16. Hnefatafl #2
Despite my constant questions, the prince did not seem to tire of answering them. Perhaps he found it gratifying, in a way.
“A dragon span is roughly equivalent to a hundred human years.”
I did the math in my head quickly. “She’s four-thousand years old!” I sputtered, unable to contain my astonishment.
He smiled at that. “Give or take,” he said. “The triplets are barely into their second span, so they’re considered quite young. Arlbright and myself, we’re well into our third spans, almost to our fourth.”
My mouth fell open. I’d never stopped to think about how old Corbyn was. He hadn’t changed physically in the time he’d been here, which I’d always attributed to the strangeness of the dragons. I never imagined he’d be close to three-hundred years old. It was difficult to wrap my head around.
Says the one who lives with a thousand-year-old spirit in her head, the Shadow chuckled.
Hush, you. I closed my mouth, twisting away the amused smile that threatened to show. “Truly fascinating,” I said to Trygg. “So, you thought you’d leave home while you were still relatively young? What did your family have to say about that?”
“The triplets didn’t care too much,” he said, splaying a hand out on his leg.
“Axel and I have our differences, but he thought it might be good for me. My father…” His gaze fell, and his voice grew deep.
“He is kept busy with his duties. I don’t see much of him.
And… Well, I already told you my mother died.
When the opportunity arose to take this position, I welcomed it.
Life is dull for the second son of a king—I thought I could be of some use. ”
I sat stock still in my chair, unable to tear my gaze away from the dragon sitting across from me. The picture he painted sounded so normal, barring the peculiar way the Shifters aged . Not at all what I imagined.
The Dragonhold of Ilfa Esari always seemed a brutal sort of place, where dragon lords slit each other’s throats to gain favor, and the powerful feasted on the weak.
At least, that’s how the reports from Freyr Reynar’s spies made it appear.
But Trygg’s family didn’t sound all that different from a human one.
“What’s the Dragonhold like?” I questioned lightly, shifting again in my chair.
The cloak I’d worn this morning draped over the back, bunching at the base of my spine.
I crossed my legs to relieve the pressure.
“We don’t have any renderings of it in the history books. And few humans venture there nowadays.”
“I can’t imagine why they’d want to,” he replied, letting out a throaty laugh. “An ancient fortress filled with ancient fools. I’m glad to have left it behind”—he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye—“if only for a time.”
I couldn’t help thinking that was a dig at my earlier comment about the Citadel being his home for the foreseeable future. My throat was dry again, and I wished I’d brought the wine from the receiving room. But regardless, I pressed on, feeling my inhibitions growing dimmer by the second.
“Is it true that it was carved out of a mountainside by dragonfire?” Against my better judgment, I really was curious. There was so much we didn’t know about them—so much that might answer the questions circling the back of my mind.
“Yes, that’s true.” He raked a hand through his raven hair, a silver ring on his little finger catching in the fire light.
“It was made thousands of years ago, in the days when Shifters of all types warred with each other. Dragons, wolves, griffins, eagles—you name it, they hated one another. But the dragons came out on top of that conflict, and there’s been peace in AEldin ever since. ”
I held my tongue, refraining from correcting him. Camaraderie amongst the Shifters, perhaps. But not peace. They’d seen to that when they’d forced us to fight back against the slaughter of our own people.
“You say the dragons came out on top.” His gaze glinted mischievously at that, which I promptly ignored. “What happened to the other Shifters?” I propped my elbow on the arm of the chair, resting my head against my hand. A mirror of his leisurely pose.
His eyes roamed over me briefly, searching for something. “They settled in their own towns, but they defer to the Council.”
A thought sprang to my mind. “So, if the Council is the ultimate authority, are they the ones who choose the king?”
“Her Majesty is awfully curious.” His gaze narrowed a fraction as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
I forced a playful smile. “My own fatal flaw, I’m afraid,” I said, squaring my shoulders.
This was starting to feel like a game of hnefatafl. Me on one side, trying to advance my queen to the far side of the board while the warriors defended her. Him on the other, doing everything in his power to make his warriors capture my queen before she made it.
A wordless grunt rumbled from deep in his chest. The darkthread tightened marginally.
“Your only one, I’m sure,” he said, the sarcasm in his voice thinly veiled. “But no, my lady, they do not choose the king. In the rare event there is not an heir to take the throne, a contest is held, and to the victor go the spoils.”
“The spoils being a throne. Seems a rather inefficient system. What if the new king is unjust? Or he is a madman?”
“It’s no more inefficient than your own system, Your Majesty,” he snapped, brows drawing low. Another tug, more insistent than the last.
Interesting, the Shadow remarked, her voice calm. Are you testing him, Asvoria?
Yes, and I’m beginning to see. The effect on the darkthread seems to be tied to his anger. I settled back into my chair, trying to appear relaxed.
“I suppose that’s fair,” I said, keeping my voice low. “My only qualification is my blood, and the power I inherited from my ancestors. But as you said: to the victor go the spoils.”
The emphasis was not lost on him. He was sharp, I’d give him that. The way he straightened his spine and settled his face into a mask of unfeeling observance told me he’d heard exactly what I’d meant.
My queen piece moved across the invisible hnefatafl board. One square closer.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. Oddly enough, the darkthread did not.
“How could I forget?” he said, voice deathly quiet. Suddenly, he stood and stooped into a bow. “I will leave you now. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He was striding across the room before I could respond.
I leapt from my chair, unsure of how to react.
“Talon Trygg,” I called, my voice resonating with some innate authority I hadn’t meant to convey.
He stopped short, turning his shoulder to look back at me.
The intensity of his gaze had me reeling for a moment.
Seemed I’d rankled him more than I thought.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
I drew in a shallow breath, fighting the pressure in my chest. “Thank you,” I said, “for the diverting conversation.”
He scoffed lightly. “Diverting?—”
“I mean it,” I cut in, taking a few small steps forward.
“There is much we don’t know about each other.
And I’ve enjoyed speaking with you. It would please me greatly to do it again sometime.
” There was too much truth in the statement for my own comfort, but I couldn’t deny it.
I was more interested than I wanted to admit.
He looked me up and down, eyes hard as stone. A sharp nod of his head was his only reply before he swept into the corridor, pulling the door closed with a bang.
I released a pent-up breath as soon as he was gone, grasping the top of my wing-backed chair to steady myself. I feel like I’ve been dragged to the depths of the ocean, I said, raising a hand to my head.
At least we now have an idea of what’s affecting us, the Shadow replied. Even if we still don’t understand why.
I get the feeling it won’t be easy to keep him from getting angry. My breathing evened out and the pressure in my chest abated. But perhaps it will become easier to resist the pull, with time.
We can only hope. The Shadow gave a languid roll. Either way, that was exhausting.
I moved to my dressing table. Agreed, I sighed, plopping onto the stool. I know I slept most of the day, but I’m so drained.
You should know better than anyone, Asvoria.
I began working at the braids along the sides of my head, pulling the tight strands free. What’s that? I asked.
She shuddered as she answered.
There is no rest for the weary.