Astarot refused the rider the Dróttning chose for him, a weak male who was rumored to prefer children to adults in his bed. He paid a heavy price for his defiance, but he has no regret. His pain is behind him. He would pay that price again to ensure he was unbound when he found me.
So that he could bind himself to me.
Chapter nineteen
Sifa
Everything’s Changed
“ThyraandIwillgo alone, leave you here with Astarot. I’ll come back after I drop her off and help you find your way out of here.”
Fhord’s on edge, anxious to put distance between us. The news that I bonded with Astarot rattled him more than I expected. He wants to get Thyra away from us. He’ll take her to a tavern nearly two day’s ride from here to hand her over to some of Bevin’s people. And he insists my dragon and I should wait for him to return before we leave this cave.
“Just go,” I demand, my voice growing more strident. I turn to him, frustrated and trying to ignore the pounding in my ears that started when Fhord insisted he’d come back after dropping off Thyra. “I don’t know why we’re even arguing about this. We’re going our separate ways. We may as well start now.”
“Everything’s changed, Sifa. Surely you can see that.” Fhord’s tone touches something inside I want to ignore. “We’re so close to the training grounds,” he continues. “They probably already realize the trainer’s dead. The search will be thorough. I understand dragons and I’ve traveled every inch of these lands. I’m not sure I can get you out—I have no fucking idea if anybody could with a dragon who won’t be able to fly anytime soon—but with me your chances are better.”
I let him get too close to me, and now I need him out of my life. Astarot and I have huge targets on our backs, and the longer he’s with us, the longer he’s at risk. So I spit my next words at him.
“Why the fuck do you care?” My voice is harsh. It has to be if I’m going to push him away. “We’re going our separate ways. You’ll just make yourself and Tindera the Dróttning’s enemies if you come back here. Astarot and I will face this alone when he’s strong enough to move.”
“And where the fuck do you plan to hide with a dragon?” Fhord’s tone is cold, but his narrow eyes are full of fire.
“I have no idea, Fhord,” I yell, my hands digging into the air above me. “We’ll figure it out. Without putting you or Tindera in any more danger.”
Draikana. Astarot’s voice drops into my thoughts. Spinning as a chill rolls down my spine and reaches out to capture every finger and toe, I stare at my dragon. And then I snap closed the jaw that fell open with his word. Tindera and Astarot are bonded. She’s the reason Fhord helped me save him.
“He told you, didn’t he?” His words emerge with a sigh. He didn’t want me to know.
Now my gaze finds Fhord’s. Pain and a hint of fear have replaced the flame in his eyes. Our impossible situation has gotten even harder. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I’m not angry. All I can feel is grief wrapping around my heart as a rock forms in my throat.
“We can’t be together, rabbit. You know that as well as me. Even if Astarot and Tindera are destined to be.”
“How is this going to work?” I don’t know much about the mating bond between dragons—whether it will compel them to be together, or what it’ll cost them if they’re not.
“I have no gods-damned idea what’s going to happen,” Fhord snarls. “The gods are fucking with us all.” He pauses, running his hands through his hair as he huffs out a breath. “Right now, though,” he adds in a more measured tone, “I need to get Thyra to safety. I’m coming back. Just be here when I do.”
“Fine. We’ll wait for you.” I don’t think we have a choice anyway. Astarot’s in bad shape. He’ll need that time to recuperate.
“We’ll take Hilde. We can travel faster if Sigurd isn’t weighed down, and you don’t need another mouth to feed while you’re here. I’ll leave most of the food with you and get more supplies when I drop off Thyra. You’ll have to go hunting for Astarot. He must be able to move when we leave. Two animals a day. That’ll rebuild his strength.” Fhord strides over to start pulling food out of the bags. “I think I’ll be gone three days.”
Three days doesn’t sound like nearly enough time, but Fhord knows more about dragons than me. I focus on the one thing I can do, because I can’t deny I need his help in this. “Any idea where I’m most likely to find food for Astarot?”
“Head west,” Fhord tells me as he starts strapping a few bags onto Sigurd. “There’s a herd of sheep in a valley you’ll find a couple of vikus from here. It’s part of the Nest’s food supply so make sure nobody’s around. Take some of the carrots and the rope I’m leaving with you. They’re tame, used to getting treats from humans, so you should be able to catch them. Dragons will only eat live prey.” He catches my gaze, a hint of a smile ghosting across his lips. “And strong as you are, you don’t want to drag a carcass all the way back here.”
I nod, relaxing a bit as his mood shifts. “Be safe, Fhord.”
“You too, rabbit.” He watches me for a moment as if he’s memorizing my face. “I’ll see you soon,” he adds as he turns toward the back of the cave to go wake Thyra.
They’re gone within a few minutes, Thyra whispering her thanks to me as Fhord settles her on Hilde and hands her some dried meat and fruit for her breakfast. And then it’s just me and Astarot. He’s soon asleep, though, his body demanding rest as it recovers from the weeks of pain he endured.
Dragging myself up from my spot on the floor next to my dragon, I put some distance between us and then turn to look at him. I was so preoccupied with his trauma the first couple times I saw him, I didn’t pay much attention to the details. Now I want to drink it all in, commit every part of him to memory.
He’s large, even with all the weight he’s lost. I suspect he’ll stretch seventy feet from his snout to the tip of his tail and weigh a couple thousand pounds. His feathers are red like the cardinals from my world, with black interspersed throughout. The design seems random at first but as I look, I see the waves that will run across the backs of his wings when they’re fully extended. The weeks of punishment cost him some feathers—patches mark the places the instruments dug into his skin—but he’s still got a stunning, regal plumage.
Stepping closer to him, I stroke his snout for a few minutes, luxuriating in the feel of him.
And then I go hunting.
