Chapter 13 Tamsyn #2
Staring at him, I knew he meant it. He would not let this matter, this threat, go.
I didn’t speak, but I had my fears, my doubts.
It would be a dangerous task. Stig would not be caught unawares in a world he now believed populated by dragons.
He’d emptied all dragon weaponry from the palace for a reason. Stig was many things, but not a fool.
“And once he is handled,” Vetr went on, “Penterra will return to as before, minding itself and keeping its soldiers out of the Crags.”
I worried my bottom lip between my teeth. I hoped he was right. Except …
Except as before had been under Fell’s leadership. I felt a dull pang at the center of my chest, feeling that loss like an old wound torn anew. And there was no going back to that.
Even if Stig was eliminated, someone else just as bad would be appointed, steered by the lord regent’s hand.
Without Fell, Penterra lived beneath a dark shadow.
And yet that was not a concern for Vetr.
The pride only cared about the welfare of dragonkind.
They weren’t like me, stuck between both worlds, caring about both worlds.
Remove Stig, the pride would thrive. Remove Stig, and humankind would still suffer.
I stared at each of the faces in the room and knew they would all tell me that worrying about the pride was enough—more than enough—that there was no room for worry about those who had hunted us to the brink.
And yet just as one could not control the beatings of the heart, I could not stop caring.
I spent another five nights in the infirmary, feeling better and more mobile with each passing day. An unnecessary length of time, in my opinion, but nobody was asking for my opinion. Not Brenna. And certainly not Vetr. He remained with me. Asleep one bed over.
On the dawn of day six it was decreed that I should return to my den that evening, following the feast to be held in my honor.
“We’re still doing that?” I asked, a tremble to my voice. “After the other day …”
Brenna smiled reassuringly at me. “Of course. It’s still in the works.”
“Are you certain? Anders won’t—”
“It is not Anders’s decision. Vetr has decided. He’s our alpha, and he says we will celebrate the success of this rekon.”
“Success?” I said skeptically.
“Indeed. Valuable information was gathered, thanks to you. And no one died. You’ve recovered.
Every dragon life is a gift. We are all that is left, discounting the skelm.
” There was something faintly forlorn in her voice, and I wondered if she thought of her sister, lost years ago, taken by those other dragons.
I doubted Anders valued my life very much, but I did not bother reminding her of that.
Vetr wanted a feast, so there would be a feast. At least I would be returning to my own den again.
There was that. I looked forward to a return to privacy, to sleeping in my own furs.
It would be a relief. Far less confusing than sleeping mere feet away from Vetr, listening to the cadence of his slow breathing at night.
The rustle of him in his blankets when he turned in his sleep.
The scent of him drifting to me when I inhaled: snow and wind and ancient things lost to the whispers of time.
Before the feast, I took a long bath in one of the warm springs, letting the soothing water lap at my shoulders, easing my muscles and bones. It was divine and such an improvement from a sponge bath in front of the basin stand.
I was home.
I tested the idea out to see if it fit yet—if it felt comfortable and right. Could it finally be true?
The evening’s feast was not the first I’d ever attended since I’d joined the pride. And yet it was no less eye-widening. The food, the drink, the music, the dancing …
Everyone mingled and moved about as they ate.
Designated seats were more of a suggestion tonight, which was perhaps why I found myself sitting beside Orm.
Normally, he sat closer to the head of the table, near his brother, Aksel, but he wanted to hear all about my time among humans … a captive of the Terror.
“And tell me of his whip? It was tipped with dragon scales, was it not?” Orm shuddered as he popped a berry into his mouth and then topped off my glass and his own with more verdaberry wine.
“Ghastly humans. They certainly are creative, coming up with ways to target our vulnerabilities.” He shook his head with a wince.
“A curse on all witches for revealing our secrets. At least they got what was coming to them.”
I said nothing, felt only a stab of pity. The image of burning pyres flashed across my mind. I could feel no glee over anyone suffering such a fate. Not every witch had wronged dragonkind, and yet they were all made to suffer.
Across the distance, I caught sight of Nayden. He danced with Kerstin, joyful and silly in his movements—until his gaze landed on me. His smile fled. His flush of happiness was replaced by a ruddy wash of dislike. Good to know some things had not changed in my time away—and time lost to svefn.
I took another sip of wine. Swallowing it, I pressed the backs of my fingers to my lips and stifled a yawn.
“Am I boring you?” he asked with a grin, his teeth a blinding flash of white against his golden skin.
“No, not at all. I fear I’m tired. This is the most activity I’ve had in a while. I’ve been stuck in the infirmary for so long.”
Orm leaned in closer and dropped an arm along the back of my seat, his hand brushing my shoulder. “You shall have to rebuild your stamina,” he suggested, his tawny eyes fixed brightly on me. The eyes matched his yellow-gold hair, the trademark of a clarion dragon.
“I have missed the arena,” I admitted.
“You should join me tomorrow. We can spar.” His thumb stroked my shoulder in small circles, and I knew there was nothing inadvertent about it.
“She just got out of the infirmary. She won’t be ready to spar for some time.”
Orm jolted rather guiltily at the sudden voice intruding into our conversation. He glanced apologetically to Vetr, who loomed over us with a stern look on his face.
“Of course, I only thought to suggest … we might do some light training.”
Already, Vetr was shaking his head. “It’s an unwise idea. She’s still mending a broken rib.”
Orm sputtered and then gave up in defeat, nodding deferentially. “Of course, how foolish of me.” He gave me a contrite look. “Perhaps when you are better we can spar.”
“That would be nice. I’m sure a few more days, and I’ll be up to it.”
Vetr grunted low in his throat.
Orm reached for his glass. “If you will excuse me, I’m going to refill this and fetch some more of that delicious roast mutton.”
As he left us, I sent Vetr a questioning glance. “Why do you look so cross?”
He shrugged and bit out with his usual bluntness, “It was a stupid suggestion. He should not have asked it.”
“My rib does feel better.”
“Good. You’re mending. Let us keep it that way.”
“Are you enjoying the feast?”
He nodded once. “It’s a good time.”
“You don’t dance?” I motioned to the spinning figures. Kerstin was laughing, brash as ever, her gold-shot chestnut hair whipping like a banner on the air as Mats whirled her around.
“It’s for the young.”
I laughed. “You are young.”
“I’m the oldest here.”
“Still young, though.” I was perfectly aware that he was twentyseven. The same age as Fell—or the age Fell would have been. My smile dimmed a bit.
“I suppose the burden of responsibility adds years.”
I nodded. “I don’t feel much like dancing either,” I offered up to him, still towering over me.
“Good, as you have a broken rib.”
I angled my head, a crick forming in my neck. “You seem fond of mentioning that.”
“Moments ago you were agreeing to spar in the arena. I just want to make sure you remember it, too.”
“I’m not likely to forget what happened to me.”
Vetr nodded slowly, the silver light of his eyes glinting, and I was reminded of when he stood between me and Anders, a knife in his hand, prepared to defend me. “Nor shall I.”
We fell silent. I watched the dancers for several more moments, sipping my wine, wondering how much longer I needed to remain before I could make my excuses and retire for the night to the solitude awaiting me in my den.