Page 13 of Delinquent Dette (Empty Nests #7)

Sten

One year later

Frikka walked the halls of their new estate.

It was very different from any home they’d ever owned.

There was brick and cobblestone, elements of his homeland that he dearly missed.

There were also new elements, and more steel in the frame than was necessary.

Enough so that no termite would ever find home in anything but their furniture.

In his eyes was pride—pride in his Drake, pride in his new life.

“You have always had a way with coin, bastard.” Frikka swayed his hips a little when he walked, drawing Sten after him like the pied piper to the rat he truly was.

“I do, that’s why I didn’t spend any of mine on this.” Sten grinned as Frikka wheeled on his ankle, frowning.

“And you took Hallr’s money? I didn’t realize you were poor these days. You should have told me. We can liquidate some of my—” Frikka halted when Sten held up his hand.

“The house is yours, in your name alone. Every paper, every bill, every item.” Mostly true. The bills drew from Sten’s accounts, but the house? The investment in Ansel Construction? Every penny came from Frikka’s blood hoard.

“This is quite a gift, better than a coin, I will admit.” The joy seemed to flicker from Frikka’s eyes as Sten guided him out the back door.

“Not a gift. I’m going to tell you what I did before I give you your true gift.

You may hate me, but it needed to be done.

” Sten swallowed hard. “I invested your hoard. I liquidated it. Every gold piece in there was a reminder you needed to be parted of. Every blood-stained trinket a reminder. I grew something great of it for you. Something you’ll never be able to see the blood on.

And from those spoils, this house was built.

So, instead of a gold coin, which means nothing to you, I ask you if you still like your home? ”

Frikka froze in place, eyes wide and mouth open. Several emotions passed—rage, angst, profound sadness, and it all settled into confusion. “So, it is my home, really?”

“You don’t need a Drake to care for you.

Never have, never will. I won’t give you another coin or pester you again.

This home is yours, and I am merely a fixture here, and I promise never to leave again.

You will not be my port wife, waiting for me to come from the raids or trade.

” Sten drew Frikka to his chest and leaned down to kiss him. “How is that?”

Frikka returned the kiss, the gesture soft and sweet. No more fear, as if hundreds of years of threat went away in a breath. “It’s wonderful.”

“But I do have something greater than a coin.” Sten walked Frikka through the house, toward a set of doors that led into the back gardens.

A roundabout walkway with a fountain on it had been built with a plinth that had, until recently, been bare.

Now stood the feet of a statue, broken off at the knees.

Chunks of it lay precariously and purposefully placed in the rippling water.

But there was too much rubble to be one statue alone.

A bust of another male lay at the bottom of the water, staring up with empty eyes.

Jarl Fjallarr, a man Frikka had once called father .

Frikka approached with a cautious step and stared into the tepid surface, each step he took nearer to the thing filled with more trepidation than the last. “What is this?”

“A Drake who thought himself king and a fool.” Sten put his hands in his pockets as Frikka looked back at him, confusion twisting his face.

“Who? And why is my father’s head inside our fountain?”

Sten rocked on his heels. “Aodh Loch’s trial finished a few days ago.”

Frikka had kept up with it diligently, but hadn’t said a word. His testimony was sent in via a letter, one he spent hours alone writing and had not permitted Sten to read.

“His fortune is being split among many Dettes he wronged. His estate was being auctioned off and the new owner didn’t want the gaudy addition. I fear it didn’t survive transit.” Sten smirked.

“And where is the statue’s head?” The flicker of fear in Frikka’s eyes made Sten proud.

“Didn’t think you wanted to look him in the eyes ever again after what he ordered done. So I had the head crushed and made into something more worthwhile.” Sten’s chest swelled with pride. He’d commissioned the item specifically molded and created just for Frikka.

“Drake…” Frikka’s lips turned into a frown.

“I had it made into toilet seats and distributed them as gifts. I saved one for you!” Sten waited as Frikka pieced the admission together and his face transformed into a wide grin.

“You truly are a great Drake. Now, about my father’s bust?” Frikka gestured at the fountain, unable to hide his tears of happiness.

“Oh, I had Peter swing by to visit his grandfather. He swiped it and replaced it with one of the toilet seats.” Sten choked as Frikka launched himself at him, arms wrapping about his chest. Harsh sobs shook his chest.

“Why couldn’t I just kill them?” Frikka’s whimper settled down as two Drakes and two Dettes walked around the side of the house from one of the smaller gardens.

“I brought you two something,” Jasper said, his fluff of blond hair flitting in the breeze. It was saying a lot for the timid Dette to be out and about at all, let alone in the spring.

To Frikka, he handed a single egg, a fat goose’s egg. “For when you wish to run with the Drakes again, Papa. And Peter and I are moving down onto the old property. We’re building a home for Dettes coming back from the wild.”

Peter gave a grunt and shrug. “Someone’s got to. Hallr can’t just foist them all onto his mate.”

“Probably could. Have you met Leo?” Torsten, their other Drake son, snorted and huffed when Hallr punched him hard in the arm.

“We need to be a real family again. None of us got great practice at it.” Torsten shrugged. “Hallr promised to give me some nestblossoms if I moved back, too. Maybe I’m ready to settle down.”

Jormun, who sat off to the side with a rather dark and brooding male with ice-blue eyes, watched with a half smirk and snort of laughter.

“They’ve not made a Dette yet that would put up with you,” Jasper said, sticking his tongue out.

“Nah, but there’s some Drakes around that I’d put in their place.” Torsten elbowed Jasper, who blushed prettily. “You’ll have a chance to meet some working at Leo’s shop, right?”

Jasper cleared his throat. “Maybe. The American Drakes are different, now.”

Jormun’s mate broke into heavy laughter. “It is running in your family.”

Jormun, for his part, rolled his eyes. “I’m exclusive to the Drakes. I think Torsten likes both.”

Frikka bunched everyone in for a great hug, his body shaking. “I need a few minutes. Then I’ll rejoin you.”

“Need to go freshen up, wipe the tears away?” Sten stuck out his tongue.

“No. I need to go take a shit. There’s a toilet seat in there I’m dying to use.” At that, Frikka marched off and Sten knew he’d truly done the right thing.

The last Bhaldraithe was gone. His execution did not need to be at anyone’s hand.

It was public, because it wasn’t just Frikka who was owed peace.

Nor could it be Sten who dealt that blow for him.

The broken, faceless statue would remind Frikka that in time, all his enemies would topple.

And his father’s bust? It was funnier that way.