“There you go.” He grunts, gesturing at her tent.
She shuffles inside with her packs. He refuses to shift position until she settles.
Once his back hits the ground within his shelter, the forest grants them a peaceful silence broken only by the morning birds and scurrying critters of the undergrowth.
Sleep does not greet the Iss Drengr. Even the Princess, separated by the canvas, maintains uneven breathing.
I need her in my arms.
Lying on his back with his fingers intertwinedbehind his head, he stares up at the canvas ceiling—every little sound emanating from the other tent claws at his insides.
An internal war rages in his mind over whether he should seize her now while they are away from Kaldrgataness and the Salt Province, or maintain their passionate tension like a godsdamn gentleman.
Gods, I would give anything to seek salvation between her beautiful legs.
In a sad attempt to keep himself from leaving the security of his canvas, he tilts his head toward her solitude and asks the burning question in the back of his mind. “Aura?”
“Yes? Calder?” She responds a little too quickly, eliciting a rare chuckle from him.
“What exactly did my mother say to you?”
Her silence is not comforting.
Calder rolls onto his side and wonders if she has fallen asleep when the flap of his tent is thrown aside, letting in a sliver of blinding light, frigid air, and the lovely Princess.
“I’m sorry for startling you!” She crawls inside. Despite maintaining smooth movements, she trips over her feet and tumbles in, landing on his chest.
Before he can comprehend what is happening, she grips his hand, and suddenly his body jolts as though an unknown force sucks him through a pipe before landing atop the dais in his longhouse.
Having walked through this event the night before, the scene around him feels too familiar.
What shakes even his nerves is that he is no longer in his body.
He lifts his hands and gasps, finding them lithe and petite.
Am I in Aura’s mind?
A glance at the room shows the Calder of last night fighting with the soldiers at the base of the stage.
Lavinia stands beside Aura, cackling.
“I have been scorned in my life, little Sigvidsson. I take care of myself before anyone else. Do you know why I ordered your death?”
His mother leans forward, “You are the Salt in the Prophecy. Who else could it be? Your beastly father? Or your deranged sister?Understand, little Sigvidsson, I need Skalor to ice over. Therefore, you must die. I require all of the precious Jarls to bow down to me. Begging, crawling to me for protection. Makt will have his vengeance and reclaim Skalor. We will reinstate the pantheon.”
The scene in his longhouse vanishes, and he is plunged through the dark pipe in his mind before the scent of the pine forest and Aura’s natural pheromones abruptly fill his senses.
Calder massages his forehead. “Warning next time.”
“What fun would that be?”
He growls. “I see this is what Lavinia planned all along. Makt at full power.”
She glances through the tent's opening into the bright morning air, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Even if we locate Makt’s Temple and collect his weapon, how do we kill a god? The ancient texts suggest that the godsmighthold a weakness to Astrian steel. Not that it was certain.”
“Edmund was working on an answer to this. We will have to wait for him to meet up with us.”
We both need to sleep, but I cannot bear the thought of leaving her alone.
