Chapter 25 Calder
CALDER
Crescent Hold, Skalor
Fog hangs over the black water of the morning as he silently maneuvers the Wicked Wyvern along the channel between the mountains and the wild northern half of the Crescent Hold.
Calder grinds his teeth as the ground scrapes the bottom of his ship. They may have landed in the early morning, but rural outposts hide the Hold sentries and roaming hunters.
He laments the reality that their fastest route to the south would place them far too close to Nightwall Keep.
Alas, they must brave the wilderness of the Crescent Hold to reach Viktoft.
He shoulders the burlap supply packs stowed on his ship.
“Here,” he grunts as he removes a scrap of fabric he finds in one and ties her lovely copper curls in a wrap away from her gorgeous face. “I trust no one,” he cups her cheek, unnerved by the cold clinging to her soft skin.
“I understand.” She juts her chin forward, although those deep blues reflect a heaviness.
After they conceal his vessel in a thicket along the embankment, they tighten their cloaks and disappear into the untamed backcountry of the Northern Handle.
They trudge in exhausted silence away from the channel and into the dense evergreen forest, having not slept during their overnight voyage.
Whatever curse appears to cast an unending winter over most of Skalor provides a brief snowy respite for the westernmost hold. Still, the air remains unnaturally frigid, frosting their breath, even though the snow has yet to blanket the land.
Once the sun's rays pierce through the canopy, he halts their progress and constructs two tents at the base of a cliff shrouded by evergreen branches. Each knot he ties to secure her canvas to the ground causes his jaw to clench.
A respectable man allows the lady her space.
A respectable man knows not to touch his mentor’s off-limits daughter.
If she were another woman with that fiery gaze and ample curves, he would have had her bare beneath him the night they met.
Damn, all of the gods! Because she is not any other woman.
The Princess is flawed, cheeky, and fixated on the approval of others. At the same time, she remains calm around those she cares for. Is fiercely determined and exudes compassion.
She is the exact woman I want at my side, ruling Kaldrgataness.
“There you go.” He grunts, gesturing at her tent.
She shuffles inside with her packs. He refuses to shift position until she settles.
Once his back hits the ground within his shelter, the forest grants them a peaceful silence broken only by the morning birds and scurrying critters of the undergrowth.
Sleep does not greet the Iss Drengr. Even the Princess, separated by the canvas, maintains uneven breathing.
I need her in my arms.
Lying on his back with his fingers intertwined behind his head, he stares up at the canvas ceiling—every little sound emanating from the other tent claws at his insides.
An internal war rages in his mind over whether he should seize her now while they are away from Kaldrgataness and the Salt Province, or maintain their passionate tension like a godsdamn gentleman.
Gods, I would give anything to seek salvation between her beautiful legs.
In a sad attempt to keep himself from leaving the security of his canvas, he tilts his head toward her solitude and asks the burning question in the back of his mind. “Aura?”
“Yes? Calder?” She responds a little too quickly, eliciting a rare chuckle from him.
“What exactly did my mother say to you?”
Her silence is not comforting.
Calder rolls onto his side and wonders if she has fallen asleep when the flap of his tent is thrown aside, letting in a sliver of blinding light, frigid air, and the lovely Princess.
“I’m sorry for startling you!” She crawls inside. Despite maintaining smooth movements, she trips over her feet and tumbles in, landing on his chest.
Before he can comprehend what is happening, she grips his hand, and suddenly his body jolts as though an unknown force sucks him through a pipe before landing atop the dais in his longhouse.
Having walked through this event the night before, the scene around him feels too familiar.
What shakes even his nerves is that he is no longer in his body.
He lifts his hands and gasps, finding them lithe and petite.
Am I in Aura’s mind?
A glance at the room shows the Calder of last night fighting with the soldiers at the base of the stage.
Lavinia stands beside Aura, cackling.
“I have been scorned in my life, little Sigvidsson. I take care of myself before anyone else. Do you know why I ordered your death?”
His mother leans forward, “You are the Salt in the Prophecy. Who else could it be? Your beastly father? Or your deranged sister? Understand, little Sigvidsson, I need Skalor to ice over. Therefore, you must die. I require all of the precious Jarls to bow down to me. Begging, crawling to me for protection. Makt will have his vengeance and reclaim Skalor. We will reinstate the pantheon.”
The scene in his longhouse vanishes, and he is plunged through the dark pipe in his mind before the scent of the pine forest and Aura’s natural pheromones abruptly fill his senses.
Calder massages his forehead. “Warning next time.”
“What fun would that be?”
He growls. “I see this is what Lavinia planned all along. Makt at full power.”
She glances through the tent's opening into the bright morning air, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Even if we locate Makt’s Temple and collect his weapon, how do we kill a god? The ancient texts suggest that the gods might hold a weakness to Astrian steel. Not that it was certain.”
“Edmund was working on an answer to this. We will have to wait for him to meet up with us.”
We both need to sleep, but I cannot bear the thought of leaving her alone.
“You believe your father and I would kill each other.” He tosses a fur over her legs.
Her pretty pink lips part, and she looks away, twirling a bit of linen from her pants between her fingers. “You are both immensely powerful and often don’t understand your own strength.”
“Princess, I would not harm your father. It will take more than a shot of Azure to bring down the Beast.” Calder places his hand on her bouncing leg, stifling her movement.
She worries her bottom lip, still not looking at him. “Warning.” She whispers before her hand grips his wrist, and he is once more thrust into her memory.
Only this time, he enters a carriage with Sigvid…
After a tumultuous vision of her final moment with her father, her seidr throws him back inside the safety of his mind.
He is at a loss for words and cannot believe Sigvid would say that to Aura.
Without a thought, he envelopes her in his powerful arms. His fingers untangle the hair wrap so he can stroke her soft locks while she buries herself against him.
I cannot fathom him uttering those words to her in a hundred lifetimes.
He bites his tongue to restrain himself from uttering a negative thought against the man she deems some heroic figure.
“Already, he finds me such a disappointment.” She mutters.
“Can you imagine his fury? Should I break his orders and allow myself to embrace you fully?” She pulls away.
Her gaze hardens in a way that ages her beyond her winters.
“Each moment that brings us closer is a further reminder of the despicable daughter I have become.”
Her hands fist upon her thighs. “It has become difficult to eat, and I cannot sleep knowing he either waits to admonish me in Blackwood or the Depths. Calder,” she clutches his hands, looking up with an expression scrunched in distaste, “look me in the eyes and tell me I have not damned you. That he will not hunt you to the ends of the continent.”
Dammit, Sigvid, you are not here and yet you still find a way to cause destruction.
Calder holds her face, staring into her eyes. “He is not here. We must remain sharp for our mission.” He strokes her curls, softening at the weariness in her expression.
I will no longer pretend I am not the demon everyone fears me to be.
“You will sleep in my tent with me.”
She gapes, understanding the magnitude of his declaration.
It may have been fifteen winters since his ex-wife’s betrayal, but time has not warmed the ice shielding his heart.
His bedfellows are not permitted to stay overnight in his home.
There is no return from opening his bed to her.
He presses his finger against her silky lips. “I must know you are safe, Princess.”
She hesitantly tugs the blanket to her waist and lays on her side, her arm curled under her head for support and her gaze trained on his.
He watches her eyelids droop until they fall closed. Silently, he slides toward her until he can pull her to his chest without waking her.
As they embrace this rare moment of solitude, he savors her natural scent and the faint beat of her heart.
I will protect you from the evils of the realms.
“Are you well?” She asks again as he cringes with a stretch against a particularly tall pine.
They had been hiking all evening, and his aged back was stiff after sleeping on the ground.
What kind of hardened warrior have I become that a carriage and a bed were desirable over roughing it in the woods?
“We need to find a horse.” He acquiesces.
“We cannot be seen.” She whispers despite the quiet of the night and his presence as the apex predator of these damn woods.
They continue until they stumble out of the forest and onto a dirt road. In the distance, a torch bounces toward them.
“Should we get off the road?” Her hand clutches the blackwood axe handle at her waist.
“No.” With his hand along her lower back, he urges her onward.
As the light grows closer, a heavy draft horse with a uniformed rider emerges from the darkness. There is no need to examine the heraldry to know it is a guard of the Crescent Hold.
He exhales a breath of relief that it is not one of Lavinia’s men.
The rider tugs on his reins as they approach.
Aura flinches despite her cloak and hood concealing her noticeable features.
“Hello there! A bit late to travel, yeah?”