Page 15 of Soul of Fire

“Apologies, Branka,” Arik said, handing her a glass with a raised brow. “I didn’t realize you’d want to participate.”

This time, it was Jorgen who choked on his wine, but Branka grinned playfully. “As if. It’s already crowded with the dragons involved.”

Arik returned to my side, his hand slipping around my waist. He guided me to one of the wooden chairs near the table and pulled me into his lap.

“Hearthmother, save me,” Jorgen muttered as he sat down beside Branka on the chaise. He lifted her muddy, booted feet and settled them into his lap. “Don’t you think we have more serious things to discuss?”

“Like why wearen’tin the dungeons? Or the stockade?“ Branka agreed.

“If you get mud all over the furniture, wewillend up there,“ Arik said, frowning as Jorgen worked at Branka’s laces. “I’m certain that the king needs something from me, or we wouldn’t have been granted the favor of privacy.”

“Youarehis dragehersker,“ Jorgen pointed out, finally winning his war with the boot laces. “Perhaps it’s just common courtesy.”

Arik sighed as the boots joined the muddy pack on the floor, his breath warming my neck. “Common courtesy is not something my father cares about. He wants something. Badly.”

“Something to do with the Althing?” I asked, craning my neck to look at him. “Whatisan Althing?”

“A meeting of the jarls.” His face was grave and pensive, and I felt his mind rifling through the few details we had gleaned from our audience with his father. “But there hasn’t been one for years.”

“What would he need to gather all the jarls for?” Branka asked, wiggling her toes as Jorgen rubbed her feet.

Arik and Jorgen exchanged a dark look, and it was Jorgen who responded, “War.”

“War with whom?” I asked. “With the odemarksdyr?”

Arik shook his head. “The drage have always been alone in that fight. This is something else.”

The ground chose that moment to tremble, the stones of the castle grinding against each other as dust fell from the ceiling.

Arik’s grip tightened on my hip as the four of us stilled, waiting with bated breath as we counted the seconds the shaking lasted.

Eight seconds. Nine.

“They’re getting longer,” I murmured, once the tremors finally stopped. Pounding footsteps and barked orders were audible outside our doors, but no one came to confirm we were unharmed. I supposed the king wouldn’t consider it a great loss if the castle came crumbling down on top of us.

“They’re coming from the Rift.” Arik squeezed my hip, and I sensed Baldur reaching across the sea to Kindra.

They felt it,Baldur confirmed.Patrols are going out now.

What color is the Rift?Arik demanded.

I stiffened, remembering the fissure of black nothingness that had swallowed up the ice and the inky touch ofsomethinginvading my mind.

Something the dragons refused to talk about.

Blue, replied Baldur after a moment. I felt Arik relax a fraction as his eyes met mine.

“Should we go?” Jorgen asked.

Arik shook his head as I tried to push the memory away. “Revna can handle it. By the time we returned, whatever fight there was to be had would be over.”

“This isn’t normal?” Branka asked.

Neither Branka nor I had any context for how the Rift normally behaved. We had only seen it on the verge of a Rifting and in the wake of whatever had tried to spill out of it a week before.

“The Rift is usually quiet for weeks after a Rifting.” Arik patted my hip, and I rose as he strode to the fireplace and stared into it for a few moments. His thoughts were a churning swirl between us. “Right now, we need to focus on getting the Book. Then we can get out of this godsforsaken place and back to Ironholm where we are actually needed.”

“After we see Sigrid,” I reminded him. My hand went instinctively to the place on my chest where her gem had scarred me, and I felt the spot warm just for a moment. “We need answers, too. About the necklace. About the darkness.”