Both of their attire are thousands of years out of date, however—fucking antiques that should be falling apart in a museum, not hale and certainly not wearable.
As Bjorn stumbles to a halt beside us, falling to one knee and spilling open his sack, I see that sack is made of embroidered sky blue silk. It’s just as hale as Bjorn and Lærke’s clothing, though anything down here in this damp gloom should be long rotted away by now.
None of that matters, though, as fresh food spills from Bjorn’s sack, dumped before us on the stones. As Lærke spills her sack also, hers and Bjorn’s torches making copious heat and banishing the hall’s deadly chill, I snatch up a beautiful green apple, munching it down fast.
I’m barely chewing; I can’t remember swallowing as I seize a sack of dates next, like an animal. Ström is the same, as he grabs a bag of fresh peaches, stuffing them in his mouth so fast he barely has time to spit out the stones and not choke on them.
As we eat, Lærke hauls her brother upright, forcing him to take a large piece of jerky and wolf it down. Mikkel is stronger when his twin is around; they share energy through a bond I can’t even begin to understand, as his dark fire flares, returning.
We eat like wild beasts, in silence. Soon, there’s nothing left but crumbs and still, my belly feels ravenous; Blood Dragons can eat a whole cow, even in human form, when we need it.
We do now, though nothing of the kind is available. As the food Bjorn and Lærke brought refills some of my energy now, however, my inner dragons devouring it, a flush of heat comes to me.
My fingers and toes cease to burn and tingle with frostbite. Deep within, my dual dragons roar at one-hundredth of their regular energy, though it’s something. As Bjorn sets up a ring of torches all around us now, I see them flare to life in all our dragon’s colors, bright like life in the gloom.
One torch is black, crimson, gold, and white for me; another is a luscious dark emerald and brimstone for Ström. Mikkel’s flares black, copper, and chartreuse; Baldur’s gutters, but at last flares a tiny bit with his beautiful midnight and sky-blue energy, flashing with opal-gold in its depths.
It’s then that my heart lifts, as real hope cascades through me, at last. Because I finally know we have what we need to survive, as those magical torches light, surging with brightness all around us.
As they do, a tenfold increase in heat blazes through the space. The endless chill is cast back. It’s precisely what we need to live through this night.
As I finally take a relieved breath, knowing we’re going to make it.
Bjorn cuddles in, slinging an arm around me as we rest in the blessed heat, bellies fed, if not quite full. His free hand he puts to Baldur, taking over for me as he pours his somewhat renewed energy into my Fourth Drake, helping him come back from where he went in his desperation, so far out in the cosmos.
Bjorn and Baldur share the same Blood Magic; I feel a deep synergy move between their power now, as Bjorn gives Baldur what he needs.
Baldur’s energy latches onto that resonance between them, roaring up in a seething wildfire to take what Bjorn offers. As Bjorn squeezes me tight, growling with his bear-like stubbornness and weathering Baldur’s fierce pull, my inner dragons respond to his stalwart, righteous rage.
Heat and fire fill my chest, flooding down into my limbs, asgratefulness fills me for my First Drake. Because not only has Bjorn saved our asses, he also saved us when he ripped open a portal right to this place from the serious shit-storm we were in, in Copenhagen.
Bjorn didn’t know how to do that; he’d never trained in that kind of magic. Somehow, he wrangled Baldur’s dying power, however, knowing exactly how to use it when it counted.
Then he’d faced off with me, when I was at my worst.
For I had become a towering midnight-black terror of a dragon when we battled against the Black Dragon in Copenhagen. When Bjorn got us out of there, stopping me from wielding the Usurper in my darkest wrath, I’d gone ballistic against him, ready to attack.
I’d been about to rip apart his very soul with my power when he opposed me. But with the pure, blazing stubbornness of his all-gold drake, Bjorn had stood his ground.
He’d made me come to my senses, and saved us all when I went darker than black, into some terrible place I don’t ever want to look at. Because it had infected all my drakes in that moment, making them the worst version of themselves in our mutual, devastating night. Except him. Except Bjorn’s shining, righteous brightness.
Always up for the fight of his life.
It was Bjorn who saved us, by getting me to stand down in that moment. Because only he could hold up a big fucking mirror in my face and show me just what I had become: a monster, no trace of the honorable, righteous Rikyava left.
We haven’t talked about it, though I know we need to. Right now, we need to survive, though; as my drakes’ and my energy recovers enough that we can rise past our deathly fatigue, I know we’ll get through this terrible shitstorm we’re in.
It won’t be easy, however, as the Black Dragon’s curses still drag at us. Baldur’s not out of the woods yet; I feel Bjorn stew with me, as we understand everything we’re still up against.
And how it could all still fall apart—faster than fast.
“Lærke and I found decent shelter and more food. Help me get everyone up,” Bjorn says, as he heaves to standing. He extends me a hand; I take it, letting him haul me to my feet.
As Lærke and Ström get Mikkel up between them, Bjorn surprises me by kneeling down and heaving the unconscious Baldur into his arms. Just a day ago in Iceland, Bjorn and Baldur bristled with contention over me. Now, Bjorn is almost tender as he hefts the lean Baldur up, carrying our most critically injured drake.
Bjorn nods us back the way he came, jutting his chin at the torches. I get them, carrying all six in my hands.
Holding all our guttering brightness, I take point now beside Bjorn.
