Master of Storms: Dragon Shifter Romance (Legends of the Storm Book 5)

by Bec McMaster

  The Zini king would have a means to contact her father. She could warn him then. And then she would be perfectly placed to assist in this little elvish plot.

  Vengeance could wait.

  “Fine. We’ll return to your court. I want these bastards dead.”

  “I thought you might see it that way.”

  “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Marduk, but don’t get comfortable. The second these elves are buried in the ground, I’m going to try to kill you again.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything else.” He suddenly flashed a smile at her—a perfect blinding smile that almost made her breath catch. “But be careful, Solveig. There’s more than one way to win a war. And now I know you’re out there and you want my heart, I’m going to be on my guard. One way or another, this needs to end. One of us needs to surrender.”

  “You think it’s going to be me?”

  “You did save my life. I don’t think you hate me as much as you claim to.”

  You son of a bitch—

  “I didn’t like the odds. And I wasn’t going to let that prick steal my kill.”

  Marduk laughed as his fingers dropped to the buttons on the trousers he’d stolen. She could sense his magic swelling within him as he prepared to shift. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. And do try not to stare too much.”

  Solveig growled and turned around as she started tugging at her own shirt. “I’m going to kill you slowly. So slowly you beg me for mercy. They will write sagas about the painful death I envision.”

  “All these dirty promises…. You know what I think? One of is going to beg for mercy… But it won’t be me.”

  Solveig fought the urge to scream.

  4

  “Elves?” Rurik demanded the second Marduk pushed through the double doors leading to his brother’s antechambers. “In my lands? Are you sure?”

  Marduk sighed as he approached his brother. He’d contacted Rurik the second he and Solveig were free of their pursuit. Rurik sat at the head of a round table surrounded by at least twelve other chairs. Ten of them were filled with members of the Zini court.

  “Yes, brother. I’m sure. They made my skin creep.”

  “That’s not all they made you do,” said a voice behind him.

  Heads turned.

  Solveig sauntered into the room like a queen without her crown. The cloak he’d found for her was spattered with mud, and her hair looked like a wild tangle that had been through a storm, but she moved as if she intend to kick Rurik off his throne and claim it herself.

  Despite her borrowed clothes.

  Marduk suddenly realized his brother had never actually met the princess. Rurik had been exiled to the north long before she’d flown into Marduk’s life and set his fate spinning wildly off course.

  This was going to be so much fun.

  “Your brother was two seconds away from kissing the elf’s boot,” Solveig purred. “If we weren’t in such dire straits, I may have paused to enjoy the idea of seeing him so humbled.”

  “And… you are?”

  It was a challenge, for Rurik knew exactly who was standing in his council chambers.

  “Oh, did I not mention my companion?” Marduk couldn’t keep the grin off his face as Solveig took a seat in the chair he held out for her.

  Solveig reclined with ease, both arms resting on the arms and a relaxed expression on her face. She’d crossed one of her long legs over the other, her borrowed boots laced to her knees, and her lean curves encased in a slim pair of boys’ trousers.

  “You did not,” Rurik said flatly. “Though I do note that the last I saw of you, you were going to fetch the assassin who had tried to put an arrow through your heart. You did not mention the fact you were going to return with her.”

  “Have a little respect, brother. You speak of my beloved mate. It was a minor misunderstanding between us.”

  His sister Árdís gasped. “Your mate?”

  Rurik ignored her. “She tried to kill you.”

  “I didn’t try that hard,” Solveig purred. “King Rurik. A pleasure to meet you.”

  “A pleasure?” Rurik leaned forward. “That arrow was dwarven-forged.”

  “Rurik.” His wife, Freyja, put her hand over his. “Shall we let bygones be bygones? I feel like we need to hear what your brother has to say, and he’s the one who should be affronted. Not you.”

  Rurik subsided with a smoldering glare.

  “I don’t want to hear what Marduk has to say,” Árdís scoffed. “I am much more fascinated by the current conversation.” She leaned forward, eyeing Solveig with predatory eyes. “You tried to kill my brother? Why have I not heard of this?”

  She sounded delighted.

  “That would make two attempts,” said her husband, Haakon.

  Tormund—Haakon’s enormous cousin—rubbed at his beard. “By my count it was three, wasn’t it? Remember that story Marduk told us when we were hanging in her cell? You know, about that song he made up ten years ago—"

  Marduk needed to stop this in its tracks.

  “Shut up, Árdís. Allow me to introduce my beloved mate, Princess Solveig of the Sadu clan. Solveig, may I present to you the people of my clan,” Marduk said, gesturing to the rest of the room. “My brat of a sister, Árdís, and her scowling husband, Haakon Dragonsbane, whom you may recall. You put him in chains three months ago. You also know Tormund” —he clapped a hand on the giant’s shoulder as he circled the table— “and his wife, Bryn, since you paid her to drag me back to your court in chains, but… let us move on. And at the end is my murderous cousin, Sirius, of course, with the lovely Malin.”

  He smiled at his cousin’s wife.

  Sirius leaned back in his chair and arched a brow, as if to point out that he had no qualms in living up to his reputation should Marduk so much as wink at her.

  “I don’t believe you’ve met Ishtar, my much more beloved sister.” He gestured toward his twin, who was staring curiously at Solveig’s boots, and the handsome, black-haired youth at her side. “My cousin, Andri, who is somewhat less murderous than his brother, Sirius. And last but not least is my queen, Freyja.” Marduk captured the queen’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Renowned throughout the lands for her beauty, her temper, and the fact that she’s the only one who can pound sense into this idiot’s thick skull.”

  Rurik settled an icy look upon him. “Are you quite done?”

  “Sorry. I’ve been looking forward to this moment all flight.”

  “Does he always talk this much?” Solveig asked the room in general.

  “Yes,” Rurik replied. “He’s always enjoyed the sound of his own voice.”

  The two of them stared at each other as if surprised to find themselves momentary allies.

  Solveig smiled. It softened her expression in ways that made his gaze lock hard upon that smile. It promised friendship. Offered a warmth he did not expect her to own.

  He knew better.

  She was biding her time.

  And that little smile she wore probably had more to do with a fantasy she was currently indulging in where he was bound and spread-eagled and she had a knife in her hand, rather than any sort of enjoyment over her circumstances. “Since we’re all so terribly interested, allow me to clarify my position. I did as my father instructed. I submitted to a mating that would cement the alliance between our clans. I upheld the good name and faith of the Sadu clan.” Eyes as hot as flame locked upon him. “But I am done playing such games. I will have an end to this mating one way or another.”

  Silence settled over the room.

  It wasn’t unheard of.

  Dreki mated for many reasons—the prospect of heirs, alliances, territorial disputes, politicking—but such matings rarely survived forever. Dreki lived for such a terribly long time, and only those matings where one found their true flame—a true alliance of the heart and soul—tended to survive so many centuries.

  But a mere three months was possibly a new record.

&nb
sp; “I am here for one reason, and one reason only,” she continued, leaning forward and directing that predatory stare upon Rurik. “Apparently, the portal at World’s End was opened to Álfheimr. I need to be able to protect my people, and while I believed we were allied with the Zini—courtesy of my sacrifice—I seem to have been somewhat mistaken, because you’ve been keeping secrets… and allies don’t do that.”

  Rurik didn’t so much as blink as he steepled his fingers together. “Your father is aware.”

  “He is?” Her eyebrows rose.

  “I sent a messenger two days ago,” Rurik replied.

  Solveig’s fingers drummed on the table. “You’ve known for three months. Why only send a messenger now?”

  Nobody could manage to look as smug as Rurik could. “Because apparently, my first one didn’t get through. We found the remains of his body only last week.”

  Marduk pressed the tip of his tongue to his teeth. There was a great deal more that his brother wasn’t saying, but he needed to follow his lead.

  The answer clearly soothed some of Solveig’s ruffled feathers. “And now?”

  Rurik turned those amber eyes upon Marduk. “Elves in my lands. An attack upon my brother. Tyndyr tricked Ishtar into opening the portal once, but he failed in his quest. If he’s here in Iceland, then he’s coming for her again.”

  Ishtar blinked in surprise. “Me?” Her whisper echoed in his head. She rarely spoke out loud, preferring to communicate on a psychic level—when she chose to do so at all.

  “We’ll keep you safe,” Marduk promised, settling a hand on the back of her chair. “We suspect they wish to use your magic to open the portal again.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t do it.”

  “I know.” She’d been horrified to learn that Tyndyr had manipulated her into opening it in the first place.

  “I thought he was my friend,” she’d whispered sadly.

  “The court is locked and warded,” Haakon said. “After… recent events, nobody’s getting in or out without us knowing. She’ll be safe here.”

  Ishtar shrank a little, and Marduk squeezed her shoulder three times. It was their little code. A reminder that said he loved her.

  “I’ll watch over her,” Tormund, who had appointed himself her guardian, promised.

  A sharp rap came at the door.

  “Come in,” Rurik replied.

  The door opened, revealing the lore master’s youngest daughter, Elin. Her father had recently been incapacitated by a mysterious illness, and she spent most of her time nursing him back to health and dealing with his tasks. Rurik had mentioned she was thinking of following in her father’s footsteps as lore mistress of the clan.

  “Your Highness,” Elin said, setting a book down in front of Rurik. “You requested more information about the alfar and what they might be after. And I think I have found something.” She flipped the book open, running her finger down the page. “It was said during the great wars between dreki and alfar that the dreki stole the King of Álfheimr’s wife in order to defeat them. She was supposed to be returned during a parley, but I have been poring over my father’s dreki histories, and I ran across this little paragraph.” She altered her voice as if she was reading, “Treachery was to be the key of the day, and so treachery it was. When the King of Álfheimr met with King Rodan of the dreki nations, they stood upon World’s End and pledged their peace. The elvish king would retreat to his home world with his wife, as freely gifted by Rodan. And the gates would be locked with the Key of Chaos.”

  Rurik frowned. “So they wish to renew their war?”

  “They wish to find their queen,” Elin corrected, biting her lip. “From what I can make of this, King Rodan was shot with an arrow. The peace was shattered, the elvish queen was never surrendered, and the King of Álfheimr was forced to retreat through the portal. The dreki then used the Key of Chaos to lock the gates… with the elvish queen on this side of them.”

  “So they’re looking for their queen?” Marduk asked. “If this Tyndyr has been trapped on this side of the portal for all these years, then why has he not found her?”

  Elin shrugged. “I know nothing of the elvish queen beyond these few sentences. I’ve never heard her mentioned before.”

  Queen Freyja frowned. “My mother spoke of some of the circles that litter the countryside. She used to say it was never safe to enter them, for sometimes, when the world’s aligned, one could step through and find themselves in Álfheimr. On Winter’s Solstice, she said if you listened closely you could hear the elvish queen crying out, for she was trapped within one of the circles, forever searching for a way to return home.”

  Elin glanced at her a little disdainfully. “You could spend a thousand years waiting for the worlds to align in the correct formation. That sounds like human superstition to me, Your Highness.”

  Freyja tilted her eyebrow at the young drekling. It wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to face dreki prejudice about her human heritage. “Where do you think human superstitions come from? They are stories, Elin, passed down through generation after generation. Perhaps there is some truth in it, no? For Marduk said that World’s End is one such circle, bound by thirteen enormous lintel stones. And it leads to Álfheimr.”

  “We will look into it,” Rurik promised her, squeezing her hand.

  Freyja pressed her lips thinly together.

  “Without Ishtar, there’s only one other way to achieve their goal,” Solveig said, leaning forward a little hungrily as she locked eyes with Rurik. “They’ll need the Key of Chaos.”

  The king slowly drummed his fingers on the table. “Nobody has seen it for over a thousand years.”

  Marduk winced.

  This was punishment. Surely it was punishment.

  “We have to send warning to the other courts beyond our allies. They’ll need to be made aware,” Sirius said. “Because if the alfar discover where the key is, then they won’t need Ishtar.”

  “It doesn’t matter who we warn,” Árdís said. “Nobody’s going to admit they have it.”

  Closing his eyes, Marduk released a sigh. “I know where it is.”

  “You do?” Elin blurted.

  “What? Where?” Árdís demanded.

  He could sense all eyes upon him, and slowly opened his. But the one gaze he was trying not to meet was locked upon him.

  “You said you’d told me everything,” Solveig growled. “You lied.”

  “I never lied,” he pointed out. “‘Everything’ is a vast statement.”

  Fury flushed color beneath her olive skin. Dreki dared not speak a direct lie for fear their magic might suffuse their words—though it was rare, it had happened in the past with dire consequences—and half-truths and careful silences had become etiquette.

  But he was already standing on thin ice when it came to her.

  “It’s a rumor I heard in my travels,” he told her. “There is an Ethiopian dreki tribe who were said to be in possession of a powerful relic. Nobody knows what it is, but they are said to collect Chaos relics. And… there are whispers they once brought a dreki back from the dead.”

  As the key was rumored to be able to do.

  Thought raced in Rurik’s eyes. “Then we need to send emissaries to warn them.”

  “An excellent suggestion, brother mine…, but the relic is no longer in Ethiopia.” He was stalling, and he knew it. “I’ve heard it was given as dowry to another court when the eldest daughter of the Ethiopian dreki clan chief was formally mated.”

  “To whom?”

  “This is the bit you’re not going to like. Which European court has an obsession with Chaos magic and the most practitioners in the northern hemisphere?”

  “The Zilittu,” Árdís whispered. “Mother’s clan.”

  “To take and to hold,” he echoed the Zilittu clan motto as he spread his hands. “There was a strange illness within the Ethiopian clan. The Zilittu, it seems, were the only ones with the cure. So they bartered the cure in ex
change for the hand of Andromeda—and her dowry. There’s a very quiet murmur that the illness in her tribe was some sort of poison, and that the Zilittu got what they wanted all along.”

  “I’ve heard nothing of this,” Solveig argued, “and I have eyes on every continent of the world.”

  Marduk shrugged. “I daresay you haven’t. It’s not the thing one speaks of unless you’ve been smoking kif in Chefchaouen with a certain dreki smuggler you’ve spent years cultivating trust in.”

  She stared at him.

  “What?”

  “You keep company with such… friends?”

  “I’ve been in exile for ten years. Do you know how many courts sneered down their nose at me? And how many dreki I met in back alleys and taverns who would have promised me their arm—despite their so-called reputations?”

  Rurik closed his eyes as if he could taste something vile. “We need to warn the Zilittu.”

  “The Zilittu who aren’t supposed to have such an item in their possession and are probably quite intent on maintaining the secrecy of its existence?” Marduk drawled, reaching for a grape from the platter on the table. “The Zilittu who birthed Mother and our evil uncle Stellan into the world? The Zilittu who hide within their cloaking mists and pretend—when a traveler goes missing within their lands—that they’ve never seen or heard of them? An excellent idea, brother. I do not volunteer.”

  But he could see a plan was already forming in Rurik’s head. “The Zilittu are our cousins by our mother’s line. We have long held a… truce with them. And with Árdís and Ishtar wielding Chaos—with no means to learn how to control their powers—we have cause to send an emissary.”

  “They’re still not going to give you their most important relic.”

  “I wasn’t planning on asking for it,” Rurik said.

  Goddess’s Mercy. “You want to steal it?”

  Staid, upright Rurik?