Page 39 of Clash of Storms
Sirius sighed. "I wasn'ttryingto see your thoughts. And I promise I would never steal my way past your shields." He slipped the reins over the stallion's head and led both horses to where a profusion of tracks circled each other. Kneeling to survey the mud-churned mess, he almost fell on his ass as the horse nudged him.
"Back off, you bastard," he muttered, giving the stallion an almost-playful slap across the chest.
"What's his name?" Malin asked.
"Iškur." Sirius's head turned this way and that, and he circled the mess, looking off into the distance after one particular trail.
"After the storm god," she whispered. As lore master of the court, her father adored tales of all the old gods, from Norse to Sumerian. Though she'd only arrived at the court when she was twenty, she could remember many nights falling asleep listening to his voice as he taught her younger sister, Elin, to read.
"He was named Clash as a foal, but when he became mine I renamed him. It was a foolish name for a mighty creature. Typical of Magnus."
The stallion snorted, as if to agree, his nostrils flaring.
"Your brother owned him?"
"Once. Father gave him to Magnus as a foal, and he sought to break this mighty spirit." Sirius rubbed his knuckles down the stallion's nose. "So I challenged Magnus to a race. If I could beat him to Edinburgh, then Iškur was mine. He had no choice but to accept, though he knew I was the faster of the two of us."
"Only you could find a horse so perfectly suited to you."
Both he and horse looked at her, as if they were trying to work out the implications of her statement.
She almost laughed.
The stallion's glossy mane hung in silken waves as he arched his neck and preened. His enormous chest almost stretched the limits of the saddle's endurance. From the finest bloodlines, no doubt. Mercilessly good-looking and well bred. Evil. She'd seen him try to bite Sirius earlier.
"In what way?"
"He's a foul-tempered, murderous beast," Malin replied, "with excellent conformation."
"Are you trying to say I have excellent conformation?"
It was seemingly a condition of being adrekimale that one must have the arrogance of a king. Malin almost rolled her eyes. "You know you're the type of male who catches a woman's eye."
"No, I wasn't aware. You included?"
"Unfortunately, I know better," she retorted. "I've seen all you beautifuldrekimales up close, and the reality of your nature is enough to insulate me from your blinding good looks."
"Considering the way you were staring at me this morning, I'm not quite certain that's true."
Malin spluttered. "You caught me by surprise."
"Evidently." Heat sparkled in his eyes. "If you'd taken a step forward you would have tripped on your jaw. The way you were looking at me, Malin, made me quite fear for my virtue."
There was absolutely nothing she could say to that, and Sirius laughed.
He turned to survey the pair of hoof prints they'd been following. The tracks led into a craggy ravine, ice-tipped mountains looming ahead. The terrain turned rough and thunderclouds loomed in the distance. A storm was coming.
She could feel the prickle of it on her skin.
The whisper of wind stirred her skirts, and shivered right through her.
"What in Tiamat's name is Árdís thinking, to venture into Fáfnir's territory?" Sirius paced, scrubbing at his mouth.
"What's wrong? You don't care to tangle with He Who Should Not Be Woken?" Malin relished the frustration on his face.
Fáfnir had once been king of theZiniclan before the previous king—Árdís's father—had overthrown him.
He was aeons old, and had forged the treaty between thedrekiand humankind all those years ago, which meant humans were not to be touched. A myth. A legend. A powerfuldrekimale who reportedly whiled away his time in near-hibernation. Some even said he was slowly turning to stone, returning to the earth.
