Page 35 of Master of Storms
He yawned sleepily. “You may ask. I may answer. I guess it’s a roll of the dice.”
Solveig stroked the soft wool of his blanket. “What is your court so afraid of?”
Stillness slid through him. “What do you mean?”
“There are guards at every point of the royal wing. Your warlord, Sirius, escorted his wife right to their door. The dragon-slayer hasn’t left your sister’s side. There are no rooms for me to sleep in because there aren’t enough guards, are there, Marduk? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think your court expected an attack. From within.”
Silence ticked out, until a spark cracked in the grate so loudly that he jumped. He cursed under his breath.
“I told Rurik you were too clever,” he grumbled.
Confirmation. Her heart skipped a beat. Her knife was under her pillow, but she’d been forced to leave her sword—and her boots—back at that inn. “What’s going on?”
“Give me your word you won’t breathe a hint of this to anyone else.”
“You have it.” Knowledge was power, and even if she was bound not to share it, she could use it to her advantage if she so chose.
“Ever since my mother died, there have been hints of Chaos workings within the court. It feels like my mother’s magic, and we found the necklace she was wearing when she died, with every emerald in it shattered. The ghostly imprint of an old spell was all over it. Ishtar has tried to track its remnants, but by the time she was brought here, the echoes of it were starting to fade.”
“But?” she asked, for his voice had trailed off as though he was trying to work out how to say the next part.
“We found the body of adrekiwoman last week. She was only nineteen, but Árdís was beginning to suspect Marthe could wield Chaos. She showed signs of it. Or she did once.” His mouth twisted. “Her mother had seen her three hours before she disappeared, but when Marthe was found, it looked as though it had been years. Every inch of her was desiccated, and Árdís said she was drained of everything. Her life. Her magic. Her soul. When we set her body to the bonfires, nothing rose. She was truly gone, and her spirit will never ride the horizon with the rest of ourdrekiancestors.”
Solveig slowly unleashed a breath in disbelief. “You think your mother’s haunting the court?”
“We don’t know. For our own sakes, I pray she’s not.”
Silence fell between them, but this time, she could sense their horror lingering like a shroud in the air.
According to her sources, the former queen had organized her husband’s murder before claiming his throne for herself. She’d exiled Rurik and named him the killer before he’d risen up to overthrow her.
Solveig had met Amadea several times, and each time had left her with a slightly unclean sensation afterward.
“The guards must work in pairs,” he admitted. “No one is allowed to be by themselves.”
Solveig stared at the ceiling. “How the hell am I supposed to get any sleep now?”
“The same way I am. Not at all.” Marduk sighed. “There’s only a few hours until dawn. Sweet dreams, Solveig.”
7
The following morning, they winged their way east. The rest of the official delegation would meet them tomorrow near theZilittucourt, but for now, Marduk wanted a closer look at the portal on top of World’s End.
Of course, they’d had a brief stop at the inn Solveig had been staying at, because apparently, she couldn’t go anywhere without her travel bag. And sword and boots.
He’d been hearing a lot about the boots.
Marduk landed between the enormous rune stones, spread his wings, and then pulled his magic in tight and small. A shimmering cascade of sparks broke around him, and then he was crouching on a rock, his arms spread as he shook the rain from his hair.
It felt good to fly.
They’d raced across the Norwegian Sea, with Solveig a smaller, darker version of himself. She was absolutely gorgeous indrekiform. Sleek and lethal, her black scales gleaming in the sun. At first she’d flown with steady determination toward their destination, but he’d been able to lure her into barrel rolls and sharp dives that ended with his claws skimming the waters. And the second they’d seen land, she’d challenged him to a race.
“Too slow, little princeling,” called her smoky voice as he straightened. “I’ve been here for nearly a minute.”
He caught a glimpse of Solveig between several of the enormous standing stones that marked World’s End, gloriously nude as she slipped into a shirt she’d pulled from the travel-stained bag she’d carried, and the image stopped his brain in his tracks.
It wasn’t polite to stare.
