Page 83 of Soul of Fire

“Call a healer,” Jorgen shouted at the innkeeper as he and Branka rolled Arne onto his back. He turned his attention to the boy, who looked terrified, his eyes fixed on Jorgen’s pointed ears. “What happened?”

“Found him on the road, m’lord,” the farm boy said, shaking as he twisted a sodden cap between his hands. “‘Bout a day back. He looked mighty unwell, so I packed him in my wagon.”

“Fucking mistletoe.” Jorgen lifted Arne’s torso, leaving Branka and me to each grab a leg. “Let’s get him to a bed.”

“There’s no way he’ll live if he were poisoned when you were,” I argued as we struggled toward the stairs.

“I’ll fetch a healer,” Ingmar offered, heading for the door. “And scout to see if anyone followed him.”

He does not need a healer,Kindra intoned as Ingmar ran out. We carried Arne’s body up the stairs and into the first room we came to.He has you.

What is that supposed to mean?I snapped. The man was heavy.I can’t fix him. I don’t know anything about healing, and if he ingested mistletoe, there’s not much to be done except wait for death to take him.

He will not die.Kindra shivered, her energy pulsing with intensity as she flared gold in my mind.It is him. We will not let him die.

Him? Him who?

Arne groaned as Jorgen placed him onto the bed, and I saw that his brow was drenched with sweat, his tunic stained with vomit.

“Help me get this off him,” Jorgen grunted.

Our mate, Kindra said.This will be our mate.

Chapter twenty-seven

Eisa

Dragonborn.

The word felt somehow both incredibly wrong and undeniably right. I was Dragonborn.

“How?” I asked, unsure if I should direct the question to Sigrid or to Arik.

Arik gripped my knee, his hand a steady anchor in a sea of panic.

Sigrid gave me a sad smile. “Half-Dragonborn, to be fair. Your mother was born of two drage, and you were born of a human father. Two worlds, my Eisa.”

“No. I stood, taking a step away from them both. The word still felt foreign on my tongue. “You’re wrong. Drage cannotbear children.”

“Cannot and will not are different things, my girl.” Sigrid looked at Arik expectantly.

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “If her mother didn’t shift, it’s theoretically possible.” He looked at me. “You know it is, Kjære.”

I swallowed. The evidence that pregnancy must be possible was still causing me a dull ache on and off.

“That’s why they came here. They ran. Deserted.” He looked at Sigrid, who confirmed with a nod.

“I did not know them well,” Sigrid said gently. “But I believe you are right. You would have to check the records at Ironholm to be sure.”

“Check the records?” I asked incredulously, taking another step away from the woman whose secrets had commandeered my life.

“Your mother gave you their surname,” Sigrid said sadly, taking another sip of tea as a cough burbled out of her. “Eldsen. A name for someone born of two worlds.”

“Stop saying that,” I snapped, fighting away the instant regret I felt. I had never shouted or snapped at Sigrid, not even when I was young. Not even upon losing my mother.

But this was all too much, and it felt like a betrayal that Sigrid had kept all of this from me for so long.

Sigrid’s face crumpled. “My Eisa—“