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Chapter twenty-six

Fhord

Now, She's Everything

T hey haven’t released Tindera yet—the Dróttning is probably using her to control me again—so I have no choice. Sigurd and I left without my dragon the morning after the Dróttning dismissed me.

Sifa will be okay, I assure myself as we race away from the Nest. The Dróttning told me she doesn’t plan to torture her right away. She doesn’t know about Sifa and me, has no reason to lie about something like this.

I wish I could cast out my thoughts to find my rabbit—make sure she’s not suffering. But if I let down my shield to search for her, the Dróttning would have a path into my mind. I can’t risk that. I have to trust that the Dróttning told me the truth. That she doesn’t plan to torture Sifa right away.

Still, it kills me. My mind keeps dredging up the agony I felt when Sifa first entered this world. Before I knew her. When I could ignore her pain because she meant nothing to me.

Now, she’s everything. My commitment to the ?tt, even my bond with Tindera, feel empty next to the mating bond with my little rabbit. Much as I love them—much as I resisted this—I love Sifa more. I need her more. And I will risk everything to save her.

I hope it doesn’t come to that. That I don’t expose Tindera and the ?tt to the Dróttning’s wrath with this decision. But I know now that I have no choice. I must free Sifa. I won’t be able to live with myself if she’s sent to a prison where I’ll never be able to reach her. Or, just as likely, if the Dróttning kills her. I’ll follow her to Helheim if that’s my only option.

So Sigurd and I are headed south. We’ll find Astarot first and do what we must to save him. I’m desperately hoping he can protect himself, even attack, if I free him. His wound was severe, but he also isn’t in the Nest, where the Dróttning controls even the rate at which a dragon heals. His body can recover as all dragon bodies do from an injury. As quickly as me, or a god or elf.

Then we’ll return to Revalle and get help. Not the ?tt yet. They don’t have the skills I’ll need for this escape attempt. Leif can set some things up—make sure we have a refuge when I free Sifa—without exposing himself to risk. The others will just stay away. Go into hiding. If I can keep them at a distance, they may not suffer if we fail. I might be able to protect them.

Instead, I’ll find Sifa’s troll. He could make a difference.

I’m not sure what it will take to convince him to trust me, but I’m sure as fuck gonna try.

As far as I can tell, Astarot hasn’t moved yet, but he’s nearly ready. He should be healed enough by now to walk. Hopefully fly.

If not, we’re all fucked.

I recognize Astarot and seven guards when I’m a viku or so away. More than I’d hoped—they’ve added a few since I left the dragon—but I’ll have the element of surprise. I wish I could free my savage. They wouldn’t stand a chance. But she’d hear my shift, recognize this attack as mine. I can’t let that happen.

Slowing Sigurd, I swing off, stretching out my senses around me, searching. The scents of the forest greet me, mildewed plants and moss mixing with fresher leaves and the sap of trees to create a familiar earthy, musty fragrance. Birds swoop and cry overhead, some beckoning and others warning in their shrill notes. In the distance, I can hear the yips and cries of a pack of wolves, the adults watching over and playing with their pups.

And the soldiers. They’re brash and arrogant, assured of their safety in these woods. Because none but Sifa would defy the Dróttning, and she’s trapped far away. They’re cruel, too. I can sense their delight at Astarot’s pain. His suffering. They have no idea what they’ll soon face.

Strengthening my shield, I creep toward the group, not letting any hint of my presence reach them. When I get close enough to attack, I pause. With this many, I’ll need them distracted or unfocused when I emerge, or I’ll risk getting hurt. One of them could get in a lucky shot. Fortunately, I’m gods-damned good at providing distractions. Not as good as Sifa—I’ve never been able to plant false memories into minds the way she does—but I can stir up emotions and create conflict.

Holding my shield in place, I spear out with a portion of my mind. Just enough to touch a few minds without revealing myself. I’m searching for the weakest one—the angry idiot who perpetually carries the kindling of conflict, ready to explode from the smallest flame.

My mind brushes three of the males, caressing their thoughts as it searches for what I need. They are just as depraved as I’d expected, chosen because they won’t shrink from the need to cause this dragon pain if necessary. Even from this little contact, I know how much they savor that part of their job. But they’re not as unstable as I need them to be.

The next mind I touch, the only woman, gives me what I want. She’s not an idiot, but she’s fighting to control emotions that seem to have a life of their own, desperate to lash out at the others. It’s not just her anger I can exploit—although there’s plenty of that—but also her need for revenge. I can’t read her thoughts but the sharp edges of her feelings tell me everything I need to know. One of the men in this group attacked her. Probably on this trip. And she either didn’t report it, or she did and her complaint was ignored.

Her wound is open and festering. It wraps around her, placing every nerve on edge. Waiting to erupt.

I can give her the vengeance she needs. And then maybe I could even avoid killing her. She wants an escape from this life.

I take another breath, gathering my thoughts, and then reach out with my mind. Focusing just on her, I let myself recall all the times the Dróttning and her drudges have harmed Tindera or one of the ?tt to get back at me. Her attacks never are direct, because she knows I’ve felt pain before and would weather it again without complaint. Instead, she aims her ire at the places where it truly hurts. Those I love.

Anger, wrath, and bitterness engulf me before flowing into the woman. Not all at once. She would suspect my intervention if I did that. Instead, I let it seep into her, helping to draw up the memories of the attack. When her gaze lifts, anger in her eyes as they rest on him, I open the path between us a bit wider. Then I add more.

This time, my thoughts take me to Sifa and the morning of our attack. I’m still furious at myself for letting those males bind me. I’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of her—how it felt waking up in the same tent, how fucking hard my cock had been just because of her scent—I hadn’t even noticed them creeping up. They’d caught me on the edge of release, all my thoughts on my rabbit and what I wanted to do to her. I was hog-tied and helpless being dragged back to the camp almost before my dick went limp.

I’d been so fucking angry. At myself, but even more, at them. What they planned to do to Sifa. If they’d actually threatened her, I’d have used my magic no matter the cost. But she didn’t need my help. She’s so fucking smart, stronger than any female I’ve ever known.

Now, I feed my rage into the soldier, a steady trickle of hate and horror. And I wait and watch.

“I still can’t fucking believe you let him get away with it,” the woman spits out as she turns toward a different man, probably the commander. “I told you what he did to me. But there he sits.”

“None of us gives a fuck, Gertha,” he responds with a shrug. “Take it up with his drott when we get back to the Nest.” Turning, he throws a little smile at the attacker. “We’ve all thought about taking what you’ve been offering since you joined this squad. He’s the only one with the balls to do something about it.”

Gertha’s face falls for a moment, pain and disappointment dragging everything down. I hope I can save her, I realize as she responds exactly as I need from one of them. Drawing a knife from her belt, she throws herself at the man who forced himself on her.

He takes the choice from me. Quicker than I would have expected, his blade is at Gertha’s throat. When she doesn’t back down, twisting as her knife lunges toward his heart, he swipes his dagger across her throat and tosses her to the ground.

“Ungrateful bitch,” he snarls as he kicks at her.

Fuck . He’s dying tonight. I just wish I had time to give him the slow death he deserves.

My sword slides from its sheath as I toss myself into the furor I ignited.

Three guards fall quickly, their collapse easier than I’d hoped. But the fourth, the man who attacked Gertha, is a fighter. He’s joined by the other two who still live, and they push me to my limits. I’m barely avoiding the swipes of their swords and jabs of their blades. Twice, I don’t, my skin flaying open as I let them get too close. Close enough to kill me.

I’ll be gods-damned before I let these drudges best me. On my worst day, I’m better than them.

Swinging, I take the head from one of them, barely noticing as it drops a few feet away and rolls toward Astarot. The others pause a moment, aware for the first time they’re in trouble. I can see the fear in their eyes as they glance at their headless comrade and then back at me.

They don’t delay long. This attack seems coordinated, and I realize they’ve fought together before. They’re both too fucking good to be stuck with dragon guarding duty. But it’s Astarot. The Dróttning doesn’t want to chance losing him again.

This fight lasts longer than it should, and they manage to cut me open three more times. They’re little slashes, nothing life-threatening, but they’re annoying as fuck. One’s on my sword hand and it makes it gods-damned hard to hold on to the blade that’s getting slicker and slicker with each pulse of my blood.

Finally, the man who attacked Gertha falters, his foot slipping on the gunk we’re splashing through. His sword arm lifts a bit as he tries to find his balance, and I shove my blade into him. I watch as his eyes grow wide and then all the light leaves them. I must have struck his heart. Good. Fucker.

The final soldier doesn’t give up, but he’s got no hope. Maybe he had a shot with the help of the others. Not now. It only takes a few seconds to disarm him and take his head from his neck.

Sucking in a deep breath, I look down at myself. I’m fucking filthy. I need to clean myself off before I even consider riding Astarot. I won’t sully Sifa’s dragon with the blood of these worthless creatures. That is, if he’s strong enough to carry a rider.

And then I look up at the dragon I’ve saved. Again. His eyes are solemn as he watches me. We’ll be able to communicate a bit—his bond with Tindera gives us a shallow connection—but he hasn’t chosen to speak with me yet. Maybe he’s as angry as Sifa. I wouldn’t blame him if he were.

Mate ? he says at last. I’m not sure whose mate he’s asking about. Whether he knows Sifa is mine as well as his.

“Your draikana?” I ask, holding my position for now. I’ll release him soon. First, I want to make sure we understand each other. That he won’t turn on me for what I did to Sifa.

Yours , he tells me. He knows, which means …

“Did you tell Sifa that she’s my mate?”

No . He must have heard it from Tindera and, for whatever reason, hadn’t yet shared it with Sifa.

Smart dragon.

“Sifa’s okay,” I assure him. “The Dróttning doesn’t plan to torture her right away.”

Astarot’s eyes narrow as a puff of flame bursts from his nostrils. Liar .

“I know we can’t trust the Dróttning,” I concede, “but I think she told the truth about this. It made sense, what she planned.”

Liar , Astarot insists, the fire erupting from his mouth this time too.

My stomach plummets to the ground as I watch Sifa’s dragon. “She started?” My mind fills with memories of Sifa’s pain from years ago. Of the torture I’ve seen—and inflicted—in those caves. Astarot’s word settles into my gut, a chunk of ice ready to shatter and take me with it. “But she told me she wouldn’t.” My words come out as a hoarse whisper as guilt starts to consume me.

Liar , Astarot repeats, this time with disdain.

He’s angry at me for believing her. And he’s gods-damned right to be.

What the fuck have I done? A chill creeps up my spine, stretching through me to drag a numbness all the way to my fingers and toes. I was so eager to accept the Dróttning’s assurances, so anxious to believe Sifa wouldn’t be harmed, I took her word at face value. But I should fucking know better.

“Is she okay?” My voice nearly breaks on the last word.

Pain . Astarot’s bond to Sifa is strong enough to feel her pain, even this far away. He’s experienced everything she did.

“Is she still on the rack?” I don’t know if I want to hear his answer.

No .

My chin drops as my thoughts skitter through the options. The idea of exposing Sifa to more torment kills me. It’s all I can do to keep myself from freeing Astarot and then mounting Sigurd to race back to the Nest. Which would do no fucking good. I can’t help her alone. I know that.

I realize now what Astarot was asking. Not whether Sifa’s okay. He knows better than me what she’s going through—what the Dróttning did to her and will do again. Astarot needs to know what the fuck I’m gonna do about it. How I’m going to free his rider.

First things first. “I have a plan for Sifa,” I assure him, taking a step forward. “Right now, though, I’m going to release you. Okay?”

Astarot’s eyes blink, and he watches my approach. I start with the stake that holds him to the ground, trapped in the same agonizing position as when we freed him from the trainer. The soldiers had kept him bound like this the entire time, I realize with a lurch in my stomach. I can’t imagine the pain he’s endured, just with this torture device.

A deep groan escapes the dragon when I pull out the rod, giving him some freedom to move and release the pressure on his wings. I can almost feel his relief as I remove the harness and, at last, the metal contraption that keeps his wings bound to his sides. When he’s free, he stands on legs that tremble and shakes himself, crimson and black feathers finding the wind he creates.

His snout spins and nudges me, a gentle thanks. “You’re welcome,” I tell him as my hand reaches out to rub his nose, and then the space behind his horn that Tindera always loves.

“I’m not sure what to do here,” I tell him as I scratch. “I don’t want to leave Sifa there—I can’t stand the idea of her suffering—but I need help if I’m going to free her. I can’t do it alone.”

Astarot watches me, his eyes unblinking. He’s waiting for me to explain what I have in mind.

“Sifa’s best friend is a troll,” I tell him, my voice still warbling with guilt. “I think he can help us. My plan was to get you, then go to Revalle and convince him to join us. We might not be able to get her free, but it’s our best hope.” I pause, Sifa’s pain as we chase help filtering through my thoughts. “We’d have to leave her there a few more days. And she’ll suffer if the Dróttning starts to torture her again.”

Again, Astarot watches me without speaking. I have no idea what he’s thinking. Whether he trusts me despite what I did to Sifa. I doubt he and Tindera have spoken and risked the Dróttning learning about their mating bond. All he knows is what he saw, the hurt and anger Sifa felt when I betrayed her. Or appeared to.

Troll , he says at last.

I suck in a breath, grateful to have the decision taken from me. He’s right, I know. But the savage in me would have ridden Astarot back to the Nest and killed everyone we found if the dragon had suggested it. Even though I know we’d have died—or worse—and Sifa would still be trapped.

My savage is a gods-damned idiot sometimes.

Thank fuck Astarot’s more rational than I am right now.

“Can you fly?”

Astarot’s eyes never leave mine as he stands—steadier this time—and spreads his wings. They’re glorious, the sun reflecting off them to cast scarlet and ruby and hints of cherry into the air around us. For a moment, my mind draws up an image of Tindera and I can almost see them flying together in the sky above.

Yes , Astarot tells me at last. He can get us to Revalle.

“I’ll leave Sigurd here and send someone for him,” I tell Astarot. “It would be too much for you to carry him. We’ll go high, so nobody can see us. We should be able to reach Revalle in a day and a half, maybe two, resting for a few hours tonight. When we get there, we’ll stop in a field a few vikus north of town. There’s a cave there you can hide in. I’ll get a message to my people. Then I’ll get the troll and meet you back there.”

Astarot’s chin drops, his agreement with my plan. It’s half-assed, but it’s as good as I’ve got. He’s trusting me to get Sifa out without tossing Tindera into the Dróttning’s clutches.

I have no idea if I can do it. But I’m sure as fuck gonna try.