Read Online Edge of Control: (Viking Dystopian Romance) by Megan Crane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Megan Crane
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quieted down as he did, waiting for him to speak.
“I need someone to track down this bishop and abase themselves,” the king said after a moment. “Or whatever else is needed to get the answers I want. And I need to know where that last temple is, exactly, and why Helena’s parents didn’t want to approach it. And you’re all right. I can’t send a raiding party unless I want a war. I don’t.” His pale blue eyes gleamed bright and hard in the firelight. “Yet.”
And Riordan knew how this was going to go before his king even slid a look his way. He was the clan’s best tracker. And he was unmated. Unattached. Nothing to hold him back from a possible suicide mission like the one Wulf had just described. He knew it in his bones as if it had been stamped there with a red-hot brand.
This was his destiny. He’d made himself into this finely honed blade of war and given it over in service to his king. There was no call not to swing it when asked.
“How do I infiltrate a church without raising an alarm?” he asked, and he noticed no one else around the fire seemed particularly surprised that he was volunteering.
Wulf only smiled.
Across the fire, Maud frowned. It occurred to Riordan that he didn’t think he’d ever seen her do that before.
“Uh,
you
can’t,” Helena said, from her seat on the grass next to Tyr. She sat forward. “You certainly can’t walk in as a raider. They’ll know exactly what you are at a glance.”
“It would be better if you could . . .
blend,”
Maud agreed, shooting a look at Helena, then back at Riordan.
The two mainland women frowned at Riordan as if he was an unpleasant specimen that had washed up before them and needed a great deal of work—not a reaction he’d ever received before. Especially not from two women. It made him very nearly bristle.
“I don’t blend,” he grated out. “I’m a warrior of the brotherhood, not a spineless little mainland twerp.”
But neither Helena nor Maud was listening to him. Also a new experience, and again, not one he loved.
“The warrior braids and the tattoos give the whole thing away,” Helena was saying, waving her hand at Riordan in a dismissive sort of circle. Practically asking for a violent response. Riordan slid an affronted gaze over to Tyr, but the hard, faintly amused look in the war chief’s gaze told him to suck it up. “Not that there’s any disguising the way he
walks.
”
“Like death on swift feet,” Maud said, then smiled when it got a little too silent afterward. “Well, you all do.”
“Can you look less like a raider?” Helena asked him. With a smile, as if she already knew his answer.
“No,” Riordan retorted. But he grinned at her. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means that in order to walk into places like the Great Lake Cathedral—or the western highlands at all, really—you have to look like one of the faithful,” Helena said. “You need to look compliant.”
Compliant.
That stupid word. All the raiders laughed at the sound of it, the way they always did, because it was a crock of shit and a scam. At best. And the idea of Riordan masquerading as one of them? That was even funnier. Even Wulf looked amused to an unholy degree, still lounging there in the grass as the specifics of this madness he’d requested were ironed out in front of him.
“Right,” Riordan drawled. “Remind me how much fun that is. Pussy on a set schedule, no fun at all, only for boring-ass procreation. Is that about it?”
“Good people
want
to repopulate the Earth, Riordan,” Helena said, so piously it took him a minute to realize she was messing with him.
“That means you can’t take a wife for the winter and do her in the ass the whole time, you fucking deviant,” Tyr said, laughing outright. “Can you handle that?”
The level of mocking laughter from the rest of his brothers—and the camp girls, all of whom knew his preferences intimately and had spent a lot of time enjoying
“I need someone to track down this bishop and abase themselves,” the king said after a moment. “Or whatever else is needed to get the answers I want. And I need to know where that last temple is, exactly, and why Helena’s parents didn’t want to approach it. And you’re all right. I can’t send a raiding party unless I want a war. I don’t.” His pale blue eyes gleamed bright and hard in the firelight. “Yet.”
And Riordan knew how this was going to go before his king even slid a look his way. He was the clan’s best tracker. And he was unmated. Unattached. Nothing to hold him back from a possible suicide mission like the one Wulf had just described. He knew it in his bones as if it had been stamped there with a red-hot brand.
This was his destiny. He’d made himself into this finely honed blade of war and given it over in service to his king. There was no call not to swing it when asked.
“How do I infiltrate a church without raising an alarm?” he asked, and he noticed no one else around the fire seemed particularly surprised that he was volunteering.
Wulf only smiled.
Across the fire, Maud frowned. It occurred to Riordan that he didn’t think he’d ever seen her do that before.
“Uh,
you
can’t,” Helena said, from her seat on the grass next to Tyr. She sat forward. “You certainly can’t walk in as a raider. They’ll know exactly what you are at a glance.”
“It would be better if you could . . .
blend,”
Maud agreed, shooting a look at Helena, then back at Riordan.
The two mainland women frowned at Riordan as if he was an unpleasant specimen that had washed up before them and needed a great deal of work—not a reaction he’d ever received before. Especially not from two women. It made him very nearly bristle.
“I don’t blend,” he grated out. “I’m a warrior of the brotherhood, not a spineless little mainland twerp.”
But neither Helena nor Maud was listening to him. Also a new experience, and again, not one he loved.
“The warrior braids and the tattoos give the whole thing away,” Helena was saying, waving her hand at Riordan in a dismissive sort of circle. Practically asking for a violent response. Riordan slid an affronted gaze over to Tyr, but the hard, faintly amused look in the war chief’s gaze told him to suck it up. “Not that there’s any disguising the way he
walks.
”
“Like death on swift feet,” Maud said, then smiled when it got a little too silent afterward. “Well, you all do.”
“Can you look less like a raider?” Helena asked him. With a smile, as if she already knew his answer.
“No,” Riordan retorted. But he grinned at her. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means that in order to walk into places like the Great Lake Cathedral—or the western highlands at all, really—you have to look like one of the faithful,” Helena said. “You need to look compliant.”
Compliant.
That stupid word. All the raiders laughed at the sound of it, the way they always did, because it was a crock of shit and a scam. At best. And the idea of Riordan masquerading as one of them? That was even funnier. Even Wulf looked amused to an unholy degree, still lounging there in the grass as the specifics of this madness he’d requested were ironed out in front of him.
“Right,” Riordan drawled. “Remind me how much fun that is. Pussy on a set schedule, no fun at all, only for boring-ass procreation. Is that about it?”
“Good people
want
to repopulate the Earth, Riordan,” Helena said, so piously it took him a minute to realize she was messing with him.
“That means you can’t take a wife for the winter and do her in the ass the whole time, you fucking deviant,” Tyr said, laughing outright. “Can you handle that?”
The level of mocking laughter from the rest of his brothers—and the camp girls, all of whom knew his preferences intimately and had spent a lot of time enjoying
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