Page 22
Chapter twenty-one
Sifa
She'll Ride with Me
F hord yanks my head back as his other hand grips my neck. The eyes that had sparked with lust—and something deeper, I’d thought a moment ago—now glare in anger.
“You’re here a few minutes too early,” Fhord snarls as he looks up at the guards who threw their trap over my dragon. “I’d almost finished with her.” He rakes his gaze over the men as he leans over and spits my taste from his mouth. “Even traitors feel good on the cock,” he adds as his hand squeezes my throat.
I gag, struggling to hold down the disgust that ripples through me. I’d trusted him with … everything. Again. How fucking stupid could I be?
“You were about to capture her?” The bigger guard demands, his voice laced with skepticism. “We’re supposed to believe that?”
His suspicion splashes cold water on my anger. My head spins before I can stop it, searching Fhord’s face. He doesn’t turn so I can only see his tight lips, the firm set of his jaw, the lift of his chin. If he’s playing the guards, he’s doing a gods-damned good job of it. He doesn’t look like he gives one single fuck about me.
I doubted him in the few minutes after the guards found us the first time, my time in the dungeons filling me with dread and reminding me of the Dróttning’s tight grip on everyone and everything in this world. But in the hours that followed, I pulled myself back from that edge. Too much has happened between us. I’ve seen his soul. He was sloppy, and that pissed me off, but I don’t think he betrayed me.
I grasp onto that memory, desperate to believe this is a ruse. That Fhord hasn’t fucked me over.
Fhord straightens, dropping the hand that held my neck. The other stays put, holding my hair tight but not enough to cause pain. He pins the guard with a look that would crumple the resolve of most humans, a scowl twisting his face.
“I don’t give a fuck what you believe. We’ve got her and the dragon now. I’ll fuck someone at the Nest since you couldn’t wait long enough to let me finish here.” He throws me a glance, his eyes empty and cold, before looking back up at the men.
My heart breaks a little at his look, not a hint of emotion in it. My chest collapses like a popped balloon as every part of me grows heavy, lead weights threatening to pull me to the ground. Staring down at the hands that haven’t yet been thrown in cuffs, I fight to hold back the tears, clinging to the hope that Fhord hasn’t betrayed me. That he’s just trying to find a way to get both of us out of this mess.
He felt this thing between us. I know he did. This must be an act.
Calm . Astarot’s voice drops into my thoughts, helping to center me. He’s right. They’ll have to remove the trap if they’re going to get him to the Nest. He’s strong enough to fight back. We might still have a chance.
Can you fly ? I speak to him in his head for the first time, my mind finding the path I hadn’t needed before. I haven’t asked him yet about his wings, loath to push him and risk damaging one that’s still healing. But we might have no choice.
Perhaps . Uncertainty fills my mind, sending rocks to drop into my gut. He doesn’t think his wings are strong enough. But he’s willing to try.
I cast my gaze at him, trying to fill it with hope. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. We’ll figure something else out .
Fhord jerks my hands forward, dragging me from my focus on Astarot. Before I can pull them away, he’s retrieved a cord from his belt and is wrapping it around my wrists. It’s snug but might leave some room to maneuver.
“She’ll ride with me,” he declares as he pulls me close and starts to drag me toward Sigurd.
“The fuck she will,” the large guard responds, kicking his horse forward. “I know what I saw. You’re not strangers.” He brings his horse to within a few feet of Fhord, staring him down. “I don’t trust you.”
He’s close enough for Fhord to grab his weapon and fight for us. Fight for me. When he doesn’t, my stomach drops and I struggle to hold back the tears. A cold dread that these last couple of weeks have been an act—and I’m a gods-damned stupid elf—builds within me. But I push back the fear again, grasping onto memories of Fhord’s fierce gaze and soft hands. He’s just waiting for the right time and maybe that wasn’t it. He could have seen some threat or risk I didn’t.
“Like I said,” Fhord responds in the low tone he uses before he resorts to violence, “I don’t give a fuck what you think. She’ll ride with me.” He nudges me toward Sigurd before lifting me into the saddle and throwing his leg up to settle in behind me. I lean forward but there’s no escaping contact with him here.
Others , Astarot tells me, and my stomach drops. I can feel the worry in his word. Three more riders approach. We may have lost our best hope of escaping. I look in the direction Astarot senses and a lump forms in my throat. Maybe we had a chance before. Not now.
Try . Astarot isn’t ready to give up yet. When they lift the net, he’ll attack. He’s desperate to save us—I can feel the energy building within him—because he knows as well as I do what capture means. And I don’t know whether to cry in relief that he’s willing to try, or beg him to submit. He’s as likely to get killed as he is to escape.
“How the fuck did you find them?” The first rider to reach us snarls the question as he approaches. His gaze touches on Fhord and me before it rests on Astarot. “I figured we’d never get ‘em back.”
“I subdued them,” Fhord responds in a tone full of derision and … boredom.
My back straightens as I waver between desperation and a hope that’s threatening to slip away. I want to believe he’s acting. That he really cares for me. But he’s so fucking convincing. With every word he mutters, I feel like my soul’s being ripped apart. Like this strange connection between us is a living thing, buried in my chest and burning me from the inside out.
If he did betray me, I hope Tindera punishes him. My fingers grow cold as I let my thoughts rest on his dragon. How tough it will be on her. Her bond with Astarot is new and still weak, but she claimed my dragon. Fhord would piss her off as much as he did me. Maybe more.
I’ll hold on to that knowledge like a blanket. Tindera is everything to him, and she’ll be livid. That’ll get me through the torture I’ll be suffering soon.
But fuck , I don’t know how I’m going to get through what they’ll do to Astarot now.
Fhord nudges Sigurd, dragging my attention back to him.
“Hold the fuck on,” the first guard yells before we’ve taken more than a few steps, urging his horse into our path. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m taking her back to the Nest,” Fhord explains in a voice dripping with disdain. “You’ve got enough men for the dragon.” He tugs on the reins to go around but this guard is stubborn, staying in Sigurd’s path.
“I’m gonna let her ride with you,” he snarls at Fhord, “but you go back with us. Like I said, I don’t trust you.”
“And like I said, I don’t give a fuck what you think. I’m taking her back to the Nest now.”
Astarot’s roar interrupts their dick-measuring contest. They’ve pulled the net from him and this is his only chance to escape before he’s bound again. He shakes off the remaining strands, his thoughts caressing me for a moment, and swats at a nearby guard. I watch as the male flies through the air, droplets of blood splattering on the rock where he lands.
For a moment, I think Astarot’s going to make it. The path ahead of him is clear and he’s able to extend his wings as he begins the short run that will help him launch.
Just for a moment.
The men who arrived came prepared for this.
The arrow that flies through the air pierces Astarot’s side, barely missing his heart. But I can feel his pain. Doubling over in the saddle, my hands grasp for the hole in my side that feels like it must have appeared while I try to hold back the vomit pushing into my throat. I can’t. Leaning to the right, I barely avoid my legs as my stomach empties. Again. And again.
As I struggle to breathe, sharp gasps filling the space in between my heaves, my mind finally wraps around the fact that this is Astarot’s pain. He’s already struggling to take it from me, to keep me from experiencing his agony. Please , I whisper to his thoughts. Please stop trying to protect me from this. I’m okay. You need your strength to live. You must live .
Sorrow . His devastation and grief echo through me, eclipsing the pain. He’d hoped to save us both and has only condemned us to death. Or worse. I can feel the weakness in his limbs, the pressure building in his chest, as his life drips out of him.
“You’ve subdued the dragon,” Fhord bellows, malice and anger in every word. “Now save him. You have no authority to take his life.”
“He would have escaped,” the guard who shot Astarot declares. He’s strident, but I can hear the tremble in his voice. If Astarot dies, he’ll die with him. Even rebellious dragons are too valuable to be killed unless absolutely necessary. Guards can injure and subdue them. But they can never kill them. Sometimes it’s too fine a line to walk. This guard couldn’t do it.
“And now he won’t.” Fhord’s words are a whisper laden with a threat. “Remove the arrow and stitch him up. He may still recover if you act quickly.”
“How in all the gods’ names am I supposed to do that?” Now the guard is afraid, his life tied inexorably to Astarot’s. “I don’t carry medical supplies.”
“You left the Nest with a dragon bolt but no suture? Do you want to die?” I can feel the rumble in Fhord’s chest as his anger takes hold. Young as their mating bond is, Astarot’s death will hurt Tindera.
“I have no suture. And even if I did, I don’t know how to sew up the beast.”
“Fuck.” Fhord swings his leg off Sigurd as he digs into one of his packs. “Hold her,” he yells at one of the guards. “And don’t fucking touch her. She must reach the Nest unscathed.”
Another guard approaches and grabs my arm to pull me down from the saddle. I’m still struggling to control the pain in my side, wincing as he drops me on the ground. “Stay put,” he demands, his hand resting on my shoulder. I concentrate on breathing, fighting to block out the pain like I did during my time in the Nest.
My gaze catches Fhord’s as he finds what he needs and nods to himself. “You have to save him,” I whisper. “Please.”
Hints of what look like regret and sorrow rise in Fhord’s face, darkening his eyes as he turns to me, and filling me with hope. But just for a moment. Scorn takes their place, and I’m thrown back into my terror that it’s all been fake. That he’s never felt anything for me and everything between us was a lie. I pray to all the gods I’m wrong, but the betrayal I felt again and again in the Nest rises inside me to splinter my faith, casting shards at my feet. Because everyone in Vanatia belongs to the Dróttning.
“‘Dragon lives are precious and may not be forfeited without cause, and only on the order of the Dróttning,’” Fhord bites out, assaulting them with the mantra everyone in this land knows by heart. “If I’m able to save him, I will. For the Dróttning.”
I can only watch as he stalks over to Astarot, examining the gaping hole the bolt made in his side. And then a cloth drops in front of my eyes as someone wraps a blindfold around my head.
“I need to see him,” I cry out, raising my hands to pull at the fabric. A large hand smacks mine, the impact hard enough to shove me onto my side. I stretch out my arms to push myself up, but he grabs my shoulder to push me back down.
“You need nothing. You’ll lay there until I let you up.”
He wants to hurt me. I’ve put all their lives at risk by helping Astarot escape. And even though Fhord seems to be the only one determined to get me to the Nest alive, I need him to focus on my dragon. I can’t drag his attention away from saving Astarot.
So I lay there. Broken. And I wait.
I have no idea how much time has passed when I feel hands yank at my wrists, dragging me up to stand. And then he’s shoving me … somewhere. My side still ripples with Astarot’s pain, and I’m struggling to stay upright as I stumble over the rocks and plants in our path. I have no fucking idea what’s going on, and it’s all I can do to keep from dropping back to the ground and wrapping myself into a fetal position.
Someone lifts my left leg, setting my foot into what feels like a stirrup. “Get up.”
“What are you doing?” Fhord calls out, his voice angry as I lift myself into the saddle.
“I’m taking her to the Nest,” a male snarls, little bits of spittle landing on my cheek when I turn toward Fhord’s voice. My stomach clenches, a wave of nausea rolling through me, because I recognize the asshole’s voice. It’s the guard who started this mess when he found us, and he must realize that Fhord knows me. That he lied to him. I’m so fucked .
“She’s my fucking prisoner, and I told you to hold her. I’ll deliver her directly to the Dróttning. Why the fuck do you think you have the right to do anything with her?”
I can hear Fhord’s frustration. He’s stuck with Astarot and can’t return me to the Nest himself. A smile emerges as I ponder the revenge I’ll take on him if he really has betrayed me—a nugget of hope I cling to as it starts to take shape in my thoughts. I hold many of Fhord’s secrets. He’s right to fear what I can do to him.
“I. Don’t. Fucking. Trust you.” The guard screams each word as he lashes me to the saddle, strapping my hands to the pummel and an ankle to each stirrup. “And I don’t answer to you. I’m taking her now. The rest of you help him get the dragon back when it’s strong enough to travel.” He pulls himself into the saddle behind me and I feel his heels shove into his horse’s side as he yanks the reins. Then we’re running. Fast.
I hold on to Astarot’s pain as long as I can. It feels like it’s ripping me apart physically, but that’s nothing compared to the ache in my gut that forms when our connection starts to slip. Bit by bit, the distance between us grows too great, until only the shadows of his pain remain. My side still aches, but the rest of me is a cavern, empty and cold. I’m terrified that when I lose the fire of his wound, I’ll never feel him again.
Perhaps an hour after I’m dragged away from my dragon’s side, the pain holding us together fizzles down to nothing. Our connection’s so new, or maybe Astarot’s so weak, I can’t even cling to the invisible string that ties dragons and riders. Casting out my thoughts, I search for Astarot, desperate to know he still lives. Instead, I find Fhord. My mind reels back from him—anger, pain and an overwhelming feeling of betrayal roaring to the surface—but I force it forward. If Fhord’s still working on Astarot, I should be able to tell, even from this distance.
But he’s got his walls up. His need to help Astarot—for Tindera, not for me—isn’t important enough to occupy his full attention. He’s rebuilt this barrier between us, holding me at bay and denying me this bit of knowledge about my dragon.
And I crumple. The hole that started in my gut has consumed me, a fire burning away any emotion I once thought I felt for Fhord. I am nothing but grief and pain and despair.
Because I’m returning to the Nest. As its prisoner. I know what’s waiting for me and I’m terrified. Not of the torture. I learned to live with pain when they held me before. No, not just live with it. I learned to savor the agony, to hold on to it, like I clung to Astarot’s torment when our connection frayed. Pain is life. When it disappears, life soon follows.
No, I fear the rack. Those hours and days will never leave me. The horror of being stretched out and displayed. The agony but worse, the violation of having little dicks and large instruments shoved into me—into every part of me—while men and women laugh at my panic. When I escaped, I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to lay with a man. To trust someone enough to risk living through that again.
Now, Fhord’s taken that from me too. I trusted him.
I can’t hold back the tears as I realize that his betrayal hurts even more than everything I suffered in the Nest.
Shaking my head, I wrest my thoughts away from him. None of this matters, I realize, since they’ll probably send me directly to an elven prison. Before, they were able to keep my presence in the Nest secret. Only the Dróttning and her chosen torturers and guards knew I’m an elf. But I told Fhord—a mistake that makes my stomach clench whenever I think of it—and he’s got no reason to keep my secret. The Dróttning won’t have a choice. Elves aren’t held in human prisons.
That frightens me more than anything. At least I know what to expect in the Nest. The Vanatians are predictable, and I’ve faced their punishment before. I have no idea what faces me in an elven prison.
“Stop.” A voice I don’t recognize draws me from my malaise. “You don’t have permission to be here.”
“This is the bitch that freed the dragon,” my captor sneers. “I’m turning her in.”
“And where’s the dragon?” This man likes the authority he wields, a hurdle to anyone seeking access to one of the most protected places in Vanatia.
“Injured, several vikus back. I left him to be handled by others while I take her to the commander.”
“How do I know she is who you claim? She doesn’t look strong enough to steal a dragon from a trainer.”
“I don’t know how the fuck she did it and I don’t care. I found her with the dragon. And I’m taking her to the Nest. Do you want to be the man that stopped me from turning her in? You gonna send me back to my squad, maybe give her a chance to escape?”
The silence holds for a few seconds, as a burst of hope rises in me. If he takes me someplace else, I may be able to escape. Nothing other than the elven prisons are as secure as the Nest.
“All right,” the guard agrees at last. “Proceed.”
“Good fucking decision,” my captor proclaims, belching in the direction of the voice. He nudges his horse and we’re moving again.
But this touch of hope stays. I got lucky when I escaped the Nest before. I found a guard with a mind weak enough to manipulate. It was supposed to be impossible but I did it.
I escaped before. I’ll do it again.