Page 111 of Clash of Storms
The poison within it.
"You want him alive, my queen," Roar said. "But that does not mean he must be whole."
Sirius sucked in air, every inch of him aching and bruised. Fear swirled through him, true fear. Not this. Of all things, not this. He'd expected death, indeed, he'd been prepared to face it.
She was right.
Death would have been a kindness.
A smile slid over the queen's face, and she tipped her head in a regal fashion. "An eye for an eye."
And Sirius roared in fury as Roar and five others pinned him to the floor. All he could hear was Andri screaming for mercy. All he could feel was Roar's knee resting on Sirius's cheek, as the tip of his knife came into view.
And then there was nothing but pain.
24
Malin could barely breathe as she, Freyja and Tormund stumbled through the Reykjavik portal.
The cellar was dark and empty. She couldn't hear anything as she bent and retrieved the candle from her bag. Light flared, leaving them all blinking.
"Fewdrekiknow of these passages," she whispered, as she led them up through the labyrinthine cellars of Hekla. "They have no need of a portal, so we shouldn't have any trouble until we reach the upper levels."
"How should we act if we meet someone?" Freyja asked.
"Keep your eyes down—you're a servant. The males, in particular, will expect you to get out of their way. If we're stopped allow me to do the talking." Malin paused in one of the storage cellars and gestured for Tormund to pick up an enormous bag of potatoes. "Carry this on your shoulder, and try and keep it between you and anyone we encounter. You're too tall and you move like a warrior. It might draw attention."
"Yes, ma'am." Tormund hefted the enormous sack onto his shoulder, barely straining at the weight.
"And do not—no matter what happens—stare a maledrekiin the eye. There's an entire realm of body language and challenging behavior we don't have time to go into, but if you aggravate them they will seek to put you in your place."
"Meek and mild," Tormund assured her as they climbed up a level. "I'll be a little lamb, I promise."
Freyja snorted.
"Hide your faces," Malin told them, dragging the hood of her brown wool cloak over her red-brown hair as they approached the upper levels. She took a deep breath. "Here we are."
Moving through the halls with a slow and careful grace, she caught her first glimpse of a drekling. Every step she took seemed fraught with danger and her heart raced. She led them down as many back passages as she could, but in the end they were bound to come across adreki.
And worst of all, it was a pair of the queen's sycophantic mercenaries—outcasts from other clans who'd found succor here, when every other clan had turned them away. Rathgar and Heindrick both looked the worst for wear, curiously enough. Rathgar wore a bruise that mottled the entire right side of his face.
Malin bobbed her head, and glanced back to see the others doing the same. She barely dared breathe as the pair ofdrekipassed them by.
With every step she took, she anticipated the outcry:"Hey, you! Stop where you are!"
But it never came.
And then they were scurrying down the narrow hallway that led to her father's private chambers and the rooms she shared with him and her sister, Elin.
"We made it," she breathed.
Malin rapped on the door to her father's room.
Footsteps moved softly within the room. The door creaked open, and her father, Sigurd, came into view, looking as though he'd aged ten years.
He froze when he saw her. "Mal—"
Clapping a hand over his mouth, she shoved her way inside, gesturing for Freyja and Tormund to hurry. "Shut the door."
