Page 42 of Soul of Fire

I shook my head as I pushed off from the door, wishing I could somehow be in two places at once. “Apparently, I need to see the king. And I need you two to stay here and watch over Eisa.”

Branka frowned. “Is she still asleep?”

“For now. Jorgen?”

“With my life, Dragehersker.” Jorgen’s face was uncharacteristically solemn as he clapped his fist to his chest. “No one will enter but Branka or me. Probably Branka, to be honest, since I—er—rather doubt I can be of much help.”

I nodded, amused by the red flush creeping up his neck as I turned back to Branka. I didn’t know her as well as I ought to, but I hoped she could feel my sincerity as I regarded her. “Thank you. I’m glad she has you.”

She smiled warmly back as she shrugged. “Iama rather excellent friend.”

“So humble, too,” Jorgen quipped. Branka threw the piece of toast at him, and he caught it neatly between his teeth. He cast me a critical look as I moved toward the door to follow my brother. “Should you maybe change?”

I raised a brow and glanced down at myself, grunting as I realized my feet were bare. “I don’t want to wake Eisa. Loan me your boots?”

“Do you maybe want to—oh, I don’t know,” Jorgen drawled as he sat and unlaced his boots. “Go armed?”

I caught the heavy boots as he tossed them to me and shoved my feet into them. His feet were just smaller than mine, and the toes pinched uncomfortably.

“I am armed.” I patted my chest, feeling Baldur stir inside me. “I have a dragon, remember?”

Jorgen rolled his eyes and unlaced his leather vest. “Take this too then.” He tossed me the jerkin, which was also just on this side of too small. “Just in case someone has a mind to stab your unguarded back.”

I grunted as I pulled the jerkin on, certain I looked ridiculous in the too small garments, but feeling slightly more protected. I nodded toward the room where my mate still slept. “Reach out with Sigurd when she wakes.”

“Can’t she just tell you herself?” Jorgen quipped, crossing his arms and looking slightly put out. “I can’t believeyoudidn’t tell me, by the way.”

I shrugged, grinning. “You didn’t ask.”

Jorgen spluttered in indignation, but he was cut off by his mate.

“Men.” Branka sounded aggrieved as she forced a piece of toast into my hand. I hadn’t even noticed she was preparing it. She pushed me toward the door. “Go. We’ll be fine. Don’t get stabbed.”

It was such a Revna thing to do and say that I almost laughed. I should definitely have Baldur reach out to Kindra today.

Done,Baldur agreed, his presence growing slightly distant as he reached out to our friend.

Edvard looked irritated when I finally opened the door and emerged into the hall. “About time.”

“Should I be touched that you waited for me?” The guards who had been posted at our door were shuffling nervously in thepresence of their prince, and I felt them breathe a sigh of relief as we made our way down the hallway.

Edvard clenched his jaw. “We need to be united in this meeting.”

I grunted, unwilling to show my hand. Edvard knew that there was very little—possibly nothing, actually—that could make me stand on the same side of father’s table as him.

I glanced down to see Edvard’s face was more pale than it had been even the day before. The dark circles beneath his eyes gave him a sunken, half-cadaverous look, which was the only reason I asked, “United on what?”

“War.”

My stomach hollowed out, but I kept my stride as Edvard led the way to our father’s council room. The path was familiar, and a cold slice of dread crept into my chest as the stone walls closed around me. “War with whom?”

“With everyone, if father has his way.” We stopped outside the wooden door of the council chambers, the voices of men and clinking of glasses beyond the door telling me we were among the last to arrive. “I need you to help me protect Stalheim.”

I let out a mirthless laugh and tossed the uneaten toast into a potted plant. “Since when have you cared about protecting anything but yourself?”

Something dark flashed in Edvard’s eyes, gone again before I could make sense of it. “I didn’t mean for her to die.”

My blood ran cold as I thought of the bloody linens from this morning. Hadhersbeen the same? Or much, much worse?