by Melody Rose
“Well, this is the stronghold of the Jörmungandr clan, after all, so where else are you going to find the entire collection?” I didn’t have the answer myself, but as a Champion, I knew how to say anything with unmatched confidence.
She shifted the tome, placing it underneath her arm. With her newly freed hand, she grabbed my hand and tugged on it. I inwardly kept myself from scolding her. Our warriors did not tolerate others approaching us this way without permission, but considering her status, I wasn’t certain how to respond. I allowed her to ramble on, still smitten with her precious manuscripts.
“You’ll show them to me, yes?” she begged. “It’s the least you can do for abducting me.”
Her bargain may have been reasonable, but it was too tempting to force her hand. She chose to reveal her sore spot to me, and I was more than willing to exploit it for my purposes.
“Perhaps.” I peeled her fingers off me. I did not wish to encourage her to touch me whenever she pleased. “But only on my terms, and only when I feel that you have deserved to lay eyes on the lot of them. I’ll withhold them if you prove yourself to be a waste of my time.”
The obedience that shone through her eyes was enchanting, and I mused over how long I could string her along. I left out that I couldn’t identify any of these manuscripts for her. Further, they were all utter nonsense in my eyes. There was no guilt in my omission, as she was the sorceress that had to prove herself to me.
5
Rose
It was surreal standing in the ceremony hall I’d seen in the manuscripts. From what I read, the Jörmungandr clan often gathered to celebrate victories and build camaraderie. There was only one page of the draconic warriors toasting goblets and roaring with pride, and as magnificent as that art was, it didn’t compare to the reality of it.
Shields were mounted on the walls, scrolls of different colored beasts dangling below them. I wondered if these illustrations were of their most prized champions. I was awestruck just looking at them, even though I wasn’t up close. While I was very impressed with the depth of culture I witnessed, I craved more context. My volume didn’t reveal why this civilization was so dead set on battle. I didn’t even know what their most legendary wars were. If I was expected to stay here, I needed answers.
I didn’t have too much time to be left alone with my thoughts. As I tried to identify all the weapons surrounding me, some in wooden racks and others in velvet backed display cases, Troy nodded at the stone archway that led us in. I peeled my eyes off a lethally sharp scimitar and followed his signal.
“Stand at attention, woman,” he coldly demanded. “You are about to be received by my entire clan, and I will not have you make a mockery of me.”
I should have been honored. In any other context, I would’ve been overjoyed to meet the mythic dragons in the flesh. I certainly would’ve been the envy of book hunters worldwide where I was from. The problem was that he was just so nasty with his delivery, so much so that I had to roll my eyes. I guessed that pleasantries weren’t a strong part of this society.
“Who are you fooling? I don’t know where you got in your head that I’m some rare sorceress,” I huffed. “Maybe your shaman misread one of his visions or overdid some mushrooms. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with my posture. I’m just short.” I arched my back so I could properly glare up at him. “On top of that, this is not how you introduce someone! You can’t just have me standing here stupidly without knowing my name. What are you going to tell them?”
He chuckled softly, actually loosening up a little bit at my sassiness. I wasn’t trying to make him laugh. I wanted to wake him up to proper manners. The bar was set pretty low, seeing that he was a kidnapper, but he couldn’t even clear that.
“No, I suppose that wouldn’t earn the trust of my clan. Perhaps you are a master strategist after all, Sorceress,” he answered with rich amusement. “What will you have me call you? I am Troy Westgaard of the Jörmungandr clan. You may call me Troy.”
That name was actually quite nice. It lyrically rolled off the tongue. Too bad he didn’t go down as smoothly as his title. I paused for a moment, trying to mirror his tone. Maybe I wanted to do my best to fit in, given the circumstances.
“I am Rosalind Meyer of the Shorewood Library,” I imitated him. “You may call me Rose.”
His forehead creased at that, as though he didn’t recognize the word. “Libra…” he began but was cut off as the footsteps of many new arrivals.
I saw all the leather boots first, admiring their quality workmanship. They didn’t look like anything you could buy on at my local store, made to bust apart within a couple of seasons. These were sturdy and meant to last, understandable since this clan weathered so many battles.
“Ah! Our Champion!” a tall man who looked around a decade older than Troy cried out. It wasn’t just that he spoke first that drew my attention to him out of the flurry of leather-clad warriors that began to fill the hall. It was the bright red glow flaring in his eyes and the plaited black hair that fell over with slick, onyx scale mail.
Maybe the glow was a way to revel in his draconic heritage. Or it could have just been an intimidation tactic to scare off enemies.
“This must be our…” The older man was just as cagey as Troy as he searched for the right word.
My stomach clenched because I wondered if I was going to turn out to be some ritual sacrifice. I mean, how could I know without reading all their manuscripts? I could have been snatched up by some interdimensional cult for all I knew.
“Esteemed guest,” he finished, guiltily avoiding eye contact with me as he turned to his fellows. “Our stalwart Troy shall be responsible for her stay in our stronghold as she has… a great deal of wisdom to impart upon us before the Drikkende descend on us.”
Troy clapped his large hand over my slender shoulder as soon as this distinguished man spoke. I could only guess that this was his superior since the younger warrior seemed to crave his approval. Maybe he was showing me off as his trophy, but I wasn’t sure what exactly he was driving at.
“Harlin, My Liege!” Troy’s tone changed, suddenly deferential. “I shall be honored to accompany Lady Rosalind as we consult with her, and I will take all actions necessary to ensure she receives the best hospitality.”
I blinked, wanting to gawk but not wanting to draw even more attention to myself more. I was already sensing a creeping coldness in the hall as I gathered the courage to scan the crowd. My throat tightened as I took in all the stares, ranging from curious to downright nasty. A couple of the men smirked, making me uneasy. Their looks made me think that they considered me some type of spoils of war. Some were clearly suspicious of my red-rimmed glasses, maybe thinking I was no good to them if I had lackluster sight.
Most prominent were all the Amazonian women, hauntingly beautiful with their impossibly lean bodies. Was being “accompanied” a euphemism for some risque act? Or did they really want Troy’s validation so much they resented me?
All I knew was that this wasn’t a warm reception, especially when it came to one sandy blonde in particular. I blushed shyly as she stood with an upright posture, arms crossed. Even with that aloof stance, her eyes screamed that she wanted to rip me to shreds.
“She looks so frail that she would collapse on the battlefield,” the light-haired woman noted with no attempt to hide her insulting tone. “Surely she is not going to partake in our clash with the spirit drinkers? What can she know of defying the daemons? I doubt she’s lifted a sword in her entire life.”
“Ah, soldier Rønning. You have always been a gleaming star in our wars, but I ask you to not question the wisdom of our Sage,” Harlin spoke up, shutting down her snottiness with a formal tone. “Pay no mind to Astrid, Rosalind. She has the best in mind for our clan, but her methods can be… rash.”
Troy glanced over toward Astrid, but he didn’t defend my honor like Harlin had. I wondered if they had any special ties with each other, and if that were the case, I’d steer clear. Th
is ferocious woman with her runway model height and her CrossFit muscles wasn’t anyone I wanted to pick a fight with.
“We shall toast with mulled wine to revel in your arrival, Lady Rosalind, and then initiate you in our traditions,” Troy remarked, completely ignoring Astrid’s slight. I guessed it didn’t really matter if she was his girl. In fact, if she were, it would be appropriate to overlook her cattiness. “It would please us for you to grow familiar with our clan, as we may require you for quite some time.”
“Sounds… good to me,” I said meekly. I really wanted to learn about his world through the written word and didn’t look forward to rubbing elbows with rowdy warriors. I wondered how long I’d have to tolerate all this socializing before I could recharge in the clan’s libraries. To do that, though, I’d have to play along. Troy had promised me that much if I followed along with him.
I was a bit worried about how long I could be a good sport, though. I was already on edge from being ripped away from my reality and literally thinking I might end up in the obituary pages. Not to mention, I was overwhelmed by the high of having the Jörmungandr Manuscripts dangled like a carrot and was now coming down from that. My tired smile began to waver, really forcing me to push myself to keep it in place. I could handle maybe twenty more minutes of small talk with his clan before I just needed some time alone to recharge. Ideally with a mountain of books to keep me company.
6
Rose
The first of the clan’s festivities after my awkward debut was pretty damn fun, to be honest.
Even though fatigue swam inside me, I was able to ignore it during the mulled wine ceremony. Troy escorted me to a breathtaking banquet hall steeped in the hypnotic smells of warm spices and fermented grapes. An enormous cast-iron vat stood on an impressive gold stand shaped like four dragon paws, a large ladle hooked on its side, with a table filled with crystal goblets sitting right beside it.
Since I was the first in line, I had to stop myself from gawking at the medley of sliced oranges and cinnamon sticks floating in the deep red liquid. I didn’t want to hold everyone else up, so I quickly ladled without thinking. This led to a goblet filled to the brim. I sipped to keep it from spilling, then followed Troy to the oak tables.
As I settled on the bench that Troy indicated, he lowered himself next to me. The wine must have been pretty strong because I was already beginning to get heated as his toned thigh brushed against the soft fabric of my dress. I’d never felt a man’s muscles clothed in leather before, and I loved it. As I didn’t want to fall down the rabbit hole of tipsy lust, I spoke up to get back on track.
“You’re not going to have any?” I asked, then took a deep drink. I thought maybe my enthusiasm would inspire him to relax. Maybe he told me the truth about feeling obligated to capture me and needed to take the edge off too. It could have also been an excuse to help myself to more.
Troy shook his head softly and waved his hand, fending off the delicious wine. “I shall abstain tonight. I would prefer a clear mind as I attend to you.”
I pouted over his serious nature, and the chorus of laughter that erupted around us backed me up. He was missing out, and I needed some reassurance that I wasn’t indulging too much. Still, even if I seemed to be in good company, for the most part, it seemed sensible to stay by his side.
“Please.” Troy nodded to the cauldron of wine. “Why don’t you continue with the revelry and drink on my behalf? Perhaps one day, you will see how much I truly enjoy our mulled wine, but as it stands, I am fully responsible for your well being. I cannot distract myself from this.”
I didn’t need more prompting and bounced over to the basin, ready to refill my goblet with the glorious concoction. I was airy and sparkling with not-so-light intoxication. Still, I was able to make my way back to my seat without any embarrassing falls. I beamed with no small measure of pride over that.
It was perfect timing because one of the clan’s storytellers was getting right in the thick of a juicy recounting of a recent battle. He was more slender than the rest of the bulky warriors, with an impish smile and wildly gesturing arms. Though he clearly wasn’t a warrior, his animated retelling and easy charisma entranced the others. On top of that, if this society was anything like similar-seeming ones on Earth, the dragons honored those that kept their histories and sagas alive.
“And then, we tore the horn right off that infernal creature and struck him again and again with the features he was so proud of! Just enough to miss the vital organs, mind, so he could see our handiwork,” he howled out, pantomiming stabbing a foe. “We wanted to make sure that their damned scout was able to beg us to stop! Then we sent him to limp off with his tail between his legs to tell the Drikkende we knew their next move.”
The entire gathering of warriors, me included, applauded, elated by his story, both because it was well performed and we were marinated with mulled wine. We peppered the thin man with compliments, who gave us a mischievous smile. This must’ve been his time to shine when he was otherwise overlooked.
“Well played, Bard Pomi!” Troy roared, a distant gleam in his eyes. I thought he was reliving the moment that the storyteller spoke about. Maybe he was one of the attackers himself since he seemed so sentimental over it. “And perfect form, as well. It’s as though we’ve been brought to that sublime moment again!”
From the next table over, Astrid scoffed. “You weren’t even there, Pom!” she spat out in irritation. “Don’t pretend as though you’re one of us. You’re as pointless as that flimsy creature next to our Champion. We all know that you just spout stories because you haven’t earned a place on the battlefield… and you never will.”
Her comments were scathing enough to cause the upbeat young man to look down sadly for a brief moment. I was about to question if I was wrong about my assumptions of their culture when many other warriors patted him sportingly on the back to cheer him up. Within a moment, the bard was restored to his original cheery self again.
“You’ll think differently when we rule again like our ancestors did!” Pomi shouted with a grin. “Stories are our lifeblood. We’re just scraping the surface now, but you’ll be sorry that you bad-mouthed bards, Astrid! There’s more to being a dragon than choosing brawn over brains!”
I stood behind most of what he said, even though I didn’t get the full picture. It was pretty clear, though, that he had pissed off Astrid, and that was probably what he intended. Her hand slid toward the sheath at her side, and I felt ready to pounce out of my seat. If she was going to turn the banquet hall into an impromptu battleground, I wanted to get the hell out of dodge.
As if sensing my anxiety, Troy pressed his hand into my thigh. I read his signal without having to talk to him: He was holding me down because I was in a room full of warriors. I’d probably lose face hopping out like a spooked bunny.
Everyone else must have been pretty protective of Pomi because they rushed to give Astrid mildly discouraging glares. One even went so far as to steal her dagger quickly before wagging it in her face. It read more like a light warning than a dismissal, though. No one yelled at her or belittled her, they just wanted to keep her anger in check. Maybe her status was just as high as the bard, but they felt he needed a bit more help to get by.
As everyone else worked to diffuse the situation, Troy leaned in to speak discretely to me. “Don’t let this startle you, Lady Rosalind. This is simply our way. It isn’t a proper festivity without one fight, although we do find it poor form to assault bards. Like sages, we see their unique value in our clan. None of us can take on their roles.”
I nodded mutely, not knowing what else to say. I just let Troy take the lead, though I was getting overstimulated from all the commotion. The mulled wine was setting in, much more intense than any cocktail I’d had at the library fundraising galas I was forced to go to. All I wanted was a soft pillow, a warm blanket, and a good book, but I guessed that wasn’t in the cards yet.
“Come, Lady Rosalind,” he ordered. “There are sti
ll more rituals we must attend to before the night is over. Our Sage has told me that it is necessary to familiarize you with our clan’s ways as soon as dragonly possible. You will do well to stay close and pay keen attention.”
I sighed softly, hoping he didn’t notice. “Alright, but I really want to turn in soon. Just a fair warning. I don’t know how you dragons work, but humans can’t stay up all night, especially after a whirlwind kidnapping and knocking back a few drinks. When do you think this will wind down?”
“You must develop some endurance, Lady Rosalind,” Troy lectured me.
I screwed my lips to the side, no longer bothering to hold back my resentment. If I wasn’t pulling an all-nighter curled up to a good novel, then there wasn’t any reason to put off sleep. What’s more, I thought Troy was damn cruel to expect so much out of me after all that had happened.
Still, I let him fold his hand over mine, now limp with indifference, feeling practically robotic as he dragged me around. After Astrid and the rest of the warriors had settled their disputes, I must’ve endured around four or five celebratory meals. I honestly lost count, and after a while, I was forced to watch everyone else gorge themselves.
Even Astrid lost the chip on her shoulder as she tore into a turkey leg. She certainly wasn’t a delicate flower and didn’t hide her appetite. I found it pretty incredible and thought dragons must have had their metabolisms in overdrive from all their fighting. I just couldn’t keep up and settled for absentmindedly chewing on a honeyed pastry. After this caloric extravaganza, I could go a whole week without eating.
Finally, after all the gorging, Troy guided me to a sweeping glade where I could vaguely make out the silhouettes of trees and the swaying outlines of wildflowers. By now, it had become pitch black, the very sight of the darkness grating on my nerves. It might have been beautiful, all it told me was that he was putting me through absolute torture. To hell with draconic standards, it was damn inhumane to keep me this sleep-deprived. It must’ve been several hours ago since I had closed up my library, and it had already been evening.