Page 72 of Storm of Fury
The prince slammed into the stone, Solveig driving the point of the spear toward his face.
She pulled the blow at the last second, and Marduk froze, the sharp tip coming to rest against the flickering pulse in his throat.
“Ten years,” she whispered, the tip of the spear drawing blood, “and all I’ve done is think of you.”
Marduk’s eyes flashed gold as his innerdrekimade its presence known. He captured the shaft of the spear, swallowing hard. “I guessed that from this meticulously plotted little exercise. The girl is yours?”
Solveig leaned her weight on the spear. “The girl is mine.”
The ground felt like it dropped away from beneath Tormund’s feet as his gaze found Bryn.
The way she’d just happened to show up in their path that night in Grøa. All that protest about coin for her help in finding Marduk.
The sword.
The key.
The way she’d fled from his arms yesterday in the river.
He swallowed the truth down like a lump of molten rock, but it was the ache in his heart that hurt the most.
“Brightfeather.” Thedrekiprincess reached for her belt and tossed a bag of coin toward Bryn. “As promised.”
Bryn snatched it out of the air, but she paused there as though the moment had caught her off guard too.
“You,” he whispered.
There was a look in her eyes he couldn’t decipher. A hesitancy that slipped through the cracks in her armor.
But then she shoved the bag of coin into a pouch at her belt. “I told you I would ruin you. You wouldn’t listen.”
“You’re working for her?” The words fell from his lips.
“I said I would help you find the prince.” Bryn’s face tightened. “I didn’t say there weren’t others interested in finding him too.”
“Enough.” Solveig stepped away from Marduk, the point of her spear trailing along the stone hard enough to draw sparks. “Bring the prince,” she called, snapping her fingers to her men. “And his friends. We have a northerly wind to catch.”
Fourteen
Betrayal tasted like horse piss—sourand stale—and Tormund didn’t want to think about it, didn’t even want to contemplate it, so he turned his mind to other matters.
"Old lover?" he asked, hanging limply in chains.
It wasn’t as though there was anything else to do, considering the way the iron door of the cell had slammed, and thedrip drip dripof water trickling down thick stone walls. They’d been trussed up and flown north into the howling teeth of an icy wind, finally landing at the opening of what Solveig assured them was a prison near the court of theSaduclan.
Closer to home, yes, but from the look of that door—and the war marshal’s face—they weren’t getting out of here in a hurry.
Marduk shot him a flat look from across the cell. "I would rather stick my hand in a volcano than touch that particulardreki."
Tormund glanced at Haakon.
Haakon arched a brow.
"It's just..., Princess Solveig seems to hold quite a grudge. In my experience, women don't look that hell-bent on setting your britches on fire unless you've spurned them."
“Considering the way you were glaring at that tall redhead, I’d have thought you’d have had more experiencebeingspurned,” Marduk growled.
Tormund forced a smile. He refused to be drawn—at least until he’d managed to track down said redhead and demand answers. “Does he sound like he’s trying to avoid the topic of a certaindrekiprincess?” he asked Haakon.
