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“SloCam ship confirmed,” Christian said with glee.
“Maybe they just went in there to talk,” I said but I didn’t believe it for a second.
Just then Helen approached Dom and took Cam’s vacant seat across from him. She touched his hand as they started talking.
“You going to put up with that?” Christian asked me, trying to stir up shit like it was his job, as usual.
I shrugged. “I’m trying to overlook it. I’m being mature about it.”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to adult now.”
“Why start now? You’re no spring chicken. How old are you—” He stopped mid-sentence, seeing my face, remembering how I felt about discussing my age, and re-shifted his question, “What’s with the sudden maturity?”
“I’m going to be a mother, or I guess I am a mother. I’m turning over a new leaf.”
I didn’t think he believed me going by his loud laughter. I stuck my tongue out at him.
“Jillian,” Caleb spoke from beside me. I almost jumped. He’d been so quiet I’d almost forgotten he was there. Dangerous habit, that.
“Yeah?” I responded because he seemed to be waiting for it.
“It seems like you might need to be a dragon to fight a dragon, no?”
I thought about it some. I’d been considering it a lot in last the few hours, and I just wasn’t sure where I’d be more effective, or even if I’d be able to shift fast enough to be useful. “I might,” I finally answered. “But my dad is a lot older and more powerful than me. Even the second dragon will be, no matter who he is. The power of the blood grows with age, and I’m the definitely the youngest.
The weakest.
“I have more training fighting with an axe than as a dragon,” I continued, “and Torst will only be helpful if I’m my human self. Also I’m not sure how much help I’d be to the team as a draak. Some of us are flame retardant but certainly not all, whereas what we’re fighting certainly is.”
“I see,” Caleb said. “So it’s looking like you won’t shift, but if you need to at any time, I’ll take Torst for the fight.
“What about the hammer?”
“I can dual-wield.” Christian and I shared a smirk at the gamer term. “It’s not wise to do for anything but the bloodiest fight,” Caleb kept talking like we weren’t just immortal children, “but I’m positive this will qualify. So if at any time you need to grow scales and fly, toss Torst to me.”
I nodded. It was a relief. “I will. I’m still a little freaked out that he’s so quiet now, though.”
Caleb looked thoughtful. “Perhaps I kept the wrong one. I’ve found more tricks to keep Torst quiet than you did. Any chance you’d be more suited to the hammer and me to the axe?”
The thought made me uncomfortable, but I mulled it over. “Possibly,” I conceded reluctantly. I hated that fucking hammer and Caleb with the axe made me uneasy but quite frankly both options sucked.
“We’ll give it more thought after we kill your father,” Caleb said. It was a disturbing sentence but hardly incorrect.
About an hour out Sven roused from his meditation, took out some strange tools, and started mixing something together. He wasn’t speaking but I could tell he was using magic as he worked. It was in the air and without even meaning to we began to gather around him. I was suddenly standing at his shoulder with no memory of moving.
It looked like he was playing with black tar in a little mortar and pestle.
No one was speaking, and I wondered if we were all under a spell.
He dipped his fingertips into the tar and began to paint his face. He was quick, like he’d done it a thousand times and when he finished he had a black mask painted perfectly around his eyes.
He looked up at me, eyes eerily pale and farseeing. “Your turn,” he said it like we’d been in the middle of a conversation, like I was somehow in on this ritual.
“Viking war paint,” I said, somewhat amused.
“Can I have some?” Christian called out, because of course he did.
