26. Ancient History #2
Had he sensed me in here the way I was able to sense him? I gulped down a ragged breath, fighting against my racing thoughts and the dull throbbing of the darkthread. Whether I was ready or not, I had to face him. “Just a moment,” I called, my hands trembling.
Calm down, Asvoria, the Shadow said. We don’t have any details. Keep your wits about you and find out what you can.
Sending her a feeling of agreement, I stepped back up to the door and yanked it open, coming face to face with Trygg’s broad, towering form filling up the doorway. He smirked down at me in the way he normally did. A strange mix of emotions bubbled up at the sight.
Not looking too closely, not looking too closely ? —
“Talon Trygg,” I breathed, trying to sound like I wasn’t eavesdropping. “What are you doing here?”
He glanced over his shoulder at Corbyn, still standing in the aisle and looking away from us. “Just checking on you, that’s all. Do you need anything?”
I swallowed down my nervousness. What I needed were answers. But there was one place I had to start—one place I dreaded to go.
“Yes, actually,” I said, sounding braver than I felt. Corbyn shot me a quick, curious glance. “I’d like to speak to you, Talon Trygg. If there isn’t something more pressing that requires your attention?”
His smirk widened a fraction. “Not at all.”
“This won’t take long,” I said to Corbyn. His body went rigid, but I gave him a reassuring nod. The prince did say he was here to help me. And now I needed to find out what his little stunt with the cup last night had to do with that.
Slowly, Corbyn inclined his head, his black eyes unreadable. “I’ll be nearby, my lady,” he intoned quietly, turning on his heel and heading down the aisle, crimson cape billowing behind him.
I stepped aside, beckoning the prince into the Retreat. A pang of nervousness ran through me when he pulled the bookcase behind him, but his words echoed in my mind again.
‘ I didn’t come here to hurt her. I’m here to help her. ’
What could he possibly mean by that? Had the Council sent him here to kill me and he’d decided against it?
If he meant to hurt me, he’d had plenty of opportunities to do so.
It was as simple as letting the unleashed draugr finish me off.
But he didn’t do that… He helped me. He saved me. I couldn’t make sense of it.
Trygg looked around at the sparsely appointed room. His eyes fell on the empty hearth and then shifted to me. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked, jerking his head at the fireplace.
I shrugged. The small window was still open, letting in brisk winter air. It hadn’t really occurred to me in the hours I’d been here. I’d been too focused on the contents of the journals and trying to find answers. Now that I thought about it though, it was freezing in here.
When I didn’t say anything, he looked me up and down, twisting his mouth. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. The air all around him shimmered for a few moments before settling back down. And when he opened his eyes again, my breath caught in my throat.
The human pupils were gone, replaced by serpentine slits. His irises were liquid silver, swirls of gray and black rolling around inside them like smoke.
He turned back to the hearth, crouching down and throwing a few logs into the grate.
His lips parted, and a stream of rippling fire washed the wood in orange flame.
When the hearth was crackling merrily, he stood up and rolled his shoulders, rustling his black cape.
The drakonian features disappeared in an instant.
“Thank you,” I said. “I didn’t know you could do that without the…” I gestured to where his enormous wings would usually be.
He nodded and crossed to close the window.
“Yes, we can, though reduced firebreath and dragonsight are the only drakonian traits that come with a quarter-Shift.” He took a few steps toward me, curiosity lighting up his eyes.
“However, I don’t think you called me in here to light the hearth, Your Majesty,” he said, stopping an arm’s length away.
I craned my neck to look him in the eye, fighting past the last few traces of anxiety. “For once,” I said firmly, “you’re right. We need to speak about what happened last night, Trygg.”
Are you sure? the Shadow asked.
We’ll see if your theory is correct, I answered, keeping my gaze steady on the dragon in front of me.
Our invisible game of hnefatafl was not over yet. His warriors were closing in on my queen piece. If I had any hope of staying in the game, I needed to make a move.
He lowered his head, still smiling and looking up at me beneath thick, dark lashes. A few strands of raven-black hair fell into his eyes. “Mmm,” he grunted, leaning forward, “I wondered if you’d bring that up.”
“What in the seven hells were you thinking?” My voice dropped to barely above a whisper, even though I’d seen Corbyn walk away and there was no way anyone else could hear. “Do you even know what you did?”
He chuckled darkly, running a hand through his hair. “Well, Arlbright did tell me I mucked up some of the words… It was an honest mistake, my lady.” He smiled widely, shrugging his broad shoulders.
My pulse quickened at his audacity. “You really think I believe that?” I said, and the Shadow bristled against me. No matter what I did, I couldn’t control my temper around him. He was so damn vexing.
Trygg studied me for a few, tense moments. “So, what do you believe?” he finally asked with surprising gentleness.
“I… Well…” I stumbled over the words, wondering how much I should let on.
“You think I changed the wording on purpose?” He took a step toward me.
I stood my ground, squaring my shoulders. “I do.”
There was that gods-damned smirk again. “And why would I do that, Your Majesty?”
“That is precisely what I’d like to know, Talon Trygg.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “What you said… and what you did with that damn cup crossed a line.”
His eyes glinted sharply, gaze narrowing. “It was nothing more than a bit of harmless fun. I enjoy getting a rise out of you.”
“I would not choose ‘harmless’ as the word to describe it,” I shot back.
“Then what would you choose?”
My teeth ground together painfully, his arrogance capturing my temper in a stranglehold. “I think ‘dangerous’ is an appropriate description.”
His eyebrow quirked at that.
“Interesting,” Trygg mused, crossing his arms and turning to the shelves. When he came to the journals in the case closest to the door, he halted.
“Why is that?” I questioned, watching him carefully.
He looked up to the top shelf. Only three journals rested there, more weathered and cracked than all the others. From where I stood, I could barely make out the name embossed in gold leaf on the front.
‘ Bridja Falk ’
He turned away from the journals, giving me a knowing look.
“Do you really think I'm dangerous, Your Majesty?” His stance oozed self-confidence, a swaggering bravado that rankled my nerves. “To you, I mean,” he amended quickly, throwing me a lazy smile. “I certainly hope I’m dangerous, otherwise I’d be a shite guard, wouldn’t I?
” His laugh rumbled deep in his chest, an entirely too likable sound.
Everything about him was likable—charming, even.
The Shadow rippled softly, a silent warning that I ignored. Their whispered conversation beyond the bookcase had me forgetting all instincts of self-preservation. This prince was up to something, and what he’d done during the oath-taking ceremony only served as further evidence.
“Tell me what I’m supposed to think,” I said, my hands beginning to tremble, “when you changed the wording of the oaths to such a degree that you bound yourself to me rather than to the treaty.” It was getting warm in the room, but I couldn’t tell if it was the dragon’s proximity or my own embarrassment at the honesty I seemed unable to contain.
“And the cup, Trygg! You turned the cup!”
He shrugged, chuckling again. An infuriating dismissal.
“It’s just a cup. Nothing to get so worked up about. While I certainly enjoyed your reaction in the moment, this?—”
“Is this a game to you? Perhaps that’s how things are done in Ilfa Esari, but your actions here carry consequences for other people.”
He rolled his eyes, still smiling in that way that probably had females falling all over him in his own court. “I thought you liked playing games, Your Majesty. What can I say? I find you to be an intriguing, albeit challenging, opponent. And no one can accuse me of backing down from a challenge.”
“You think I was the only one who saw?” I seethed, hands balling into fists. The thought briefly crossed my mind of grabbing a thicker volume from the shelf and launching it at his maddening face. “Lenn saw everything, and I believe Lord Aberg did as well.”
“And so what if they did?” he laughed.
“You performed the cup ritual intended for a wedding!”
All traces of humor disappeared from his face in an instant. My shout faded into deafening silence, falling like a curtain between us.
“I did not know, I swear it,” he said quietly, the playfulness gone from his tone.
Despite everything, a part of me wanted to believe him. But how could I after what I’d heard in the hallway?
Drawing in a ragged breath, I said, “Whether or not you knew is immaterial. There are many in this court who view Shifters as our enemies, the members of Clan ?asgrin chief among them. Freya Vilke’s people still suffer under the threat of dragons in those parts?—”
“Rogue dragons,” Trygg cut in quickly, “who hold no allegiance to my father or the Council.”
“To the Weavers, you are one and the same.”
I’d credited Lukas’s distrust of my Talons simply as worry for me, but in truth, it was deeper than that. His people had been targeted for decades, merely because of their proximity to the Shifters’ homeland. There was only so much we, or the Council, could do about them.
“If anyone asks, please blame it on my ignorance. They cannot possibly think?—”