Page 58 of Soul of Fire

Arik

Idunnflewnorthforseveral hours. Her blue scales chafed at my thighs as I rose astride her and tried to overcome the emptiness in my head.

Of course the wine had been poisoned. I hadn’t realized Baldur was becoming harder and harder to hear until we were in my mother’s chambers, and by then, it was too late.

I knew Baldur was somewhere. I could feel the shadow of him sitting in the hollow pit inside me. But the mistletoe had raised a wall between us that I couldn’t penetrate, no matter how hard I pushed. The mental bridge that linked us to our mate ended in a deep black chasm wider than the Rift and filled with nothing but endless, all-consuming darkness.

“We’ll get him back.” I patted Idunn’s scaly neck, knowing she likely couldn’t hear me.

Knowing that I was utterly alone with my own thoughts for the first time in twenty years.

Fuck, how much mistletoe had Jorgen and I drunk? It had taken almost twelve hours to have an effect on us. How many hours or days would it take to get it out of our systems?

Unless it was the wine at the Althing that was poisoned. It was possible—father didn’t take chances where he could help it. Had Edvard drained my glass when I’d abandoned it?

But no, Jorgen hadn’t been there.

Then how had Edvard been affected?

Eisa and Branka had both drunk the wine on our first night in the castle. It must have been safe. So it had to have been the wine the steward brought us after my meeting with my father.

If Arne had drunk the same amount as we did, it could kill him. I would never fucking forgive myself if he died.

There were too many questions, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about any of them. We had no supplies, no weapons, no Book, and only two dragons capable of shifting while my father’s entire army likely attempted to follow our trail.

The only blessing was that my brilliant mate had thought to fly us north instead of south. No doubt he assumed we’d return to Ironholm, so flying in the opposite direction would buy us a little time, I hoped.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” How had everything gone so utterly and completely to shit?

I closed my eyes, resting my forehead against Idunn’s neck. She huffed sympathetically, as if she could sense my turmoil even though she couldn’t hear or feel Baldur.

The sun was firmly below the horizon by the time she began her descent. We’d flown mostly above the cloud cover, and I was soaked and frozen despite the heat of her scales. Eisa wouldn’t be in much better shape when she shifted back, and I cursed myself again for not waiting until she was at full strength to enact our mad plan.

Idunn screeched in warning, and I opened my eyes to find the ground rushing toward us. I couldn’t hear Eisa in my head, but I could imagine her telling me to stop moping and brace myself.

The thought made some of the darkness lift.

Idunn landed with a thump, and I slid off her back only to land in six inches of mud.

Everything in this fucking kingdom seemed to be mud.

The cloud cover was too thick to see much of the landscape by moonlight, but I was fairly certain we were in a field. Bryndis landed several yards away with a heavy squelch, and Jorgen slid gracefully off her back before also discovering the mud.

“Well, that was a fucking disaster.” Jorgen tried to kick the mud from his boots as he sloshed toward me. His injuries were somewhat healed, presumably through Bryndis’ magic.

Magic which clearly didn’t work on mistletoe.

“That’s putting it lightly.” I grimaced as Idunn shook out her damp wings above me, and her icy blue eyes glared at me accusatorily.

“He’s still in here,” I promised, placing a hand over my chest. “He’s stuck behind a sort of wall.”

“It’s the same with Sigurd,” Jorgen agreed as Bryndis whipped her head around to face him. He scratched her eye ridges, her hackles lowering slightly. “I swear it, love, I had no idea the wine was poisoned.”

Bryndis snorted skeptically, as if she doubted it would have stopped him from drinking, and a warm jet of steam momentarily chased away the cold.

“Idunn.” The blue dragon was pacing irritably, kicking mud up everywhere as she went, and I could almost imagine her heated argument with Eisa inside their head. Probably about whether or not to barbecue me for losing Baldur. I scrubbed a hand over my face, smearing mud everywhere. “Fuck. This is a mess.”

Idunn huffed indignantly as if in agreement, then lowered her head, butting me in the chest. Hard. She repeated the motion, then hissed.