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“No.”
“Oh, we can share tavern girls and whores, I can make your eyes roll back in the middle of a forest, but Amelia Drake? Oh, no,” he said, faux lofty, “gods forfend: we could never shareher.”
“There’s a bloody big difference between a tavern girl and a duchess, and you know it.”
The grin only widened. “Not where it counts.”
Leif growled, deep and loud enough that the other wolves sent up inquiring whines and snuffles, and he was forced to settle. “We aren’t touching Oliver’s cousin. Tessa’s sister. Is that clear enough to you?”
Ragnar rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t hurt to at least ask her.”
“Ragnar.”
“Fine, fine.” He turned around and laid back down amongst the roots, head pillowed on a tuft of moss. “Wake me when it’s time to leave, alpha.” He was snoring again within minutes, heedless of Leif’s turmoil.
We won’t, he swore to himself.We would never.
But somewhere on the other side of the forest, a beacon had been lit, calling to him.
He hitched himself up higher against the tree, and pinched his leg every time he thought he might fall asleep.
14
Marching with an entire army was a slow affair. It had taken an hour from the moment Erik cupped his hands around his mouth at dawn and called for the party to move out, to getting the whole train in actual motion. Despite the addition of the Beserkirs, it was a greatly reduced army, after the festival attacks, after the siege. Even so, the Phalanx itself and the baggage train behind stretched for miles along the road, and could only move as quickly as its slowest members. They had outriders, yes, but for the most part, the three drake-riders had served that role, flying before and behind and then doubling back, searching for threats from above as the march crawled like a vast column of ants along the river.
By the time camp was set up – another slow affair, with animals to be brushed down and watered, tents to be set up, fires to be built, haunches of venison to be dressed and set up on spits, thanks to the drakes’ hunting efforts – and Oliver was seated before a fire, scent of roasting meat in his nose and a horn cup of mistress-laced tea in his hand, he was thoroughly windswept, saddle sore, and running on limited patience
Náli, by contrast, who should have been sipping lavender tear, a fur clutched round his shoulders, swaying and drawn with fatigue, was as bright and energetic as anyone his age. In this instance, Oliver found it annoying.
“You’re not looking in the right place, then,” Náli said, on the neighboring log-turned-bench.
Oliver bit back a sigh, and stroked Percy’s nose where it rested beside him. The drake’s eyes were closed, but he crooned a low, pleased sound when touched. “Where am I supposed to look? It doesn’t happen intentionally – I fall asleep, and when I wake up, I’m there, no looking required. I don’t know how to willfully get out of the place, either.”
“That’s a problem.”
“Obviously.” Oliver took a long sip of tea, the heat of the liquor settling pleasantly in his belly. “Which is why I’ve asked you about it.”Though you haven’t been helpful, he wanted to say.
Across the fire, Tessa said, “Perhaps Ollie and I won’t be able to see it at all.” Alfie’s tail was coiled across her feet, an insufficient hot water bottle, given the way the drakes ran cold, but a sweet sign of affection nonetheless. “Maybe the doorway is at the bottom of your well in the fire mountain,” Tessa addressed Náli. “And we can’t get to it here, this far away.”
“Nonsense. It’s more concentrated in the well, yes, but it’s not a physical place. You find it here.” He tapped his temple, and adopted an expression Oliver thought was meant to appear wise…but which looked like that of a teenage prat lording his knowledge over them instead.
“Right,” Oliver sighed. “My question ishow?”
“Someone’sin a mood.”
“Someonespent all day on the back of a dragon, and would like a bit of meat, and his bedroll, and to not wake up in the arms of the Selesee emperor tonight.”
“Well,” Náli began, rolling his eyes – and a large, gloved hand closed around his spill of silvery hair and tipped his head back. Alarm flared in his eyes, the briefest moment, before he recognized Mattias standing behind him, sweat beaded along his brow despite the cold, steam rising off the shaved sides of his head.
Náli went sheepish.
Mattias’s expression was stern…but undercut by a fondness too great to contain, one allowed to leak through the cracks in his façade, now that things were different with his lord. “Explain it to them the way you’d explain it to me,” he instructed, released his hair, and patted the top of his head.
Náli’s nose wrinkled up, but his cheeks had gone pink. “Explaining it to you would involve far few clothes, though,” he said over his shoulder, as Mattias gathered up more logs and moved to place them on the fire.
“Hm. Pretend you’re a pleasant person, then.”
“Hey!”
