Page 30

For a while, neither of us speaks. The distant conversation from the banquet hall reaches us through the archways, but Rakan keeps his attention on me.

Eventually, he looks down at his hand and brushes his thumb over the ring on his pinky.

“You’re right,” he says. “I asked you to walk into a live minefield, and this is part of the fallout. Truth be told, I had a feeling something like this might happen.”

“Then you understand why I need to offer Lotan somewhere better than Saltweather.” I keep my voice low. “You are the only one who can make that happen.”

Rakan considers the problem in silence before looking toward the steps leading away from the courtyard.

“A new oceanic basin could work. The volume of water means I would have to drive the magic directly into the trench floor. The tectonic friction would need to generate enough baseline warmth for the change to last.”

“I can show you the coordinates. I know the topography of the contested zones, and we can find a stable fault line.”

He looks back at me, the fire beneath his skin settling into its usual gold. “A spell of that size will take work, Sigurd. I will need to inspect the site before I know exactly what it requires.”

“I know. I am not asking you to solve it tonight.”

Rakan is quiet for another moment before giving me a small nod. “Consider it done. I won’t let your human lose her home because of my family.”

The tension I have carried since my mother walked into my office finally breaks. Saltweather is not safe yet, but for the first time since Lotan threatened it, the path forward is clear.

I put a hand on Rakan’s shoulder. “Thank you. I owe you.”

Rakan glances at my hand before meeting my eyes again. “You owe me nothing. You went into that trench for me without asking what I would owe you afterward. There should never be such talk between us.”

I let my hand fall. He is right, and several centuries of friendship make arguing about it pointless.

“Now,” Rakan continues, adjusting his cuffs, “go find your fake girlfriend before Maren decides to corner her again. The feast is starting.”

He turns toward the hall to find Iris. The biting mountain air fills my lungs as music and conversation drift through the open archways.

Saltweather is not safe yet, but for the first time since Lotan threatened it, I have more than another delay to offer Valerie.

9

The Claim

Valerie & Sigurd

By the time the ceremony gives way to the feast, the formal order of the wedding has disappeared. Guests crowd around the long emerald table, passing platters between them as wine flows freely. Roasted meat and unfamiliar spices mingle with the last traces of frankincense still clinging to the mountain air.

At the head of the table, Rakan’s and Iris’s high-backed chairs have been empty for several minutes. I nod toward them and lean a little closer to Sigurd. “They actually managed to slip away.”

“Rakan operates on his own schedule,” he replies, reaching for the silver pitcher between us. “The politics of the feast can wait. He has his mate.”

His sleeve pulls tight across his forearm as he pours, and my attention follows the movement before I can stop it. I take a drink before he notices me staring, though the wine does very little for my suddenly dry mouth.

Maren’s words managed to sour almost everything yesterday. They didn’t kill my attraction to Sigurd, no matter how hard I tried to bury it beneath common sense. Sitting beside him now, with nothing demanding my immediate attention, makes that painfully obvious.

A chair scrapes against the floor at the far end of the table. Maren Dahl rises with a crystal glass in one hand and waits for the nearby conversations to quiet. She taps one long nail against the rim, sending a clear chime through the hall.

“I have a surprise for everyone tonight. A gift of joy for the new couple.”

I glance toward Rakan’s and Iris’s abandoned chairs. “A gift of joy? They aren’t even here.”

Sigurd doesn’t answer. The ease has vanished from his face, and all his attention has shifted to Maren. I murmur his name, but he stays focused on her as she lifts the glass higher.

“Let the mountain hear us.”