“Have a little respect, brother. You speak of my beloved mate. It was a minor misunderstanding between us.”
His sister Árdís gasped. “Your mate?”
Rurik ignored her. “She tried to kill you.”
“I didn’t try that hard,” Solveig purred. “King Rurik. A pleasure to meet you.”
“A pleasure?” Rurik leaned forward. “That arrow was dwarven-forged.”
“Rurik.” His wife, Freyja, put her hand over his. “Shall we let bygones be bygones? I feel like we need to hear what your brother has to say, and he’s the one who should be affronted. Not you.”
Rurik subsided with a smoldering glare.
“I don’t want to hear what Marduk has to say,” Árdís scoffed. “I am much more fascinated by the current conversation.” She leaned forward, eyeing Solveig with predatory eyes. “You tried to kill my brother? Why have I not heard of this?”
She sounded delighted.
“That would make two attempts,” said her husband, Haakon.
Tormund—Haakon’s enormous cousin—rubbed at his beard. “By my count it was three, wasn’t it? Remember that story Marduk told us when we were hanging in her cell? You know, about that song he made up ten years ago—"
Marduk needed to stop this in its tracks.
“Shut up, Árdís. Allow me to introduce my beloved mate, Princess Solveig of the Sadu clan. Solveig, may I present to you the people of my clan,” Marduk said, gesturing to the rest of the room. “My brat of a sister, Árdís, and her scowling husband, Haakon Dragonsbane, whom you may recall. You put him in chains three months ago. You also know Tormund” —he clapped a hand on the giant’s shoulder as he circled the table— “and his wife, Bryn, since you paid her to drag me back to your court in chains, but… let us move on. And at the end is my murderous cousin, Sirius, of course, with the lovely Malin.”
He smiled at his cousin’s wife.
Sirius leaned back in his chair and arched a brow, as if to point out that he had no qualms in living up to his reputation should Marduk so much as wink at her.
“I don’t believe you’ve met Ishtar, my much more beloved sister.” He gestured toward his twin, who was staring curiously at Solveig’s boots, and the handsome, black-haired youth at her side. “My cousin, Andri, who is somewhat less murderous than his brother, Sirius. And last but not least is my queen, Freyja.” Marduk captured the queen’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Renowned throughout the lands for her beauty, her temper, and the fact that she’s the only one who can pound sense into this idiot’s thick skull.”
Rurik settled an icy look upon him. “Are you quite done?”
“Sorry. I’ve been looking forward to this moment all flight.”
“Does he always talk this much?” Solveig asked the room in general.
“Yes,” Rurik replied. “He’s always enjoyed the sound of his own voice.”
The two of them stared at each other as if surprised to find themselves momentary allies.
Solveig smiled. It softened her expression in ways that made his gaze lock hard upon that smile. It promised friendship. Offered a warmth he did not expect her to own.
He knew better.
She was biding her time.
And that little smile she wore probably had more to do with a fantasy she was currently indulging in where he was bound and spread-eagled and she had a knife in her hand, rather than any sort of enjoyment over her circumstances. “Since we’re all so terribly interested, allow me to clarify my position. I did as my father instructed. I submitted to a mating that would cement the alliance between our clans. I upheld the good name and faith of the Sadu clan.” Eyes as hot as flame locked upon him. “But I am done playing such games. I will have an end to this mating one way or another.”
Silence settled over the room.
It wasn’t unheard of.
Dreki mated for many reasons—the prospect of heirs, alliances, territorial disputes, politicking—but such matings rarely survived forever. Dreki lived for such a terribly long time, and only those matings where one found their true flame—a true alliance of the heart and soul—tended to survive so many centuries.
But a mere three months was possibly a new record.
“I am here for one reason, and one reason only,” she continued, leaning forward and directing that predatory stare upon Rurik. “Apparently, the portal at World’s End was opened to Álfheimr. I need to be able to protect my people, and while I believed we were allied with the Zini—courtesy of my sacrifice—I seem to have been somewhat mistaken, because you’ve been keeping secrets… and allies don’t do that.”
Rurik didn’t so much as blink as he steepled his fingers together. “Your father is aware.”
“He is?” Her eyebrows rose.
“I sent a messenger two days ago,” Rurik replied.
Solveig’s fingers drummed on the table. “You’ve known for three months. Why only send a messenger now?”
Nobody could manage to look as smug as Rurik could. “Because apparently, my first one didn’t get through. We found the remains of his body only last week.”
Marduk pressed the tip of his tongue to his teeth. There was a great deal more that his brother wasn’t saying, but he needed to follow his lead.
The answer clearly soothed some of Solveig’s ruffled feathers. “And now?”
Rurik turned those amber eyes upon Marduk. “Elves in my lands. An attack upon my brother. Tyndyr tricked Ishtar into opening the portal once, but he failed in his quest. If he’s here in Iceland, then he’s coming for her again.”
Ishtar blinked in surprise. “Me?” Her whisper echoed in his head. She rarely spoke out loud, preferring to communicate on a psychic level—when she chose to do so at all.
“We’ll keep you safe,” Marduk promised, settling a hand on the back of her chair. “We suspect they wish to use your magic to open the portal again.”
She shook her head. “I won’t do it.”
“I know.” She’d been horrified to learn that Tyndyr had manipulated her into opening it in the first place.
“I thought he was my friend,” she’d whispered sadly.
“The court is locked and warded,” Haakon said. “After… recent events, nobody’s getting in or out without us knowing. She’ll be safe here.”
Ishtar shrank a little, and Marduk squeezed her shoulder three times. It was their little code. A reminder that said he loved her.
“I’ll watch over her,” Tormund, who had appointed himself her guardian, promised.
A sharp rap came at the door.
“Come in,” Rurik replied.
The door opened, revealing the lore master’s youngest daughter, Elin. Her father had recently been incapacitated by a mysterious illness, and she spent most of her time nursing him back to health and dealing with his tasks. Rurik had mentioned she was thinking of following in her father’s footsteps as lore mistress of the clan.
“Your Highness,” Elin said, setting a book down in front of Rurik. “You requested more information about the alfar and what they might be after. And I think I have found something.” She flipped the book open, running her finger down the page. “It was said during the great wars between dreki and alfar that the dreki stole the King of Álfheimr’s wife in order to defeat them. She was supposed to be returned during a parley, but I have been poring over my father’s dreki histories, and I ran across this little paragraph.” She altered her voice as if she was reading, “Treachery was to be the key of the day, and so treachery it was. When the King of Álfheimr met with King Rodan of the dreki nations, they stood upon World’s End and pledged their peace. The elvish king would retreat to his home world with his wife, as freely gifted by Rodan. And the gates would be locked with the Key of Chaos.”