Page 10 of Heart of Chaos (Chaosborn #1)

Chapter ten

Eisa

“Come on, three more,” Jorgen pushed, watching as I dripped sweat on the cold stone while trying to push myself up on my hands and knees. “These aren’t even the full push-up.”

“Can’t,” I panted, feeling like my arms were about to snap in half. “Kill me now.”

The training grounds were less grounds and more of a cavern, like everything else in Ironholm, and almost as huge as the smokestack itself. Towering stone walls loomed overhead, and natural pillars of stone supported the cavern. It was raw and brutal like the rest of the mountain, every surface bearing the marks of centuries of combat and flame. It was a place for warriors, built to forge both bodies and spirits into something unbreakable.

I definitely didn’t belong.

Jorgen tutted, offering me a hand.

“Perhaps we’ll start with lower body exercises instead,” he mused, offering me a water skin. “A strong stance is almost as important as upper body strength in sparring.”

“I can’t spar,” I groaned, taking the offered water. “I’ll be beaten to a bloody pulp.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Jorgen insisted, pushing me toward Arik. “To learn. There’s no way to be completely prepared, but if you plan on surviving past the Rifting, you need to put some meat on those bones. All Chaosborn train to fight the odemarksdyr, and you’re several months behind the others.” He nodded to Arik, who was across the cavern working with some of the other new candidates on sparring. Aside from an initial piercing look that I couldn’t read, he’d ignored me completely all morning.

Gods. If I died, I would so haunt him.

Branka had managed every exercise while barely breaking a sweat. She was fresh faced and energetic as if we hadn’t spent half the night catching up. She’d been cagey about her time in the brothel, mostly asking me questions about Sigrid and Anders. I didn’t mind. I knew it would take time for her to discuss her life there. Trauma often reared its ugly head when we least expected it.

She beamed at me as she finished her tenth perfect pushup. “Easy. What’s next?”

I scowled, and Jorgen laughed. “Let’s try some squats.”

I tried my hardest not to groan as he showed me the movement, trying to force my body to mimic his. None of the movements were the graceful dance I’d watched Arik perform before arriving in Ironholm.

“It will be easier when you’re mated,” Jorgen said, giving me a pitying look. “The extra power will strengthen you.”

“What do you mean, ‘mated’?” Branka asked, her voice barely wavering as she gracefully squatted and stood as if it were nothing.

“What do you want to know?” Jorgen grinned and gave his brows a suggestive waggle.

Revna came over and smacked him upside the head. “No flirting while training.”

“Ow,” Jorgen complained, gesturing defensively toward Branka. “She asked!”

Revna rolled her eyes and looked at us both. I could have sworn she didn’t quite meet my eyes. “It’s like the fae. Do you know what fae mates are?”

“Like lovers?” I asked, abandoning the pretense of squatting.

“A soul-bonded partner,” she corrected. “Just as deep as the bond the dragon makes with you. The Book of Chaos says that when the dragons were birthed from the stars, they split in two. Two halves longing to be reunited, but also two separate and autonomous beings. Each dragon has their counterpart, and they don’t always come through the Rift together.”

“They must wait for the perfect host to share their soul,” Jorgen explained. “Sometimes, it can take decades or centuries for a dragon to find their match. Five more. You’re not done yet.”

I sighed, going through the motions once more.

Branka had already finished her set and asked, “But why?” She looked a little devastated at the idea of dragon mates being separated. “Why not just wait for two compatible souls at the same time?”

“The Book of Chaos doesn’t say,” he replied with a shrug, his cheeks turning ever so slightly pink as he took in Branka’s sweaty face. She was somehow more beautiful when she worked out, which seemed terribly unfair. “And the dragons refuse to explain. Sigurd says he doesn’t have the words to explain it to my ‘limited human mind.’ What we do know is that all mated pairs are stronger, their magic more powerful and their drage partners longer lived than those whose mate remains on the other side of the Rift.”

“So your mate is trapped in the Rift?” I panted, looking at Jorgen with sympathy, despite the cursed squats.

“Sigurd’s mate,” Jorgen corrected, handing me the water skin. “But, I suppose also mine in a sense.”

“What do you mean?” Branka asked interestedly.

Jorgen cleared his throat and Revna rolled her eyes impatiently. “This will take days at this rate.”

“No harm in answering some questions,” Jorgen hedged, rubbing the back of his neck. “The mating bond is…powerful. The feelings of the dragon and the human merge and blend. The dragon’s passions become the human’s, and the mated pair…um…becomes intimate . Forever.”

“You mean sex,” Branka said, looking unabashed.

Jorgen coughed and turned fully red.

“Sex, love, companionship,” Revna agreed, unphased by the intimate nature of the question. “There are many drage whose dragons are waiting for their mate, and when the Rifting happens, every single one of those dragons will call to their mates on the other side and try to direct them to a waiting soul that can bond them.”

Realization finally struck, and I gaped with abject horror. “To us. They’re going to try to bond with us.”

“Not all who come through the Rift will be mated pairs yet,” Jorgen clarified. “Some will be like Kindra or Sigurd. Unmated and looking for the human that the Norns—the fates that guide dragon kind—have prepared for them.”

I scoffed. I’d stopped believing in fate a long time ago. “And what if we don’t want a mate? What if we don’t want to bond ourselves to someone we don’t know?”

Branka looked equally worried about this, and I edged closer to her to grab her hand. She had just escaped being forced to bed whoever paid for her. For once in her life, she deserved a choice.

“Drage mates are equals,” Revna assured us, giving Branka a kind smile. “Anyone who tries to own you will find themselves at the fiery end of an angry dragon.”

“For the most part,” Jorgen corrected, giving Revna a knowing look.

“But we have no choice?” I pressed. “I could end up mated to you without any say in the matter?”

“Ah, well,” Jorgen blushed again, glancing at Branka. “No. As Sigurd is a bronze, his mate can’t be blue.”

“Why?”

“Dragons don’t mate more than one tier above themselves in power,” Revna explained, forestalling my next question with a raised hand. “Don’t ask me why. I have no idea. It’s just how it is. A bronze will mate a bronze or a gold. A gold will mate a bronze, a gold, or a white.”

“And a blue?”

“Oh,” Branka said, eyes going wide with some realization I hadn’t yet come to.

“What?” I pushed, looking at my friend. Branka bit her lip, staring determinedly at her boots.

Jorgen stood, his face still pink. “I’ll go check in with Arik. You’ve got this, Revna?”

“Cowardly bastard,” Revna glowered as Jorgen beat a hasty retreat toward his reirleder. “Come on, that’s enough standing around. Ten more squats.”

“Not until you tell me,” I insisted, folding my arms defiantly over my chest.

Revna hesitated.

“Well, a blue would mate another blue or a white,” Branka posited, looking to Revna for confirmation. Revna gave her the tiniest nod of confirmation. “But there are no blue dragons in Ironholm right now.”

“So if I bond a blue dragon, her mate will either be on the other side of the Rift or one of the white dragons here,” I reasoned, trying to think of how many white dragons I had seen. The only one that came to mind was Baldur, and a sinking feeling wormed its way into my stomach at the realization. “How many white dragons are there in Ironholm?”

“Twenty,” she replied a little too casually. “Most of the reirleders are bonded to whites, and most are mated already.”

“And how many are unmated?” I pushed.

“Only two. But it’s also just as likely you’ll bond a dragon who doesn’t know their mate yet. It’s impossible to know until the Rifting.”

Revna was examining her nails as if she were loath to meet my eyes, and my stomach flipped. “Does Baldur already have a mate on this side?”

She sighed, finally meeting my eyes with a pained expression. “He does not.”

The stab of betrayal surprised me. Arik owed me nothing—he’d already done so much for my family. But the fact that he hadn’t told me this rather vital part of the puzzle made the fragile trust I’d begun to feel for him shatter on the spot.

“So Arik brought me here to bond with his dragon’s mate. To tie myself to him.” And he hadn’t had the decency to tell me himself that he never planned to give me a choice.

Revna put a hand on my shoulder as I tried to march over and give the reirleder a piece of my mind. “Calm down, Eisa. Nothing is guaranteed.”

“Calm down?” I winced as several eyes turned toward us and dropped my voice to a whisper. “When was he planning on telling me?”

Revna grimaced. “He wasn’t.”

My fury solidified to shards of ice.

“Switch!” shouted Arik.

“Hold on,” Revna said, nodding toward the stone circles. “You’re not ready for sparring, especially not when you’re upset.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, pulling out of her grip with more strength than I knew I had.

“Hearthmother, save me,” Revna murmured. “Go with her,” she urged Branka, who jogged to catch up with me as I joined the Chaosborn forming a circle around Arik.

“Hand-to-hand combat is an essential skill,” Arik announced, looking around the circle at the Chaosborn, oblivious to my pulsing fury. “If you’re caught unprepared by the odemarksdyr, your ability to fight with a sword could be the difference between life and death.”

Jorgen gave me a concerned look as Arik picked up a wooden practice sword and threw it to Thyra, who caught it as if it weighed nothing. “Show me what Jorgen has taught you.”

Thyra nodded, stepping into the stone circle with the sword upraised and squaring off against Arik.

Gods, he meant to spar against us. Him . Good. Perhaps I was angry enough to hurl a spear at him and actually strike true.

Thyra lunged, and in a move that was too swift for me to track, Arik disarmed her, the wooden point of his practice blade pressed to her throat. “Next.”

One by one, Arik called us forward, swiftly disarming every single Chaosborn. Branka managed to hold her own for more than thirty seconds, but she succumbed like the others, limping back to me as she rubbed her backside.

Arik turned his attention to me, and my gut writhed in both fear and fury. He hadn’t told me. Expected me just to bond Baldur’s mate like a good little Chaosborn and never bat an eye.

I wasn’t upset . I was fucking furious.

He turned back to the others and barked, “Pair up. I want to see you practice disarming each other as I just did.”

Oh no, he didn’t.

“What about me?” I picked up one of the discarded wooden swords.

“Eisa,” Jorgen warned.

“You haven’t learned anything yet,” Arik cut in coolly, not meeting my eyes as he watched pairs of Chaosborn begin to spar. “You arrived yesterday. Go back to Revna until I’m ready for you. Go with her, Jorgen.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me,” I snapped, my fury growing at his refusal to look at me. Jorgen plucked at my sleeve ineffectually, and I shrugged him off.

Arik turned, his silver eyes boring into mine as Jorgen stepped back to stand with Branka, who looked on nervously. “You’re angry. Tell me why.”

“I’m fine,” I lied coldly.

Arik sighed and cracked his neck. “You want me to teach you? Fine. Strike.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Hit me with your wooden sword,” he repeated slowly as he turned to face me fully. “If you can.”

The almost imperceptible smirk at the corner of his lips told me he didn’t believe I’d do it, and it was enough to boil my blood. How dare he lie to me, then laugh at me.

I lifted the sword, which was far heavier than it looked, and swung.

In seconds, the sword was out of my hands and clattering against the stone floor as Arik pinned my wrists in front of my body and spun me until my back was flush to his chest.

One of his arms came around mine to pin me to him. “I told you,” he murmured, the rough edge of his beard scratching my cheek. “You’re not ready for sparring.”

“Let me go,” I demanded, trying to break from his grip and ignore the warm flush creeping up my body from his closeness. He smelled of leather and smoke and something indefinably male. It annoyed me that I liked it.

“Make me,” he replied, his voice irritatingly calm. “Fight me off like I mean to do you harm.”

“You’ve already done me harm.” I tried and failed to wriggle out of his arms. “You brought me here under false pretenses.”

“You agreed to the terms of our bargain,” Arik argued, still holding me tight. “You knew the cost. Now break free, Eisa. Fight.”

A few of the Chaosborn were glancing over at us, and I ground my teeth in frustration.

“I didn’t know that the cost would be tying myself to you, ” I snapped, wriggling futilely as my anger got the better of me.

Arik stilled. Henrik would have smacked me for speaking to him like that, but Arik remained completely calm as he said, “Revna told you.”

“Yes.” I struggled vainly in his grip, his arms a vice around me. “And how dare you–”

“You want to have this fight?” he interrupted, squeezing me so tightly it became difficult to draw in a breath. “Then break free, Eisa.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Every opponent has a weakness. Exploit mine.”

Hearthmother above, what was his weakness? He was wearing boots, so I couldn’t stamp on his foot, and my elbows were pinned too tightly against him to jab him anywhere sensitive.

Uncertain my plan would work, I went completely limp.

Arik swore, releasing his hold and catching me before I fell. The moment his arms relaxed, I jabbed him as hard as I could in the side with my elbow. I would surely bruise, but his grunt of pain as he staggered was well worth it.

I scrambled away and grabbed the wooden practice sword, holding it up before me.

“Good,” Arik gasped, wincing slightly as he glanced above me. He stiffened, nodding once to the space behind me. I turned to see an older man, his head bald and beard a grizzled white with cold, cruel eyes, scowling at Arik as if he’d personally wronged him.

“Dragehersker,” Arik said tightly, bowing his head. He took a step back from me, and the distance between us somehow felt colder than it had before.

I quickly trained my gaze on the stone training ring. Einar, as Revna had called him, was far more intimidating this close up.

“Reirleder,” the man replied, his voice as steely as his eyes. “This is the blue, I presume?”

He stopped before me, his heavy leather boots coming into my line of sight. I wasn’t sure if I should look up or keep my eyes lowered, but I’d known men like the Dragehersker before. He probably liked a show of subservience.

“She is,” Arik replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

Einar grunted, walking around me as if examining me for shortcomings. “I seem to recall telling you not to play favorites, Arik.”

Arik didn’t reply, and I chanced a quick glance upward to see him clenching his jaw. His eyes met mine, and an almost imperceptible shake of his head warned me to stay silent.

“Sparring practice, Dragehersker,” Arik said. “You know I favor a hands-on approach.”

Einar laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “I’m sure you do with this one.”

My skin crawled uncomfortably as the older man circled around me and grasped my chin between his fingers and thumb. He forced my gaze upward, and for a moment I could have sworn it was Henrik in front of me.

“You’ll do,” he announced, turning my face this way and that before dropping my chin. “There are reports of garmr approaching from the southeast,” he added, his attention back on Arik. “Go deal with it.”

Arik nodded as Jorgen and Revna came to his side and faced their commander. “My reirhold will be airborne in minutes.”

“Not your reirhold,” Einar interrupted. He looked at Jorgen and Revna like they were rather unpleasant insects. “You’re always talking about sending patrols farther afield. You go alone.”

“Dragehersker—” Jorgen began, frowning at the commander.

“Did I address you?” Einar asked, raising his silver brows at Jorgen.

Jorgen was taller and broader than the older man, but he seemed to cower under his gaze. “No, sir.”

“I didn’t think so.” He turned to walk away, the cavern silent except for his boots scraping against the stone. “Keep your subordinates in line, Arik, or I’ll let Ragnar deal with them.”

I looked back at Arik, who was still clenching his jaw, his eyes fixed on the back of the Dragehersker’s head.

“Right, back to training,” Revna shouted, sending Chaosborn scattering with a clap of her hands.

“He’s sending you out alone?” Jorgen murmured.

“It’s fine,” Arik said, glancing at me before giving him a knowing look. “Stay with Eisa.”

Arik turned and strode toward the entrance without so much as a backward glance.

“Arik—” I took a step after him.

“Go back to Jorgen and Revna,” he said without turning or slowing. “We’re done for today.”

Without another word, he walked away.