I exhale a sigh of relief. Tindera agrees we need to help Sifa.
“It puts us both at risk. If I’m caught, she’ll condemn you too. We’ll both suffer for a very long time.”
It’s Tindera’s turn to sigh in her dragony way. She huffs out a breath, exasperation layered with resolve. Her eyes are unblinking, solemn.
Quandary.
The laugh bubbles out of me unprompted. My hand reaches even deeper under her feathers, scratching at her favorite spot. She claimed Sifa in the caves when they first met. Even before Sifa and Astarot bonded, Tindera knew we would face tough choices as my dragon’s interests diverged from my mate’s.
As I was forced to choose to place one at risk to protect the other.
It is a gods-damned, mother fucking quandary.
But we’ve made our decision.
I spend the next hour with Tindera, just being together. We don’t talk much. She tells me about her recovery and assures me she’s fully healed. I talk about our journey and tell her more about her drake and my short time with him. We settle our souls.
As we walk back, my gaze catches on footsteps I don’t recall from earlier. In a few places, it looks like more than one dragon has passed through these tunnels, and I search my memories for images of the ground before. I thought we were in a system that had been untouched.
Neither of us felt another dragon’s presence. We would have known if we were followed. Shaking my head, I cast out my fears of phantoms. They must have been here before, and I missed it.
Leaving Tindera back at the pool, I return to my chamber and settle in for the afternoon. Before I went to see Tindera, I visited the library to research the manacle they’re using on Sifa, sneaking out a book that looks promising. It was developed from restraints used long ago, when elves walked freely in this world. Maybe I’ll find something helpful.
Less than a day later, the Dróttning appears, the energy in the Nest changing as soon as she arrives. Without even feeling her presence—which only happens when I search for her—I know she’s here. The corridors outside my rooms grow busier, occasionally verging on frantic. Whispered voices pass by the door, the sound but not the words reaching my ears. Even shouts rumble down the hall occasionally.
She’ll want to see me, and I need to meet with her. I’m not ready yet. I have to figure out a way to convince her to hold off on torturing Sifa without suggesting I care. But she’s perceptive as fuck. Especially with me. I have a hard time keeping secrets from her.
Her summon surprises me. I hadn’t expected her to call for me so soon. Within an hour of her arrival, a knock stirs me from my book. Tucking it behind the displaced stone I use to hide things, I open the door to find her favorite messenger.
“The Dróttning calls for you.”
“Hello Ældit,” I answer with a humorless smile. “How are you?”
“Fhord,” he intones with a sharp drop of his chin. His voice is as terse as normal. He’s good at his job. “My state is irrelevant. The Dróttning would speak with you. Follow me.”
“Happily,” I tell him, stepping into the corridor as I close and lock my door. “I welcome her return.”
Ældit spins on his heel and strides away, his heels clapping on the stone beneath us.
The Dróttning waits for me in her chamber, a vast space comprised of several interlocking rooms, that sits empty most of the time. It’s as dry and cold as she is. The furniture is sufficient for its purposes but bland, devoid of any color other than gray, black and white. Three couches, a dozen chairs and a large table surrounded by more chairs occupy the largest room, into which I’m led. I’ve spent enough time here to know the feel of each by heart. They’re comfortable enough, except the one she chose because she’s a cruel bitch, which I always avoid. If the bedrooms haven’t changed—and after all these years, I’m certain they haven’t—they’ll look the same.
The Dróttning is not one for change. Or sentiment. Or anything soft.
“As requested, I have brought Tindera’s rider.” Ældit’s voice is as flat and dull as the room around us.
“Leave us.” The Dróttning’s gaze finds mine as her words dismiss her messenger and my stomach plunges into my gods-damned toes. Her eyes are shards of glass. She’s pissed at me and my plans for protecting Sifa just fucked right off. Dread for my rabbit grips every bone in my body, twisting them the way the Dróttning’s gods-damned medallions torture elves.
But I shut that shit right down. I can’t let her sense my fear. If she has even a trifling of doubt about my allegiance to her, she’ll destroy everyone and everything that might have come between us. So I plaster on the lazy smile I always give her when she calls me and hold her frozen gaze.
Ældit responds to the Dróttning’s dismissal with a crisp “My liege” before stalking from the room.
When he’s gone, her eyes narrow. “I expected you to come for me when you knew I’d arrived.”
Striding over to sit in a nearby chair, I stretch my legs out in front of me and turn to examine the weapons hung all around the room—the only adornment the Dróttning tolerates in her space. She hates my informality around her, even when we’re alone, but I’ve never cared before. I can’t start now.
Finally, I look back at her. “I knew Ældit would find me when you were ready to see me. As he did.”
“You also know,” she reminds me in words as sharp as the blades around us, “thatyouare to findmewhen I arrive at the Nest. I should not have to seek you out.”
