Page 40 of Blood of Wolves

It was the prospect of what he’d find on the other end of the journey that left him sick with dread.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said, and, in the past, he’d pushed false confidence into his tone to bull his way through a situation – though usually those around him looked on pityingly, aware it was a ruse. Now, though – now Erik and Leif sent him matching raised-brow looks. Oliver wanted to think they were both impressed, but he wouldn’t give himself that much credit just yet. “So long as the harness and saddle are strong enough, it’ll be fine.”

“That’s assuming the beast will let you harness him,” Erik said.

“He will,” and of that Oliver had no doubts.

Erik sighed, and judging by his crimped, unhappy expression, Oliver knew the conversation wasn’t over – not by a long shot. But he could recognize all the ways Erik was trying not to be dictatorial and overbearing.

Snorri joined them, hurrying along, his grin almost childishly enthusiastic. “Ah, just who I was looking for!” he greeted. “Now, about that saddle, your lordship…”

They journeyed back out into the cold and to the stables, where a little rummaging revealed the proper crate secure in the bottom of a sleigh packed with their belongings. It was just as curled and sad-looking, its leather just as old and cracked, as it had been when Snorri showed it to him, on their trip out. Before, the sight of it had filled Oliver with awe – now, as he had a drake and planned to actually ride it, the scrap of leather looked sad and insufficient.

“Don’t you worry,” Snorri said. “We can get this all prettied up.”

“I’m not worried about pretty,” Erik said. “I want it to hold.”

“Aye, your majesty, of course.”

Percy, dozing in the yard, allowed Oliver to take his measurements with a bit of rope, helpfully lifting his wings and legs at each prompting, then settling back in to rest, eyes closing, snow mounding unheeded along his spine and folded wings.

The blacksmith huddled over a rapidly-forming sketch in his smithy, the armorer and even a tanner contributing ideas. Of all the subjects he’d studied, proper harness-making wasn’t one of them; Oliver left the experts to it, and, once again, found himself alone in a hallway with Erik, both of them dusting snow out of their hair.

When he turned toward Erik, and found his face carved with worry, he expected Erik to attempt talking him out of things.

Instead, Erik, voice unusually dejected, said, “I don’t want you to go alone.”

Oliver felt his brows go up, and worked to smooth his expression. “Oh.”

“You find that surprising?”

“No.”I just thought you’d still be stuck on me going at all, he didn’t say. “And I know you don’t want me going alone – but I don’t see an alternative.”

“I could go. I could come with you.”

Oliver smiled, and hoped it softened his next words. “Your lords need you. That’s what you said when we were in the mountains: that you should have been with your men.”

Erik huffed an annoyed sound. “That doesn’t mean that I don’twantto be by your side, protecting you.”

“I know.”

“Take Leif, then. Or Magnus.”

“Erik–”

“Or any of the soldiers. Whomever you want. Maybe the armorer could create some sort of net. A way for the drakes to carry–”

“Love.” Oliver bridged the step between them. When he touched Erik’s face, felt the flicker of muscle leaping beneath his fingertips, Erik closed his eyes a moment, breathing deeply. Oliver ached for him. “I have to go quickly,” he said. “I’ll be faster alone, without lugging half a regiment in a net.” He smiled, but, when Erik’s lashes lifted, he didn’t smile back.

“Is there no one you would take?”

Oliver trailed his touch down through Erik’s close beard, the trimmed hair rasping over new calluses. “It’s more a matter of whocouldI take. You’ll need all the able bodies you can get, and, I’m sure Percy would listen if I asked him, but I think it would help if–”

Oh.

“What?”

“I think I’ve had an idea,” Oliver said.

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