Page 22 of Blood of Wolves

“I’m…” His tongue was dry and heavy in his mouth. His head pounded. “He didn’t…know anything.”

And then, blessedly, he passed out.

~*~

Oliver winced as he watched Mattias stride back across the field with Náli tucked securely in his arms. The Dead Guard hadn’t said anything, hadn’t glared at him, even, but Oliver could feel the anger radiating off the man. “I suppose that wasn’t my brightest idea.”

Birger shrugged. “It had to be asked. Any lord worth his salt would try to take advantage of all the resources available.” He nudged Oliver with an elbow, grinning, and prompted an eyeroll. He sobered after, though. “Poor lad’s worn himself out, I think.”

“He isn’t the only one.” Oliver glanced back up the hill toward the longhouse where they’d left Askr and the other wounded behind. “The return march is going to be hell.”

“Aye. And few will be in fighting shape when we arrive.”

Oliver tried and failed to swallow his mounting anxiety. The idea of travel at all was barely tolerable right now; even without a fever, healthier than he’d been in years, the idea of moving on again after their grueling trek through the mountains left him wanting to bury his face in his hands.

“I won’t add to Erik’s stress. I won’t heap on more worries – but, Birger. I just…I don’t know about this. I don’t know how it’ll go.”

Birger sighed. “Aye, lad. Me neither.”

~*~

Erik felt steadier after he’d spent time bearing witness to the dead; grounded by his talk with Leif. The ugly, distracting buzzing under his skin receded to a mere disquiet, and his thoughts were clearer, better-focused. He might very well have to face defeat soon, but he wasn’t defeated yet, and in what time remained, he was a king with a mission to carry out.

When he returned to the yard in front of the longhouse, it was to the organized chaos of sleighs being loaded and reindeer being harnessed; of horses saddled and packs checked. He spotted his own horse, readied and waiting beside Oliver’s, but was surprised to recognize that it was Oliver who stepped around the stallion’s head and set about fiddling with his breastplate.

Erik hastened the last few steps and took up the horse’s loose reins, patting it absently when it greeted him with a nudge. “Someone else could do this,” he said.

Oliver didn’t look up, but a fleeting smile touched his mouth. “Everyone’s busy. I can’t very well sit around.” He lifted his head and nodded off toward the side – where, Erik saw, the wounded were being toted on sledges toward the waiting sleighs. Askr was bellowing loudly in protest, but clearly lacked the strength to pitch himself from the sledge the way he kept threatening to.

Erik sighed.

“Hey.” When he looked, he found Oliver studying him, brows drawn together. “Are you all right? You slipped away earlier.”

It wasn’t an accusation, not at all, but it left Erik feeling chastened anyway. “I’m fine.” He wasn’t about to repeat the conversation he’d had with Leif, to expound on the weight that kingship carried. Likely Oliver already knew, but he wasn’t going to burden his consort with that now, not while such a dangerous journey lay before them. “What of your drakes? Shouldn’t you be readying them instead?”

Oliver snorted. “How so? They’ve hunted, and eaten. They’ll follow when it’s time.” He said it with confidence, assured that they would go with him.

What a change, Erik thought, proudly, from the uncertain young man who’d nearly swooned on the roof of Silfr Hall, uncertain of the pale wraith that had swept overhead.

Oliver frowned. “What?”

“Nothing. We should get moving.”

A screech sounded overhead, high and inhuman. When he tipped his head back, he saw the three drakes – father, mother, son – circling overhead.

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed. “They’re ready.”

6

Aeres

Rune still tired easily – easier than he would have liked to, Tessa knew. Late afternoon, and the ships were still in the harbor, and the city was empty – no cheerful smudges of chimney smoke, nor distant clamor of commerce – and Rune’s long-lashed eyes slipped slowly shut and he tipped over onto the arm of the sofa. Tessa covered him with a blanket and tiptoed from the royal apartments.

The palace hummed with tension. She could feel it in the soles of her feet, like a living pulse moving up through the flagstones and carpets. When she’d run into Bjorn earlier, found him gazing out a window toward the harbor, he’d said, “The waiting always feels like the worst part. And then you’re not waiting, and that’s worse.”

In truth, she was glad that Rune had fallen asleep; trying to keep up a cheerful façade was wearing on her. Now, as she paced down the hall, headed for the staircase, determined to find something useful to do with her clammy hands, she felt her face sag with exhaustion and fear.

The women of Aeres dipped their heads and greeted her with quiet murmurs of “my lady” as she moved through the great hall. She didn’t slow – she was searching for Revna, for a set of firm directives that she might carry out. A kitchen maid directed her toward one of the balconies, and, frowning, she ducked outside – and froze.

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