Page 70 of Storm of Fury
Tormund’s gaze flickered back to the dark shapes materializing in the fog. “I don’t think we’re going to have that option. Where the hell have you been?”
“They won’t hurt you if you lower your weapons,” she replied. “Drekigenerally don’t harm humans unless they’re provoked first. It’s against their laws.”
“That arrow nearly fucking kissed my nose,” he snarled, eyes searching the mist. “I don’t think whoever is out there is too fucking concerned about the state of my humanity.”
“It was never meant for you,” she told him.
There was something about her voice that drew his gaze back to her.
His voice roughened. “How would you know that?”
A thousand emotions flickered across her face, but it was the stiffening of her shoulders that made his gut drop.No. Not her. Tormund drew back in shock, a fist-sized rock in his throat. She couldn’t be behind this.
But then, where had she been all morning?
“Just lower your axe,” she insisted, her voice turning hard.
The mist began to disperse as if whoever had been holding it still suddenly let go of their magic.
One, two, three….Nine shapes stood sentinel in the darkness, all of them wearing heavy fur cloaks, with battle-hardened leather body armor. Four of them were women, but they looked no less aggressive than the men.
“Hello, little princeling,” called a mocking female voice. "I've spent years trying to track you down. Imagine my delight when I hear of a trio of foreigners asking for rumors of you within my very clan lands.”
A tall, lithe figure hopped from boulder to boulder, slinging her bow over her shoulder. Thick, black hair was braided off her face, though the rest of it hung in a silken waterfall down her spine, and a pair of gold dots was painted just above the inside of her brows. She moved like a predator, her dark eyes locking upon them like a hawk sighting prey.
“Did you miss me?” she called. “Your friends led me right to you."
But she wasn't looking at him.
Or Bryn.
Or even Haakon.
No, her entire attention was locked upon the prince behind him. And when she smiled, Tormund had the feeling somewhere in her heritage there'd been a wolf.
"Friend of yours?" he said through a smile, his lips unmoving.
Marduk’s eyes narrowed, one hand still clasped to his bloodied wound. "Not... exactly."
"Prince Marduk," the woman purred, handing her bow to one of her guards in exchange for a spear. "I’ve been quite interested in your whereabouts. Last time, you left without even saying a word. My father was most put out."
“Solveig.” There was a wealth of meaning in that one name. “What are you doing here?”
Solveig? It meant nothing to him. Tormund’s head snapped back and forth between them. “What’s going on?”
“This is Solveig the Black,” Marduk replied, “from theSaducourt in Norway.”
“Fierce,” Solveig replied, with another of those wolfish smiles. “I use Solveig the Fierce now.”
Again, it felt like there was a wealth of meaning beneath the words.
Marduk stilled. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Oh, that’s such a shame,” Solveig replied. “Because I’ve been looking forward to this encounter for, oh, around ten years now.”
Oh. “Definitely unfriendly,” Tormund whispered.
“Drekifucking politics,” Haakon muttered.
