Page 12 of Heart of Chaos (Chaosborn #1)

Chapter twelve

Eisa

I spent the next morning doing everything in my power to ignore Arik as we assembled in the training grounds.

I was both incensed that he had so blatantly propositioned me and deeply embarrassed at my body’s response to it. It took several hours to fall asleep and stop imagining what his words had promised.

In addition, everything hurt from the previous day. I’d found at least twenty new bruises, some as large as my fist, and my muscles felt like they’d been run through the rusty meat grinder Henrik kept in his kitchen. Add to that the splitting headache from the Chaos pounding in my skull, and I was in a foul temper.

“What happened yesterday?” Branka asked.

“Nothing,” I lied, rubbing my temples as I tried to ignore the throbbing pain. Sigrid’s necklace warmed against my skin beneath my leather jacket, and I clasped my hand over it instinctually.

Branka didn’t seem to notice. “Sure. That’s why Arik looks like he’s picturing you naked in the middle of this ring and fu—“

“Gods!” I hissed, feeling myself flush as she grinned at me irreverently. “Hearthmother above, he’ll hear you.”

“Good,” she chirped. “Maybe he’ll work up the balls to apologize if he overhears.”

Her voice carried enough that several other Chaosborn turned to us in interest.

“You’re terrible.” I groused, my mood feeling a touch lighter despite myself. I’d missed Branka’s irreverence and optimism, even though I knew some of it was likely to deflect from her trauma after years of serving the desires of men.

“You love me.” She squeezed my arm, sighing as she dropped her head on my shoulder. “Maybe we can bond with each other’s dragons and make it official.”

I laughed. “I wish. But I’m fairly certain neither of us are interested in that. You’re practically drooling over Jorgen.”

“I am not!” she protested, blushing a furious shade of red. “Anyway, I rather need a break from men.”

I frowned at her suddenly hollow tone, and she gave me a wide, false smile. “I’m kidding, of course.”

I played along and smiled, squeezing her hand in comfort.

It didn’t matter anyway. I had no intention of bonding with either of the white dragons’ mates, that was for certain. When the Rifting happened, I’d either find another dragon who had nothing to do with Arik or Einar, or I’d not bond at all. Working in the kitchens didn’t seem like a terrible life—certainly not worse than it had been with Henrik—and I was in no rush to tie myself to another master.

Even one who looked like the reirleder.

I glanced over to see Revna frowning at me from the circle where she, Jorgen, and Arik were meeting with several other drage. She turned back to Arik and nodded, then began weaving her way toward us.

“Would it be so bad though?” Branka asked, nudging my shoulder. “He’d probably be a phenomenal ride.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not all of us are interested in that sort of ride.”

“Clearly you haven’t had a good one yet.”

I shrugged. I wasn’t sure near-assault counted, and it certainly didn’t compare with what Branka had endured. “I’m surprised you’re not more jaded toward the whole thing.”

“Not every experience was good, that’s for sure. But I certainly had a few clients I didn’t mind servicing, if you get my meaning.”

“Everyone gets your meaning,” Jorgen quipped as he arrived at my side. “Is this conversation actually preparing you for the Rifting?”

“Yes!” Branka declared at the same moment I groused, “No.”

Jorgen rolled his eyes, and turned to me. “Get your cloaks. We’re going into the Odemark.”

“We’re…what?”

“You heard me,” Jorgen sighed, jerking his head toward the reirleder, who was standing with crossed arms and a raised brow. “We’re doing a flyover. So you can see what we’re facing here.”

“Great,” Branka groaned, wrapping her cloak tightly around herself as the other Chaosborn followed Arik out of the cavern. “Just what I wanted to do today. Freeze my tits off after being hit with a stick all morning.”

“I’m sure you can find someone to warm your tits, Branka,” Jorgen drawled with a smirk. “You’re with me and Sigurd this morning.”

“Where’s Revna?” I asked, pointedly ignoring Branka’s excited blush. I had a feeling I knew which dragon she’d choose to bond with if she was given the opportunity.

“Patrol.”

“Is that a punishment? For telling me about Baldur’s mate?”

Jorgen frowned. “Arik isn’t like that. He only disciplines his reirhold if someone does something truly stupid. And I doubt Revna’s told him anyway. Not her business.” He gave me a pointed look.

“What about defiance? Arguing?”

Jorgen raised a scarred brow. “Oh, you have so much to learn, my little Chaosborn. Arik commands everyone’s respect. Except maybe Einar. If we have concerns, he listens and either adjusts his plans or explains his thinking.”

“Are all the reirholds like that?” I asked, surprised once again at the description of Arik as open-minded and level-headed. He seemed to like arguing with me a great deal.

“No. Einar believes in ruling through fear. Dominance. Many reirleders agree with him. But none of them question Arik.”

“He’s that well respected?” I had seen that kind of respect from Revna, which I assumed came from years of knowing each other. I hadn’t realized that the whole mountain saw him the same way.

“Yes.”

“If he’s so important and powerful, why is he here training us?”

“Because it’s technically his job as second-in-command.”

“Second-in-command?”

“You didn’t know?” Jorgen scratched his bearded chin. I shook my head, and Jorgen pursed his bristly lips. “You should probably be asking him all of these questions. Today. When you fly with him.”

“What? Can’t I go with you?”

Jorgen gave me an exasperated look. “If you want to argue with him, be my guest.” He put his hand on the small of Branka’s back and waved me away. “Go on. He’s waiting for you.”

Branka shot me a pitying look. Most of the drage had already partnered with one of the Chaosborn, giving them pointed instructions for where to meet them in dragon-form.

I sighed and turned back to the reirleder, who was characteristically statue-like as he waited, arms crossed as he leaned against a stone column. “Ready?”

I nodded, uncertain what to say. Part of me wanted to beg to stay behind, while another part wanted to shout at him some more about the previous night. But he seemed as disinclined to conversation as I felt, so I followed mutely as he swung a pack over his shoulder and guided me to the smokestack.

“Are we not flying?” I asked as he began to head down toward his personal cavern rather than up toward the top of the mountain like most of the other drage.

“Baldur is too big to fly through the smokestack, remember?” He replied, shooting me a quick glance over his shoulder. “The white dragons and the larger golds have aeries on the lower levels—caverns with warded exterior doors for launching from the fortress. We’ll fly from there instead.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to have more than one door in a fortress?” I asked, jogging to keep up.

“Not as dangerous as bottlenecking two hundred dragons in a mountain during a battle,” Arik replied, guiding me down a winding tunnel. We walked past the door I’d entered the previous night to shout at him and on to a larger cavern with a single huge iron door embedded in one wall. Wind whistled through the cracks, and I could see my breath fog before me as I breathed out.

“That’s our way out.” He nodded to the iron door and tossed me the pack. “Time to get naked, I’m afraid.”

“Gods,” I breathed, whirling around as he unbuckled his leather armor. “I’d have thought the drage would have a better way to do this after thousands of years.”

“Some things even magic can’t accomplish. Ready?”

I nodded, hearing the telltale shift of skin and flesh into bone and membranous wing. A warm, scaly snout butted my shoulder, and I turned to find Baldur, his eyes the same silver as his bonded human.

“Hello again,” I said, caressing his snout gently.

He huffed a puff of warm air into my hand, then swung his head toward Arik’s discarded clothes before returning to the pack he’d tossed me.

“Typical man,” I grumbled, picking up his shirt and jacket and pants, still warm from his heated body and smelling like smoke. “Can’t pack for himself.”

I took the discarded cloak and wrapped it around my own shoulders, trying not to sigh audibly as heat engulfed me. I supposed if I had to become drage, I would at least be warm for once.

Baldur snorted impatiently as I grabbed Arik’s boots. “I’m coming,” I said, waving the boots at the giant lizard. “Where do I put these?”

The dragon extended a wickedly sharp claw, and I hooked the boots around them, making sure the laces were knotted firmly so they wouldn’t separate.

“If you’re sure,” I said skeptically, patting the claw when the boots were as secure as I could make them. “Shall we?”

A snort of hot air was the only reply as Baldur lowered his head to the cavern floor and allowed me to climb his foreleg to reach his back. I pulled Arik’s cloak tightly around me as he shifted his leg and triggered some kind of mechanism.

The iron doors screeched as a frigid wind blew into the cavern, dusting the stone floor with snow.

“Hearthmother, help me,” I murmured, pressing my face against Baldur’s scaly neck as he flapped his great wings and ran for the edge of the cavern.

A strange, shuddering sensation filled me as we aimed for the white expanse of sky beyond the mountain, the iron doors clanging shut behind us as Baldur banked left and swooped out over the frozen Odemark.

Baldur roared, the sound filling me with exhilaration as we cleared the rocks that made up Ironholm. The vast wasteland of the Odemark lay before me—all jagged mountains and icy chasms that spread on and on to the horizon.

Above me, a screech alerted me to several other dragons in the air. Kindra’s golden scales flashed brightly against the white sky, and I heard Branka let out a whoop from the back of a bulky bronze almost as large as Kindra.

And before us, glowing faintly blue against the steely gray of the icy mountains, lay the Rift.

It was terrifying—a jagged, unnatural chasm at least a mile wide that stretched as far south as I could see. The way Jorgen had described it had made it sound tiny. This was a wound in the skin of the earth bleeding azure power, the darkness absolute beneath the eerie glow. Fissures branched off from the main gash, swallowing up the ice and radiating Chaos, pounding painfully against my skull as Baldur flew us closer. Blue light shot in violent streaks across the ice, and one of the dragons below roared in pain as if lashed by the otherworldly force. If this was the Rift now, how much worse would it be when the Rifting occurred?

I saw Kindra descend, followed by bronze Sigur and the other dragons. But as Baldur began to follow, panic struck me. My stomach churned, and a throbbing ache built inside my head. “That’s enough,” I shouted, gritting my teeth against the pain as blood dripped onto his white hide and froze instantly in place. “Please, Baldur.”

The dragon banked sharply, turning away from the Rift and toward the open plains of ice. I heard Kindra cry in protest behind us and turned back to see her golden wings catch the light as she roared up to Baldur. He bellowed something back, and she nodded her golden head in understanding.

I vomited over Baldur’s side, the viscous bile splattering down Baldur’s snowy flank before I lost consciousness completely.

I awoke to an unfamiliar cavern, blue light faintly webbing its walls and making the stone sparkle like crystal. There were a few crates stacked haphazardly against one wall, and what looked to be an abandoned fire pit, but that was all I could see before nausea overwhelmed me. My head felt like it had split in two and been stitched back together, and something soft and moist was beneath my cold cheek as I turned my head to spit out a mouthful of bile and blood.

“Thank the fucking gods,” a male voice murmured. At first I thought it was Baldur, but Arik’s naked form swam blearily before me, and I groaned.

“Every time.”

“What?” He shifted his arm under me to help me as I tried to push myself up.

“You’re always naked.”

He huffed a laugh, holding something hard and cold to my lips—water. I gulped it down greedily, regretting it almost immediately when my stomach roiled. “One day, you won’t care so much. Then I won’t have to bother with this performance every time I shift.”

“Perhaps your balls will freeze off and I won’t have to worry,” I croaked, not thinking about the words before they escaped my lips.

Arik barked another laugh, and lowered me gently to the floor of the cavern. His voice was uncharacteristically soft as he brushed the hair from my eyes, which was a tangled mess. “Give me a minute, Kj?re. Let me make myself decent, and I’ll light a fire.”

“What does that word mean?” I tried to turn my head and felt another wave of nausea. I chose to focus on the glittering ceiling and prayed that the sounds of leather and buckles were Arik getting dressed. There must be supplies in the crates, and I wondered if Arik had been here before. “Shah-ray?”

“Kj?re. It’s an old shifter word.”

I waited for the rest of the explanation, risking a glance at Arik when it didn’t come. Apparently getting dressed meant only wearing trousers, because his chest and feet were still bare to the elements.

He saw me looking and raised an eyebrow. “You dropped the pack when you passed out and nearly fell to your death. Baldur dropped the boots when he rolled to catch you.” He gestured to his leather-clad legs. “This was all I could find.”

I wrinkled my nose and took in my own garments. I was covered in a vile combination of vomit and frozen blood, so I supposed I couldn’t really judge. “How long was I out?”

“A few minutes. Baldur landed as quickly as he could when he felt you slip. We’re still near the Rift, which is likely why you feel like shit,” he replied, crouching low and blowing until the wood caught flame. He looked up, his eyes retracting from draconic silver slits back into their normal steely gray. “You’re bleeding again.”

“The Rift,” I rasped, reaching up to wipe a fresh stream of warm blood from my face with my leather glove. “It was so much bigger than I imagined. Jorgen said it was too narrow for the dragons except at the Rifting.”

“It is, in their natural form.” Arik’s hand twitched, as if he were restraining himself from reaching for me. “Our human bodies constrain the dragons. Make them smaller than they really are.”

I thought of how huge Baldur was and wondered how much bigger he should be were he not bound to Arik.

And the thing had gone on for miles and miles. It seemed impossible that so few drage could protect the human realm from something so huge. Never mind finding the new dragon souls as they emerged. “How do you know where they will come through?”

“The dragons guide us. They know where and when the Rifting happens. Most get fidgety in the months before, which is when we go on Dragejakt.” Arik finished with the fire, placing a battered copper pot of water to heat on the flames. He returned to crouch beside me, his sculpted chest radiating heat that was blessedly welcome in the cold of the cavern. “Can you sit?”

I nodded, which was a mistake. Arik snaked an arm beneath my shoulders and sat me up against the wall of the cavern like I was a particularly unstable rag doll. I dropped my head between my knees, trying not to vomit again as sweat beaded my brow and my vision swam. “I need a minute.”

Arik said nothing. He waited, his arm still steadying me, his breath coming in deep, steady breaths. I let the rhythm soothe me as I tried to breathe through my pain. I smelled like bile and was covered in blood, but if the stench bothered him, he didn’t comment. He just sat there, steady and grounding, and waited.

“I’m not going to survive the Rifting, am I?” My voice was smaller than I’d meant it to be, the sound muffled against my knees as I fought the nausea and dizziness. But I could feel it in my bones. The Chaos would devour me alive and burn me up from the inside before a dragon even made it to our side of the Rift.

Arik stiffened, his arm tightening around my shoulders. “Baldur says you will.”

“Baldur is wrong.”

“Eisa.” Arik’s voice was gentle again. “Lift your head.”

I couldn’t, so I did the next best thing and turned my face to the side to meet his eyes, which were softer than usual. “You’re not forgiven, in case you were wondering.”

“I haven’t asked for your forgiveness, nor do I expect it,” He replied, frowning as he inspected my bloody face. He reached around me to pull the moldy fur over my legs. “Can I clean you up?”

I nodded. The Chaos had dulled a little, but it wasn’t fully gone, pounding in my head like a second heartbeat.

“Here.” Arik crouched before me, dipping what appeared to be the remnants of an old burlap sack into the water that was heating over the fire. I hissed as he swiped the cloth over my eyelids, the warm water stinging my frozen skin.

“Your lip is still swollen,” he said, tracing the healing wound gently with his thumb. “But at least you didn’t fall and shatter all the bones in your body.”

“Small mercies.” I squeezed my eyes shut as the Chaos thumped loudly, as if annoyed that I was still present in this cave. We must be underground, the only light coming from the fire and the blue veins of light that sparked across the walls. But how Baldur had gotten down here, I had no idea. “Where are we exactly?”

“In what used to serve as an outpost on the opposite side of the Rift,” Arik said, tossing the cloth aside and settling back beside me. He stretched one long leg out before him so his foot was nearly in the fire, resting an arm on one bent knee as he let his head fall back against the stone wall. “It’s not been used for centuries, but Baldur and I found it during our first month on patrol.”

“You come here often?” I glanced at the trousers which fit so perfectly they could only have been left by Arik himself.

“From time to time.” He tilted his head to look down at me through lowered lashes. “Can you sit up yet?”

“Maybe.” I groaned as I tried to lift my head, and Arik quickly caught me before I toppled sideways, bringing my temple down to rest on his bare shoulder. “Or maybe not.”

He chuckled, adjusting his torso to make space for me and move his arm around my back to keep me upright. “Sleep for a bit. It will help.”

I tried to shake my head that it was too cold to sleep, but the warmth of Arik’s body crept into me and soothed the joints that ached from the cold and training.

“You’re being nice to me.”

“I’m a nice man.”

I laughed weakly. “Are you?”

Arik didn’t reply, but I thought I felt him stiffen. I didn’t apologize for offending him. Any kindness he had shown me before was to get me to agree to go to Ironholm. His kindness now was because he needed me to choose him. To grant him the power Baldur’s mate would give him.

“At least if the Chaos kills me, Einar’s dragon will also still be without a mate,” I murmured. “It won’t be a complete loss for you.”

“You’re not going to die,” Arik replied darkly, adjusting his body so my head was tucked beneath his chin.

I didn’t resist, craving the heat he was radiating. “You can’t know that.”

He was silent for a moment, the only sounds the crackling fire and the steady thump of his heart, loud enough to drown out the Chaos that relentlessly pounded in my head. “Baldur won’t let you die. If you can’t trust me yet, then trust him.”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t think even Baldur was strong enough to prevent the Chaos from claiming me when the time came.