“No one’s locked up anything. Rikyava is a strong drakaina, and makes her own decisions, regardless of being the King’s niece.” Bjorn gives a sudden growl, pinning the man with his formidable golden gaze. Even as the uncle holds his hands up in surrender, his eyebrows rising at Bjorn’s icy comment, Ström also pins the man with a glittering green gaze.
Not amused.
“Rikyava is a powerhouse of a drakaina, Uncle Nils. You shouldn’t fuck with her, or underestimate her.” Ström’s comment is sober as he regards his uncle.
Vibrating with power as he defends me.
“A Bloodwalker, like the ancients,” Jarl Jorg says now as he stares medown, wise and thoughtful. He sips his mead. “None should underestimate her or the things she may do. But there is a price for such power. Or am I wrong you will need to bond far more drakes than just my Jarl-Heir and the once-Heir to the Magnussen Jarldom, before your magic is satisfied? Before it is fully balanced, and can make itself a true power in the world… bringing down the Black Dragon you hunt, the fell-beast of the ancients?”
As Jarl Jorg Eriksson gets to it, why he’s called Ström, Bjorn, and I into this family dinner tonight, the entire table quiets. I see the deeply thoughtful, intense side of the Erikssons now as they all listen with rapt attention to the change in conversation.
And wait with bated breath to hear what I have to say next.
11
TRUE
Tension fills the dining hall as Jarl Jorg Eriksson pins me with his question—about me being a Bloodwalker and just how many mates it may entail to satisfy my power, so I can fight the Black Dragon. It doesn’t escape me that I never got his permission to life-mate his beloved great-grandson and Jarl-Heir. Among Blood Dragons, it’s tradition to at least notify a Jarl if one intends to take their Heir into a life-bond. In some clans, the Jarl gets the final say on the matter, since it involves the ongoing leadership of their clan.
And I realize now the Eriksson Jarldom is the latter situation.
That glaring omission stands between us now as the Eriksson Jarl takes me in, staring me down hard. I know he’s a good man; everything he does for his family and the way they love him proves it. I still overstepped, however, even though I am the King’s niece.
And it’s a big deal, as he waits for my answer.
“I love your great-grandson, Jarl Eriksson, and I always have since we first met. I’m only just realizing it now,” I say at last, giving him the straight truth as Aesa’s silver gem hums upon my chest. It emboldens meto feel it swirling with power as I speak, though I would have spoken plainly to Jarl Jorg Eriksson, anyway.
I know it’s the right thing to do, as the deep instinct of my dragon fills me.
“I can see that.” Jarl Jorg’s lips curl into a small smile, though his green gaze is still penetrating. “But he will never be your one-and-only, as evinced by you also taking the Magnussen’s former Jarl-Heir into your life-bond, as well.”
“Grandfather, it doesn’t matter—” Ström cuts in then, but a raised hand from Jarl Jorg silences him.
The Jarl’s green eyes still pinning me to my seat.
“It does,” he says now, watching me. “For in our clan, a Jarl-Heir has never been taken into a Bloodwalker’s harem of drakes, for good reason. Because then all of Blood Dragondom would know what the strongest of us Erikssons are. The ones who become our leaders… and why we keep our own so very close. When the rest of Blood Dragondom would kill us.”
As the Jarl stares me down, I realize then what he’s saying. He’s admitting to me, without so many words, that he’s a Bone Mage—and that he knows Ström is, too.
It’s why he made Ström his Jarl-Heir and not anyone else in the family, save his own son long ago, and Ström’s elder brother, before that brother died at Riksfold. Because those chosen to lead the Eriksson clan are Bone Mages, I understand as an amazed shock fills me.
Ström gapes at his great-grandfather, his mouth fallen open.
I have a sudden instinct, as Aesa’s stone hums on my chest, that he didn’t know any of this.
“Adjourn with me, you three.” The Jarl’s green eyes pin me, Bjorn, and Ström. “Bring a few bites of dinner, for there is much we need to discuss.”
As the rest of the family falls silent, Ström nods and fills his plate. Not sure what’s happening, I do also, Bjorn taking his cue and getting a full plate, as well.
As the Jarl fills his own plate, then stands from the table, picking up his platter and a flagon of mead for us, we stand with him. He nods to the rest of the family, giving a calm smile as he nods to the ample dinner spread.
“Enjoy, my loved ones. Eat your fill, then do as you will tonight. I need to have words with my Heir and his chosen mates. Annika, attend us. Mathilde, you too. The rest of you enjoy dinner. I shall return anon for games and such later.”
As the Jarl beams at his family now, he pins both Mathilde and Ström’s elegant grandmother with his intense gaze. With twin nods, though Mathilde looks befuddled at why she’s being called into conference with us, they fill plates and rise, joining us as we egress from the dining hall to an adjacent solar.
This room is far more cozy than the family dining hall. With a fire already going in an ample fireplace to push back the spring cold, it’s a cozy gaming parlor with bookcases all around and a few tables for backgammon, cribbage, and the like.
A beautiful multi-tiered humidor of glowing mahogany sits in one alcove, surrounded by gleaming bottles of fine brandy, whiskey, and scotch. As we enter and set our plates on a green velvet card table amidst a collection of green velvet mahogany chaises, Ström closes the drawing room doors.
