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Chapter twenty-eight

Sifa

Who Are You, Fhord?

“S ifa, wake up.”

It’s just his voice, I realize as I lay there on the concrete facing the wall. He hasn’t touched me. He probably knows I’d take his hand off if I could.

Memories bounce through my thoughts. Joralf being tortured in front of me. All the blood and pain and hatred while I just hung there, helpless. Watching his agony.

The Dróttning appearing and ordering the guards to trot me through the caverns, naked, to her rooms, where she confirmed she knows my secret. She may not know everything—I don’t think she has any idea where to find what I’ve spent years trying to hide—but it’s enough to terrify me.

Fhord, appearing in her gods-damned rooms, like he’s a regular visitor. Eye-fucking me while my traitorous body responds to his leer. Then him accepting the gift from the Dróttning—the chance to rape me at his leisure for as long as he wants. Somehow, that’s the worst part. I’ll be his plaything, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“We need to talk, and we don’t have much time. Please wake up, my little rabbit.” He’s whispering—probably afraid Joralf will hear him—but a hint of desperation warbles in his voice.

“Don’t call me that. Ever.” I don’t move. I don’t want to see him. I also don’t whisper because I trust Joralf more than Fhord. But I do respond. I need him to know he’s nothing to me. And he never will be.

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t believe me. But I promise you, I only did what I thought I had to for you to survive.” Fhord’s still speaking barely loud enough for me to hear him.

“Then you left me here in this prison. And she tortured me.”

“She told me she wasn’t going to hurt you. Not yet. I thought I had time. I believed her and it’s killing me how badly I fucked up. That I let her hurt you.”

Those are the words that drag me up. I want to look him in the eye when he lies to me. So I sit—every part of me aching from the long hours of hanging on the rack yesterday—and turn toward him. “You believed her? Why the fuck would you believe the Dróttning?”

“I can usually tell when she’s lying. And she doesn’t lie to me often.”

“What is she to you?” I pause, my eyes searching his. “Who are you, Fhord?”

“I’ll tell you. I promise. Right now, though, we don’t have time.”

My responding laugh is bitter. Angry. “Look around, Fhord,” I snarl, waving my arm at my little hole. “I have all the time in the world.”

“The guards are changing, Sifa. The next one will be here soon. I’m sure the Dróttning has them watching us, listening to what we say. She doesn’t trust me yet to be alone with you. We need to talk before he gets here.”

I hold his gaze for a long time, too tired, too defeated, to spin away from him again. But I make sure he sees my pain. My anger. My hatred. Because he betrayed me, again and again.

Fhord’s voice drops even further as he leans toward me. “Astarot is healed and hiding just outside the Nest. He’ll help us get you free.”

“He’s healed? And close?” Fhord knows how to reach me, thaw my cold heart just a bit.

“He is,” Fhord assures me. He lifts his hand, the thumb stretching out as if it wants to reach across the cell and stroke my cheek. But he lets it drop when he sees my eyes narrow. “I freed him and got some other help. We can get you out.”

“What other help?”

“Toffer. We needed a troll, so I went to Revalle and convinced him to come.” The corners of his lips curve up in the smallest smile. “He’s … something else. Also completely devoted to you. And excited to tell you about his ride on Astarot.” Now his grin is genuine, reaching his eyes. My treacherous heart thaws a little more.

I sit back, willing ice into my veins to freeze him out again. He’s shown me more than once that I can’t trust him. This could all be a trick. “Why should I believe you?”

He pauses for a moment, his lips tipping up as he whispers, “You’ve been so fucking dangerous to me since the first time I laid eyes on you.” And then he takes a deep breath, dark green eyes smoldering as he watches me. “It’s gonna make our lives impossible, and we could cause so much harm. But I can’t deny it any longer. You own me, my little rabbit.” Another pause as his gaze searches mine. “My life’s been dark and cold for such a long time, I forgot what the sun felt like. You are my sun, the other half of my soul.”

His eyes are bright as the sun. Solemn as a prayer. Like he really does care.

My gods-damned heart responds to those words as if they’re true. They can’t be, though. He wouldn’t have left me here to be tortured if they were.

“I don’t believe you, Fhord.” Standing, I stalk toward the bars, placing my hands on them as I look out into the hall. “How can I possibly believe you?”

“I’m asking a lot. Fuck, Sifa. I know that. But it’s the only way I can help you. Just be ready. When the time comes—and I promise you’ll know it—open your thoughts to Astarot. To me. Do what we ask. Let us guide you out of here, take you to safety.”

“I have no magic,” I remind him, my hands reaching up to touch my manacle. “And even if I did, if I let down my shields, the Dróttning could find things I don’t want her to have. She’s searching. I can’t give her that chance.” My stomach clenches as a rock settles in my chest. I turn, my gaze searching his. “I guess that’s why you’re here. You were in her rooms. She trusts you. She’s using you to get to me. This is how. Getting me to drop my shields so she can find my secret.”

Fhord holds my gaze, not trying to hide the hurt that flows into his eyes at my words. Or maybe it’s all a ruse. Maybe he’s that good of an actor. I can’t know. So I can’t trust him. “I deserve that. I know I do.” His voice is sad but resolute. “I should have protected you. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you suffer at her hands again. And I swear I will make her pay. But I’m here now. We can get you out if you trust me, just enough for that. When you’re free, you and Astarot and Toffer can leave. Never see me again. If that’s what you want.”

His head lifts as a door opens down the hall and footsteps move toward us.

“Go, Fhord.” My voice is hard. Cold.

He nods, his eyes searching mine. And then a mask drops, a leer taking over his features. “I’ll see you soon, little elf,” he tells me. Now, his voice is loud enough to be heard.

The guard stalks up, anger flaring from his eyes as he blocks Fhord’s path. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m checking on my gift from the Dróttning,” Fhord drawls, his hand reaching through the bars to caress my ass as a sneer emerges. I step away, drawing a slow smile as he continues to leer at me. But then Fhord turns toward the guard, the same arrogant, dismissive dragon rider I met in the forest. “You’re keeping your fucking hands off her, right? Because she’s mine. And nobody touches what’s mine.”

The guard’s angry, but he must know Fhord’s protected by the Dróttning. He drops his chin, just barely, and steps out of Fhord’s way. “Ain’t nobody put a finger on her. We follow the Dróttning’s orders here.”

“See that you do,” Fhord barks, angry. “If I learn that anyone has so much as touched her, I will remove every body part that comes into contact with any part of her.” He turns to look at me, sneering. “And she’s too fucking skinny. I like my women with a little meat on their bones. Feed her. Well.”

The guard’s chin drops again, a little lower this time. “I’ll make sure she’s fed.”

“Eat what they bring you,” he says looking at me one last time. “Or we’ll spend some private time together and I’ll make you eat.” A wicked smirk emerges, his eyes flaring as he reaches down to squeeze a cock that somehow has grown hard while we stood there. “I think you’ll enjoy what I put in your mouth.”

“Fuck. You.”

I keep repeating myself, but seriously. Fuck him.

“Like I told you before, soon, little elf.” He throws one last sneer at the guard, and spins to stride down the hall.

I drop to the ground as the guard turns to stalk away, emotions battling within me as my mind holds Fhord’s image at the center of my thoughts. He’s still the most stunning man I’ve ever known. This thing between us is more than that, though. I don’t believe he really cares for me—and I know I can’t trust him—but I also know I’m connected to him. Even now, my body is trembling just from his presence.

I hate the idea of being his toy, and hate even more the part of me that wants it. Wants Fhord, even if it wouldn’t mean anything to him. At least I’d have that time with him.

I am so gods-awful pathetic .

“Are you okay, Sifa?” Joralf’s voice floats toward me, concern in every word.

“I should be asking you that,” I snort. “I’m not the one who got carved up yesterday. Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Joralf responds with a shallow laugh. “It’s always a bad day of torture when they take my cock from me. Although it really does get bigger with each new growth.” This laugh is more genuine. “Bjorn will be a satisfied elf when I return to him.”

“That he will,” I concur, my voice light with relief that he can joke about yesterday’s events. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to help you,” I add after a few moments.

“You were there with me, my friend,” Joralf responds, his voice eternally kind. “You helped me more than you know.” When he speaks again, his tone is tentative. “What did he tell you?”

“You didn’t hear?”

“No. He hid his words well.”

“He claims he can help me get out.” I don’t try to hide the scorn in my voice.

“Do you believe him? That he’ll help you escape?”

My eyes fill with tears, the ache of betrayal spiraling through me again. “I want to, but I don’t know if I can.”

“Perhaps you’ll know when the time comes.” His voice is soft.

My heart swells as I realize Joralf’s trying to comfort me, when I should be the one comforting him.

We fall into a silence that lasts a long time. I want to talk to Joralf, help him find peace with what just happened, but he’s been through this before. He sounds better than me right now. And I need to think about Fhord and everything he told me. I need to decide whether to trust him and open my mind to Astarot if I can—and maybe Fhord and the Dróttning—when the time comes.

I let my mind take me where it will. It focuses on Fhord, dragging me through all my memories of him and the time we spent together. His face when we met and he tried to push me away, anger and threats exploding from his delicious lips. His gentle words when he woke me from a nightmare—and then the bare skin and tattoos I’d been desperate to see without realizing it. His eyes staring at me with an emotion I couldn’t deny after I killed the men who’d tried to attack us.

His kiss, which always felt like a starving man desperate for the food and water he’d been denied. Like I was the most important being in the world and he would never let me go.

What if he was telling the truth, and he did what he felt he needed to do to protect us? To protect me? What would I have done in his shoes?

I want to believe him. What we experienced felt genuine. The emotions felt real.

But he left me to be tortured. Every time I think I might be close to accepting what he told me, this simple fact creeps back in. If he cared for me the way he claims, he wouldn’t have let me suffer. He would have moved Valhalla and Helheim to protect me.

Food comes and I eat, wishing there was some way to share with Joralf. But he’s too far away to pass anything, and they’ve given me nothing I could throw. I swallow it all, too buried by guilt to enjoy it.

Finally, hours after Fhord came to me, I fall into a restless sleep. And again, Fhord occupies my thoughts, my mind vacillating between dreams of finally being with him and nightmares of losing him. In each one, though, a feeling washes over me as I wake—a need so deep it has no bottom—before sleep drags me back down.

It’s Joralf’s voice that wakes me this time. His whispers wriggle into my dreams and drag me from Fhord’s arms. “Sifa, something’s happening.”

Shaking my head, I try to focus on his words. I can’t feel anything except a bone-deep sorrow at losing Fhord’s touch.

“Sifa, you need to wake up.” There’s fear in his voice now, but I can’t tell if he dreads what I’ll find when I wake or me missing it.

The pulse that rolls through me destroys all the exhaustion and despair that had been sucking me back into sleep. It’s a warning or a call. I’m not sure which. But it’s desperate to get my attention.

“Sifa, wake up. Please.” Now Joralf is exhausted. Whatever he did drained reserves he needs to heal.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, finally paying attention to the world around me.

“I can feel them.” Joralf’s voice is low, as though he fears being heard. He’s never tried to hide his words from the guards before. “They’re close, searching for you.”

This is what Fhord told me to expect, I realize. I’m still terrified that he really did betray me, and this is a ploy. But I can’t let this chance pass me by. I take the risk I didn’t think I would, releasing part of my shield to search for my dragon. And for Fhord.

When I find Astarot racing beside Fhord toward the Nest, a warmth spills into my soul. Somehow, my bond with my dragon is stronger than the manacle. Even this metal around my neck—the Dróttning’s chain on my psyche—can’t suppress our connection. I can sense the truth of Fhord’s words through Astarot. They’ve come to free me. I need to trust them for this to work.

I’ve missed you, my beautiful beast . My thoughts caress Astarot, searching for the remnants of his injury.

Healed , he tells me, gratitude for Fhord wrapping around his thoughts to share hints of all that’s happened. Fhord saved him, stitching up his wound but also sharing magic to help him heal. Astarot was ready to fly when Fhord got back only because Fhord had drained nearly all his magic to help the dragon.

When he returned, Fhord killed the guards who held Astarot. And then they went together to Revalle to retrieve the most annoying troll my dragon had ever encountered.

I can’t hold back the laugh as I see Toffer through my dragon’s eyes, his fascination with the beasts so strong he’s never left Astarot’s side. Question after question after question—worse than a hatchling trying to understand a world they just entered—has plagued Astarot as he traveled north with an enthusiastic Toffer.

Still, in a ridiculously short period of time—and as much as my dragon hates to admit it—he’s come to care for the troll who’s been the most important part of my life for the last decade. The warmth blossoms even more, filling me with a love so complete, I can’t believe I ever survived without it.

Control . Astarot tells me he needs my help to escape—and that I can help him, even with the manacle. He explains that the Dróttning has no idea I’m bound to a dragon. If she knew, she’d have done more to subdue my magic. Because when elves and dragons find each other, their abilities grow exponentially with the strength of their bond. They can access each other’s power if their bodies are close enough, as ours are now.

Strong . Astarot says he and I already have a link that rivals any between a human and a dragon. When he’s close enough for me to draw from his deep reservoir, I have magic that can overcome even the manacle.

My limbs tingle with the knowledge that I can access magic, even wearing this collar. Spreading out my thoughts, I find the closest guard and spear into his mind. He’s oblivious to the angry dragon he’ll face if I can’t get out of here. I sift through his memories as quickly as I can, using the same technique I always do. The commander he hates and fears the most will get me free.

This one’s a woman, which really pisses off the guard. Everything she does reminds him why he prefers little girls, who won’t talk back to him. They do whatever he wants. And they know he’s in charge. He hates uppity bitches, who think they have the right to tell him what to do.

I can’t hold back the smile that erupts when I understand the kind of man this guard is. It’s always nice to destroy the life of someone who deserves it. He deserves it.

As quickly as I can, I shuffle through his memories of her, letting them create a complete picture of who she is, from her surprisingly high voice to her odd mannerisms when she speaks—twists of the lips that sometimes are at odds with the words coming out—and the haughty stride as she walks the halls. When I’ve gathered enough to create a memory, I do, dropping it into his thoughts.

The guard turns, afraid, as he realizes he hasn’t yet transferred the prisoners. Fuck . She’ll have me whipped again if I don’t get them down to the Dróttning’s caves. It’s already been too long. She’ll be pissed when I get there.

Sucking my mind back in, I erect my shield and slump down against the wall. When his baton slaps against the door, I jump in surprise. Just like I do every other time.

“Stand, both of you. Time to go.”

“It’s not time yet,” Joralf pleads, his voice shivering with fear. “I haven’t healed yet. They never take me until I’m whole again.”

“Well, they changed their fucking minds, I guess,” the guard spits back. “Just hurry the fuck up. I need to get you down there.”

A loud click echoes down the hall and Joralf’s door squeals open, followed by footsteps coming toward me.

“Please,” I whisper when they’re both standing in front of me. “Leave me here. I don’t want to go down there again.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you want, elf,” he snarls. “Just get up and get moving.”

I drag myself from the floor, desperation and fear in every movement. As I force my legs to move forward, he unlocks my door and swings it wide. “Hands,” he commands when I join him in the corridor. But then his eyebrows slam into his hairline, and he spins his head to glance back at Joralf, who isn’t wearing cuffs.

The command already is screwing up his responses, and the memory I created will conflict with reality too soon. He can’t come with us. So I spin, one foot landing on his chin and the other in the center of his chest as I kick him toward the cell. He’s dazed enough to control if we move quickly.

“Help me.” I’m whispering, although I’m not sure why. If anyone can hear me, we’re already lost.

Joralf’s focus is better than mine. He’s on top of the guard as soon as I ask, pulling his arms around his back as he gestures for the cuffs the guard had been about to place on me. He’s starting to struggle—my kick not enough to knock him out—so Joralf and I have to fight to get them on his wrists.

We do, holding the guard splayed on his stomach as we snap them on. He’s spewing out curses and threats now but it doesn’t matter. I yank the keys from his belt and we’re out the door, swinging it closed with a clang that echoes through the cavern.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The voice that floats toward us sends a chill down my spine.

She’s not supposed to be here.

She’s never been down here before.

But it could only be her. She knows, and she’s here to stop us.

Turning, my stomach drops, terror sending my heart racing and the blood crashing through my veins. The walls close in around me as my hopes of escape disappear. The Dróttning, surrounded by a half dozen guards, is staring at us with a wide grin and cruel eyes. She lifts a hand and crooks a finger, calling me to her.

We are so fucked .