Page 5 of Delinquent Dette
Morning moved to the bright, warm sun of day that eked into a quiet evening. “Stop here for a time.”
Sten, who had taken his turn, flared his wings, dropped his weight, and let himself fall into the ocean before swimming to the ship’s side to climb in. “Why here?”
“Because nobody will stop me.” Frikka pulled the bundle into his lap, bowed his head. A woven basket, the reeds tight and waxed, lay at his feet and he gently placed the bundle inside. Over it, he placed a child’s toy, a simple, carved wooden dagger. “It’s fitting. No sword for something so small.”
Sten’s gut clenched, and he rummaged through his belongings before pulling out two feathers. One a ruddy brown and gray, the other white. He placed them on the basket.
Nobody questioned when Frikka sang a lullaby to the bundle or set it in the water, floating on the salty surface, breaking ripples of stars and moonlight. Nor did they question when Frikka set fire to the basket’s handle and pushed the bundle out,the flames growing, but shrinking as it floated away until it was no more, snuffed into the endless depths.
“Goodbye, my little pebble.” Frikka’s choked words silenced. The eggs cried through their bond with Sten.
“Pebble?” Sten sat beside Frikka and leaned into him.
“I had only just learned their names. Peter, Hallr, Torsten, Jasper, Jörmun, andMöl.”Stone, Great Stone, Thor’s stone, Gemstone, Mountainous, and Pebble.As Sten had meantstone, so too did his sons adopt their names.
Sten stared at the eggs and touched the surface of them, something he so rarely got to do, just sneaking moments when the jarl wasn’t looking. He touched one surface at a time, naming each of them, as they told him their names, too. “They’ve a father with a hard head and a papa more stubborn than any mountain.”
“And we go to this new world, we bring our five sons, and we raise them well. I will have no mate, but you may be by my side if you wish.” Frikka leaned into Sten’s side and closed his eyes. If that’s all he ever was to the Dette, it’d be more than enough. “But you’re right, you don’t deserve me.”
Sten stifled a laugh.
“I speak seriously. You never did anything so horrible as to deserve being stuck with me. You need your freedom, too. Someone who deserves you far more will come along. Until then, you shall keep our nest warm.” Frikka leaned into Sten’s side and closed his eyes, letting sleep take him swiftly.
Chapter Four
Frikka
1805
The Americas were a wonderful place, full of new life and wild fun. Travel by wing was the norm. The humans traveled by carriage, but they were so uncurious in those days. It had been a turning point in the world, when humans forgot about magic, where there were no more old gods in the lands.
There were also puritans. Which, for the sake of getting laid easily, put a damper on his family’s fun. Though, raising young ones in the era was far more interesting than it was back home. Two Drakes and two Dettes had come from his eggs. It was of no surprise that Jasper was a Dette, curious and sweet. He loved to sing and paint. Peter, too, was a Dette, though he had Sten’s rough streak and did not want to be a Dette, dainty or anything associated with it. Torsten, Jörmun, and Hallr were thick as thieves, three Drakes with completely different personalities. Torsten was brazen and crass. He sought to fight and play hard while Hallr trailed after, as happy to wrestle as he was to sit with Jasper and read. Jörmun, from a young age, had been far more independent than the others, headstrong and even young, he carried himself as a stag, what they referred to Drakes who loved other Drakes.
Hallr had a peace about him that brought harmony. With traces of pearlescent colors in his scales, he would have been a fine candidate for a jarl.
One of the greatest things about the Americas, though? Dettes were free—ish. No council would dare put their finger down on them, or at least the Cathay—Chinese dragons who had fought the new French dragons. Diors, or whatever theycalled themselves. Half their Drakes bent like Dettes, and they wouldn’t argue it.
“Frikka!” Sten’s booming voice shook the loose rafters of their home, a towering stone thing built in the old fashion that was reminiscent of their motherland. It was no mansion or estate, but it was grand in its own right, and home.
“What?” Frikka rose from their four-poster bed and stretched languidly, walking downstairs past Jasper, who sat dutifully by a window reading.
“Don’t youwhatme, Dette!” Sten stood at the bottom of the witch’s staircase, hands on his hips, blocking Frikka’s way. “Why?”
Jasper, well aware of his parents’ proclivities, dutifully placed a bookmark in his tome and snuck off, his white-blond locks framing his face with gentle curls much like Frikka had worn not a few years ago.
“Why, what? I’ve done so many things that it’s hard to narrow it down!” Frikka shrugged and sat on the stair rail, sliding down into Sten’s waiting arms.
“You set fire to the stables of that lot of félag Drakes down the way!” Sten gripped Frikka by the back of his shirt and pulled him in close, eyes darkening. It was all a show. Sten didn’t have the spine to stand up to Frikka.
“They were parading a Dette around pitching woo with coin.” Frikka stared Sten down, daring him to do something about it.
“Colborn is absolutely incensed. They were not pitching woo and you owe apologies. I’m gathering the men and we’re going to rebuild the stables on our own coin. Hallr is already cleaning things up.” The dark and stormy blue in his eyes hardened.
Actually mad this time. Rare.
“Buying Dettes is forbidden in the new world. They’re lucky I didn’t burn their house down.” Frikka sniffed indignantly.
“For Tyr’s sake, Dette! Listen to me. Not all Drakes are bastards.” Sten shook him a little, a pleading expression melting over his face. “Are we bastards to you?”
