Odemark and the physical rigor of being drage, made his brother look like a boy barely into manhood.
His voice was perfectly calm, his tone steady. “If you use that word again in my presence, I will cut out your tongue and hang it from the ash tree outside the gates so that every other fucking fool knows what happens when they insult my mate.”
Idunn purred in approval at the threat. It should probably worry me how much she was aroused by violence.
Not when it’s for you, Kjaere. Arik’s voice was a caress, although his eyes remained fixed on his brother. She knows that for you, I would burn down this whole fucking castle.
Something in me roiled warm and approving at that.
As if Edvard could somehow hear our conversation, he laughed. “Oh, my dear brother. You are in deep this time, aren’t you?”
“Why the fuck are you here?” Arne pushed in front of Arik, forcing Edvard to back up a step. “Get the fuck out, ye numpty.”
Edvard raised his hands as if in surrender and looked at Arik, his gaze almost…beseeching? “It’s been sixteen years. I had thought that we might let bygones be bygones.”
Arik stiffened, taking my hand firmly in his. “If you think there is a single fucking thing you can do to even the score between us, you are more of a fool than I thought.”
Edvard glanced at me, his gaze cold and serious before it traveled back to Arik’s. “You were a fool. To bring her here.”
“Is that a threat?” Arne growled, taking a step toward the prince.
Edvard shrugged, a strange look passing over his face as he turned to leave. “Only the truth.”