Rake My Lust (Dragons of Blood and Bone #3)

15. Cypher

15

CYPHER

M orning finds Bjorn, Strom, and me up and breakfasting, the three of us already focused on the day ahead. Though last night was rough after we left Strom’s family dinner, all of us are feeling quite a lot more refreshed now, thanks to our lovemaking last night and a decent sleep.

Drinking coffee and snacking on a breakfast spread of scrambled eggs, venison sausages, and Swedish pancakes with lingonberry jam, I’m dressed in a comfy grey slouchy sweater and jeans now as I pad barefoot around Strom’s apartment.

Strom and Bjorn are dressed similarly, in casual cable-knit sweaters and jeans, though Bjorn’s black sweater has a tactical design with its zipper front and reinforced elbows, while Strom’s cream sweater with the crossover cowlneck is far more chic and metro.

We’ve gotten everything from the altar out of its protective glass and have sorted through all the items. They’re set up in zones now on Strom’s big glass dining table; the main area of his living space has become our war room, multiple laptops open as we use magical Blood Dragon databases to search for arcane artifacts similar to the ones we have here .

But everything we’ve got is far older than most known artifacts from our people; there aren’t even any similar matches to the strange objects my ancestor used in her ceremony to create the Black Dragon. And there are no matches at all for the ancient Blood Dragon dialects written upon the various vellums, codices, and scrolls.

All of it, writings we’ve yet to decipher.

We think we’ve identified four different dialects on the informational documents we’ve got, though even Strom can only barely read one of them. That’s the one that details our family bloodlines, tracked down through the generations from their progenitors in the Black Dragon Five.

But even that document is in a Bone Magic dialect so ancient, Strom can only get one word out of five. And though we were able to break the wards and Bloodrune curses upon the doors of Unhaemmerten while we were down there, plus similar cursed locks upon the altar itself, it’s clear these documents were written by somebody who was not the same as those later runes and curses laid down in the dead city.

We could read the wards in the city of the dead with my Bloodwalker magic when I let it go wild inside me. Everything we’ve got here, however, is gobbledygook.

No matter how hard we raise our joined power to figure them out.

“It’s no use.” Bjorn sighs now, tossing down the latest vellum we’ve tried to read with our trio’s power, as our magic simmers away to nothing in the bright morning. Heaving a sigh like him, I take up my coffee and sip it, even as Strom picks up some pancakes and pops them into his mouth.

“Yeah, we’re fucked. We can’t read anything of what’s here,” Strom says as he chews. He nods at the vellum Bjorn’s thrown down. “I thought for a moment I had something with that one… just a few words in an ancient Bone Mage dialect popping out at me. Then they were just… gone.”

“Whatever all this is, it’s obvious they were probably written by my ancestor and her mates, rather than the Blood Dragons who came after the destruction ended,” I say now as I sip my coffee. I nod at the only scroll we’ve been able to even partially read, the one Strom got info from while we were inside Unhaemmerten . “That’s the only one that’s written in a Bone Mage dialect even close to what we can read today. It’s clear the altar was sealed right after the Black Dragon was thrown down, with all my ancestor’s things inside it… but then somebody was able to pop that genealogy scroll in there much later—maybe even a few thousand years, after our modern family bloodlines emerged—which is written in a dialect somewhat close to what we can understand.”

“Not close enough.” Bjorn snorts as he nods at Strom. “Even he can only get one word out of five, and most of those are just family names. It’s clear the ancient Bone Mages and Bloodwalkers had their own languages, used for their purposes. I think we were only able to understand the wards and locking sigils on the doors of Unhaemmerten so well with our joined power, because they’re not actually recorded writing, but a magical sigil-variant. Our power can figure out magical stuff. Basic, non-magical records and languages… not so much.”

“Bjorn’s right.” Strom looks at me as he gives a wry smile. “I think we’re at a dead end, Rikyava, much as I hate to say it. Unless there’s someone out there who knows these ancient, dead languages… I think these scrolls and vellums will remain a mystery, even as much as your ancestor’s magical items are, whatever their ancient uses were.”

“Balls.” Crossing one arm under the other elbow, I sip my coffee. “Who do we know that has made a study of ancient Blood Dragon languages?”

“Other than Maryse?” Bjorn scowls. “Not many people.”

“Ruta might be able to look at these items for us.” Strom glances at me. “She might be back in Jurggadden, still helping heal Vjen.”

“I’m not sure I want to involve Ruta in all this just yet.” I shake my head now, some instinct warning me away from getting any of the Black Dragon Knights Council involved in what we’ve found, even though Ruta is a friend. Aesa’s stone hums on my chest, lightly, as if in agreement, as I feel a brief flash of red inside me. “I say we ask people outside the Knights Council first, just in case.”

“We still don’t know who Maryse’s betrayer was on the Council.” Bjorn nods, more alert now as he gets my train of thought. “If they found out we’d retrieved all this stuff connected to the Black Dragon, they might hand it over to the renegade Bone Mages who just might have a use for it.”

“Too bad we can’t ask them to look into these items for us,” I snort, feeling stymied as we hit such a deep snag in our plans to look through all this stuff for Jarl Jorg, and find out what it means.

Not to mention our King—who needs us to stop this thing at all costs.

“Actually…” Strom blinks now as he sets his latest pancake back down on his plate. A thoughtful look comes into his green eyes as he looks at me. “I think I may have just the people who could help us.”

“Who?” I ask, frowning at him, as Bjorn looks at him, alert.

“Mikkel and L?rke Thorsen.” Strom glances between me and Bjorn. “They’re interesting cats and have studied some of the most ancient Bone Mage dialects, because they often investigate magical items and ancient texts for people who discover them, including me. They’ve helped me not just improve my knowledge of ancient Bone Mage languages, but they also know several ciphers that were in use way back when. They use them for communication in their clubs—anything that’s sensitive and can’t be outed to anyone, other than the two Proprietors themselves. It stands to reason these documents might be ancient cyphers of a lost Bone Mage language. If so… we’d have no chance at reading them. But Mikkel and L?rke might.”

“The Danish twins.” My eyebrows rise, even as something inside me roars.

Thinking about seeing Mikkel Thorsen again.

I squash that feeling down, deep inside. My drakaina can be as attracted to him as she likes, but I am so not going to take that kind of trouble into my bed, or my bond. Mikkel may be a smooth talker and a successful businessman, but there’s a dark side to him that makes my blood curdle.

Strom sees my hesitation, as the protective cinnabar red of his dragon flares in his eyes.

“Rikyava. You’ve got serious mixed feelings about the Thorsens. Care to share so we don’t have to pry into your mind?” Strom stares me down across the table. Bjorn is no less intense as he watches me.

Feeling my energy churn through our connection—conflicted.

“They’re just… pirates,” I say, knowing my assessment of Mikkel and his twin sister L?rke is accurate as a deep instinct growls inside me. “I know you’re friends with them, Strom, but those two are trouble. I know you think we need them to read these scrolls for us… but I feel like we should find another way.”

“You don’t trust the Thorsens.” Bjorn’s quick summary is accurate as he watches me. He’s not met Mikkel and L?rke yet. I’ve only gone to see them with Strom.

He knows that my power seriously mate-tasted Mikkel Thorsen, however, and also that strange Icelandic artist at the club that night, Baldur Siguresson. But just because my power wants somebody doesn’t mean they’re a suitable mate for us.

I hesitate, then lay it out straight.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t trust the Thorsens, it’s just that I get a really catastrophic vibe from them.” I glance at Bjorn, then Strom. “Mikkel is like a multiple personality almost, able to change so completely on a dime that I don’t know who the fuck he is. And L?rke is some serious power to be reckoned with, with a vicious attitude to boot. I think even with our trio’s strengthening abilities, we should be wary of them. Friends or no.”

“Wise words.” To my surprise, it’s Strom who speaks out now against his so-called friends as he nods. “They’re terribly powerful, Yava, far stronger in their Bone Magic than I am, though I have a few unique abilities they lack. But the twins are not to be crossed, ever. I’ve been careful to not do that in all the time I’ve known them because I know how diabolical they can be. They can, however, also be a tremendous help… when the mood strikes them.”

“But that’s just it. They’re… moody,” I say as I figure it out. “Far more than me, or even Bjorn. They have this uncanny ability to smile at your face and then stab a talon in your back… if you get what I’m saying.”

“Duplicitous.” Bjorn crosses his arms where he sits with one hip against the table.

“Completely,” Strom admits, as he rounds the table now, coming to me. He stands beside me, grave. “Mikkel and L?rke are true powerhouses of Bone Magic, Rikyava. They are the very best and worst of what it can do. And they’ve had reason to be cagey, secretive, and unpredictable, to stay alive given their tough situation. Not only that, but they’ve grown themselves an empire right under the Black Dragon Knight’s careful watch. They’re survivors, and sometimes… real survivors don’t play nice.”

“Doesn’t mean we should trust them.” Bjorn is stoic as he sets his jaw. “I think Rikyava’s right. We should leave them out of this. Look elsewhere for answers.”

“I still think I’m right.” Strom sighs, then holds up his hands. “Fine. I’ll start by asking my grandmother and great-grandfather if they can read any of what’s written here, or anyone they know in the True Knights. We’ll investigate those avenues first, since they’re the most likely to help us. Then we’ll go to Mik and L?rke as a last resort. Happy?”

“Better, yeah.” I nod, blowing out a tense breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “We’ll ask Ruta as a last resort, as well. Strom, you start with your family and I’ll start by calling my stepfathers to see what they might be familiar with. Bjorn… any chance you can get in contact with that drakaina who was part of the True Black Dragon Knights, who stood up for us against your father?”

“You mean Svanhild Magnussen?” Bjorn gives me a small smile now, an eager edge in it. “I can. She’s my great-aunt, actually. My father’s last surviving aunt, predominantly because she’s a fucking powerhouse of an old battle matriarch. It’s why she’s the only person who can speak to him like that in the clan, with such zero-fucks impudence.”

“That drakaina was your aunt?” Strom whistles as a grin beams from him. “What a righteous bitch.”

“Great-aunt. And she is a righteous bitch, but in a good way,” Bjorn says with a ready gleam in his eyes as he glances at me. “I’ve got a way of contacting Aunt Svanhild, covertly. I’ll get in touch with her this morning, find out if she can help us.”

“Great. Then we all have our work cut out for us.” I smile now, relief filling me that we’re not at a total dead end. We have people to contact, avenues to investigate; our sleuthing into the scrolls and arcane items of my ancestor don’t end here.

At least, hopefully not.

We’ve finally got a game plan together, as an unspoken decision moves through us. As one, we swipe everything from the table, stashing it back into Strom’s glass case on the large bookshelf and letting the wards re-seal the items away.

As we kiss now, Strom and Bjorn clapping each other’s shoulders, we break to go do our phone calls in separate rooms. Strom heads downstairs to go find his grandma and Jarl; with a quick kiss, he’s gone through the doors of his suite, taking the corkscrewing stairwell that heads down to the rest of the palace.

As Bjorn closes an adjacent drawing-room’s doors to contact his great-aunt, however he’s going to do it, I remain at the table. My contacts can all be reached by phone; I open a few photos I took on this new phone of the four different styles of language we’re looking at, then send the pictures to both Trublut and Khosh’s cell phones.

Their new phones have the same numbers as their old ones destroyed at Jurggadden, courtesy of the Old Palace’s relief efforts. After sending the images, I video-call Trublut and wait. Within a few rings, his beloved, grizzled face pops up on the line. He beams into the camera to see me.

Barking a jubilant laugh .

“Yava! My darling girl. Recuperating at the Old Palace from your adventures?” he asks, as if he somehow knows everything I’ve been through lately, though we’ve not spoken since the ruination of Jurggadden.

“Doing alright. Well enough to be alive, at least,” I acknowledge, though I don’t dare give many details of what Strom, Bjorn, and I have been through on a non-magically encrypted line like this.

“Good.” Trublut doesn’t ask for specifics, knowing that us being alright is enough, given what we’re up against. “You’ll be happy to know Vjen is doing well. Ruta’s finally left us and he’ll be coming out of his stasis cocoon in a few days, she thinks. She left us to watch him as Jarl Jorg’s people help us rebuild the village, which is going well. Said she had business with the Council, which I don’t doubt, given everything that’s happened.”

“I’m sure,” I say, though I get down to why I’ve called now. “Trublut. I just sent you a few pictures of things we’re looking into from our trip up to Magnussen lands. Can you take a look at them and show them to Khosh? See if either of you can make heads or tails of them?”

I’m deliberately vague as I talk with my stepfather, but he gets it.

“Sure. Let me look and call Khosh. He’s in the kitchens. Hold on.” I see Trublut back away from the phone as he looks at the photos I sent him, his close-up vision not as good as it used to be. I watch him scowl, then he’s turning, hollering, “ Khosh! Yava’s on the phone!” in the direction of what I assume are new kitchens.

They’re not in Maryse’s lodge-house anymore, but what looks like a brand-new lodge, bare timbers still rough-hewn, though it has walls and a floor already. Khosh is wiping his hands on a dirty kitchen towel before coming to the phone, beaming to see me.

Then frowning, as Trublut shows him the images.

Khosh looks at them for a long while. I would have thought if anyone might have information on these languages, it would be Trublut, given his vastly advanced age. But it’s Khosh who snorts now, then eyeballs me. As Trublut enlarges our video call again, Khosh takes the phone.

“Yava. These are ciphers.” Khosh regards me seriously. “I don’t know where you found these documents or what’s on them, because it’s not a language I can read, but I know what I’m seeing. Your images have patterns of diacritical marks and dots, which have never been in use in actual Bone Mage or Blood Sage languages, but which have been commonly used in cypher texts for generations. I know them because a lot of ancient Blood Dragon woodscraft documents are written with them. Telling the locations of ancient magical hotspots leftover from the wars, to avoid when you are out a-fielding.”

“So these are cyphers.” Something inside me falls then, as I realize my step-fathers are telling me they can’t read what I’ve got here.

And that Mikkel and L?rke Thorsen may be our only choice.

“You need a dedicated student of ancient cyphers to read these.” Khosh continues as he shakes his head. “Tru and I cannot.”

“Do you know where I might find someone like that?” I ask, praying for options.

But Trublut and Khosh only glance at each other—shaking their heads.

“Not without going to the Black Dragon Knights.” Trublut gives a deep frown. “And I do not think we should trust them at the moment… especially not with a finding such as this.”

“Yeah, we came to that conclusion as well.” I sigh, stewing. Khosh and Trublut watch me with fatherly concern, but I make myself brighten now, so they won’t dive into worry. “Well, thanks. We’re investigating a few other avenues to find out what they say. Just thought I’d call you two and see if you could figure these out.”

“I’m sorry we could not be more helpful.” Trublut is serious as he watches me. “Yava… are you alright, youngling?”

“I’m alright. We’re okay. Just tired, that’s all.” I assuage my stepfather’s fears, then trade a bit more casual news with them before hanging up .

Just as I do, I see Bjorn emerge from the side-hall, a scowl on his face. He looks up at me, then shakes his head, and I know his contacting his great-aunt Svanhild was fruitless. As I heave a sigh also, Bjorn comes to me, taking my phone and setting it down on the glass dining table.

“Anything?” he asks, tense as he rubs my arms with his big hands.

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I hope to all the gods Strom comes up with something better from his grandmother and the Jarl.”

As if we summoned him with our words, Strom comes back in the main doors of his apartment. I don’t know how he showed the scrolls to his great-grandfather and grandmother, since he didn’t take any pictures on a phone, but as he shakes his head soberly, I know he’s had no luck, either.

“Mikkel and L?rke?” he asks me as he arrives before us, seeing the looks on our faces and feeling through our bond how we’ve had no luck, just like him.

“I hate to say it, but… yes,” I say, knowing it’s our last chance.

The prospect of seeing Mikkel Thorsen again is deeply heinous and tremendously alluring, as my drakaina trumpets inside me.

I tell her to shut the fuck up, as I get ready for anything, seeing the Thorsen twins again.