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

19. Danes

19

DANES

W e arrive in Stockholm by mid-afternoon and are immediately admitted to see the Blood Dragon King. All the guards at the Grand Palace know Bjorn and Strom; me, they’re aware of, even if some of the younger ones haven’t seen me since the last time I was in residence here twenty years ago.

We are admitted to see King Huttr Erdhelm the moment we land, dressing in Kingsguard black buckled leathers now that we’re back in the palace. Our King is eager to see us and have our report, as the beautifully carved silberskrae doors of the King’s Throne Hall boom open now.

King Huttr Erdhelm turning towards us upon his low dais.

As we march to the dais at the far end of the hall, through the vaulted white elvish-meets-Viking space, I see King Huttr, his son Prince Halfdir, and a few of his highest chancellors and war generals are in conference. The King lifts a hand to his people, silencing them as we approach; Huttr and my cousin Halfdir rise to greet us, extending hands and shaking heartily with Bjorn and Strom.

I get squished into massive bear hugs by my uncle and cousin. I get the feeling they are beyond relieved that I’m still alive after everything we’ve gone through. Dressed in black Blood Dragon military leathers with his medals and chains of office clipped to an enormous brown bear pelt slung over his shoulders, King Huttr growls as he hugs me, shaking me like a wayward puppy.

Halfdir is no less relieved as he embraces me; he’s dressed in black leathers similar to his father, but with a tawny snowcat pelt over his shoulders today. With his medals of rank clipped on his pelt, he’s wearing his best for the conference they’re in. It’s clear this is a war room we’ve stepped into; as the King motions for us to sit in three chairs up on the dais that his chancellors have vacated, we do.

The King motioning his people to go.

“Return in half an hour,” King Huttr says, and they nod, ushering out a side door so we can talk.

“So, what news?” King Huttr’s intense crimson-gold eyes pin us. Our King doesn’t ask us how we are, though we’re all dear to him. He knows a Blood Dragon’s life can be intensely hard, especially when we’re on an insane hunt such as he’s tasked us with.

A hunt we would have done ourselves, though doing it with our King’s support is far better.

“A lot has happened since we spoke last, Uncle.” King Huttr already knows about everything that went down at Jurggadden and has sent aid forces there, same as Jarl Eriksson did.

He doesn’t know how everything went down since we left for Magnussen country, however. I fill him in on all the most important points, as his and my cousin’s eyes get wider and wider.

As I tell him the details of our debacle at Unhaemmerten , then describe us being waylaid by Jarl Magnussen and how we got out of it by the Trial of Truth, our King sucks his teeth. We tell him of Jarl Eriksson’s loyalty in helping us, while Jarl Magnussen bordered on treason by detaining us the way he did, making us choose the Trial to get out of it.

Our King goes stony now as he hears of Jarl Magnussen’s deeds and attitude. When we get to the part of receiving the Icelandic drakaina’s memory via our Bone Magic, and how she saw Jarl Oggi Magnussen fly away with our identified enemy drakaina, our King is silent as graves.

My cousin Halfdir is also vicious as we finish with our sighting of the Black Dragon flying over Riksfold, giving our King its direction of flight, though we don’t know its destination.

As we end with our need to head down to Copenhagen, to trace Strom’s missing memories and find the thief woman who was liaising with our enemy Bone Mage, and see if we can get information out of her on the Bone Mage drakaina’s identity, our King’s scowl is tremendous. My cousin’s is, too, as I see Halfdir grip a buckle on his leather pants.

Both of them, furious to their bones at how all this is shaping up.

“I want you to know, none of you are to blame for releasing that dire energy at Unhaemmerten , which seems to give the Black Dragon more strength.” King Huttr has an aware glint in his eyes now as he regards us. “You were being lied to by forces we do not yet understand, but which we shall get to the bottom of, I promise. For now, what you three need to do is steer clear of Jarl Oggi Magnussen at all costs. I would have told you myself to take greater caution, heading up into Magnussen lands on your errand to Unhaemmerten . Except intelligence only reached me recently… that he is the most likely force behind the Jarl’s revolt against me.”

“Shit.” Strom’s quiet curse says it all, as everyone looks at Bjorn. If I thought it couldn’t be possible for him to hate his father more, I would have been wrong. An iron-hearted coldness has taken Bjorn again.

As I feel death move in him, right to his bones.

“My father has many crimes to answer for,” Bjorn says as he watches his King. “After our reception in Magnussen lands, I do not doubt he has been the center of all the revolting Jarl’s plots against you—to remove your strongest personnel at a critical time when there might be war. He was close to committing treason while we were there… especially with me. He wanted me dead, my King, no matter what your Blood Seal said, and he was hell-bent on getting it… despite every way I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I don’t anym ore.”

“Bjorn, my son, I am gravely sorry things have turned out this way with your father.” Our King leans forward, setting a massive but kind hand on Bjorn’s knee. “Know that you always have a place here at the Old Palace with me and my family—you are like a son to me, with all your hard work and care for this family, and now your life-bond to my beloved niece. I am glad you three found each other and that you seem to be making it work. I could not have chosen two better drakes to bond with my niece—though it took her long enough to see it.”

My uncle winks at me now and I give him a sass of a smile. I feel love beam from him, as my energy expands and I take his hand, gripping it.

Though Maryse’s drakes have always been like stepfathers to me, Huttr made my entire life possible. He helped me train in his Kingsguard and gave me a place in the military and here at the palace after my parents died. Maryse and her drakes trained me in my magic, and they loved me to my bones, but Huttr made sure I was strong when battle came calling.

And he made sure I knew I was loved, all the way.

A deep moment moves between us now, as he and I hold hands. The moment is soon over, however, since we have to move on to other things. With a deep sigh, my King grips my hand then releases it.

He stares me down hard again, along with my drakes.

“You three will go to Copenhagen and see what you can find there,” he says now, giving us his official instructions, despite the many paths we could take. “I will send my best military personnel up to Riksfold to trace the Black Dragon’s whereabouts by its blood-trail. We’ll find the bastard, monitor its next moves and see if there’s a pattern, or anyone it’s coming home to. You three need to follow Strom’s breadcrumbs in the Danish Blood Dragon clan. Get us concrete names of these Bone Mages who keep wielding the Black Dragon to assail us.”

“Yes, my King,” Bjorn, Strom, and I say as one, with fists to our hearts.

“In the meantime,” King Huttr eyeballs us, “no more heading up to Magnussen lands without my direct support. From our sources, we cannot prove that Jarl Magnussen has been plotting against me—not yet. But things have been stirring among the Jarls who withdrew their military support from me, and matters with the Ice Dragons have been tense over that Outer Island blast. We are on the brink of renewed war, younglings, between the Blood Dragons of Sweden and the Ice Dragons of Russia. We need to find the renegade Bone Mages who are wielding the Black Dragon and prove it was them who raised it from its grave upon that island. We need to prove they are enemies of our Lineage. Only then, I believe, will the Ice Dragons listen to us. Time is of the essence… and I fear it is already running out.”

“We will see what we can find in Copenhagen, my King, and report back to you at once.” I am formal as I pound my fist on my heart.

“Be careful in Danish Blood Dragon country, niece.” King Huttr regards me. “Those bastards may be part of our Lineage and I may be their King, but they stand on ceremony with no one—and have even less patience. It may be best if you do not telegraph the fact that you are my niece and Sweden’s Hog Skjaldm?r while you are there. The Danes dislike such things as Kings and foreign rule. They have rebelled many times from foreign Blood Dragon kings in the past… despite how bitterly they fought, and had their rebellions quashed.”

“Noted, my King,” I say, as both Bjorn and Strom nod. King Huttr doesn’t need to tell us our Blood Seal may mean nothing down in Danish Blood Dragon territory. They thumb their noses at anyone.

And those who cross them often wind up dead.

There’s nothing more to say, as the King stands and we all clasp hands. But before we can depart, one of King Huttr’s top military Generals, a commander by the name of Einar Lufthellen, barrels in.

He doesn’t even wait to get to the dais—just bellows his news as he runs.

“My King! An attack! At Velleshavven, northwest of Uppsala!” General Einar skids to a stop at the foot of the low dais. “The entire village has been decimated, caustic black runes burned into every stone and timber everywhere. The village was leveled; only a few survived. The tales the survivors tell are of a black demon, which rained terror upon them from the skies… it is the black beast you hunt, Sire.”

“Time to move out.” King Huttr trots down the dais and his son joins him. Thunderclouds are in both their eyes as Huttr turns back to me. “Go. Now, tonight. Do not wait for rest here, my niece—get down to Copenhagen at once. We need your intel as soon as you can get it. If the black creature has attacked villages twice now, it will come again. We need to find those that are wielding it and bring them down… before it develops a mind of its own. And decimates us all, anew.”

With that, the King, the Prince, and his General are gone, striding out of the throne hall even before I can open my mouth to tell them to be careful. As the enormous doors boom shut, Bjorn, Strom, and I are alone now in the vast chamber. As Strom heaves a sigh, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head, Bjorn thunders a deep basso growl. I set my teeth, knowing we’re just at the beginning of what the Black Dragon can do.

Total destruction, far worse even than what happened at Seerselen.

Unless we stop it.

“You heard our King. Let’s go,” I tell my drakes now, and they nod. As we stride back to the entrance, we boom through the doors, where our fly-bags were left with the guards who escorted us. We receive them, thank our hosts, then stride for the nearest flying plaza.

No rest for the wicked, who let the monster out of its box.

That’s not entirely true; Bjorn, Strom, and I weren’t the ones who blasted the Black Dragon out of its resting place beneath that ancient Bone Mage temple on that Outer Island. We were the ones, however, who let some dire soul-energy out of its lockbox in that cathedral beneath Seerselen; we’re now responsible for how strong the black creature becomes.

And how indestructible, as my uncle’s forces rush off now to fight it.

I hope they don’t engage it. I pray with all my heart they’ll fall back and only track it, to see if they can predict where it’s going and who it’s listening to. Because I know in my heart of hearts, it’s already too strong for any normal military forces to bring down; if they engage it, they’ll die.

No matter how many big, strong drakes they get to fight it.

“It has to be brought down by metaphysical means,” I know suddenly, as Aesa’s Truthstone sears on my chest. As a wash of white-gold floods me, a flash of red light devouring me deep inside, I know my instinct about the Black Dragon is right, even though I don’t want it to be.

Bjorn and Strom glance at me as we stride up to the flying plaza and strip down, shoving everything in our fly-bags. But we say no more, as we shift up and begin our long flight down to Copenhagen.

The hour is beyond late as we arrive across the water; the Swedish city of Malmo has a bridge to Copenhagen even in the Twilight Realm. We shift down now, donning black motorcycle leathers as we take out our magically shrunken Ducatis, restore them to normal size, then hop on.

We fire them up and are soon peeling out over the bridge, roaring down into the tunnel beneath the ?resund that separates Sweden from Denmark. We roar less furiously on our bikes as we make it back up into downtown Copenhagen.

Strom takes the lead now as he maneuvers us through the city, most of his memories from his time here intact, the ones that had nothing to do with the thieves. He takes us through several artist areas and stately regions; Copenhagen is just as beautiful here in the Twilight Realm as it is in the human world, the modern city twinkling with copious lights.

Here, those lights are a variety of colors, rather than the boring streetlights of the human world. We soon roar up in front of a lovely old hotel, with a massive, well lit bar below.

Strom hops off his bike as Bjorn and I follow, and valets move in. We take our fly-bags, but I know from the intense warding energy around this place that the entire hotel is for dragons. Like most modern Twilight Realm cities, many Lineages live here, rather than just the ones who dominate the area. But this fancy 1800s hotel has trouble written all over it .

As we head inside, and I feel the most intense magical wards I’ve ever experienced wash over me.

“What the fuck was that?” I ask Strom, as I shiver from head to heels in my black motorcycle leathers. Just one touch of those wards has left the heebie-jeebies crawling all over me.

I’m suddenly not excited to be here, wherever here is.

“Containment and concealment wards.” Strom strolls confidently through the high-Victorian style foyer, groups of chaises and potted palms everywhere. Though the clientele are dressed to the nines in Twilight Realm high-money style, a seedy energy radiates through this place.

I realize now it’s a den of gangsters and thieves, as Strom strides right up to the desk, giving the woman there his most charming, devil-may-care smile. Before she can welcome him, a concierge rushes around the desk to us from where he was occupied at his station.

Beaming, as he furiously pumps Strom’s hand.

“ Herre Axel Larsen! Dejligt to see you again at the Forgyldt Bur , the Gilded Cage!”

Both Bjorn’s and my eyebrows go up. Not only has Strom got a false persona here in Danish territory, but he’s also taken a Danish Blood Dragon name to go with it. As Strom grips the man’s hand, laughing in an uproar, he grins like a devil.

Answering the man in a perfect Danish accent to his English—no trace of Swedish left.

“ Herre Emil Beck, you old rascal! What trouble have you been getting into while I was away?” Strom grins like a brigand as he slaps the man’s back.

“Too much, and not enough, I’m afraid.” The man is jolly, but there’s an edge to it now as he looks Bjorn and me up and down. “I have not had the pleasure of meeting your companions, Herre Larsen. If you would indulge me?”

I feel like it’s some sort of test to pass this man’s scrutiny and be admitted to this place. Strom is in his good graces—though I feel a fell wind sweep between me and Bjorn.

Evaluating us, as Herre Beck wonders if we’re trusted enough to be let into this hotel.

“ Herre Emil Beck, may I introduce my traveling companions—Annika Johansson and Anders Karlsson.”

“Swedes!” Emil Beck sucks his teeth before glancing around his clientele, idling in the vast foyer. I note how they keep close attention on us, despite everyone else mingling through the beautiful nighttime lobby. He looks back at us. “Well, I suppose they shall do no harm, as long as you vouch for them.”

“I do. To my blood and bones, I do,” Strom says casually now.

Though his look could core diamonds, as he stares Emil Beck down.

The man goes silent. His gaze flicks at us, and I see true iron in him now, as he regards us. “It’s like that, is it?”

“You better believe it,” Strom says coldly, as he continues to stare the man down.

“Well.” Emil Beck smoothes his hands down his shiny black tux, then palms them over his slicked-back black hair. He beams at us then, his eyes clearing. “Come! We have the top-floor suite already made up for you, Herre Larsen, just like always. Blood and Bone friends of yours shall be true friends of this establishment. For we are all about the business of Blood and Bone here. Aren’t we… drakaina of both temperaments, who amasses many drakes?”

And suddenly, I know this man is an ally to Bloodwalkers, as he gives me a wink. With a wave at his personnel to man the long desk, he guides us up the nearest flight of ornately gilded stairs, motioning a small army of porters forward to get our things.

We’re shown up to the hotel’s sixth floor, though there are no elevators to take us there. When Emil Beck opens the gilded double doors of the suite at the very top, we’re rewarded by the most incredible view of old town Copenhagen.

Glass, crystal, gold, and marble, everywhere I look.