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“I don’t doubt it, darling, look at yourself. Which is why I hope you won’t take it as an insult when I say, should you run out of pretty people in camp, someone will have to be set to guard the horse lines.”
Amelia cackled.
When she could, she stood, and offered a tear-damp hand into the space between them. “Welcome to Inglewood, Lady Leda, and the war effort. Any help you can provide would be most welcome.”
Leda smiled a wide, roguish smile that struck Amelia as masculine, not unlike one of Connor’s devious grins. She accepted the offered handshake with a firm grip of her own. “It shall be an honor.”
5
“I don’t understand,” Bjorn said, frowning. “What do you mean he’s going to war? He can’t be away from that bloody mountain for more than a few weeks at a time.”
Leif’s day had begun with a headlong tumble from deep sleep to full wakefulness following a light scratch at the hay shed door. He’d blinked the vestiges of the wolf dream from his eyes, quietly, rather fearfully marveling that the best sleep he’d had in weeks could be attributed to Ragnar, and watched a faint crack of pale light appear as the door was eased open. Wolves had lifted their heads, and the young runner standing at the gap had visibly shivered with fear. He’d come bearing a message, though: a meeting was gathering in the King’s study. There was news from the Fault Lands.
The royal family was gathered now around a steaming tray of tea.
Leif hadn’t brought Ragnar…but he nearly had, only hadn’t because it was too early, and he was still too sleepy to deal with Erik’s disapproval. He’d perched in what he’d come to think of as his usual window ledge, apart from the loose circle of the others so he could observe them better.
Oliver made a face. “I won’t claim to understand the mechanics of it myself, not to mention Náli’s explanation was rather hampered by a not-small amount of panic, but apparently he’s been able to harness and learn to control his magic in a new, more perfect way. He’s shared his power over the dead with his Dead Guard, for one.”
Revna, seated by the desk and slowly sipping herbal tea, pale-faced and a little unsteady with early pregnancy, (Gods, Leif wasn’t sure what to think aboutthat; didn’t in fact think much about it all, in contrast to Rune’s fretting) lifted her brows. “He’swhat?”
Oliver nodded. “I met his captain, Mattias, myself in the Between.”
Birger’s mouth was a thin, flat line of worry. “That’s an old tale, lad: that of theBetween.” He emphasized it in a way that Leif took to mean he didn’t believe in its existence.
Rune said, “What is it?”
Birger said, “Legend has it–”
And Oliver cut across him, brows drawn together. “It might star in a legend or two, but I can assure you that it’s a very real place.”
Birger puffed up his chest a bit, beard rustling as he exhaled, but he didn’t comment further.
Oliver continued, “A realm exists between the mortal world and the Halls of the Ancestors: a plane that is populated by the restless dead who have yet to move on, and which can apparently be entered by magic users.”
Leif thought of a dark, chill forest, gleaming eyes flashing between tree trunks. The smell ofpackandmineand a tail wagging in invitation. “What sorts of magic users?” he asked, and watched the way his voice struck the others as a surprise. They hadn’t expected him to ask any questions.
Oliver’s brow smoothed, and he straightened from his position leaning against the desk. “I don’t know. We were both there: Náli with his necromancy, and me with my drake bond. I’d reason anyone magical could enter there.” His gaze said he’d marked Leif as such; asmagical.
Was that ever going to stop feeling strange?
“Regardless,” Oliver continued, sweeping a look around the room. “It doesn’t matter how fervently any of us believe in the Between. Náli is going to settle things at Naus Keep and join us here before we march.”
“And he told you this,” Erik said in a careful voice, “in the realm between the living and the dead.”
“Gods,” Revna murmured against the rim of her cup. “The world’s dumbest king.”
Oliver blinked, and a muscle in his cheek twitched before he slowly turned his head so that he faced Erik. He braced a hand on the desk and slouched in a way that made him appear, though a head-and-a-half shorter, dangerous.
Bjorn coughed in a way that sounded like suppressed laughter.
“Darling,” Oliver said, saccharine and deceptively light; Rune made a quiet retching sound. “Do you remember, when Percy first began communicating with me, and you thought I was going mad?”
Erik’s brows gave a little jump, and Leif could smell the first stirrings of apprehension in his uncle. The poor sod was never going to stop sticking his giant boot into his mouth, but he’d at least begun to recognize when he was doing it. “I don’t–”
“Perhaps,” Oliver said sweetly, “you’ve learned to believe me since then, rather than assuming I’m hallucinating.”
Erik frowned. Started to say something – thought better of it – and sighed. “Very well. Náli is coming to join us. What of this emperor?”
