by Bec McMaster
"I swear to all the gods, Haakon, if I ever get this off...." The threat died as she slipped on the slope and almost fell flat on her face. Árdís grazed her palms as she slammed onto a boulder, and lay there, gasping hard.
"Princess?" Marek called.
How on earth did mortals manage to live their entire lives in this form?
It would be easier to just return to court and accept her fate....
What difference did it make if she was bound to mate Sirius tomorrow night, or at some indeterminate date in the future? She'd made it clear she would not invite him into her bed, and if Sirius had found his twin flame, then he wasn't going to insist.
Haakon would vanish on the winds of a tide in a matter of days, and he'd be safe forever.
But Marek would be slaughtered.
And her mother would never allow her out of her sight again.
No.
"I'm fine," she called, as Marek tried to dismount.
She couldn't accept the mating bond with Sirius without at least attempting to break free of her mother's chains. Rurik had done it. Marduk had done it. It was time she threw them off herself.
No matter what it costs you?
Cursing under her breath, she forced herself back to her feet. She'd deal with other dreki when they became a problem. She was made of sterner stuff than this. She wouldn't melt.
She was, however, freezing. And her back ached from the heavy oiled pack she carried. She was fairly certain she'd be moaning about her feet too, if she could feel them.
"Quit your whining," she muttered, trying to haul the sealskin hood up over her forehead. A single trickle of water slithered down her neck and between her cleavage, which was a sudden shock to her dry body.
Nothing important was ever gained without a little discomfort.
And Marek had suffered worse.
She slogged through acres of mud, gritting her teeth and trying to hide as much of herself beneath the oiled sealskin she wore as possible. Reykjavik had to be nearby. It all looked different on the ground, but surely they were close.
"How far?" she called.
"Three miles, perhaps."
They had to move faster.
For the day was swiftly giving over to night, which meant her head start would soon vanish as her mother started to wonder where she was.
And Haakon had promised to sail with the dawn tide.
"You wished to see me?" Sirius called as he strode through the enormous golden doors that marked the dreki throne room. The room stood empty now, apart from his father, aunt, bastard brother and a handful of guards, but Amadea preferred to make her demands from a position of power.
The summons had come almost half an hour ago, and he'd stalled as long as he could.
His father scowled down from the dais, his hand resting lightly on his sister's shoulder. Queen Amadea regarded Sirius with glittering eyes, but she lifted a hand to rest her fingers on her brother's and said nothing.
The two of them had shared a womb, but the alliance between his father and aunt always made Sirius a little uncomfortable. It wasn't a sexual relationship as some of the court whispered, but Stellan would kill—or die—for his sister. And if forced to make a choice between the queen and one of his sons, Sirius knew which way his father's choice would fall.
One good reason to stay in the queen's graces. Stellan was dangerous, but Amadea was a snake.
"You're late."
"I was busy," he replied. "I only just received your message. What's wrong?"
"Busy doing what?" Stellan demanded.
Sirius began to remove his gloves, his lips thinning. "I was seeing my brother, if you must know. Andri's starting to wake from his healing sleep, though it's barely begun to mend his torn flesh. I wanted to be there when he did, to find out exactly what happened when he and Magnus confronted Rurik."
Because a part of him didn't quite believe his father and aunt's version of events.
"Perhaps it's a good thing to have the vision of Andri's torment so fresh in your mind," Stellan seethed. "It should warn you not to fail me in this quest."
"I never fail." No matter what the cost. "And what quest?"
His heart beat an unruly pulse in his chest, but that was too dangerous and his father's threat lingered. He'd seen the bruises on his brother's ribs, and face. Seen the broken jaw, and the blackened eye. Someone had beaten his little brother half to death, and he knew it hadn't been his cousin, Prince Rurik.
Had Stellan enjoyed it? Or had he given the task to Roar? A side glance showed his bastard brother watching proceedings with a faint tilt of amusement on his lips.
"It seems you already have," Amadea said, her rings glittering as she stared him down. "Árdís is missing."
He'd spent all night practicing his look of shock. One hand went to the hilt of his sword. "What do you mean, she's missing?"
"There's no sign of her within Hekla," Amadea replied, leaning forward. "Her cloak and boots are gone, along with her riding leathers. Her brother's sword isn't in the chest where she thinks she hides it. And nobody has seen any sign of her."
Sirius bowed his head. "You shouldn't be surprised. She made it quite clear she would refuse the mating bond."
A fist thumped against the throne. "It doesn't matter what she intended," Stellan snarled. "If you were truly my heir, then you'd not have given her a choice. This is a disaster! The entire court hangs on a hinge, and I can almost hear them whispering rebellion in the halls. Árdís was our key to controlling this rebellion."
"I am many things, Father," Sirius said coldly, glaring up at the man who'd sired him. "But I am not the type of man to force a woman where she does not wish to go."
"No," Stellan sneered. "You never did have the balls for it. It's a pity I didn't send you to challenge Rurik. Your brother, Magnus, was the better dreki all along. He wouldn't have hesitated to do what was necessary with Árdís."
"If one considers a lack of conscience a boon," he snapped, "then yes, Magnus was better." It was one thing to wonder if his father wished he had died in Magnus's place, quite another to hear it spoken. "We are dreki. Is there no honor among us?"
"You're starting to sound like the king," Amadea said.
"And we all know what happened to your mate," Sirius replied, his voice falling into a quiet sort of maliciousness. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a warning," Amadea whispered. "Don't push me, Sirius. Not right now."
They glared at each other.
Then Stellan gestured for a pair of his warriors to shut the doors. "You have a loose tongue. That can be dangerous."
"Everything is dangerous right now. We are outsiders in a court that plots against us," Amadea hissed, and for a moment she looked very much like her daughter—if Árdís had ever been the type for pure malice. "Regardless of your feelings in the matter, we need my daughter back and mated."
"No matter what I must do?" Sirius asked coldly, the no on the tip of his tongue.
"If my brother is so hesitant to do what needs to be done, then why not give another a chance?" Roar called, making his presence known.
"You're not my brother," Sirius said in a whisper-soft voice.
Just a by-blow by some forgotten woman who'd left the boy on his father's doorstep. Roar was one of the few half-breeds who could actually shift, which made him dreki. His illegitimacy had never bothered Sirius—but the hunger in his eyes did. If there was anyone who shared Magnus's innate sense of cruelty, it was Roar. But even Magnus had despised him.
The other dreki smirked. "You're right. I'm starting to wonder if there's any of Father's blood in you at all?"
"Enough," the queen cried, slamming her palms on the arms of the throne. "Enough," she repeated, and somehow managed to hiss the word, despite the lack of appropriate consonants.
Shoving to her feet, she glared at both of them. "I will have my daughter back, or I will have the heads of everyone in this throne room."
Silence fell across the room.
&nbs
p; Sirius slowly bowed his head under her fierce regard and felt the others doing the same. Sometimes he had to wonder at the queen's hold on sanity.
They called Amadea the witch-queen, and her powers were fierce enough to rattle the stars. No dreki at this court could match them.
She, alone, had the gift of Chaos magic that had been bequeathed to her by the ancient goddess, Tiamat.
"Find her, Sirius," Amadea told him. "Or suffer my wrath."
Perhaps he shouldn't have called Árdís naive. For if so, then he suffered the same fate.
He should have known Amadea would never let her daughter go free.
"I will do my best, but we all know Árdís is cunning. Where would she go?" Sirius asked, lifting his head to meet her gaze. Perhaps he could make an “attempt,” and when it failed, he could succumb to the queen's viciousness and bear the punishment. Surely his father wouldn't allow another of his sons to die. "If I'm going to find the princess, then I shall need some place to start."
"I'm glad you've come to your senses," the queen rasped, sinking back onto her throne.
"So am I," Stellan murmured to him, as he strode to the front of the dais. "Bring the girl forward."
A startled scream broke the silence of the cavernous throne room, and Sirius whipped toward the sound, his heart sinking into his stomach.
Lor, one of his father's most brutal guards, dragged a young woman forward, a fist in her curly brown hair. A young woman with skin like cream and a heart-shaped face that haunted his dreams. A young woman whose scent of wild grass and sunshine wrapped around his heart, taunting him at every step he took in this accursed court. She'd been shielded from view by Stellan's dreki.
Malin.
No.
It took every ounce of will Sirius owned not to simply rip the bastard's throat out, but he knew if he took half a step toward her it would be an almost fatal mistake. She was his. But declaring for her would earn them both little more than a brutal, torturous death, and he didn't miss the sudden sharpening of Roar's eyes as Sirius stiffened.
If he wasn't trapped so poorly in this dilemma, Sirius might almost have laughed at the hand fate had dealt him—Árdís had not missed the mark by much. Malin was so beyond unsuitable, his father would rather kill him than see him mate her.
And Malin….
Stellan would do far worse to her.
It was the only thing reining his impulses in.
"Let me go!" Malin cried, beating at Lor's thigh with her fist.
"If there's anyone who will know the princess's plans, it will be her maid." Stellan's cold blue eyes locked on the young dreki woman. "And she'll speak them before I'm through with her."
Sirius stepped between them, trying to contain the sudden fierce surge of the dreki within. "She's a nothing. A nobody. Why would she know anything about Árdís's intentions?" He tried to laugh. "She's not even a full-blooded dreki. She's lucky Árdís even glanced at her, let alone took her as a handmaid."
"They're cunning, these half-breeds." Stellan never took his eyes off the girl. "Scuttling around court in the shadows, listening to whispers.... If the princess confided in anyone, her maid will know about it."
"I don't know anything!" Malin cried desperately. "The last I saw of her highness was when I walked into her rooms to bring her supper. The next thing I remember is waking up on her bed, with my hands and ankles tied. I swear! I didn't even see who hit me. I didn't realize she was missing until Lor—Lord Lor—found me."
"You lie," Stellan said.
"I swear on my dreki blood, I do not, my prince."
It was the worst thing she could have said.
Stellan moved to draw his knife, and before he even knew what was happening, Sirius had his hand on his father's hilt, forcing it back into its sheath.
"Let me," he gasped, as his father's shocked eyes turned to him. He'd crossed the distance between them in an instant, and it had not been a conscious decision. Control hung by a thread. "Let me do the questioning. Árdís is my betrothed, after all. You want me to be hard? Then let me do this. Let me regain your trust. I'll take Malin to the dungeon and make sure I know every little secret the bitch has ever known. This is my future we're talking about. If anyone's riding after Árdís, it's going to be me."
"Why not make it a hunt?" Roar mocked behind him. "Whoever brings her back first gets the princess's hand in marriage. I think dear Sirius has already proven he can't keep a mate in hand."
He wanted to gut his illegitimate half brother in that moment. But instead he held his father's gaze, willing Stellan to give Malin to him.
The only other alternative was to kill every other dreki in the room, and as much as the dreki within him surged to the surface, he didn't like his chances in handling over six full-grown dreki warriors.
Not enough to risk her.
Stellan withdrew his hand from the knife, allowing Sirius to take a slow breath.
"Do as you will with her then," Stellan commanded. "The girl's yours. But I think Roar has a good point. If you were more careful, the princess would not have had a chance to run. And you've disappointed me enough today." Stellan turned to survey the room. "Let it be known, whichever of my sons brings back the princess Árdís will take the prize; her hand as a mate."
Roar smirked as he clasped hands with one of the guards, and another clapped him on the back.
Sirius ignored them, and strode to Malin's side. Sweet Tiamat, Mother of Chaos. That had been far too close for comfort. As she tried to scramble away from him, he snatched her up, his hand curling around her upper arm as he jerked her against him. The dreki within him stopped pressing at the inside of his skin, determined to get out. It could scent her, and the smell eased its protective urges a mere fraction. Enough to breathe again, anyway. His other hand locked around the back of her neck, and he shoved her toward the enormous gold doors.
It was the first time he'd ever laid hands upon her.
He did not dare allow the act to fall in front of his father or the others, but he allowed his thumb to caress the side of her neck gently, just once, as they left the throne room. The second they were through the doors, she twisted in his grip like a weasel, raking her nails down his arm sharply enough to draw blood.
Sirius grabbed her by both wrists, forcing her back against the wall with her hands pinned above her head. "Be still, damn you."
Every inch of her soft body melded to his. His gaze dropped, unerringly, to her mouth.
Malin spat in his face. "I'll tell you nothing."
"Yes, you will."
Her life depended upon it. He wiped the spittle from his face with his sleeve, his hands softening on her wrists.
"Careful, brother," Roar mocked, as he passed by, two of Stellan's warriors at his heels. "She might begin to think she has actual claws. You're weak enough to be wounded by them."
"Anytime you want to challenge me, let me know."
Roar merely smiled, walking backward with his arms spread. "But only the weaker of the two warriors challenges the other. And I'm not entirely certain I should simper at your feet. Besides, why bother? I'm off to win the princess. Have fun in the dungeons with the half-breed. Perhaps you can challenge me when I return with Árdís."
Curse Fate. She had to be laughing at him. Allowing Árdís to leave had caused more of an uproar than he'd planned. He couldn't allow this to spiral out of control any further.
He needed the princess back.
Only she could speak up for Malin's protection and escape unscathed.
"Come with me," he snarled, dragging Malin toward the cellars, though he didn't intend to mark a single hair on her head. He couldn't.
What a catastrophe this was turning out to be.
8
Dawn tipped the horizon.
Haakon leaned on the rail of the ship, watching the harbor. The wind had picked up since yesterday, and the ship rocked slowly beneath his feet.
"Well?" Gunnar asked.
Haakon breathed out a sigh. The skies
were clear. Not a sign of her on the horizon.
There wouldn't be, you fool. She might not have managed to get the manacle off.
His heart skipped a beat. No. He'd made enough excuses. She'd promised him she'd find a way to free herself. She'd told him to go. Shutting down everything he felt, he straightened and tipped his head toward Gunnar. "The lady has made her decision. Push off."
Time to go home.
Men bellowed as they hauled in the ropes. A curse caught his ear. Sails unfurled with a sharp flap, and then began to bloom. The ship rocked.
Home.
He longed to see his mother again. It had been over a year since he'd docked near Viksholm. His nieces and nephews would be growing. It would be good to see them again.
And then what?
Haakon shied away from the question as he curled a coil of rope into a circle around his elbow and palm. He caught Tormund looking at him, and turned away, handing the rope over to Finn.
"Pay up." Perhaps it was the wind that sent Gunnar's words whispering across the deck into his ears.
"We've not left harbor yet," Tormund replied.
Hope, you cruel, capricious bitch. Haakon locked everything down inside him. He didn't dare set his eyes on the harbor as the ship began to move. He couldn't. Instead, he threw himself into labor, helping to set the sails.
"Ho!" A bellow went up. "Haakon!"
Tormund.
His head snapped around, and he saw his enormous cousin pointing toward the docks. Haakon's stomach dropped through his feet.
"She's there!"
He strode to the railing, leaning out over it.
A figure ran along the docks, coming to a halt at the end of it as she stared across the water at him. Her cloak flapped in the breeze, her braid gleaming. But it was unmistakably her, and she looked like she was panting.
She came back.
He felt breathless with the shock of it.
"Impeccable timing," Gunnar muttered, looking like he'd seen Ragnarök on the horizon.
Haakon didn't care. He strode along the side of the ship, running his palm along the rail. Árdís kept pace with him, and he saw her lips move, though the words were torn from him in the wind.