Page 172 of Master of Storms
Draco’s hooded eyes settled on his queen as if her words had been a dagger meant for his heart.
All eyes turned toward him.
“TheZilittustand with their cousins, theZini,” he finally said. “On one condition.”
“Name it,” Rurik said.
“My brother’s head,” Draco purred. “On a spike.”
Andromeda turned ashen.
Interesting, Solveig noted.
* * *
They landedin a world made of snow.
Freyja cried out as she fell forward, and her left wrist jarred. The shock of such cold sent needles of sharp pain through her fingers, and she jerked her hands back.
Where the hell were they? What had that bastard done to them? Where had he sent them?
She had the horrible feeling she knew that answer to that last question.
Don’t think it. Don’t think it.
You came through once. You can get back to him.
But there’d been that sucking feeling, as if the world around her had turned her inside out and then spat her out into a world that was so alien, it almost stole the breath from her lungs.
She wanted to vomit.
Worse, she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. There was an emptiness within her that ate at her chest like a hungry wolf.
He was gone.
Rurik was gone.
And with him, everything she had ever known.
Ishtar cried out, scrambling to her feet and staggering into a deep snowdrift. It was enough to shock Freyja out of her grief.
“Are you all right?” she asked her sister-in-law, helping her to her feet.
Blood dripped from Ishtar’s nose. She brushed at it, her eyes widening in horror when she saw the smear of vermillion across the back of her hand.
“Does your head ache?” Freyja asked gently.
Ishtar shook her head violently, but she was seemingly transfixed by the blood.
Freyja bent and tore a scrap of linen from her petticoats. “Here,” she said, gently dabbing the blood away.
“I’m bleeding.” Ishtar whispered. “Is it stopping?”
Freyja checked and gave a sigh of relief. “Much better.” She handed the bloody rag over. “But keep this pressed against your nose, and tilt your head back.”Then she turned to survey the scenery.
Enormous jagged mountains reared over them, and the world was such a blinding white that she squinted. Shaggy fir trees wore a mantle of snow, and the forests were strangely quiet.
“There are no birds,” she whispered. “Nothing moves in the forest.”
