Bryn took a knee before the bed. Dreki were always prickly, and it never hurt to assuage their arrogant selves. “You sent for me, Your Highness?”
Princess Solveig put the quill down and pushed away from the desk. “I did.”
Nobody would ever have called Solveig a beauty, and yet there was an arresting look to her hawkish features. Intense was the word for it. Here stood a woman of power, who was both comfortable in her own skin and inclined to wield that strength.
And though Bryn stood two inches taller than the other woman, she didn’t feel like it when Solveig was in the room.
The princess wasted no words. “I have a task for you.”
Bryn caught the pouch of coin the princess tossed in her direction, slowly rising to her feet. Heavy. And if her guess was correct, heavy with gold kroner, not mere brass pieces. “A dangerous bounty by the feel of it.”
“Correct,” the princess replied, her dark eyes flashing with heat. “I want you to bring me someone. Preferably in chains.”
That was interesting. In her experience, Solveig was cool, calculating and ruthless. Yet the brief storm that crossed her face hinted at some deeper emotion.
Whoever it was, Bryn spared him a moment of pity.
She tossed the pouch up and down. “Not human.”
“Not human.” The princess’s eyes darkened. “He’s a dreki prince named Marduk, born into the Zini clan, though he’s been in exile for years. He hasn’t been seen for nearly a decade, but several members of his court came through this region two days ago. They’re looking for him and they think he’s gone east. I want you to track them and use them to find him.”
She’d been right. This was a kettle full of trouble. “You want me to capture a dreki prince from a foreign court and bring him to you in chains?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t just earn the enmity of a single dreki—and a prince at that—I’d be facing the wrath of his entire court.” Bryn shook her head. “I may as well slit my throat now. It would be a kinder fate.”
“You will be protected.”
“By whom?” she demanded. “Does this order come from your father?”
Solveig paced to the table. “No. It comes from me.”
Bryn’s eyebrows arched. “King Harald considers peace to be his most notable achievement. This sounds like you intend to start a war.”
“That miserable son of a dragon humiliated me and he will feel my wrath,” Solveig snarled, snatching her knife from the table. Her black braid whipped over her shoulders as she turned. “My father will not seek to intervene, nor will the Zini clan risk retaliation. This is personal and dreki do not step between those that bear a legitimate vendetta.”
“And what if one is not a dreki? Some may dare not cross you, but they’ll not hesitate to bring ruin down upon me.”
Solveig drew her knife and sliced a cut across her palm. “I vow by the Goddess that I will protect you from the consequences of this quest. I alone will earn Marduk’s enmity, and I will contain his rage. Blessed Tiamat, hear me.”
In the distance, thunder rumbled.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Bryn trembled at the evidence the dreki’s goddess had heard Solveig’s oath. But she held out her hand and slowly curled it around the knife. A dreki’s word was a powerful oath, and if Solveig swore she’d bear the brunt of these consequences, then she would.
“To capturing wretched princes,” she said.
Solveig withdrew the blade so swiftly that Bryn barely felt the sting, but her smile sent a shiver down the spine. “To seeing them on their knees before us.”
When their clasped hands met, Bryn could feel that power—the heaviness of a storm brewing on the horizon—settle over her shoulders.
This was not her goddess, but she could respect the deity.
By the time she wiped her bloodied palm on her trousers, the cut was sealed.
“Find him for me and I will handle the rest,” Solveig replied, cleaning and then sheathing the knife. “Consider the coin advance payment. If you bring him to me, then I will double it. And I will give you something worth far more to you than mere gold.”
“I doubt it. I happen to quite like gold.”
It bought her enough tankards of ale to drown a fish.
Solveig reached within her cloak and produced a scroll. “Absolution. I have here the written confession of Róta, proclaiming you innocent of the charges that saw you cast from Valhalla, with your brands burned from your skin in dishonor.”
Bryn sucked in a sharp breath. Absolution. She’d spent so many centuries walking this cursed realm, certain she would never see the fair halls and her sisters again.
Absolution.
Gold.
And no consequences.
It was too much temptation, even for the doubt that afflicted her.
Bryn finally bequeathed a smile upon the princess. “I’ll bring your pretty little princeling to you in chains. I’ll even make him beg for mercy, if necessary. Now. What were the names of the trio that are searching for him?”
Two
Lightning laced across the sky, lighting the common room of the inn in Grøa as Tormund sank onto the bench and shook off his wet cloak. “That is one hell of a storm. Anyone you know?”
Sirius watched the skies through the windows, the black leather eyepatch he wore obscuring one eye. He’d lost it in the battle to overthrow Queen Amadea, though it did little to weaken him. The Blackfrost was still considered the most dangerous male dreki in the northern lands.
“It’s not a dreki-driven storm.” Sirius’s eye narrowed, as if he was seeing more than mere lightning. “Though I’m not sure it’s entirely natural. Stay here.” He pushed to his feet. “I want to see if I can find our informant.”
“Storms like that bring trouble,” Haakon muttered as Sirius strode toward the door.
“If trouble wants to mess with the Blackfrost, then my coin is on him. Do you think the old man was telling the truth?”
In the last village they’d stopped in, an old shepherd had seen a golden dreki fly overhead one night. And now there were rumors one had been seen walking the streets of Grøa in human form.
A great deal of hunting dragons—or in this case dreki—was following rumour of myths and trying to sort the truth from the lies.
“I think—” Haakon took a thoughtful sip of his ale. “—that this is the best lead we’ve found in the past month. Árdís claims the golden scales she, Rurik and Marduk wear are rare among dreki kind. There is only one other she knows of, and he lives far to the south in sunbaked lands where strange animals roam.”
And the shepherd had sworn the creature was as gold as a polished kroner.
“But why here?” Tormund mused. “We’re not so far from Iceland. A day or two’s flight for a dreki, no doubt. If Marduk wanted to escape Queen Amadea, then why would he risk being caught so close to his own lands? Why Norway?”
“Be patient. Perhaps when our informant arrives, they’ll have the answer.”
“I think they’ll have an answer,” he grumbled, “with the amount of good gold you’ve been offering of late.”