Calder sips the mead, staring blankly at the floor, lost in thoughts of Makt and the screams as he froze every villager of Chillbury, fleeing from his rage.
I didn’t kill a whole damn village to allow that sadistic god to be still alive.
“How would I know if he was truly defeated?” He strokes his beard absently.
“Your uncertainty is enough for me to question.” Balli slams back his mead, barely affected by the alcohol’s potency. “Avard was also sent to Skalor for damned Treland diplomacy. King Thord hoped he would broker a trade deal with the bitch Lavinia, never realizing she would take his young emissary to her bed.”
Calder had heard the story enough times from his father to be able to retell it.
“He abandoned Skalor, risking his own neck to drag your sorry ass far from the clutches of that manipulative bitch. After throwing away all of your father’s efforts to keep her from using you, why did you really return to Treland? Surely the King would have been content with a letter or your Second? And even you question the demise of your demon god.”
I came home to protect a princess from being sacrificed unnecessarily by my mother.
“King Sigvid would not have accepted anyone else but my presence here. I came at his summons.” Calder throws back his mead, which hits hard in the back of his throat.
Balli shoves his chair aside and places a wrinkled hand on Calder’sshoulder. “It's been a while, and you don't have to trust me with all your secrets. Now,” he claps, “what can I get for you? I doubt you showed up solely for a trip down memory lane.”
Calder leaves the tannery, pocketing replacement leather for Freyja’s handle. Crafting the book for Aura exhausted his stash.
He glances up and down the street.
Dammit, I told her to meet me here.
He steps forward and kicks something on the ground. He crouches to find her sketchbook discarded in the dust of the cobblestone street. As he brushes off the dirt from the cover, his jaw tightens.
He shoves the sketchbook into his satchel slung over his shoulder and darts down the crowded street. Stopping at an intersection, he glances left to right, desperately looking for those copper curls.
She still can't be at the seamstress's store.
Before he can enter the shop, he spots a quill discarded by the corner of the building.
He sprints a few blocks to find her thin cloak embossed with the nautilus shell tossed on the ground near the center of town.
Think, you know this city.
After fifteen winters of maintaining a stoic facade, it is this young woman who has begun to crack his control. He is farther from grace than ever since that fateful day he was forced to murder his wife and son.
He clutches her cloak, pulling it to his nose and inhaling her scent of blackwood tree flowers. What little control he possesses must be abandoned if there is any hope of finding her.
Someone in a cart shoves him to the side. When he lifts his head, he faces an expansive garden with high hedges fashioned like a maze.
She is not hiding, nor did she run.
Someone took his princess.
Calder drops her cloak and grits his teeth as he plunges into the gardens, searching for another clue to her location.
The Iss Drengr’s breath is steady, as all his energy focuses on his surroundings, listening for movement, voices, and anything that may guide him.
Shouts on the left pierce through the hedges, prompting him to pivot his course. His heavy boots barely squeak along the wet grass. Like a predator stalking its prey, he adapts to his environment, becoming one with the greenery that envelops him.
Around the next corner, he hears the sound of someone pissing into a flower bed.
And what do you know? A crescent moon is embroidered on his chest piece.
He didn’t even think to obscure his men on this kidnapping mission.
Calder seizes Jarl Guy's guard around the neck while simultaneously ripping his sword out of his hands and throwing it through a bush.
