His words took all the wind out of Einar’s sails. The old man slumped against the table, his mouth agape in shock. “She never said a word.”
“Knowing Freyja as you do, did you think that she would?”
“But he... he said you had taken her.”
“And so I did,” Rurik replied. His temper got the best of him. “They’d tied her to a stake in the village green, and threw rotten food at her. What would you have me do? Leave her there?”
“Did you....”
He grasped what the old man wanted to know. “What happened between us is a matter purely for us.”
The old man was gasping quite hard now. “No. No.” He shook his head. “She is a good girl.” His gnarled hands curled into fists. “Both Benedikt and you have ruined her!”
Rurik knelt in front of him. “You know dreki cannot lie. You said so yourself. So, know this... I love your daughter and I wish, in another world, she could be mine. I would not abandon her, not willingly, not if I had a choice. And I will never harm her, or place her in danger, which is why I cannot marry her. If I could—” His voice broke a little. “If Freyja would accept such a thing... then I would do so in a heartbeat. But to mate with Freyja is to place her in danger. I finally understand that. I cannot have her, not without bringing darkness into her life, no matter how much I wish to. But I also cannot leave her defenseless, and as much as she could bring this small village to its knees if she wished to, she is also remarkably vulnerable against those threats she has no power to control.”
Rurik captured Einar’s face in between his hands. “She needs you to protect her. And she needs you to be well, because she loves you. She will accept no other gift from me, but perhaps she will accept this....”
Power welled within him. Einar gasped as that honey-trickle of it slid through his skin.
“My cousin Magnus has accepted my challenge. I go now to face him.” He let his power threaten to brim over, finding the shadow in the old man’s chest, the one that was slowly killing him. “Think of me as the devil, or think of me as a monster, but the truth remains I might not vanquish two dreki. I would not leave your daughter unprotected in the wake of my death.”
Healing was not his greatest strength, but he knew well how to manipulate flesh and bone, and shift the core of the body. The shadow sat there, resisting him, a cancerous growth within the old man’s lungs. Rurik poured more power into the working, using lashes of fire to burn away the shadow, then sweeping the cobwebs from the old man’s vision, until Einar gasped, slumping against the table as though he breathed hot ash.
“Done,” Rurik gasped, and took a shuddering step sideways.
Something was wrong. He felt hollow and empty; his bones curiously light, as though he’d expended too much raw power.
Einar clapped a hand to his chest, his skin glowing with health and vitality. “You... healed me.”
Rurik could barely acknowledge him. “For Freyja,” he said, then staggered outside.
The storm battered at him. He’d cost himself a great deal of power in healing Freyja’s father, but it was worth it if by doing so, he could protect her. Rurik spread his arms wide, fanning the kernel of golden heat deep within him to flames. The change lashed through him, shockingly slow. By the time his wings unfurled, he felt almost breathless and a faint hint of nervousness lit his stomach.
Had he expended too much energy in healing Freyja’s father?
No. Of course not. He was a prince of his people, not a weakling. Magnus had dared to challenge his territorial claim, and such needed to be answered. He’d beaten his cousin before. He would not fail this time.
But as he launched himself into the air, wings thrusting down in furious beats, he couldn’t hide the hint of doubt in his heart.
Chapter 17
Hoof beats drummed across the rocky soil. Freyja drew to a halt, tugging her shawl tight around her shoulders and sucking in a shattered breath. Loki caught up to her, circling her skirts with a desperate yip.
Not now, she told him, brushing the hair from her eyes as Haakon reined in his enormous stallion. She’d been trying to take a walk to clear her mind, dwelling on Rurik. She couldn’t escape the memories of their night together, and he’d come for her, courting her with gifts she could not avoid. This was not done between them, no matter how many times she told herself it was, but she couldn’t quite work out what the decision meant. She wanted a future with him. She wanted him. If she swept aside all her doubts and misgivings, that was the one fact she kept returning to.
But did she have a place in his future?
“Mistress Helgasdottir.” Haakon seemed just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. The stallion beneath him sawed at the reins, sweat darkening its flanks as it danced in small impatient circles. Bruises darkened his skin, and blood had dried on his eyebrow.
“What do you want now?” she demanded, though his injuries bothered her.
“I came to find you, actually.”
“Oh?” Thunder echoed in the distance.
The stallion’s eyes rolled, and Haakon brought him back under control. “I came to apologize, and to warn you—”
“Apologize? For what?” Lightning split the skies, far too swiftly on the heels of Thor’s thunder to be entirely natural. Freyja could feel her fury spitting beneath her skin, and curled her fingers into fists. She was so angry, and she didn’t know if it was at Haakon, the world—or herself. She took a step closer to him. “For bringing your hatred to my village? For destroying the village’s treaty with the dreki, the consequences of which could rain down upon innocent people? For tying me to a stake and using me as bait? For ruining any reputation I ever had, and stealing away any chance I might ever make a good match?”
She saw her words strike him. He flinched, but Freyja was merciless. “I know what you lost was not insignificant. I know you can never get your wife back. But did you ever once consider what you were doing to the people around you? What do your family think? How many other villages have you brought your hatred to?” She paused. “How many innocent dragons did you kill, who had no hand in what was done to you?”
“Freyja.” His voice came hoarsely. “You don’t—”
“Perhaps the dreki stole your wife, but you are your own worst consequence. All you are is hatred and ruin, and while I might pity you for what happened, I cannot forgive you for allowing your hatred to consume you. What would your wife think of you now, if she could see you?”
“What would you not do to bring your lover back to you, Freyja, if the shoe were on the other foot? What would you do if it were your fault she’d been taken?” His eyes begged her for understanding.
“I would do anything that would not harm another person,” she admitted.
“Pray you don’t have to find out just where that line stands....” And she saw that guilt and loss had flayed the humanity from him, pushed him into making decisions he might never come back from.
Just as she might never come back from the harsh words she’d offered to the dreki who challenged her. Her shawl flapped in the wind and Freyja caught it, but she shot Haakon a fierce look. What would she not do if there was a threat against the man—or dreki—she loved?
Another shock of thunder rumbled across the horizon, and it felt almost as if it shook the earth itself. The clouds boiled now, seething masses of stormy white that threatened a dangerous storm.
“Another of those unnatural bloody storms,” Haakon swore under his breath, circling his horse.
She’d thought it an extension of her own fury, but as she looked up she realized she felt vaguely hollow and disconnected from the storm. This was not of her making.
The blood ran from her face.
“It’s a dreki storm,” she breathed, feeling the wash of power through her veins, but knowing she was not the cause of it. No. She was merely a bystander, swept along in the current of its power.
But what was causing it? A glance back at the valley showed the lights gleaming in
her father’s homestead. As she watched, a dark shape came to the door and stared into the skies. Even from this distance she saw his golden hair, and felt that same twist around her heart.
She needed to tell him the truth about how she felt—and to apologize. Fear had driven her. Fear of the future, fear of handing him her heart on a platter and having him shred it—even fear of finally, irrevocably being cast from her community. Every time she’d been frightened of his intentions, he’d let her make her own choices. How could she refuse to allow him the same courtesy?
Fear had been her cage, and it was time to set it aside. Time to shed her skin and bloom into the creature she’d always been meant to be. One that accepted her dangerous powers. One that knew she was different from the mortal world, and could never fit in. One that was not frightened of love, or rejection.
Daughter of the Storm, her mother had called her once, and it was time for her to accept her true self, and cast aside everything that held her back.
But even as she took a step toward Rurik, he spread his arms and began to shift. Wings formed, long and elegant. Golden scales erupted with slow grace, and then he took a belabored lunge into the sky that was less graceful than any she’d ever seen from him.
Something was wrong with him.
“Rurik,” she whispered, her heart thudding dully in her chest.
He wrenched himself into the sky, and she had this horrible, impending sense of doom as she took a step toward him.
Too late.
The heat drained from her face. “Rurik!” she yelled, running toward him and waving her arms. “Rurik!”
“Freyja!” Haakon cut in front of her, his stallion’s hooves churning up the sod. He thrust a hand in her direction.
“Get out my way.” She couldn’t see Rurik anymore, but she knew she had to get to him.
Something bad is coming, whispered the earth beneath her feet, and the sky around her.
And all she could hear were her parting words as she denied Rurik. You don’t understand what you cost me.
Fate, Rurik had once told her. But she had spat in fate’s face, and now... now that miserable wretch seemed to be warning her once again, something was afoot.
“Freyja, here.” Haakon offered her his arm as icy raindrops stung her face, and she realized he meant to sit her behind him.
Freyja drew her hand back.
Haakon’s face twisted. “I know what I have done, Freyja. I know the damage I have caused, but you didn’t let me finish. I came here to warn you. Magnus and Andri are not what they seem.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re both dreki,” he told her. “Rurik warned me about them an hour ago. I confronted Magnus and we fought. He couldn’t entirely control himself.” Haakon shook his head, horror lighting his expression. “I saw it in his face. For a second his eyes were gold and reptilian, and his skin seemed almost covered in scales. That was when I knew.” His shoulders slumped. “They were using me to get to Krafla’s dreki. Andri wouldn’t let Magnus kill me, said it went against their oath—whatever that means—but I overheard them after they threw me in the cellar of the house I was leasing. They’re here for Krafla’s dreki, and they mean to kill him. They were using me to distract him and draw him out.”
She gasped, but he wasn’t finished.
“Freyja, this was all planned, and not by Benedikt. After I broke out of the cellar and found them gone, I went to him and demanded some answers. He didn’t even know what he was dealing with, and had never seen Magnus nor Andri before in his life... but someone met him in Akureryi six months ago when he was trading, and offered him enough gold to sink a ship if he used half of it to offer a warrant for Krafla’s dreki.”
“Rurik,” she whispered in horror, before realizing what she revealed.
“Rurik,” Haakon confirmed, a knowing look on his face.
Freyja held herself between him and the house. “He’s not the golden dreki who stole your wife. I know he’s not!”
“I know.” Haakon’s stallion pawed the ground. He looked faintly disgusted with himself. “But he knows who did. Freyja, get out of the way—”
“I won’t let you hurt him,” she held her arms wide, and a tremor leapt from the ground at her feet, sending the stallion into a screaming whirl of fear.
Control it. Freyja grit her teeth and reined her temper in. She couldn’t afford to give in to the power trickling through her veins. The storm pushed her in its wake, filling her with power she’d never felt before.
It had never been this difficult to control herself before. Nor had she ever slid so fully into that golden pool of molten power deep within her. Freyja saw the world through a haze of amber, before her vision suddenly cleared and the earth stilled.
Haakon stared at her, white-faced. Froth foamed at the stallion’s mouth and its eyes rolled, but it was obeying him. Barely.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“The rumors are true then.” It was not a question.
“That depends upon which rumor you listen to,” she shot back.
“I don’t intend to hurt him.” Haakon hesitated. “It is clear Magnus and Andri were using me for their own purposes, and I now know what that purpose is. They mean to challenge him and kill him. It’s a trap, Freyja. But if we get to him first, perhaps we could warn him? Or help him?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “And why would you help him?”
“To make amends.” He clearly saw her disbelief. “And because he has the information I need to find the dreki who took my wife.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“You’ll get there quicker.” Haakon’s eyes seemed to soften, turning very blue. “You were right, Freyja. All I’ve done is cause harm here. Let me help. Please. Let me try and find my way back to the man I once was.”
Logic dictated she accept his hand. He was right. Speed was of the essence right now. Freyja jammed her foot into the stirrup he’d slid his boot from, and used his hand to haul herself up behind him.
“Hurry!” she yelled, wrapping her arms around his waist as he heeled the stallion with boots.
Freyja burst through the door of her house, her skirts flapping around her ankles. Time was of the essence right now, but she needed to make sure her father was all right.
“Father!” she called, dragging on his old oilskin coat, and reaching for his stout staff. Any weapon was better than none, and if Rurik thought she was going to allow him to face two treacherous dreki alone, then he had another think coming. “I have to go out this night. I need—”
“You’re not going anywhere.” Her father appeared in the doorway, blinking and rubbing at his eyes. He lowered his hands, revealing clear blue eyes that locked on her face. “Rurik told me everything. And he... he has given me a gift, in exchange for promising to keep you safe.”
Those eyes. She hadn’t seen him look at her like that in years.
The floor felt like it swayed. “Father,” she whispered in disbelief, waving a hand in front of his face.
“Yes, I can see.” Pressing a hand to his chest, his face lit up briefly. “It feels like such a weight has lifted off me, like my veins are filled with pure fire. I haven’t felt this way in years.”
Blood warmed his skin, breathing new life into it. Her father’s spine had straightened, and he resembled the tundra in spring as winter finally sloughed away, revealing new growth. She felt like she might almost choke on her heart. His condition had weighed heavily on her too, and heat flooded her eyes as she realized her father’s long illness had vanished.
Freyja slid a hand over his paper-thin cheek in wondering fashion. “But... how?”
“The dreki,” he said. “He gave me a gift.”
Rurik had done this? Given her father new life? It struck her then, like an arrow to the heart. All along she’d been wary of him, holding him at arm’s length even as she submitted to his touch. Guarding herself for the betrayal she knew would come.
She’d
been wrong.
He’d given her more than she could ever repay, and her words bit through her: Give me a gift beyond any worth, and I shall give you my heart.
This was that gift. One last attempt to prove his sincerity when she had doubted it. Freyja clapped a hand to her mouth. Her heart beat a little faster, a little louder, as the world swam around her, shifting on its axis of what she knew to be true and what she’d feared to accept.
She’d not dared love him. Yet it had crept over her night by night, stealing through her intentions as if they were mist with every smile he gave her, every little argument, and every determined quirk of his brow when she refused to fall into place. She’d known it and worried over the sensation late at night. Locked it up tight within her so he could never know, as if that could somehow protect her.
And now it left her utterly bereft.
“Oh no,” Freyja whispered.
Tears blurred her vision. He’d gone off to fight two dreki alone, believing she would refuse to let him court her. And he’d weakened himself, curse him, in healing her father so she would not be alone.
That thought, more than anything, sent steel straight down her spine.
“Rurik visited me and told me everything. About Benedikt and what he had threatened you with. About him tying you to a stake.” Her father’s lips thinned. “Freyja, why did you not tell me all your worries? You know I would have protected you.”
But how sprang to her tongue, where she managed to catch it in time. Her father had his pride. “I know.”
She needed to thank Rurik. She needed to... God. To apologize for all she’d said to him. To make it right. It seemed her father wasn’t the only one who had to account for pride.
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