Page 3 of Storm of Fury
She tossed the pouch up and down. “Not human.”
“Not human.” The princess’s eyes darkened. “He’s adrekiprince named Marduk, born into theZiniclan, though he’s been in exile for years. He hasn’t been seen for nearly a decade, but several members of his court came through this region two days ago. They’re looking for him and they think he’s gone east. I want you to track them and use them to find him.”
She’d been right. This was a kettle full of trouble. “You want me to capture adrekiprince from a foreign court and bring him to you in chains?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t just earn the enmity of a singledreki—and a prince at that—I’d be facing the wrath of his entire court.” Bryn shook her head. “I may as well slit my throat now. It would be a kinder fate.”
“You will be protected.”
“By whom?” she demanded. “Does this order come from your father?”
Solveig paced to the table. “No. It comes from me.”
Bryn’s eyebrows arched. “King Harald considers peace to be his most notable achievement. This sounds like you intend to start a war.”
“That miserable son of a dragon humiliated me and he will feel my wrath,” Solveig snarled, snatching her knife from the table. Her black braid whipped over her shoulders as she turned. “My father will not seek to intervene, nor will theZiniclan risk retaliation. This is personal anddrekido not step between those that bear a legitimate vendetta.”
“And what if one is not adreki? Some may dare not cross you, but they’ll not hesitate to bring ruin down uponme.”
Solveig drew her knife and sliced a cut across her palm. “I vow by the Goddess that I will protect you from the consequences of this quest. I alone will earn Marduk’s enmity, and I will contain his rage. Blessed Tiamat, hear me.”
In the distance, thunder rumbled.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Bryn trembled at the evidence thedreki’sgoddess had heard Solveig’s oath. But she held out her hand and slowly curled it around the knife. Adreki’sword was a powerful oath, and if Solveig swore she’d bear the brunt of these consequences, then she would.
“To capturing wretched princes,” she said.
Solveig withdrew the blade so swiftly that Bryn barely felt the sting, but her smile sent a shiver down the spine. “To seeing them on their knees before us.”
When their clasped hands met, Bryn could feel that power—the heaviness of a storm brewing on the horizon—settle over her shoulders.
This was not her goddess, but she could respect the deity.
By the time she wiped her bloodied palm on her trousers, the cut was sealed.
“Find him for me and I will handle the rest,” Solveig replied, cleaning and then sheathing the knife. “Consider the coin advance payment. If you bring him to me, then I will double it. And I will give you something worth far more to you than mere gold.”
“I doubt it. I happen to quite like gold.”
It bought her enough tankards of ale to drown a fish.
Solveig reached within her cloak and produced a scroll. “Absolution. I have here the written confession of Róta, proclaiming you innocent of the charges that saw you cast from Valhalla, with your brands burned from your skin in dishonor.”
Bryn sucked in a sharp breath. Absolution. She’d spent so many centuries walking this cursed realm, certain she would never see the fair halls and her sisters again.
Absolution.
Gold.
And no consequences.
