Page 96 of Of Iron and Moonlight

He could not decide whether the knowledge he had imparted would serve as a shield, or only draw her deeper into a danger she could not hope to survive.

Chapter 46

Njall

The sea moved in long, unhurried breaths, as though even the waters of Lunnholm Bay resented the errand set before them. Njall stood at the bow, boots planted wide against the ship’s slow pitch, icy spray clinging to his hair as Celestine Isle emerged from fog in stages: first a smear above the waves, then the suggestion of cliffs, and finally, jagged mountains streaked with black veins rising like the bones of an ancient dragon drowned and abandoned to decay.

Under any other circumstance, his mind would have been racing. Instead, thought numbed before it formed. Haskir loomed at his shoulder like a carrion bird watching for weakness, while Damlor lingered behind him, unseen but distinctly felt, leeching the space of any hope for ease.

“You are a disgrace to Norrelia,” Haskir muttered after a long silence, eyeing Njall as if deciding whether pushing him overboard might be preferable to hearing him respond.

Njall kept his eyes on the horizon. If he turned, if he looked at that face, his fist would answer before reason had the chance to arbitrate. “Choose your words with care. Our revered High King bore the title of Champion before I did. Are you prepared to call him a disgrace as well?”

Haskir spat at Njall’s boots.

“Champion is earned by skill in every kingdom,” Njall continued, encouraged by the heat coiling in his gut. “Strength of lineage is tested elsewhere. Though perhaps that explains why you do not compete. Your family has never fared well when raw power is required.” He paused. Then, with a sharp smile, “Much the same for skill, it seems.”

“How dare you,” Haskir snapped, venom in every syllable.

Njall said nothing. Instead, he felt. Fury spread through his ribs.

“You may enjoy Oorlon’s favor now,” Haskir went on, stepping closer, “but it will not shield you forever. Do you know why Damlor was sent with us? Oorlon has begun to doubt you. He sees hesitation. He wonders whether your loyalty has begun to fray.”

Njall’s jaw tightened. “I have never failed him.”

“You have never been tested,” Haskir murmured, the curve of a toothy smile visible at the edge of Njall’s vision. “That will change. And when it does, we will see how long your father survives once you are no longer useful.”

The words struck like a blade through the gut.

Njall’s eyes snapped to him. His fist followed. Bone crunched beneath his knuckles.

Then sense eluded him entirely. Njall grabbed Haskir’s cloak, drove him onto the deck, straddled him and struck again and again, each blow spreading deeper ruin across the male’s face. Haskir looked genuinely stunned, the smug certainty gone from his expression.

Damlor shouted, but Njall barely heard him. He kept going until hands clamped around his ribs with crushing force and hauled him backward.

“That’s enough!” Damlor snarled.

Haskir rolled onto his side, coughing blood, waiting as torn skin began knitting itself together. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spat again, a dark violet streak hissing against the frozen deck. “Your Aurumierran passion makes you weak.”

“Enough.” Damlor stepped between them. “The High King would skin you both alive for this display. If either of you so much as breathe wrong before we reach shore, I will make certain he hears of it.” His glare promised consequences of its own.

Njall lurched back to the railing, forcing his breathing into order.

Celestine Isle loomed closer now, wrapped in a bleakness so complete any male might pause to reconsider the path that had led him there. Njall had seen it countless times before, delivering humans bound and dragged from wagons while telling himself obedience prevented worse harm. Now that ignorance no longer shielded him, he understood too clearly what waited within the fortress. Too clearly what he had done.

To distract himself from the heat in his blood, Njall focused on quiet reconnaissance. He catalogued the layout of the docks, the flow of cargo, the pacing of guards along the causeway. His eye settled on a long wooden structure set apart from the others. Its slatted windows were sealed tight, and a single catwalk linked it to the main complex.

“What’s in that warehouse?” he asked, aiming for a casual tone.

Haskir spat the last blood from his mouth, enough color returning to restore his usual sneer. “Oraivane shipments. Crates stacked and ready to move.”

“So near the water?”

Haskir rolled his eyes. “For easier access to ships from the laboratory.”

“Haskir,” Damlor snapped, chastising the tone.

Njall committed the details to memory and returned his attention to the island.