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Chapter seven

Sifa

Why Are You Stalking Me?

“W hy are we still waiting for him?”

Bevin’s man—Fhord—is late. Really late. I’ve been here more than thirty minutes, and he still hasn’t arrived. I have no idea why Bevin puts up with this. I’d be looking for other work if I showed him such disrespect.

“Why do you care?” Bevin’s irritated but not ready to send me on my own. Maybe this guy will never show up, and I won’t have to deal with him at all.

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter. My time is yours. I’ll wait if that’s how you want me to spend it.”

I should have tried to hide the sarcasm in my voice. Bevin glares as he watches me. His nostrils flare, and an angry grunt erupts. “Don’t ever forget it.”

We sit in silence a few more minutes, Bevin’s eyes narrowing with his frustration.

And then he’s back. I think he really is following me around. The bastard . That odd sensation that repeatedly has warned of his approach stalks toward us. I can’t fully grasp his emotions, but somehow he feels even more ill-tempered than Bevin. When the door swings open, I don’t need to look up to know who’s there.

At least now I know his name. Fhord.

“Why have you summoned me?” he demands as he strides in the door. He must know I’m here. I’m sure he can sense me. Still, he doesn’t even glance my way. No hint that he knows me.

Fhord also keeps secrets from Bevin. But I knew that already.

“Good of you to join us. At last. You were told to be here an hour after dawn.”

“Thirty minutes ago,” he bellows. “Your man dragged me out of bed just as I was about to…” And then he finally looks my way, a bit of red flowing into his cheeks.

I can’t restrain my laugh. It bursts out of my belly, loud and sudden.

The red in Fhord’s cheeks grows, but this time it’s anger, not embarrassment.

“Tell us, Fhord,” I ask sweetly. “What were you about to do? Do you need to go back to finish? Could you finish if you tried?” I have no idea why I need to irritate the man. I just do.

His eyes taper to two little lines, dark as the forest around the training grounds. Spinning his head, he peers at Bevin.

“Who is this female?” he demands.

“Sifa. She’s one of my best spies. She’ll go with you, help you retrieve it.”

“You expect me to work with her?” His tone is bitter. “My ?tt will support me. I don’t want or need her aid.”

“She’s good at what she does. She’ll go with you.”

“And what if I say no?”

Maybe Fhord isn’t so bad after all . I might like a man who has the balls to put Bevin in his place.

“Then you’ll no longer work with me. I need people who do what I ask. Without arguing.” He glares at both of us as he adds the last two words.

Fhord stares at him for a surprising length of time. He seems to be carefully weighing his options. With a scale. That needs to be recalibrated. Twice.

Finally, he spins his head to look at me. “She’ll do all I demand of her?”

“I will not…”

“She will.”

Bevin and I speak over each other, but it doesn’t matter. His word is law. He’s promised I’ll obey this bastard. Much as I hate it, losing whatever is left of Bevin’s trust would be worse.

I may need to do what Fhord asks, but I don’t have to make it pleasant for him.

He nods once. “We’re leaving. Now.”

I smile and stand. Not too quickly. Just fast enough to avoid angering Bevin any more.

“Can’t wait,” I say as I stroll toward the door.

When we’re far enough away to be sure Bevin won’t hear us, I spin to face him. He doesn’t stop, so I reach out and grab his arm. His gaze drops to my hand and then lifts to hold mine.

He’s not happy.

I don’t care.

“What are you doing?” I demand, forcing my whisper to be flat, imposing. “Following me around while I was with Ulfhild’s girls was one thing. This is a whole ‘nother level of wrong. Why are you stalking me?”

“Foolish female. So, so dangerous.”

By the gods, I already hate when he calls me that. I may be a lot of things, but foolish is not one of them. I open my mouth to tell him off, but before I can, he wrests his arm away and spins to continue stalking down the street. But now he’s walking so fast I nearly need to jog to keep up with him.

“I’m not done talking to you. Why are you following me?”

“I would not follow you,” he insists. “You keep showing up in places you don’t belong. And now you’ve pissed off Bevin so much that he decided you need a caretaker. So I’m stuck with you.” He stops abruptly, turning to inspect me. “I may have no choice now, but rest assured, we will finish this job for Bevin and then you will never see me again. I’m done trying to save you.”

“I told you before, I don’t need to be saved. And definitely not by you.” When he doesn’t start walking again, I look around, lifting my arm to gesture ahead. “I don’t know where we’re going,” I remind him.

He watches me for another moment and then pivots abruptly, a spring released from a vise. Without a word, he’s racing down the street again.

We travel halfway across Revalle without another word. His route takes us through the best neighborhoods and the worst. But even with the demanding pace, my ire at him doesn’t waver. I don’t want to spend another minute with this man. I’m not sure how I’ll get through the next two weeks without killing him.

Finally, just as I’m starting to consider abandoning Fhord and returning to Bevin to plead with him to give me any other job, Fhord comes to an abrupt stop in front of what looks like an abandoned building. I glance up to see a faded sign barely hanging from rusty cords. “The Lucky Duck.” I remember this place—a brothel that closed down after one too many clients came away with blue balls. It almost started an epidemic.

This day just gets worse and worse.

“Here?” I demand. “You do know what this place was, don’t you?”

“Here,” he tells me. He looks up and all around us before twisting the lock and opening the door to step through quickly. When I don’t follow right away, he grips my arm and pulls me inside.

“Stop it.” I yank my arm away from him, stepping back as he shuts the door behind us and turns the lock again. “Don’t touch me.”

“Then don’t make me,” he says. “Nobody can see us coming in here. We don’t dawdle on the street.”

“Just say something next time.” I look up and am surprised to see light billowing down toward us. “Are there others here?”

“My people use this space when we’re in Revalle. I need to gather supplies and let someone know he won’t be joining me on this job.”

“Why? Won’t we be more effective if we have help? Maybe get this over with more quickly?”

He looks at me like I’m stupid.

By the gods, I hate this man.

“I will not have any of them spend time with you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I may have no choice. They do. They’ll stay here while we do what Bevin asked.”

“Sure. Because it’s that horrible to spend time with me.” I don’t wait for an answer before finding the closest staircase and stomping up. I need to see what I’ve gotten myself into.

It’s not at all what I expected. I find their haven on the third floor and it’s wonderful. Cozy and warm. A big fire blazing in the corner. Comfortable couches with plenty of pillows. A large circular dining room table with chairs scattered all around it.

And people who don’t want me here sitting in them. Four faces stare at me with varying degrees of surprise and distrust.

“Why is she with you?” The woman who led this group in the forest speaks first, standing abruptly as her right hand rests on the knife on her belt.

“Bevin stuck me with her. Wants her to help me on this new job he gave me. I’ve got no choice.”

One of the men grunts. As I turn to look, his face settles into a grimace. He’s enormous. A bear, with thick red hair and an even thicker beard. But his eyes capture my attention. They’re brown and soft and kind.

“Does he know?” he asks in a muted tone.

“Quiet, Torsten,” Fhord says.

“But does he know?” Torsten is serious. For some reason, this question is important.

“I don’t think so,” Fhord tells him as his gaze catches mine, glaring at me. “He doesn’t trust Sifa, so he wants me to watch her. Make sure she’s loyal.”

“And he trusts you?” I demand. “You’re the reason I lied to him.”

“Maybe if you were a better liar, we wouldn’t be stuck together.” He twists his chin to look again at Torsten. “I’ll go alone. I don’t want you exposed to her for too long.”

“I’m not contagious.” Almost of their own accord, my hands find my hips and my back straightens. I didn’t think I could hate this man more. But here we are. “I won’t infect them.”

“You have no idea how much danger you’d expose them to,” Fhord spits out. “You put all of us at risk. We’ll go alone.”

Now it’s the woman’s turn to laugh. “Are you sure you can put up with her that long?”

“This is what must happen. I’ll be fine. If she can just learn to hold her tongue,” he adds as his eyes shoot daggers at me again.

“I said I’d go with you. I didn’t say I’d put up with your nonsense. I’m not going to be treated like a child.”

“Then stop acting like one.” His voice is low, brittle.

“Enough,” the woman interjects. “You’re right,” she tells Fhord. “You two can go alone. I don’t think any of us could stand to be with you.”

“As I said,” he responds.

By the gods, I hate men who have to get in the last word. Who always need to be right.

“What are we waiting for then?” I demand. “I’m just as anxious to get this over with as you. Your friends know what they need. Let’s go.”

“Sit. Wait for me.” He points a finger at one of the chairs. When I don’t move, his finger wiggles a little, as if his ire could prompt me to move. Instead, I stroll over to the fireplace and lean against the hearth. Lifting my hand, I pick at a nail. And then I yawn.

“Insufferable female,” he mutters as he stomps down a hall.

Fhord returns a few minutes later, dragging a pair of bags that look to be filled with an array of weapons. Well, at least he comes prepared.

“Which of those is for me?” I ask, hoping I’ll get the ax peeking through the opening in one.

“Why would I give you weapons?” Fhord drops his load on the ground. “Get these on Sigurd.”

I have no idea who he intended to ask, but his people seem to know. A tall, lanky man rises, his tawny skin and umber eyes rich and radiant in the soft light of the fire. He sways as he walks, like a young tree in a fierce storm. It’s a wonder he can stay upright.

Fhord walks back down the hall and returns a few seconds later with a third bag. This one seems to hold clothes and other supplies. “Do we have enough food?”

Again, the others know exactly who he’s talking to. This time, a woman responds. She’s a beauty, with luscious blond hair braided down her back and bright purple eyes. But her breasts draw my eye. They’re huge, a pair of watermelons sitting proudly on her chest. I’d have trouble walking with those things. She’s got the hips to pull it off, but it’s still good she’s sitting down.

“You’ve got enough for two weeks. You’ll need to get water after a few days.”

“Fine.” Fhord turns to me. “Come.” And then he strides down the stairs.

I hate responding to his command, but I don’t really have a choice. We need to leave, and unless I’m prepared to sit around and pout like a child, it’s time to go. So I follow him.

We don’t go through the front door this time. Instead, he leads me to a courtyard that’s nearly as surprising as the building. It’s lush, with green grass and plenty of shade trees, most of them rich with one fruit or another. It feels like one of the parks that Vanatians with power and wealth stroll through at night.

Except for the horses. They’re dressed for the journey. I ignore the large stallion—Sigurd, I assume—because Fhord has somehow gotten possession of Hilde, the mare that carried me from the training grounds. She seems just as bitter as she did there. Until she sees me.

When I catch her eye and smile, she stills, letting the tall, thin man finish strapping a bag to her saddle. She paws at the ground twice, her nostrils flaring, and watches me from across the courtyard.

“Do you have any apples?” I ask Fhord.

“What?” he demands, his eyebrows slamming together.

“Apples. For the horse,” I explain slowly. If he wants to act like a toddler, I’ll treat him like one. “She likes apples, and I’d like to start this trip off on the right foot.”

Fhord shakes his head, frustrated.

“Leif,” he says after a moment. “Get Sifa some apples.”

The thin man jerks his head and jogs off toward what looks like a stable along one side of the courtyard. As I’m moving slowly toward Hilde, my hand outstretched, he returns and gives a few slices to me.

“Thank you.” He seems nice enough. No reason to be rude to Fhord’s friends.

“You’re welcome,” he responds with a wink. “Anything to keep this one happy. She’s got a bit of an attitude.”

“Just a bit. But she’s quite charming when you get to know her.”

“So many things are,” he says with a smirk this time. “I brought a few extra for your packs.”

“Thank you, again. I appreciate it.”

He steps to Hilde’s side and lifts a flap, stowing his treasure, and then walks in my direction. “Be nice to Fhord,” he tells me. “He’s not nearly as miserable and mean as he’d like everyone to think.”

“That I find hard to believe. We’re destined to hate each other. At least we’ve only got a couple of weeks together.”

“We’ll see.” Leif smiles again and spins to jog back into the stables.

Within a few minutes, we’re sitting astride our horses, leaving through a gate I never would have found if I didn’t know where to look. Turning after it closes behind us, I search for the latch, but it’s disappeared too. I can’t find any sign of it.

“I would never have guessed people live in that building. Or that there’s an entrance on the back side.”

“As intended.”

“How long have you been living there?”

“Long enough.” Fhord’s brusque tone tells me he doesn’t want to talk. But we’ll be traveling together for a while, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to do it in silence.

“Do you all live there?”

“No.”

“Where do the others live?”

Fhord turns his head as slowly as he possibly can, frustration written in every line of his face. His arms drop the reins to fold across his chest as Sigurd finds his own way. And then he just stares while I hold his glare. Loosening my hands so they’re gentle on Hilde’s reins, I force my lips to tip up in the barest hint of a smile. I will not let him see the effect he has on me.

Finally, he speaks. “Do I look like I want to talk to you?”

My grin grows, which only deepens his scowl. “Do I look like I care what you want? We’re stuck together. I’m gonna have questions. You may as well get used to it.”

“I’m not here to educate you. Especially about my life. Keep your questions to yourself.” He spins to face forward again.

“Well, at least tell me where we’re going. That’s something I need to know.”

“You’ll know when we get there.”

Gods, this man is frustrating. “I need to know what to expect along the way. Whether we’re likely to be attacked. I won’t go into this blind and unprepared.”

A long-suffering sigh erupts from Fhord. What a diva. It’s just a question, not an inquisition.

“We’ll go north,” he answers at last. “The Nest holds something that belongs to Bevin. We’ll find it and return it to him. Without being caught.”

The Nest. Fuck . My heart jumps as a chill runs down my spine. Fhord twists his head at my sharp inhale, so I focus on controlling the things he can see or hear. Slowly, my hands stop shaking and my breathing returns to normal. I ride in silence as the cold spreads through me, even my fingers and toes tingling.

We’re nowhere near the Nest, but I haven’t been this terrified in years. I can almost feel the lashes across my back. The blade that takes little pieces of me, a bit at a time, while Bolverkr and the others laugh and carve. The rack that holds me, splayed and naked, for days and days and days.

I haven’t been back to the Nest since I escaped. I knew eventually I’d need to return, to try to figure out if it holds the keys to my path home. I’ve been preparing for years.

But I’m not ready. I didn’t think it would come so soon.

I don’t want to go.

I have no choice.

Finally, my voice is firm enough to speak. “It’s been many years since I was there. How many days will it take?”

“Six if the weather doesn’t turn on us.” Fhord’s words are clipped, angry.

“Do you travel this route often?”

He pauses, as if deciding whether to answer this question. “Usually I fly,” he says at last. “My dragon was injured. The best healers are in the North. They care for her there.”

The last thing I want is to feel any kind of emotion for this man. But I understand the connection between dragon and rider. I can hear it in his voice. His dragon’s injury is hurting him more than he would ever admit. At least to me.

“What’s her name? Your dragon.”

He’s quiet for a long time. I wonder if he’ll even tell me. But then he speaks. “Tindera.”

“It’s a majestic name. Will she be okay?”

Fhord responds with a curt snap of his head. “As I said, she’s getting the best care possible. They will heal her.”

“It must be hard to be so far away from her.”

Again, Fhord rides in silence instead of responding. When he turns to me, his eyes flash.

“I’m done speaking with you. I’ve told you what you need to know. I will not answer any more of your questions. And I will not talk to you about Tindera. Not now. Not ever.”

I sneer as he spins his head to focus on the road ahead. He doesn’t see it.

I don’t know what I did to anger the gods so much.

This trip cannot go fast enough.