Chapter twenty-two
Revna
The coastline came into view as the sun was rising.
We had flown along the Scar as we’d left Ironholm the night before, Kindra’s dragon eyes the only reason I could make out the black gash against the dark ice. While the rest of the Rift glowed blue, the Scar seemed to absorb light.
It also appeared to have grown.
The gash now reached to the edge of the Odemark, its depths plummeting into the Iron Sea where we could no longer measure. I had no idea how far it extended, or whether or not it had reached the mainland.
If it had, we would be able to see it by now, Kindra said, interrupting my thoughts as we skimmed the surf and scoured the coastline.
I tried not to be annoyed when an inadvertent thought made it to her. Keeping the boundary between my mind and hers was a challenge at the best of times, and we were both exhausted.
It’s not like the Rift, I reminded her, thinking of the black gash. It could be hard to see.
I would find it. Kindra sniffed haughtily as if insulted by my doubt, and I smiled despite my many anxieties.
Let’s just be sure. Then we can find our reirhold.
Ingmar’s bronze dragon swooped down to join us and roared something at Kindra.
Ilka says we have been flying this stretch of coastline for an hour now, and they are hungry. I am also hungry.
I rolled my eyes, wishing for the hundredth time I could speak to all the dragons like Eisa. You’re always hungry.
I have been flying for thirteen hours. You fly us home, and then tell me if you are not hungry.
Fine, I sighed, accepting defeat. Hopefully Ingmar’s math was correct, and we had a few weeks before the Scar reached this far. Perhaps I should station patrols here just in case. Tell Ilka to land. And let Bryndis know where we are.
Kindra snorted as she angled toward a rocky cliff, her voice going hollow around me as she extended her thoughts to the others. You are bossy today.
I’m bossy every day, I reminded her as we landed with a crunch. Several shards of gray shale sheared off from the edge and plummeted to the sharp rocks below. I was doubly thankful that Kindra had wings as she maneuvered us away from the edge and shifted.
My skin pebbled as icy flecks of spray from the sea below hit me. The wind was carrying the spindrift upward, and I pulled my clothes on as quickly as I could while shivering.
Kindra yawned in my mind’s eye as she settled into her usual spot inside me. Bryndis says they landed an hour ago. Their humans are hiding not far from here. A place with horses.
I frowned. A stable, then. How far? We couldn’t exactly go flying around the countryside in broad daylight, which I suspected was why Jorgen and Branka had landed before daybreak and went into hiding.
The same town we stayed in after finding the Drekadrottning. Near the sea.
Smart. I gave Kindra a mental scratch across her eye ridges. It was one of only a few landmarks I knew in Stalheim, having spent the last forty years in Ironholm.
The dragons had an uncanny sense of direction, and Kindra’s had gotten me out of more than one scrape in the Odemark.
Yes, I am rather brilliant. Kindra preened, her gloating somewhat dampened by a jaw-cracking yawn. I will sleep now until you are ready to feed us.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as Ilka landed beside me and shifted, revealing swaths of bare, muscled brown skin. Ingmar grinned as they crouched to pull their pants from the pack. “Like what you see, Revna?”
I pulled on my jacket with a sigh. “For the thousandth time, Ingmar, you’re not Kindra’s type.” Despite the fact that they were very much my type, Kindra was not remotely interested in anything casual, and that was ultimately all that mattered to the dragons.
“Pity.” Their perfect backside disappeared into their leathers, and I sighed again at Kindra’s stubbornness.
Not that I’d ever try anything with Ingmar. I’d gone down the road of intra-reirhold relationships once before, and I had no interest in repeating the experiment.
It will be worth it. Kindra yawned again, one golden eye opening long enough to stare directly into my soul. The wait.
I thought you were asleep?
You’re lusting too loudly.
I’m not lusting, I lied. And I don’t need anything more than the occasional itch scratched. All this mating business seems to drive people to the very edge of sanity.
Continue to tell yourself that, if it helps.
“She arguing with you?” Ingmar was fully dressed, and they swept their black locs into a heavy bun atop their head.
“As usual. You ready?”
“Always.” Ingmar lifted their pack, throwing it over their shoulder. “Where to?”
It took another hour to trudge into town. Thank the Hearthmother for Kindra’s forethought in choosing a place we stayed before, because there was nothing else for miles around us.
“This place is in the ass end of nowhere,” Ingmar complained as we trudged along the muddy road, the countryside finally giving way to the occasional home.
I laughed. “Where we found Eisa was the ass end of nowhere. This is the armpit at worst.”
“Poetic.” Ingmar looked around, clearly unimpressed by the landscape. “It certainly smells like an armpit.”
“It’s a fishing village.” The road had sloped down as we’d traveled, the cliff giving way to a small beach and a run-down dock. “The land here is no good for farming. People still have to eat.”
“Elysia’s tits, the smell alone would put me off fish forever.”
“You’ve clearly never been properly hungry.”
The remark was too caustic. Ingmar looked at me, their eyes assessing as they tried to parse out my history, which I had no interest in discussing.
I knew the pinch of hunger well enough. It was one of the things that had softened me toward Eisa when we’d first stumbled into her tavern. Seeing her collarbones jutting from her flesh was like looking into a mirror of my younger self.
But there was no point in dredging up the past, so I kept my eyes locked on the distance. “There was a stable by the inn when we came here last. My guess is that’s where we’ll find Branka and Jorgen. Come on.”
Ingmar followed, their gaze boring into the back of my head as we made our way into the village and toward the little inn. It was the nicest part of the village by far, the holes in the roof neatly patched and the courtyard swept clean to welcome travelers.
“Jorgen?” I called, following the sound of snuffling coming from the stables. “Branka?”
“In here!” The voice was feminine and muffled somewhat, but I recognized it as Branka’s.
“Took you bloody long enough.” Jorgen sounded more irritated than I’d ever heard him, even when his skin was peeling during the transition, which he complained about loudly and profanely.
Any sign of Sigurd?
None yet, Kindra replied. I suppose that is why the man is so grumpy.
There was only one rather decrepit horse in the stable, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light before I could make out Jorgen and Branka, standing behind the poor beast.
Branka was fully dressed in leathers that were entirely too large for her. She waved sheepishly as we approached, her cheeks rather pink.
It took only seconds to see why.
Jorgen was completely naked but for a pink, floral apron tied around his waist that he must have pilfered from a washing line.
“Thank the Hearthmother,” he growled. “Please tell me you have clothes?”