But now that the seal of professionalism was thoroughly broken between them, Mattias didn’t guard his reactions. Náli wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to seeing such open and eager adoration. It filled his stomach with butterflies every time—and now was no different. Despite his current dire circumstances, Náli took a moment to bask, in the short spell of time it took Mattias to close the gap between them, and cup his cheek, and smile down at him.
“Are you well?” he asked.
Then reality crashed over him, crushing all the butterflies. He gripped the front of Mattias’s tunic. “Matti, listen. We reached the edge of the city. Rune and I.”
Mattias blinked, and then frowned. “Has something happened to Lady Tessa?”
“She was taken. Kidnapped by a Sel solider on a bloody huge drake.”
“Gods.”
“We’re relatively safe, for now. We still have the three drakes.”
The frown deepened. “I should have come with you. You won’t stay safe for long.”
Náli ground his knuckles into Mattias’s chest. “That’s neither here nor there. Just listen. You have to give Erik a message.”
As he always did, Mattias listened.
~*~
Time lost all meaning underground. There was no sunrise, no sunset. No stars, no breeze, no smell of new, good things growing in springtime. They marked the passage of days by the burning of torches, of which they were running low. Erik didn’tknow if they’d reach the end of the under-mountain pass before they ran out completely. If so, he supposed they’d press on with their fingertips trailing along the cavern walls, praying to all the gods that they didn’t run into a fork in the path.
Erik sat on a saddlebag, because Birger had laid a hand on his shoulder, and murmured, “You’re asleep on your feet. Lie down, lad.” He’d sat instead, a compromise. A small fire of sticks warmed his hands, but not much else. He watched the flames, and counted down the minutes in his head until they could move again. Exhaustion didn’t matter, nor did soreness, hunger, thirst. All that mattered was reaching the end of the tunnel, and laying waste to every Sel he could find.
He heard the scuff of boots on the stone cave floor, and the rush of footsteps was nearly on top of him before he realized they were headed his direction.
When he lifted his head, he saw one of Náli’s Dead Guards skid into the orange pool of firelight, out of breath from running, his eyes big and round in the half-dark. The skull embroidered on the front of his tunic seemed to glow.
“Your majesty,” he panted. “Your majesty, I’ve come with a message from Lord Náli.”
Erik’s thoughts were sluggish—alarmingly so. He felt drunk. But he knew the voice, and knew, after a long moment spent staring at the man, that if Náli had communicated with Mattias—that was his name—then it had been through magic and dreams.
Erik blinked a few more times, and then realized a response was necessary. “Yes. In the other place?”
“The Between.” Mattias kept a respectful tone, because he was well-trained, and polite in general, but Erik could hear the undercurrent of panic in his voice. It helped him slough off some of his grief-stricken malaise.
He stood, though it pained him, sharp stabs in his lower back, his hips, his knees. He was getting older, he knew, and had lived a warrior’s life; until now, until Oliver was taken, he’d never stopped to dwell on how old he was starting to feel, all those aches and pains that nagged at him. He felt ancient, now, and that, more than Mattias’s urgency, was a good swift kick in the trousers.
“The Between, yes,” Erik said, firmer now. Surer of himself. Whatever his worry for Oliver, whatever might have happened, he was a king. He couldn’t abandon his people over personal anguish. “What of it? What’s happened?”
Mattias told him.
After, Erik thanked him, dismissed him, and moved down the line of dozing horses to find Birger, who was deep in conversation with a worried-looking Magnus.
“Erik!” they both said together, with obvious surprise, when he appeared in front of them. Clearly,hewas the topic of discussion.
“Are you feeling better?” Birger asked, expression carefully schooled. Erik hated that; Birger had never been anything but honest with him, no matter how bitter the truth, and he didn’t like being handled with kid gloves now. Like he wasn’t just fretting over his lover, but incapacitated somehow. “Are you—”
“I’m fine. Listen.”
“Erik, do you—” Magnus started.
“No. Listen to me. I’ve had word from Náli about what’s happening in Aquitainia.”
They listened. As they did, their brows climbed steadily higher, until Magnus looked as though his eyes might pop right out of his head.
“Erik,” Birger said, afterward. “No one believes in this army more than me. But we can’t fight that.”
