Still, it kills me. My mind keeps dredging up the agony I felt when Sifa first entered this world. Before I knew her. When I could ignore her pain because she meant nothing to me.
Now, she’s everything. My commitment to the Ætt, even my bond with Tindera, feel empty next to the mating bond with my little rabbit. Much as I love them—much as I resisted this—I love Sifa more. Ineedher more. And I will risk everything to save her.
I hope it doesn’t come to that. That I don’t expose Tindera and the Ætt to the Dróttning’s wrath with this decision. But I know now that I have no choice. I must free Sifa. I won’t be able to live with myself if she’s sent to a prison where I’ll never be able to reach her. Or, just as likely, if the Dróttning kills her. I’ll follow her to Helheim if that’s my only option.
So Sigurd and I are headed south. We’ll find Astarot first and do what we must to save him. I’m desperately hoping he can protect himself, even attack, if I free him. His wound was severe, but he also isn’t in the Nest, where the Dróttning controls even the rate at which a dragon heals. His body can recover as all dragon bodies do from an injury. As quickly as me, or a god or elf.
Then we’ll return to Revalle and get help. Not the Ætt yet. They don’t have the skills I’ll need for this escape attempt. Leif can set some things up—make sure we have a refuge when I free Sifa—without exposing himself to risk. The others will just stay away. Go into hiding. If I can keep them at a distance, they may not suffer if we fail. I might be able to protect them.
Instead, I’ll find Sifa’s troll. He could make a difference.
I’m not sure what it will take to convince him to trust me, but I’m sure as fuck gonna try.
As far as I can tell, Astarot hasn’t moved yet, but he’s nearly ready. He should be healed enough by now to walk. Hopefully fly.
If not, we’re all fucked.
I recognize Astarot and seven guards when I’m a viku or so away. More than I’d hoped—they’ve added a few since I left the dragon—but I’ll have the element of surprise. I wish I could free my savage. They wouldn’t stand a chance. But she’d hear my shift, recognize this attack as mine. I can’t let that happen.
Slowing Sigurd, I swing off, stretching out my senses around me, searching. The scents of the forest greet me, mildewed plants and moss mixing with fresher leaves and the sap of trees to create a familiar earthy, musty fragrance. Birds swoop and cry overhead, some beckoning and others warning in their shrill notes. In the distance, I can hear the yips and cries of a pack of wolves, the adults watching over and playing with their pups.
And the soldiers. They’re brash and arrogant, assured of their safety in these woods. Because none but Sifa would defy the Dróttning, and she’s trapped far away. They’re cruel, too. I can sense their delight at Astarot’s pain. His suffering. They have no idea what they’ll soon face.
Strengthening my shield, I creep toward the group, not letting any hint of my presence reach them. When I get close enough to attack, I pause. With this many, I’ll need them distracted or unfocused when I emerge, or I’ll risk getting hurt. One of them could get in a lucky shot. Fortunately, I’m gods-damned good at providing distractions. Not as good as Sifa—I’ve never been able to plant false memories into minds the way she does—but I can stir up emotions and create conflict.
Holding my shield in place, I spear out with a portion of my mind. Just enough to touch a few minds without revealing myself. I’m searching for the weakest one—the angry idiot who perpetually carries the kindling of conflict, ready to explode from the smallest flame.
My mind brushes three of the males, caressing their thoughts as it searches for what I need. They are just as depraved as I’d expected, chosen because they won’t shrink from the need to cause this dragon pain if necessary. Even from this little contact, I know how much they savor that part of their job. But they’re not as unstable as I need them to be.
The next mind I touch, the only woman, gives me what I want. She’s not an idiot, but she’s fighting to control emotions that seem to have a life of their own, desperate to lash out at the others. It’s not just her anger I can exploit—although there’s plenty of that—but also her need for revenge. I can’t read her thoughts but the sharp edges of her feelings tell me everything I need to know. One of the men in this group attacked her. Probably on this trip. And she either didn’t report it, or she did and her complaint was ignored.
Her wound is open and festering. It wraps around her, placing every nerve on edge. Waiting to erupt.
I can give her the vengeance she needs. And then maybe I could even avoid killing her. She wants an escape from this life.
I take another breath, gathering my thoughts, and then reach out with my mind. Focusing just on her, I let myself recall all the times the Dróttning and her drudges have harmed Tindera or one of the Ætt to get back at me. Her attacks never are direct, because she knows I’ve felt pain before and would weather it again without complaint. Instead, she aims her ire at the places where it truly hurts. Those I love.
Anger, wrath, and bitterness engulf me before flowing into the woman. Not all at once. She would suspect my intervention if I did that. Instead, I let it seep into her, helping to draw up the memories of the attack. When her gaze lifts, anger in her eyes as they rest on him, I open the path between us a bit wider. Then I add more.
This time, my thoughts take me to Sifa and the morning of our attack. I’m still furious at myself for letting those males bind me. I’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of her—how it felt waking up in the same tent, how fucking hard my cock had been just because of her scent—I hadn’t even noticed them creeping up. They’d caught me on the edge of release, all my thoughts on my rabbit and what I wanted to do to her. I was hog-tied and helpless being dragged back to the camp almost before my dick went limp.
I’d been so fucking angry. At myself, but even more, at them. What they planned to do to Sifa. If they’d actually threatened her, I’d have used my magic no matter the cost. But she didn’t need my help. She’s so fucking smart, stronger than any female I’ve ever known.
Now, I feed my rage into the soldier, a steady trickle of hate and horror. And I wait and watch.
“I still can’t fucking believe you let him get away with it,” the woman spits out as she turns toward a different man, probably the commander. “I told you what he did to me. But there he sits.”
“None of us gives a fuck, Gertha,” he responds with a shrug. “Take it up with his drott when we get back to the Nest.” Turning, he throws a little smile at the attacker. “We’ve all thought about taking what you’ve been offering since you joined this squad. He’s the only one with the balls to do something about it.”
Gertha’s face falls for a moment, pain and disappointment dragging everything down. I hope I can save her, I realize as she responds exactly as I need from one of them. Drawing a knife from her belt, she throws herself at the man who forced himself on her.
He takes the choice from me. Quicker than I would have expected, his blade is at Gertha’s throat. When she doesn’t back down, twisting as her knife lunges toward his heart, he swipes his dagger across her throat and tosses her to the ground.
“Ungrateful bitch,” he snarls as he kicks at her.
Fuck. He’s dying tonight. I just wish I had time to give him the slow death he deserves.
My sword slides from its sheath as I toss myself into the furor I ignited.
