Page 4 of Delinquent Dette
“And I,” said another. “The cowardice I witnessed from my jarl and the curse brought down today bears not repeating to the rest of the clan, does it, jarl?”
More wet footsteps. Shadows loomed over Frikka’s back as he stared. As the furs over his father’s chest lay flat in the rain and his hair grew sodden, he became more pathetic by the moment. A few errant splutters of protest rang out.
“And give the Dette his due,” Erik said. “Wouldn’t do for the jarl to be known as a coward, a thief,andtoo poor to support their own young.”
“Fine! But you’ll never darken Nidhogg land again.” The jarl stomped off and shouted, calling for his attendant. The slave he kept, Skagg, a fox shifter with a lame leg, came running as besthe could. Even he had the cuts and bruises of battle. Even a conquered fox with a malformed foot could fight and their jarl couldn’t.
And that night? The jarl and his company ate roast goose, one a tough and bitter old gander, and the other a plump hen.
Chapter Three
Sten
The Nielsen, the bastard sons of Nidhogg, the jarl’s horde and army of Tyr, all the names for dragons that had been fathered by chosen Dettes. And among them was one rightful heir, a true Nidhogg Dette, who had willingly taken up the mantle.
Six Nielsen had broken rank that day with one Dette. And for Frikka, his dowry had been given. It was a paltry sum compared to the chests the jarl had for us. Nowhere near the gold, furs, and treasures he’d handed over for his other Dettes.
A leather pouch of gold, a fur coat, his clothes, and his jewelry—including his crown, a circlet of gold with a single foggy-topaz cabochon. He didn’t wear it, though, just stuffed it in with his belongings and counted us in number. “Are we leaving together or separate?”
“Oh, prince of the Nielsens, wherever you go, I shall follow.” Erik snorted and Sten clapped him on the back.
Knut, Mar, Ingjald, and Ozur had joined Erik and Sten against the jarl in witness. The six, thick as thieves, were near the same age, but no one was wiser than the other when it came to who fathered or sired them. They’d come from mixed clutches, after all.
They stood on the docks of Jarl Fjallarr’s kingdom. The boatmaster of the hordes had come to see them off that morning, the sky clear and full of promise. Frikka stood in their midst with a crate of furs with five beautiful black eggs nestled inside. Sadness radiated from them, and Sten’s heart constricted.
“I’m assuming a longboat is part of Frikka’s dowry?” The boatmaster, Sigfast, grinned at them with yellowed teeth and a whited-out eye.
It wasn’t, but Frikka returned a rakish smile full of familiar mischief. “Oh yes. Thebestlongboat, because our jarl is unfalteringly generous.”
And that was it. They loaded into the boat, added their possessions, and seated Frikka with his eggs between Erik and Sten. Frikka stroked the surface of his eggs, his face a mask. “Where do we go?”
The oars hit the water as they made it out into the bay until Ozur took a running start along the ship, leaped into the air, and shifted, clutching a rope in his hands that rapidly turned into strong talons. No air needed to grace their sails, but most of the continent feared Nidhoggs, especially branded Nielsens.
As the wind kicked up and their boat treaded water under Ozur’s pull, light-blond curls lifted and flowed about Frikka, exposing a garish burn across the back of his neck—a brand of the Nielsen, which had been pressed over his Nidhogg tattoo. It’d heal to a knotted scar in time, but the ink would still be there and all would know he’d been dishonored. Sten fought the urge to touch the marking, but it was too fresh of a reminder of what had happened.
“The only place a dragon without a clan can go safely.” Erik picked at his teeth as Sten cut his gaze.
“Cathay?” Ingjald turned from his place at the sails. That’s where all dragons went after they were dishonored. They became feral in the mountains there.
“That would please my father to no end. We survive and flourish in spite of him.” Frikka stared out into the ocean scape. “We go to the indies.”
“The spicelands?” Ingjald raised a brow. “We just came from there. They see our fair hair and panic.”
“The Novus Mundus.” Erik frowned. “There’s so few dragons there.”
“All the better for us to thrive.” Frikka sighed heavily.
“Says you. There’s no Dettes for the annual running.” Ingjald sighed.
“I am here.” Frikka sneered.
“But you’re Sten’s mate!” Erik glared at him.
“I’m nobody’s mate. I dream of a world where we don’t need mates and hierarchy to claim Dettes like property. My chastity is nobody’s business but my own.” Frikka stroked his eggs and turned his attention to a cloth at his side wrapped dutifully with a hand-knotted cord. Sten’s heart clenched in his chest. Frikka stroked the bundle and remained quiet.
“To the new world.” Sten rested a hand on Frikka’s shoulder. “Where we don’t claim mates as property and there are no kings, zealots, or jarls to control us.”
As the day drew on, all but Frikka took turns pulling the ship. He offered, but he’d never done it before and needed to be with his eggs more than anything else.
