Chapter 11
Mikael
The physician arrived shortly before dawn beneath a sky heavy with more snow. The frozen courtyard buzzed with activity as the servants hurried through the cold to unload leather cases stamped with the crest of Stagholt.
By the time Mikael woke fully enough to separate dreams from reality, Dr. Martin stood beside the bed with sleeves rolled past his elbows and silver spectacles perched low on his nose.
His weathered face was lined with exhaustion from travel but sharpened by unmistakable fascination as he studied Mikael.
Martin had the focused intensity of a man who had spent half his life chasing ailments that no one else could figure out.
There was no greeting or small talk. Mikael barely had time to swipe a hand across his eyes.
“You should already be dead,” Martin informed him plainly while preparing a syringe filled with pale amber liquid that shimmered strangely in the morning light.
Any other man might have found the statement alarming, but Mikael only huffed a tired breath through his nose because he lacked the strength for anything else.
“I’ve heard worse. You must be Sven’s physician.”
“Guilty.” Martin snorted softly before gripping Mikael’s forearm and pressing the needle into the vein with practiced precision.
“You may already know this, but this vaccine was developed after Sven was almost killed by the same toxin a while back. It took us a bit to realize that his queen actually slowed the progression of his poison, otherwise he would have died.”
“How do you know it’s the same poison?”
“The blood sample that accompanied the courier sent to fetch me. I’m well versed enough to have a quick test for the toxin. It’s the same one the Skelvarns created. The same one that prevents you from healing yourself.”
Mikael struggled to focus on the conversation. “You know?”
“About your dragon? Of course. I’ve been Sven’s personal physician since he was a boy.”
That made things easier. “So, now what?”
“Your case is more advanced than any I’ve personally seen, which means either your constitution is extraordinary or something slowed the poison before it fully took hold.”
A cold burn spread through Mikael’s arm almost immediately and climbed toward his shoulder. He grimaced faintly at the sensation while Martin watched him with clinical interest.
“It will not reverse everything immediately. The antidote must circulate fully through your body before it begins actively breaking down the toxin, so expect another day at least before your mind clears properly, though you should notice improvement gradually.”
Mikael rested his head back against the pillows, his thoughts still heavy and frustratingly slow despite the slight easing of pressure behind his eyes. “You’re assuming I remember enough to notice the difference.”
“That,” Martin replied, setting the empty syringe aside, “is exactly what I wish to discuss.”
He dragged a chair closer to the bed before he dropped himself into it with a low sigh. He studied Mikael carefully for several long moments as though searching for cracks in the fog clouding his mind.
“Tell me the last thing you remember clearly.”
Mikael closed his eyes and forced himself to search through fractured impressions that slipped away the instant he tried to hold them firmly. The disconnected pieces made no sense for the most part, but the strongest memory was of warmth and a woman’s voice he could never quite reach.
“Horses,” he muttered finally. “Snow. I remember traveling, I think. Then…” He frowned harder. “Nothing clear.”
Martin leaned forward slightly. “No banquet? No drink? No wound?”
Mikael shook his head once while irritation flickered through him because the gaps in his memory felt like entire portions of his mind had been carved away. “I don’t remember being poisoned.”
“That’s not unusual with this toxin,” Martin said thoughtfully.
“It affects the mind as aggressively as the body, especially in large doses, but your memory should return gradually as the antidote neutralizes the remaining poison.” His expression sharpened further.
“What intrigues me more is how you survived long enough for treatment.”
Mikael opened his eyes again. “Meaning?”
“The toxin inside you had either already begun breaking down or never actually took hold. That’s before I administered the vaccine,” Martin explained. “Something slowed, or blocked, its progression considerably.”
Mikael stared at him blankly. “I have no idea what.”
Martin tapped thoughtful fingers against the arm of his chair. “Neither do I, which is why I would very much appreciate it if your returning memories provide answers eventually.” He leaned forward. “It’s almost like you had Bryn with you, or maybe there’s another Bryn.”
“Bryn?”
“Sven’s queen. She would be ecstatic to find out there’s another of her kind that had healing powers. She’s still learning about her abilities.”
“The woman.”
“What woman?”
“I keep dreaming of a woman’s voice. And a child, a little boy. But Dag is no help at all and just tells me that she’s a figment of my imagination. But I swear, she’s real.”
The conversation ended not long afterward because exhaustion dragged at Mikael again, though for the first time since awakening he slept without sinking fully into that endless suffocating dark.
When he woke the next morning, the pressure clouding his thoughts had eased enough for him to sit upright without the room spinning violently around him.
Martin appeared deeply pleased by the improvement and immediately declared that Mikael would be walking.
“This sounds like a miserable idea,” Mikael informed him while he struggled into his boots. “I’m feeling better, but another day in bed sounds preferable than the pains in my body.”
“It is a medically necessary miserable idea,” Martin corrected briskly. “The antidote works more efficiently when circulation improves, so unless you would rather remain half-conscious for another week, you will walk.”
Too weak to argue properly and too proud to refuse outright, Mikael allowed himself to be hauled from his bedroom despite the ache running through every muscle in his body. His legs trembled beneath his weight, but each step made movement gradually became easier.
They walked slowly through the quieter corridors on the first floor where fewer servants would observe Mikael’s weakness. Martin spoke intermittently about recovery while Mikael focused mostly on remaining upright.
His dragon surged awake without warning.
Mine.
The word thundered through Mikael’s mind with startling force and carried instinct so possessive and immediate that it nearly stole the breath from his lungs. He stopped abruptly enough that Martin glanced toward him in concern.
“What is it?”
Mikael barely heard him because warmth had appeared suddenly in the distance like sunlight breaking through thick storm clouds. It was achingly familiar despite the fact that he could not understand why, and his dragon pressed harder against his consciousness.
Mine.
Without answering Martin, Mikael turned down another corridor.
“Mikael.”
He ignored the physician entirely and moved faster despite the protest from his body.
Something deep within him had already locked onto that warmth with relentless certainty and guided him downward through narrower passages until the air grew colder and heavier with the unmistakable scent of iron bars.
The dungeons.
Martin caught up beside him and grabbed his arm. “You don’t need to be down here. I think we’ve had enough exercise for one day.”
Still Mikael continued forward because the pull inside him had become unbearable. His dragon was nearly frantic now beneath his skin.
And then he saw her.
A woman sat behind the bars of one of the cells wrapped in pale gray blankets. Strands of dark hair fell loose around her face, and the instant Mikael’s gaze landed on her, heat spread sharply through his chest.
Mine.
The dragon’s voice softened this time, no less possessive but filled now with something dangerously close to relief.
The woman looked up slowly at the sound of their footsteps, and for one suspended moment neither of them moved. Mikael couldn’t breathe properly.
He knew her. Not fully, not enough to grasp where or how, but something recognized her immediately.
Her eyes widened slightly as she stared back at him through the bars, confusion and caution mingling with something softer he couldn’t name. His mind remained maddeningly unclear, but he found himself unable to look away from her face.
He took a step closer, then another, until the warmth intensified so sharply it bordered on pain.
Mine.
Mikael reached the front of the cell almost without realizing it. “You…” His voice came out rougher than intended. “I know you.”
The woman said nothing at first, though emotion flashed briefly across her expression before she lowered her gaze.
Mikael moved again despite himself. “Who are…”
A heavy hand clamped down hard on his shoulder before he could reach the bars. “That’s enough.”
Dag’s voice cut through the corridor like a blade. Mikael turned sharply and irritation flared instantly at the interruption.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Dag continued coldly. “Especially near her.”
Mikael’s dragon snarled low inside him. The possessive fury that rose through him made no sense alongside the fog still clouding his memory, yet he could not pull his eyes away from the woman behind the bars, even with Dag standing in the way.
Something deep within him had already recognized her long before his mind caught up, and every instinct he possessed now rebelled violently against leaving her there.