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“Ragnar,” Náli echoed, lip already curling. “I don’t suppose I can hope you’ve come to deliver the good news that you’ve reconsidered keeping him alive? I’m sure your uncle shares my opinion that he’d be better off with his head on a chopping black than cluttering up the dungeon.”
Leif frowned – more sternly than Náli thought the situation warranted. It was terribly early to be this grumpy – himself excluded. He liked to think he was charmingly grumpy; Mattias had never disagreed on that front.
“Uncle gave him to me,” he said, and Náli was careful to keep his expression neutral. He knew Erik had thrown the offer out there, but hadn’t thought Leif would latch onto it. “He’s too valuable to execute – at least not yet.”
“Hm.” Internally, Náli was gawking. He exchanged a quick glance with Mattias, who cocked his head to a judgmental angle. “Congratulations, then, on your new pet.”
Leif, always so patient and, if anything, rather blank-faced before, compressed his lips and flared his nostrils. It was more than a little unsettling for Náli, who’d grown up thinking of him as the gentlest of the Aeretollean boys. He wasn’t sure how long it would take them to grow used to this new version of him.
“You said you could magick a torq that would control him.”
“I did say that, yes.”
“Can you?”
“I believe so, but I didn’t think you’d truly consider such a thing.” He dropped some of his lordly façade. “Leif, are you sure about this? After what he did?”
“I’m sure.”
“He’s a traitor. Traitors don’t change their ways.”
Leif folded his arms. “I’m sure.”
“Fine.” Náli really hadn’t expected to have to sort out a torq for the bloody liar. He understood the process in theory, but theory and practical application were two very different things.
“That means you’ll do it?”
“I’ll attempt to do it. Though I can’t guarantee success. And I expect I’ll need some help from our resident magical cousins.”
~*~
Mattias wanted him to sleep more, after Leif left. He even brought him a steaming cup of lavender tea and resumed his perch on the edge of the bed until Náli gave in with a huff and gulped it down, burning his mouth. “I’ll drink the tea, but you can’t make me go back to bed. I’ve too much to do, now.”
He washed and dressed, had a second cup of tea, which helped chase the cold from his bones. Mattias braided his hair, and in the kitchens, already roaring and bustling as the sun rose, finally, they found fresh, warm bread, clotted cream, and bacon. Thus fortified, he asked a maid to fetch Oliver to him when he woke, and went to the library to hunt for books.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one with that idea.
Two boys, no more than seven or so, had heaped a table with volumes and were arguing loudly about something they’d found in one of them.
“No,” the little redheaded one said, standing in his chair to lean over the table and stab a page with his finger. “That’s a wrym. That’s a wyvern. See, it’s got four legs.”
Drakes, then.
The blond one, taller and much calmer, peered down at the open book and said, “I don’t think that’s what they’re called here.”
“Yes, it is! The book says so.”
Náli skirted around their table and headed for the dusty, much-neglected section of supernatural tomes.
To no avail.
“Lord Náli!” the little one exclaimed.
Damn.
“Lord Náli! Corpse Loooooor–”
He turned his least sincere smile on them. “Yes. No need to shout. What is it?”
