Beasts of Burden: An M/M Fantasy

Romance (The Black Blade Chronicles

Book 2) J.K. Hogan
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 Table of Contents

Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Glossary
Native Peoples of Taleth
Bestiary
Map of Taleth
Powerful Magic
Not a Monster
Leash
Captivity
Wait and Watch
Stalemate
A Bargain
Nothing But Shadows
Night Flight
Sanctuary
Dismantled
Black Dog Day
Scribe
Homecoming
An Audience with the King
Blood Debt
Gather Your Party
Venture Forth
Sirensong
Just Like Old Times
Kingmaker
Strange Magic
Tjore
About the Author
Also by J.K. Hogan
BEASTS OF BURDEN

THE B LACK B LADE CHRONICLES 2

J.K. Hogan
 A Euphoria Press Publication

www.jkhogan.com

Wicked Lovely

Copyright © 2022 by J.K. Hogan

Cover Art by J.K. Hogan at Wicked Pixel Designs © 2022
Edited by Boho Edits

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written
permission of the author. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact J.K. Hogan at the web address above or at jkhogan@gmail.com.
Printed in the USA
First Edition
M arch, 2022

ASIN:​ B09V1KYG89

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers.
 Dedication

This work is dedicated to Brian Jacques, author of the beloved Redwall series, for being the first to
open my imagination to the world of fantasy. You were one of a kind, and though you have left this
world for the next adventure, to me you will always be the one who lit the fire that drives me.

In memoriam

Brian Jacques

June 15, 1939 – February 5, 2011

 GLOSSARY
Acinaces – a straight, double-edged short sword having bi-lobiform (shape of two leaves)
crossguards and ornate hilt and scabbard.

Aisnellach Fuil, The – a great unifying ruler of the realm who will end suffering and oppression, and
allow magic to flow freely throughout Taleth; foretold by an ancient elven prophecy; direct
translation: “the blood sovereign.” Also refers to the prophecy itself.

Akili’ele – A Doshen elf’s “sixth sense” that relates to that Doshen’s chosen discipline: e.g. a
scribe’s ability to locate conflict or historic events to observe and record.

Akveda stone – a runestone with the ability to manipulate time and space, allowing the user to
transport between magically charged places at conversion points, where ley lines intersect, with little
to no passage of time; also called a timestone.

Alchemy – any magical power or process of transmuting a common substance, usually of little value,
into a substance of great value or use.

Athame – a ceremonial knife used by magic practitioners when performing certain spells and rituals.

Balinger – a type of small, sea-going vessel known for being swift and performing well under both
sail and oars; originally developed for hunting whales.

Barber-surgeon – one of the most common medieval medical practitioners, generally charged with
caring for soldiers during and after battle. In this era, surgery was seldom conducted by physicians,
but instead by barbers, who, possessing razors and coordination indispensable to their trade, were
called upon for numerous tasks ranging from cutting hair to amputating limbs.

Barbican – an outer defensive work; e.g. a tower at a gate or bridge.

Blood fury – a fugue state of lowered awareness and heightened power a berserker enters when
threatened; also called blood rage or berserker rage.

Blood magic – a notorious type of magic that involves the use of blood; it is outlawed in most
territories of Taleth.

Claíomhdorch – an archaic Toivonian word meaning mercenary; often derogatory.

Cog – a tinker-built seafaring ship, with a single mast, a single square-rigged sail, and a rear-
mounted rudder; primarily used for seagoing trade.

Convergence points – magically charged places atop points where ley lines intersect; magic
performed at these locations is much stronger; often used for magical travel.

Deathmarch – the most prolific and notorious mercenary guild in existence; consists primarily of
assassins for hire.

Demonurgy – the conjuration, invocation, or summoning of demons, usually for the purpose of
nefarious practices of dark magic; typically does not end well.

Diavollic runes – an ancient form of writing among the majikkah, likely originated from the elves of
Aeyrith, primarily used for documentation as related to the practice of magic; different runes exist for
different languages and different forms of magic.

Doshen – a sect of elven shapeshifters within the R’homish people of the Isle of Rowarch. Students
of the Doshen teachings become scribes or assassins, trained to either record history or shape it.

Elderfolk, The – the old gods of the elves of Aeyrith; the earliest known accounts predate gods of
mainland Taleth by centuries.

Eldertongue – the most commonly spoken language among elves, primarily the Caíasídhe; the native
language of Aeyrith, often called Vallasan.

Elemental magic – a type of magical practice that harnesses a force of nature and controls natural
powers derived from its particular element (e.g. earth, air, fire, water, space, time).

Empath – a person or creature with the ability to apprehend the mental or emotional state of another
individual.

Euphoric – a class of psychedelic and/or hallucinogenic drugs.

Everburn – magically created fire that never burns out unless extinguished by magic, and does not
burn unless the wielder wills it.

Falne Ridder – a Yesenian term for mercenary or sellsword, often derogatory; direct translation
“fallen knight”; similar terms from other regions of Taleth as follows: zvaard tilleje and
reiclaidheamh (northern territories), vendeur (mid-eastern region), and gairgweth (mid-western
region).

Fen – a swamp or marshy wetland.

Fey – a broad term for supernatural beings that possess inherent magic, even when unstudied. [See
Bestiary and Fey Species List]

Fífskinga – the Málfar word for idiot.

Fjöldur – the Málfar word for a majikkah’s etheric energy core; known as quintessence in the
common tongue.

Fractal grid – a tool for spellcasting that consists of an arrangement or array of crystals, minerals,
and/or metals, charged with intention and laid in a geometric pattern.

Hawker – a trainer and handler of hawks primarily for the purpose of message bearing, though some
hawkers also employ their birds for tracking, combat, and espionage.

High fey, higher fey – "civilized" fey races, meaning fey creatures, typically humanoid, who walk
upright and possess intelligence equal or greater to that of humans.

Keep – a fortress or castle; specifically, the strongest and securest part of a medieval castle.

Kingmaker – a colloquial term for someone who engages in the illegal practice of wizardry, derived
from the fact that wizards are rumored to be hired by rulers to use their magic for political influence.

King’s Guard, Royal Guard – a king’s inner circle of trusted knights and ranking officers; often
occurs in a feudal levy system when the majority of a kingdom’s forces are conscripted into service
under vassals of the king.

Kyrtill – a knee-length belted tunic most often worn by the Noordfolke of the northern territories.

Laws of Men – political, governmental, and judicial structures created and maintained by non-magic-
using humans, which presume the compliance of majikkah and fey while excluding them from input
and subsequent protections.

Ley lines – lines that crisscross around the world and carry along with them rivers of magical energy.
At the places where these lines intersect there are pockets of concentrated energy that can be
harnessed by magic-users.

L’hra na Caía – refers to Aeyrith in the ancient Vallasan or Eldertongue; common translations: Land
of the Fey, Land of Fairies.

Lillebráthair – a Málfar word meaning “little brother.”

Lillerítar – a Málfar term meaning “little knight.”

Lunarii – a general term for the native peoples of Lunaris.

Machrie, The – a flat, grassy moorland in central Arranmoor, bordered by hill-dwellings and
containing a magically charged fairy ring; home to one of the Caíasídhe elf tribes.

Majikkah – a general term for practitioners of the magical arts, either natural or learned; the
subsequent community formed by the aforementioned.

Málfar – the native language of the peoples of the Northern Territories, originating from Andrahar.

Miscegenation – interspecies propagation; marriage or sexual relations between two different

species, producing half-blood offspring; typically derogatory; outlawed in certain areas of Taleth.

Monstrum Maledictus, The – an alternate prophecy diametrically opposed to the Aisnellach Fuil;
foretells of the Aisnellach being forced mate with a great beast, bringing about the rise of a tyrant
who will rule in darkness and blood, and all magic left will be under his control.

Mundanes, Munds – individuals with who possess no magical abilities, either natural or studied;
often used in a derogatory manner; also: non-majikkah.

Necromancy – the magical practice of conjuring of the spirits of the dead for purposes of revealing
the future or influencing a course of events.

Neuropath - an individual with the magical ability to see auras and/or sense feelings and intentions
of others.

Nullification – the act of severing and extracting a majikkah’s quintessence so they are unable to
manipulate magical energy. Used as punishment for illegal wizardry, nullification often leads to
madness.

Orithari salve – a salve that aids a majikkah’s healing abilities by amplifying their magical energy
and directing it to the most emergent injuries or illnesses.

Perception blocking – a magical ability that allows the wielder to manipulate what those around
them see, hear, and smell, thus giving them the power to cloak themselves or others to avoid
detection.

Portcullis – a grating of iron hung over the gateway of a fortified place and lowered between grooves
to prevent passage.

Quintessence – a majikkah’s core of etheric energy; the source of one’s magical ability.

Red Road, The – a network of clandestine trade routes and safehouses operated by those who are
outcast by society, by fair means or foul, used for everything from smuggling to freeing indentured
servants.

Ríkönen – the Málfar word for king.

Sangolith – a sacred stone mentioned in the Monstrum Maledictus prophecy; according to lore, it is
located within the Temple of Ashal on Aeyrith.
Scrying – divining information about events in the future using a reflective object or surface.

Sophick mercury – a combination of distilled mercury, gold, and heat; sometimes colloquially
referred to as the philosopher's stone.

Spaulder – a piece of armor, typically a single plate of steel or iron covering the shoulder with bands
joined by straps of leather or rivets.

Sovereigns – gold coins, the most widely used form of currency in Taleth; while the name is derived
from the fact that the coins are often stamped with the face of the kingdom's sovereign, the term can
refer to anything from official sovereigns to crude gold pieces.

Stava – a mild euphoric made from the root oil of the korkea tree. This principal trade crop of
Lunaris is highly sought-after and as such, it is the primary reason Lunaris remains a free,
unconquered nation.

Stíllein – a Málfar word meaning “be at ease” or “stay calm.”

Storesiúr – a Málfar word meaning “sister.”

Taika anatomia – an Eldertongue word meaning magic of the body, specifically magic with the
ability to permanently alter physical and anatomical traits.

Taleth – the known realm in which our tale takes place.

Tarn – a small mountain lake or pool, often in a bowl-shaped, steep-walled mountain basin carved by
glaciation.

Tether – a majikkah’s symbiotic companion—often romantic but not always—who acts as a

grounding force, to keep the majikkah from becoming overwhelmed by their etheric energy. This
tether tempers the majikkah’s power to ensure they do not burn out their core, while in turn extending
the tether's lifespan to match that of their majikkah partner

Tiercel – a male raptor; often mentioned in reference to the profession of hawking.

Tjore – the Noordfolke name for a majikkah’s tether.

Vanligge – the Málfar term for a mundane or mund (a non-majikkah individual); considered less
derogatory than its common-tongue counterpart.

Wizard – any majikkah who illegally practices dark magic, sometimes blood magic; almost
exclusively employed by monarchs or oligarchs who wish to use said dark magic against their
enemies. Wizardry is outlawed across the realm and carries the penalty of nullification.
 NATIVE PEOPLES OF TALETH
The Toivonians
Residents of the Kingdom of Toivonen, a fiefdom in southeastern Taleth ruled by King Torsten
vas Kjenelach.

The Yesenians
Residents of the Kingdom of Sovereign Yesenia, an autocracy in southwestern Taleth ruled by
King Prosper ház Zorander.

The Noordfolke
The native inhabitants of the Northern Territories (sometimes called the Northern Barrens or the
Northern Wilds) in northwest Taleth; includes the territories of Andrahar, Elsveta, Thaís, and
Stólich.

The Skjarlish
The native inhabitants of the coastal and island nation of Skjarl.

The Lunarii
The native inhabitants of the agrarian nation of Lunaris in central Taleth.

The Caíasídhe
A tribe of elvenfolk possessing the most powerful magic, originating from the Isle of Aeyrith.

The Elderfolk
The old gods of Aeyrith; progenitors of the Caíasídhe.

The R’homish
A tribe of elvenfolk that makes up the primary population of the Isle of Rowarch, off the east
coast of Taleth in the Timberfall Sea. Members of the infamous Doshen Order are selected from
with the R’homish people.
 BESTIARY
Higher Fey
Berserker – in ancient Noordfolke legend, berserkers were warriors who were said to have fought
in a trance-like fury and possess preternatural strength and agility. Pure-blood berserkers are
believed to be extinct.

Elf – supernatural humanoid with pointed ears, magical powers, and otherworldly beauty; often
ambivalent toward humans and capable of either helping or hindering them. Elves possess magical
healing abilities and a much longer lifespan than that of humans.

Halfling – an individual that is the result of interbreeding between two different species; most often
used colloquially in reference to an individual who is half elf.

Sangyad – a blood nymph; often called a spirit of life and death, very little is known about sangyads
including whether they actually consume blood or simply draw on its energy to power their magic;
progenitor of modern vampire legend.

Sylph – an air elemental resembling a vaguely humanoid-shaped cloud.

Lesser Fey, Fey Creatures, & Other Beasts

Bean-sídhe – a female spirit whose wailing warns of impending death.

Caorthannach – a demon said to be the Mother of Monsters; also called the Firespitter.

Changeling – a small, grotesque fey creature with a fondness for swamps; it has the magical ability to
enchant humans in order to control what they see, which allows it to make mischief among them
including but not limited to replacing human babies with their own offspring; distantly related to
fairies.

Cú-sídhe (pl. coin-sídhe) – a spectral hound said to be almost the size of a bull, with dark green
shaggy fur and a coiled or braided tail. According to legend, the creature was capable of hunting
silently, but would occasionally let out three terrifying barks that could be heard for miles. The third
bark is believed to herald death for those who hear it.

Dire wolf – a prehistoric wolf-like canine commonly thought to be extinct and as such, their pelts are
highly coveted.

Gryphon – a fey creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion, typically
depicted with pointed ears and with the eagle’s legs taking the place of the forelegs.
Ilan – a sea monster that appears to have the upper body of a human female and the lower body of a
giant eel. As carnivorous opportunistic feeders, Ilan emit a high-pitched screech with magical
properties that stun their victims into stillness to make them easier to catch and consume.

Jegerhundt – a hunting hound with magically enhanced senses and size; almost exclusively used for
tracking and bounty hunting.

Lustryad – a bog nymph; a supernatural creature that makes its home in bogs and swamps, feeding on
any creature it can pull into the bog water.

Neidrkind – a hybrid shapeshifter that alternates between a quasi-human form and a snake form,
though it most commonly appears as half man, half snake. Reclusive and solitary creatures, neidrkind
feed on the excess energy given off by creatures they encounter. Though this typically has little effect
on the other creatures, there are certain side effects for certain species, e.g. humans become
temporarily agitated and prone to violence.

Swamp reiver – a false-humanoid flesh-eating swamp dweller. Due to their amphibious physiology,
swamp reivers are notorious for lurking underwater in swamps and bogs, waiting for unsuspecting
prey pass by.

Wyvern – a winged two-legged dragon with a barbed tail.

Ygoreigg (Bone Raider) – a humanoid carrion-eater that picks clean the bones of the dead and sucks
out the marrow, even if the dead aren't entirely dead yet. They travel in packs, wear armor made of
the bones of their kills, and tend to kill and eat anything that gets in their way. It is unknown if they
were once human and were changed by magical means or if they were beasts of their own species
with similar traits to humans.
THE REALM OF TALETH
 1| Powerful Magic

Kasimir vas Hjardar didn’t need to see his companion, Senne Clayward an Fhìor, approaching
from behind to know he was there. He could hear him because stealth was never Senne’s strong suit.
He could smell him. Though they’d found a lake near camp to bathe in the previous night—knowing it
would be their last chance for a while—and had even traded for a bar of lye soap in the last village
they passed through, Senne still smelled of the forest and an earthy, cedar-smoke scent all his own that
Kas never failed to notice. But most alarmingly, Kas could feel when Senne was near. It terrified him
how in tune with one another they had become since embarking on their quest.
Senne crouched beside him, resting his arm on Kasimir’s shoulder, and surveyed the fortified
city of Senka, the capital of Yesenia, from their covered vantage point. They needed to breach it to
enact their plan—to get arrested within the city where they believed Senne’s young ward, Princess
Sigrid vas Kjenelach of Toivonen, was being held. Sigrid had been captured under the orders of King
Prosper of Yesenia. An ancient prophecy had resurfaced that heralded the coming of a great ruler, the
Aisnellach Fuil, who would unite the realm in peace. There were rumblings that Sigrid would
someday be that ruler. Prosper unearthed an alternate prophecy in which a ruler would conquer the
realm and remake it in his image. Determined to force the hand of destiny, Prosper had stolen Sigrid
away for whatever nefarious purposes he had planned.
Kasimir was a mercenary by trade, mostly being paid to kill beasts and fey creatures that
plagued the average citizen, though he did occasionally accept contracts on humans if he felt the target
was suitably deserving of such a fate. He’d run afoul of King Prosper’s men when he’d turned down
the contract to kidnap or kill the princess. His life had collided with Senne’s, and somehow the young
knight had inspired him to join the quest. Now the burden of saving Sigrid, and possibly the world,
currently rested solely on their shoulders, as they had followed her kidnappers across the realm from
Toivonen to Yesenia. But in order to reach her, they had to first breach the walls of the fortified
capital city. Senka was crowned by its impenetrable fortress, Morr Volaris, and getting thrown in its
dungeon was one sure, if risky, way to get inside. To be captured in front of witnesses was the only
way to avoid execution, and that required them to get inside the city before getting caught.
Kasimir had spotted a weak point in the wall that surrounded Senka, and he’d been watching it
for some time. “What do you think?” Kasimir asked as he studied the partially collapsed roof of one
of the outbuildings, which may have formerly been a stable before it was burned out. The building
itself was part of the wall, having once been tall enough to keep intruders out. Scaffolds had been
erected inside the walls, and it looked as though the building was being restored. But currently, it was
a low spot on the wall that they could possibly scale.
“It’s doable, theoretically,” Senne said. “If we can get past the perimeter patrol. It looks like
they’ve doubled up on this side to cover the weakness in the structure.”
“Aye, they have.” Kasimir had been in his hiding place watching the spot for a whole day and
two nights. After that, he was sure he’d solved the problem. “There is a small window of time, just
after midnight, a lag in the changing of the second pair of patrolmen. It’s barely anything—a quarter of
an hour, maybe—but it’s a chance. Of the remaining pair, one is terribly lazy and can’t seem to stay
awake past midnight. If he falls asleep like he’s done both times I’ve watched him, that leaves only
one guard we’d have to sneak past.”
 Senne leaned in for a closer look, his arm still resting on Kasimir’s shoulder. While he
surveyed the guards, Kas studied him. The fact that the two of them had cobbled together a sort of
friendship—with certain minor enhancements—was a mystery. A conundrum. They were
fundamentally different. Where Senne was cautious, Kasimir was brash. Where Senne was rigid,
Kasimir was chaotic. They shouldn’t work. Kasimir wasn’t entirely sure they did work, but he felt a
kinship with Senne the likes of which he’d never known.
The trust thing was hard for Kas to accept. He wasn’t sure he’d trusted anyone entirely, up to
that point, because people always left him in the end. His half-sister Séverine had been born so many
years before him, and while they loved each other fiercely, Kasimir had never come to rely on her for
anything he couldn’t provide for himself. And his mentor, Galen Fisbayne…well, Galen was the one
who’d taught him never to depend on anyone but himself. While he knew Galen would always come
to help him if he called, the man was transient in his life at best.
Yet Kasimir felt an unmistakable bond with Senne forming, tumbling out of control like a
snowball rolling down the glacier in his homeland. This bond, it wasn’t familial. It wasn’t the
surrogate-father, brother-in-arms type of relationship he had with Galen. It was something entirely
different. Something new. But, just like everything else, it would end.
For the first time in his life, Kasimir found himself wondering if he’d survive it. It was that
very thought that made him shrug off Senne’s arm. He could sense the knight studying him, searching
his face for clues to his mood, but Kasimir refused to look at him. There was a soft sigh in the quiet of
the forest, and then nothing for a long while. Senne must have decided not to push.
Later on, about an hour until the changing of the guards, Senne finally spoke. “Can I ask you
something?”
Kas steeled himself for the inevitable probing of his emotions, for Senne was nothing if not
emotionally driven. “Go on, then.”
“Promise you won’t be angry.”
“Senne,” Kasimir growled.
“Fine. Once we’re inside the city walls, when we’re letting ourselves be captured, it’s going to
seem like we’re about to be attacked.” He took a deep breath. “How can you be sure you can keep the
fury at bay?”
Kas blinked once, and again. That was not what he had been expecting Senne to ask. And how
had he bloody well not thought of it himself? The blood of his berserker ancestors ran through his
veins, and a threat to his life could trigger his fury. “I…” He clamped his mouth shut because he
wasn’t sure he had an answer.
“Because I remember you said it’s unpredictable. That sometimes you can fight clearheaded
and only the changing of the tide of battle will set it off, but that it can also happen from a mere
physical threat.”
“I did say that, yes,” Kas hedged.
“How can we be sure you won’t fly into a rage and start killing soldiers until they put us both
down?”
“I think…” Kasimir licked his dry lips, then tried again. “Senne, I think you can control it.”
“M-me?” Senne stammered. “What…why would you think that?”
“You did it before. In Korven, when the swamp reiver attacked us, d’you remember? The ugly
beasties that came up out of the muck when we were nearly out of it?”
“Of course, but…” Senne sat down hard, bewilderment etched into his patrician features. “It’s
not as if I knew what I was doing. I tried something, which thankfully worked, but I have no idea why
or if I could replicate the feat. I’m just an ordinary human, Kas.”
Kasimir studied him, took in those brown eyes shining with intelligence, the belligerent jaw,
the wide shoulders that carried such unseen burdens, the lithe body that was much stronger than one
would imagine. And Kas could feel himself softening for him. He didn’t like it one bit, but he was
helpless to stop it.
“There’s nothing ordinary about you.” Despite his trepidation only hours ago, Kas took Senne’s
hand and gave it a squeeze. “You possess very powerful magic, Senne.”
“Me?” Senne asked again, looking slightly horrified. “I have magic?”
Kasimir sighed. “What did I tell you all those weeks ago? Magic is simply energy, nothing
more. The majikkah are just…able to connect with it on a deeper level, to manipulate it differently.
But you…our connection…your energy soothes mine, somehow. It tempers my beast. That sounds
magical to me.”
A small smile formed on Senne’s lips, but the concentration line between his brows deepened.
“I’m not sure if we should stake our entire plan on such a fantastical theory, no matter how…magical
it sounds.”
“I do have a backup, but it’s an absolute last resort because it would leave you unprotected.”
“What is it?” Senne asked, wide-eyed.
Kasimir pulled his vial pouch out of his saddlebag and unrolled it. He selected the glass
cylinder that contained his supply of dwale, a last resort to stop the bloodlust, along with a cloth and
an empty vial. “It’s a sedative. For times when I’m overtaken by the fury but am unable to give the
beast the fight it craves. The dwale will knock me out.”
“That’s what happened in Garigill’s cave, isn’t it? You drugged yourself.”
Kasimir nodded.
“But you were out for hours. You’d be completely at the Yesenians’ mercy!”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Kas sighed again. “We will be anyway, my friend. But you’re
right, it is dangerous to incapacitate myself, which is why it’s a last resort.”
“Fine, how do I do it?”
Kasimir unstopped the dwale and sprinkled a few drops on the cloth, then rolled the cloth up as
tight as he could and stuffed it into the empty vial. “Ideally I would apply it to the cloth right before
administering, but I doubt the Yesenian soldiers will wait patiently while you prepare a sedative.
This vial should keep the liquid from drying too quickly and seal the fumes inside.” He handed it to
Senne. “You just have to get close enough to me to hold this over my nose and mouth.”
Senne eyed the dwale skeptically. “For how long?”
“Only until I start to go limp. Normally I do it myself, so as soon as my muscles go lax, I’d
drop the cloth involuntarily. Someone doing it for me must be very careful. Prolonged exposure could
kill me.”
“Of course it could,” Senne sighed.
After a moment’s thought, Kas also handed Senne the vial of undiluted dwale. Senne gave him a
questioning look.
“If we make it past the capture unscathed, after a few hours, the dwale on the cloth will lose its
efficacy. Should you need to sedate me again before we’ve made our escape, you would have to make
a new poultice. I’m trusting you with this, Senne. My life is in your hands.”
Senne looked into Kasimir’s eyes, his gaze steadfast and unwavering. “I have this.” His words
were reminiscent of what he’d said during the fight with the swamp reivers, and Kas was
unexpectedly reassured.
 Senne tucked the dwale supplies in his boots, where they would be less likely to be found in a
search.
Kasimir jerked his chin in a brief nod. “Let us prepare.”

Shortly before midnight, they strapped on their weapons and donned their cloaks. Senne
allowed Kasimir to lead him to an old stream bed where the earth was still moist from where water
used to run. He showed Senne how to paint his face with the mud to provide additional camouflage
against the nighttime landscape.
Senne winced when Kas slapped on a particularly viscous clod of mud before spreading it
across his cheek. “Oi!”
Kasimir snorted. “Sorry. Have to make sure this moon-pale skin of yours doesn’t stand out like
a beacon.”
With a scowl, Senne dug his fingers into the oozy sludge and smacked it onto Kasimir’s
forehead. Kas merely grinned and rubbed it in. Of course it didn’t bother him, he was used to
ferreting beasties out of the most horrid of places.
“At least it doesn’t stink like a cesspool the way Korven does,” Kas commented as he happily
smeared his neck, proving Senne’s point.
Kasimir pulled the hood of his wolf-skin cloak down far enough to shadow his face, and Senne
followed suit. They crept between the conical pillars of the siege wall and stopped at the edge of the
forest where it curved toward the ruined stable, allowing them to get close while still maintaining
cover. There they watched and waited some more.
The first pair of guards were relieved and the fresh ones continued their patrol, heading away
from them. The remaining two awaited their replacements in a stationary position, flanking the
crumbling wall. Just as Kasimir predicted, the one to their left nodded off not long after.
Kas looked at Senne, his eyes standing out bright white and clear blue against the muddy
brownness of his face. “Do you have it in you to kill a sleeping man?” he asked without a trace of
mockery. As if he respected Senne’s moral fiber, maybe even coveted it.
Senne paused and thought. “Could we not just knock him unconscious?”
Kasimir sucked on his teeth, considering. “If you can knock him out in one blow, bind him, and
gag him, all without catching any of the other guards’ attention, then yes. But whatever happens, he
must not raise an alarm. Killing is quicker, more foolproof.”
He wasn’t wrong, but Senne had never killed someone outside of combat before. “For Sigrid, I
can do it. If I can’t put him out in a single blow, I’ll cut his throat.”
Kasimir nodded gravely, and Senne could see he took no pleasure in an ambush, but it was
necessary. “I will flank the other one and get behind him. I’ll have to take him out, Senne.” He didn’t
look up when he said it.
Senne knew Kas had no qualms with killing if it was necessary, but he seemed to be afraid
Senne would judge him for it. Senne might have done, once, but not with Sigrid’s life at stake. Not
now that he knew Kas.
“Oi.” He waited till Kasimir raised his eyes. “We get in there to save Sigrid, all right? Nothing
else matters. We do what must be done.”
Kas gave him a weak smile and nodded again. “Then here we must part ways.” But he
hesitated, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. Then he seized Senne’s cloak to drag him forward and
crashed their lips together in a brutal tangle of tongue and teeth that was much too raw to be called a
kiss. “I will see you at the wall, kanína.”
Before Senne could form a single word, Kasimir melted into the darkness.
 2| Not a Monster

For once, Senne had no sense of where Kasimir was. As much as he wanted to track the
halfling’s movements, he knew his limitations as a tracker. He just had to do his own job and trust
Kasimir would be there on the other side.
Senne watched the sleeping guard for as long as he dared. The man didn’t move an inch. It’s
now or never.
He dashed out from the tree cover and flattened his body against the cold basalt of the city
wall. He edged along the perimeter, inching ever closer to his target. When he was nearly within
striking range, he paused and scanned the opposite side of the crumbling stable wall to where the
other guard faced away from him. He scanned the shadows for any movement, any indication that
Kasimir was in place for the strike. Though he ached to see the barest hint of Kasimir in the gloom,
Senne knew it was dangerous, because if he could see him, the guards could too.
Senne silently unsheathed the dagger he’d chosen from their small weapons cache specifically
for this job—one with a heavy bronze knuckle duster and a skull-crusher pommel cap—and held it
aloft, waiting the length of a breath to make sure he wasn’t seen.
Things happened fast after that. As he raised his hand to strike, he finally saw a hint of Kasimir,
just the dim blue light of his eyes. There was a quiet thump, and the formerly awake patrolman
slumped to the ground. Senne frowned. Why hadn’t Kas just killed the man silently like he’d planned?
Unfortunately, the sleeping guard had heard the noise as well, and he came awake with a grunt. Senne
knew the instant he saw his downed comrade—and possibly Kasimir as well—because his whole
body tensed, and he drew breath, preparing to call out for help.
Senne didn’t hesitate. He came from behind, covered the man’s mouth, and slid the blade
across his throat. The man sank to the cold ground without so much as a whisper.
Kasimir materialized next to him so suddenly, Senne wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t teleported.
The expression on his face seemed troubled…but it was one Senne could not decipher, and he hadn’t
the time to try at the moment.
It was a slow, inelegant scramble that saw them to the top of the crumbling stable wall. Once
they cleared it, there was simply the matter of sliding down the rubble into the burned-out ruin. They
found an empty stall that still had all four of its walls and most of a ceiling, and they used it to rest a
moment and regroup.
Senne sat down heavily on a mound of straw, his heartbeat still clanging in his ears. He gazed
up at Kas, who appeared uncomfortable. “You didn’t kill him. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Senne crossed his arms and gave him a bland stare until Kas sighed and sat next to him in the
straw.
“Fine, that was a lie.”
“I am aware.” After a moment’s pause, Senne put his hand on Kasimir’s thigh. “Tell me.”
Kas hung his head and mumbled, “I don’t want you thinking I’m a mindless killer. While I don’t
kill indiscriminately like some in my profession, I’ll never be like you when it comes to this. Killing
as a means to an end doesn’t bother me—won’t ever bother me. But…I don’t want you to think I’m a
monster. I couldn’t bear it.”
 Senne reached out and cupped his cheek. “I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it. I
know you. You are not a monster.”
Kasimir’s eyes slid closed, and his features slackened with relief. So he didn’t see it coming
when Senne socked him in the shoulder with his other hand.
“Ow! What the sodding hells was that for?” Kas hissed, because raised voices would lead the
city guards right to them before they were ready.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop treating me like I’m fragile? I’m a bloody knight,
for fuck’s sake,” Senne whispered back. ”I’ve been to battle. I’m no stranger to killing when killing’s
what’s needed. So believe me when I tell you I want Sigrid back, and I don’t care if we have to burn
down the whole of Senka to do it.”
Kasimir blew out a shaky breath. “All right.” He nodded as if the matter was decided. “What’s
the next step in your plan?”
Senne looked around the stable, barely able to see his own hand in front of his face in the
darkness. “To stop Prosper killing us, we need as many witnesses as possible. Since Prosper likes to
maintain the façade of the hard but benevolent ruler to his people, I’m banking on him not wanting to
have us cut down in the street for all to see. I say we hunker down here until midday when the city’s
market square is at its busiest. Then we’ll head for Morr Volaris and see how far we get before we’re
discovered.”
“We should get some rest while we can. I’ll take first watch and wake you in an hour or two.”
As much as Senne wanted to protest being coddled, he was exhausted from two days of
reconnaissance and drained from the rush of scaling the wall. With a nod, he leant back in the straw
and closed his eyes.

Sigrid vas Kjenelach stared at the locked door from where she lay on the canopy bed in the
room she’d been given inside Morr Volaris. It wasn’t the door into the hallway through which she’d
been brought into the room. This was a different door. A mysterious door.
Despite the sorceress Violete du Vauxvuitton’s warning, she had not returned to force the
glamour on Sigrid. In fact, no one had come for her at all. She’d been left to stew in her coldly
opulent room for what felt like days, or maybe an eternity. She was brought meals by swift-moving
servants who refused to raise their gazes from the floor, but beyond that, Sigrid had been left alone.
She was going stir-crazy.
She half wondered if that was their intent, a form of gentle torture. Maybe this was how they
aimed to break her. A flush of shame suffused her cheeks as she realized it was nearly working.
“I have to get out of this room,” she said to no one.
After climbing out of bed, she dressed in her boy’s clothes, because no way was she putting on
one of those dresses that seemed to have been made for her long before she got to Yesenia. A gilded
cage was still a cage.
Crossing the room, she inspected the door. It wasn’t the same heavy, dark wood—probably
Hwenian or Stólichál oak—as the main door. It was thinner, more aged, and of a softer wood like
cedar or yew. It groaned promisingly when she gave it a rattle, but the old hasp clung tight.
Though the hasp was likely rotted enough that she could dislodge it by prying or kicking, that
would leave evidence that she’d gone exploring—something that wouldn’t matter if she found a
magical secret passage outside the city, but even she wasn’t so naïve as to think it would be that easy.
Instead, she turned her attention to the tiny keyhole that could release the hasp. Much to her
governess Mrs. Satterwythe’s never-ending frustration, Sigrid had often picked the lock on the larder
when she was a child, so desperate had she been for the biscuits and cheese she was almost always
denied.
Sigrid reached into her boot and pulled out two of her hairpins—the regular ones, not the
hidden stiletto—bent one of them into an L shape, and inserted it into the keyhole. With her tongue
between her teeth, she slid the straight one in next to it and felt around until she was able to lift the pin
inside the lock. When she turned the bent one, it gave a satisfying click, and the hasp popped free.
Opening the door revealed a dark passage, which Sigrid realized was a spiraling staircase only
when she almost tumbled down headfirst. She returned to her bed where she retrieved the candle from
the night table and brought it back to the door.
She drew a deep breath and exhaled in a rush. “‘And she was never seen or heard from
again,’” she said to herself as she pulled the door shut behind her just in case someone peeked into
her room to check on her.
Though she had the candle to see her way, its glow didn’t reach very far, and the spiraling
descent into the void in front of her was disorienting. The stairs went on for ages before they spilled
out into a dark but blessedly flat and straight hallway. This, too, seemed interminable.
As she felt along the cold stone wall with her free hand, she noticed a door. It was locked, and
it was too dark to pick it. After several more steps there was another, also locked, and then another.
Sigrid began to wonder if she would stay lost in these tunnels forever, and truly no one would ever
know what had become of her.
The next few minutes of walking passed without her finding any more doors, locked or
otherwise. She’d begun to consider turning back. How far was she willing to walk toward an
unknown destination?
Then she turned a corner, and the corridor came to a dead-end at a heavy, ornate door. While
not as opulent as the throne room doors, it was carved in a similar fashion. Without thought, Sigrid
gave it a gentle push, just like she had all the others. Only this one creaked open a fraction.
She froze with one hand on the handle and the other pressed against the wood. What was she
doing? Anything could be behind this door. What if it was Prosper’s private chambers?—although it
seemed unlikely a king’s suite would be down in the bowels of the castle. Maybe it was the dungeon,
and she was saving Prosper trouble by hand-delivering herself to his gaol.
All these thoughts flashed through her mind in a split second, right before she slowly pushed
the door open anyway.
It opened to a cavernous chamber, one that looked as if it had been literally carved out of the
center of a mountain. It was…a cave, but it also wasn’t. It was as richly appointed as a royal solar,
and Sigrid wondered briefly if her first thought was correct—could these actually be King Prosper’s
rooms?
The cavern she’d entered seemed like a vestibule of sorts. Through an open doorway, she
could see a large bed inside another natural-looking cave. There were several other doors, all closed.
“What are you doing?”
Sigrid jumped a foot at the sound of the voice behind her, and she whirled to see someone
emerging from yet another door, one she’d missed.
“Pan! You’re alive!” She ran to her friend whom she’d met on the ship that had brought her and
her kidnappers to Yesenia, and threw her arms around his waif-thin body, then promptly burst into
tears. Pantholine Monterroi was most definitely a sight for sore eyes.
With a chuckle—the sound of which caused a fresh flood of tears—Pan rubbed her back until
she calmed. Then he gently pushed her back a step so he could look at her.
“Boy, am I glad to see you.” He glanced around furtively. “Alive, that is. I’m not glad to see
you down here. In the fortress, it’s dangerous to be where you’re not meant to be.”
“But where is here? And what are you doing here?”
“You must’ve come down one of the servants’ tunnels. The Yesenians quickly realized that I
was more useful alive than dead, so they put me to work. They’ve made me Prince Stefannik’s
personal valet, and the room we’re standing in is his solar.”
“What?” Sigrid squeaked, her eyes widening. Her surprise quickly melted into simmering
anger. Thanks to not-so-subtle hints from Violete, she had figured out that King Prosper had ordered
her kidnapped and brought to Yesenia, likely to force her to marry his heir, thus giving him more
power over her father’s kingdom. She could only assume the prince was involved as well. “Where is
he? That snake. I’ll bloody kill him.” She scanned the room, looking for the menace.
“Oi, slow down,” Pan said, holding out his hands like he was calming an angry tiger. “Why
d’you want to kill the prince?”
“Because,” she growled through clenched teeth. “He’s the reason for all this, for why they’ve
taken me. They mean to force me to marry him, but I’ll not do it. One or both of us will die before that
comes to pass!”
Pan frowned, and the worried look in his eyes frightened her. “Siggy, the prince doesn’t seem
like the rest of them. I…I don’t think he knows about you.”
Sigrid paused, unsure what to make of the new information. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t know, coming from the family he does. But he’s more of a misfit than a monarch.” Pan
grinned. “Rather like you, actually. Only he’s quiet and kind.”
“Oi, I’m kind!”
“Says the young lady who was just about to go murder a prince, eh?”
Sigrid stuck her tongue out at him, though she’d missed his teasing terribly.
“Aye, you are kind.” Pan snorted. “Not quiet, though.”
“But the prince…,” Sigrid prompted when he got sidetracked.
“Right. He seems…sad. Lonely, even. I mean, wouldn’t you be? If you were a normal person
trapped in this viper’s den?”
“I am a normal person trapped in this viper’s den.”
“Fair enough.”
“If he’s so kind, why is it dangerous for me to be here?”
Pan lowered his voice. “Because if anyone other than Stef or me catches you wandering ’round
the castle willy-nilly, they’ll surely throw you in the dungeon until they’re ready to do whatever it is
they plan to do with you.”
Sigrid crossed her arms and arched a brow. “It’s Stef now, is it?”
 3| Leash

As night watchmen went, Kasimir was as shite as the two they’d taken out to get inside the
walls. He was definitely going soft.
But he couldn’t help it. When Senne had shifted in his sleep to lay his head in Kas’s lap, Kas
had run his fingers through silken hair and listened to Senne’s sleepy sighs. And there he stayed, doing
that very thing until he lulled himself to sleep.
It appeared to be near dawn when he startled awake, shocked that he’d allowed himself to
relax so in such a dangerous place. Senne still hadn’t stirred. In respite, he looked so much younger,
impossibly young despite the smudges under his closed eyes that spoke of too many days on the road
with not enough rest.
He traced Senne’s cheekbone with his finger, then the bridge of his nose and his eyebrows. It
wasn’t until he caressed the shell of his ear that Senne finally swatted his hand away.
“Go away,” he grumbled.
“Even if I wanted to, I can’t. You’re using me as a human pillow.”
As soon as the words left his lips, Senne tensed and sat up, leaving Kasimir wishing he hadn’t
mentioned it.
“Sorry,” Senne mumbled, unable to look at him.
Kasimir gripped his chin, forcing him to raise his head and eventually his gaze. “That wasn’t a
complaint.”
Senne swallowed and gently removed Kas’s hand to grip it between both of his. “You were
supposed to wake me to relieve you.”
Senne was giving Kas his stop-coddling-me look, so he had to come clean, even though he’d
planned on taking it to his grave. “I…uh…fell asleep too.” His ears burned, and he had to look away.
Instead of laughing, or admonishing him for letting his guard down as Galen would’ve done,
Senne freed one of his hands to stroke Kasimir’s cheek. “Good. You’ve been burning the candle at
both ends since I met you. You might not be human, but you’re also not immortal. A body needs rest.”
Kasimir resisted the urge to tease him about what else a body needs because he was so grateful
for Senne’s utter lack of judgment and so touched by his concern.
With a sigh, he withdrew from Senne’s touch and looked at him, sure the heavy burden of the
task before them was showing on his face. “We should try to eat something. It is almost time to go.”
They broke their fast on what little dry goods they carried in their pockets and pouches, though
neither of them had much of an appetite. It was simply fuel for the fire to come.
The sun was high by the time Kas decided the square should be busy enough to warrant them
being spared from immediate execution, though it hadn’t quite reached its zenith. “Are you ready?” he
asked.
“What happens if I say no?”
Kas smirked. “We go anyway.”
“That’s what I was afraid you were going to say.”

*
 There was a network of alleyways around the outskirts of the city, along the inside perimeter of
the wall, that served to conceal the pair of them as they crept closer to where they would make their
stand.
The market square was packed with people—merchants and tradesmen, buyers and beggars—
milling around tents, stands, and shops. It wasn’t nearly as cheerful an affair as it was in other cities,
other kingdoms. The colors were drab and dark, and there was a pervading aura of menace curling at
the edges of the picturesque scene.
“D’you think we’ll have to make some sort of commotion?” Senne asked as they made their
way toward the center of the square, where a huge basalt dragon statue was a silent bastion guarding
the way to the fortress gates. “How will they know we don’t belong here? You said yourself in
Grimthaine that we don’t stand out.”
“Senne, look around you. Do you notice any obvious difference between us and the people
here?”
Senne dutifully studied his surroundings, but Kasimir could tell he was overlooking the
obvious.
“Nothing stands out, no.”
“Here in Senka it is against the law for the common folk to carry weapons within the walls.
And we, my dear Senne, are armed to the teeth.”
Senne stopped walking and looked at Kas. “How do you know that?”
Kasimir shrugged. “Seen a few notices posted here and there, and I haven’t seen a single armed
civilian.”
With a shake of his head, Senne started forward again. “I swear, you notice things I don’t even
think to look for,” he said over his shoulder.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ve not yet been in a situation in which your survival was
dependent upon your powers of observation. Well, until our little adventure, that is.”
“No one seems to be paying us any attention, though.”
“Aye. Because people under a tyrant’s thumb don’t often go out of their way to help enforce his
laws—not unless they stand to gain something from it. Now, if there was a price on our heads, we’d
be having an altogether different stroll. But the guards will notice us soon enough.”
Seconds after he said it, a hard voice assaulted them from behind. “You there. Halt!”
“Here we go,” Kasimir murmured under his breath. He turned to confront a group of greycloaks
who had approached them from behind. None of them seemed to have any visible rank higher than
foot soldier. Kasimir put on a carefully blank expression. “There a problem?”
“By royal decree, bearing arms within the city walls is prohibited. You are in violation of this
order.”
“Oh, aye.” Kasimir nodded dumbly. “Saw the notices, I did. Smart idea, that. Only the notices
was addressed as to say ‘Attention Senkalese citizens and Yesenians traveling within the city, by
royal decree’ an’ all that. But y’see, we’re not Yesenian, an’ me mate here, well, he cannae read at all.
So I figures it ’ad naught to do wi’ us.”
Senne cast him a puzzled look, no doubt wondering why he was putting on the thick Lunarii
peasant burr. Kasimir’s reasoning behind it was sound. These guards were merely grunts. He had to
confuse them enough to report to their commander, because without someone of higher rank noticing
them, they had no chance of being put before the king.
Just as Kasimir predicted, one of the grunts, the one who seemed to be somewhat in charge,
scratched his head and looked at the soldier to his right. “Does it say that?”
 The other guard shrugged. “Well, yeah, seems right enough. Never thought about what happens
if we catch an outlander armed up in the city.”
“We ought to fetch the captain, then,” said the grunt-in-charge.
His right-hand man nodded sagely.
“I mean you, ya bloody imbecile,” he spat. The foot soldier flinched and scarpered off. “Youse
two, don’t move a muscle until the captain gets here.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kasimir said in his normal accent.
Senne snorted quietly. The soldier gave them an odd look but didn’t comment. After countless
minutes of the tension-filled standoff, the messenger returned, leading a man wearing a red officer’s
cloak.
Upon further inspection, Kasimir realized he was not only an officer, but a decorated one. His
cloak was pushed back off his shoulders so Kas could see he wore epaulettes studded with silver
stripes and dripping with braided silver cords. The dragon emblazoned on his armor appeared to be
inlaid with real silver, and the regulation bycocket hat had been replaced by an obsidian dragon-
winged battle-helm. It all made for a fearsome sight, and Kasimir had to fight the urge to take a step
back when the man approached.
When the captain reached them, he flipped up the visor of his helm, and Kasimir was surprised
that he appeared much younger than he would’ve thought for a high-ranking officer, though the gray
threaded through his dark hair proclaimed him to be middle-aged. He was handsome in that craggy,
chiseled way Yesenians had—they always seemed to look as though they’d gone straight from
mother’s womb to the battlefield and never looked back—with his square jaw, closely trimmed black
beard, and slightly bent nose, as if it had been broken a time or two.
“I am Vilhelme, Commander of the King’s Army. Who are you and why are you in my city?”
“Commander,” interrupted the head guard. “These blokes said the arms notices only refer to
Yesenian citizens, so I didn’t know what to do with ’em.”
The look Vilhelme turned on the man was nothing short of murderous. “That is absurd.” He
turned back to Kasimir and Senne, effectively dismissing the ignoramus, and repeated his question.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Just travelers passing through,” Kasimir hedged. “Here to trade for supplies.”
Vilhelme glared over his shoulder again. “In that case, welcome. If you wish to trade in the
city, I am afraid you must surrender your weapons. They will be stored in the armory until you are
ready to move on.”
Kasimir’s jaw tensed, his pulse thudding in his throat. “Can’t do that, friend.”
Vilhelme attempted a smile, though it was more a baring of teeth than anything. “You may
address me as Commander Vilhelme and nothing else. If you do not wish to disarm, you will be
escorted to the main gate so you may leave. In fact…” Vilhelme narrowed his eyes. “You should not
have even gained entry with all those weapons. I shall have a chat with the watch captain.”
“No need,” Kasimir said conversationally. “We snuck in.”
Despite the smile, Vilhelme’s eyes glittered with danger. “Why would you do a thing like that?”
“We want to see the king,” Senne said. “Thought if we breached the wall, he’d come down
from on high and deliver the mighty blow of justice.”
Vilhelme scoffed. “His Royal Eminence does not entertain petty criminals.”
“Oi,” Kasimir said. “Why don’t you give him a message for us, then?”
Vilhelme turned to face him head-on and crossed his arms as if he were bored. “I’m dying to
hear what that might be.”
 “Tell him,” Kas growled through clenched teeth, “that we’ve come for the girl.”
Vilhelme raised a fist to chin level, almost casually, and they were instantly at the sword points
and arrow tips of the guardsmen who had tripled in number and somehow surrounded them. Easily
thirty weapons, at least half of which would be aimed at a kill spot somewhere on Kasimir’s body.
His vision wavered. His blood ran hot, pounding wildly in his chest and up through his neck, nearly
choking off his breath.
“That,” said Vilhelme, “would be inadvisable if the two of you are in any way attached to your
hides.” He cast a bored glance at the men around him, oblivious to Kasimir’s torment and the danger
they were all in. Kas didn’t think Senne had noticed either.
“All the same,” Senne said, his jaw bunching with his frown. “Tell him the knight and the
sellsword have come to collect our charge.”
“Well, I can’t say whether or not you’ll ever see the king, but you’ll certainly get a good long
look at the inside of our dungeons,” Vilhelme remarked blandly. Then he gave his head guardsman a
small nod. “Take them.”
The men surged forward as one, a wall of muscle studded with weaponry. Kasimir’s ears rang,
his vision went red, his focus narrowing to a pinprick—right over the heart of the nearest enemy. He
tensed, preparing to draw his sword and meet his death as the battle-fiend that lived inside him—
“Kasimir!” Senne’s voice was deeper, stronger, surer than Kasimir had ever heard it before.
Though the movement felt like swimming through treacle, he turned his face toward the sound. He
noticed through the blood haze—an unusual feat in and of itself—that the knight was bent slightly at
the waist in what had to be a subtle reach for the dwale in his boot.
“Stand down. We’re not here to get killed.” Though Senne’s eyes were wary, his body tense,
his voice didn’t waver.
Kasimir felt a tug somewhere deep inside his core, in that place where the beast lay dormant
until he was needed. Soothing calm filled him, taking the place of the fiery rage that was his constant
companion. His vision cleared some, until there was only a red haze around the edges, and his wildly
raging heartbeat slowed to a more manageable level. A slight grin curved Kas’s lips as he allowed
himself to be disarmed and manacled without so much as a whimper of protest. Kasimir’s theory had
been correct—Senne had leashed his beast.
 4| Captivity

Several days had passed since Sigrid had seen anyone besides the servants. She’d been
overjoyed when she found out Pan was alive, but she’d been unable to risk going back into the
passageways to try finding him again. Lately there always seemed to be maids either in and out of her
room or passing noisily in the hallway just outside her door. She couldn’t risk alerting anyone to the
fact that she’d picked the lock to the tunnel.
Finally, though, just when she thought she was about to lose her mind from all the sitting and
waiting for whatever fate was to befall her, she woke up to stillness, to silence. She heard no one
about for hours. It was curious, she thought as she shrugged to herself, but maybe the fortress staff had
been given a day of rest, either to go to their gods’ temples or spend time with their families. It
seemed unlikely under Prosper’s rule, but Sigrid was sure stranger things had happened…maybe…
somewhere.
Never one to waste an opportunity, she quickly dressed and went through the secret door, down
into the tunnels. Though she was still curious about where all the other doors led, she resisted the
urge to pick those locks in favor of retracing her steps to find Pan.
He was where she’d seen him the last time, in the main cavern of the prince’s chambers, this
time stuffing bureaus full of freshly laundered linens. He looked up from his task when he heard her
approach.
“Gods, I was worried they’d done something t’you when you never came back.” Then he
frowned. “Of course, it’s not really safe for you to be here.”
“There’s nowhere safe for me in this entire kingdom,” Sigrid said. “So I might as well be with
my friend.”
“Guess that’s true enough. Have you found out any more about what they plan to…do with
you?”
“No. Pan, it’s the strangest thing. They’ve just left me in that room to rot. My basic needs are
seen to, of course, but beyond that…nothing.”
Pan stopped folding the sheet in his hands. “Maybe they’re trying to break you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe they’re trying to make it so you’re so desperate for company, you’ll go along with
whatever they say when they finally speak to you again.”
“That’s bloody diabolical.” Once Pan had said it, Sigrid was sure that was their plan all along.
“Well, it isn’t going to work.”
“Course it isn’t. They didn’t count on you being able to pick a lock and come find me,” Pan
said with a wink.
A quiet voice sounded from behind them. “Boy, have you s-seen my—oh, who’s this?”
The voice had preceded its owner by several seconds. A young man halted just inside one of
the other doorways in the cavern. He was tall and rather willowy for a boy of his age, but his
shoulders were broad enough to stop him looking gangly. He had the swarthy coloring of the ház
Zorander family—this could only be the elder prince—though he had one blue eye and one the amber
color shared by his father and brother. Still, he was Prosper’s son and probably in on his plot, thus
Sigrid hated him on sight.
 “His name is Pan, boy,” Sigrid corrected through clenched teeth.
The prince flinched away from her as if he’d been struck. “I...I didn’t know. He n-never said.”
His odd gaze landed on Pan. “Please, forgive me.”
Pan’s lips pinched together like he was holding back laughter, but Sigrid couldn’t fathom what
was funny. She continued to accost the boy. “I’d imagine all the servants look the same to you. Likely
much the same as prisoners do,” she said.
His brow wrinkled as his attention returned to her. “I d-don’t understand.”
Sigrid made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat, crossed her arms in front of her chest,
and curled her lip. “Well, you should know… I don’t care what your father does to me, I’ll not marry
you.”
The prince’s jaw dropped, and Sigrid was surprised by the utter bewilderment—and possibly
even a bit of revulsion—written on his face. And she was encouraged by it. She could only imagine
what she must look like in her boy garb and her hair shorn unevenly close to her scalp. He must think
her raving mad, and that thought left her suppressing her own urge to laugh. Gods, could he really not
know? Perhaps Prosper is more evil than any of us thought.
“M-mar-ry…” The prince stammered. “I-I d-don’t—”
Pan laid a gentle hand on the boy’s arm, instantly calming his stammering. Sigrid narrowed her
eyes as she looked at Pan. There was…fondness in that touch. They were…friends, somehow,
despite the prince not having known Pan’s name.
“All right, let’s back up a mo’ here,” Pan said, stretching out his arms between them like he
was separating two brawling dogs. “I don’t believe the two of you have been acquainted. Siggy, Stef.
Stef, Siggy.”
Sigrid glared at the both of them, suddenly feeling like she’d lost her only friend to some
strange-eyed boy. “That’s Princess Sigrid vas Kjenelach of Toivonen to you.” She lifted her chin with
a sniff. She’d never done the whole highborn, nose-in-the-air act, but something about Pan and this
boy being friends got her back up.
The prince’s mouth dropped open again, but his brow lowered and his gaze hardened. “Th-then
that’s P-Prince Stefannik ház Zorander t-to you, my lady.”
Pan sighed wearily. “There’s no need for all that chest-beating. Siggy, I think you’d better tell
Stef how you came to be here.”
“How I came to be—gods, Pan, you make it sound as if I just wandered into the fortress one
day!”
Sigrid squared her shoulders and faced Stefannik. “Your father wants to obtain absolute power
over the entire realm. He’s been chasing some prophecy that involves my family… He had my brother
murdered, and when that didn’t get him what he wanted, he sent men to our kingdom to abduct me and
bring me here. He’s repeatedly tried to kill the men who were trying to rescue me—I still don’t know
if he succeeded—and now I’m being held prisoner in this…this…prison of a castle!” By the time
she’d finished with her rant, Sigrid stood panting with her fists clenched at her sides. Stefannik
looked so gobsmacked she almost felt sorry for him.
“M-my father is a hard m-man, but he wouldn’t…”
Pan rounded on him. “Wouldn’t he? Stef, he keeps you in a cave because you’re different.”
A stricken expression clouded the prince’s face, making Sigrid realize he’d never considered
the nature of his living quarters to be indicative of his father’s regard until just that moment. That
really did make her feel sorry for him, because it meant that it had always been thus, that Prince
Stefannik knew no other way.
 Going against her survival instinct, Sigrid sought to comfort him in some way. “Well… It’s a
nice cave.”

Senne had awoken alone in a dark cell. The only light came from flickering sconces on the
other side of the bars. The cell was made of the same basalt black stone as the rest of the fortress,
with the exception of one wall of iron bars in the front.
After they surrendered, they’d been brought inside Morr Volaris and split up immediately.
Senne supposed strategically it made sense—divide and conquer. But why had they needed to be
conquered when they came willingly?
Senne had been taken to a small, nondescript room and questioned by one of the commander’s
lieutenants. He’d asked who else knew about Sigrid’s disappearance, who else knew that Senne had
gone after her, was anybody else coming after them, and what Torsten planned to do in retaliation.
Senne answered truthfully that he had no idea. The lieutenant had a few of the guards pummel him a
bit until they realized he must truly not have any information. Then one of them had thumped him on
the head with a sword pommel and his world had gone dark.
Waking up in the dungeon had been disorientating, due in no small part to the mild head injury.
The cell itself was larger than Senne would have expected, had he ever thought of such things. It
appeared to be some sort of communal holding area, though he was the only prisoner there at present.
He hadn’t heard sounds of anyone else being brought through the dungeon in what seemed like hours
since he’d woken up. He had no idea what had become of Kasimir.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind for the hundredth time than he heard a key in the
lock. The heavy door of his cell swung open with a creak, and a limp form was deposited on the cold
floor. Once the cell was locked up tight, Senne scrambled closer to investigate.
Under a matted fur cloak, this one was a mess of caked-on dried blood. Senne shoved at his
shoulder to roll him over, then gasped when he realized it was Kasimir.
“Gods!” Senne hissed. How are we in this position again so soon? It wasn’t that long ago that
he and the witch Mirjana had nursed Kasimir back to health after a near-fatal head injury delivered by
one of Sigrid’s kidnappers. He tried not to think of it as he pressed his hand to the side of Kas’s neck
to check if he was alive. Luckily, his heartbeat was rock steady.
However, even in the dim light, Senne could see the guards had worked him over but good. He
had several lacerations across his chest—measured, almost lazy strokes, as if the torturer had merely
been toying with him. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut, and there was blood crusted in the
hairline at his temple.
Senne didn’t know why, but he had a strong feeling Kasimir would heal better if he were
awake. He stroked Kas’s bruised cheek just once, then delivered a gentle yet firm slap. “Kas! You
need to wake up.”
A broken groan tore from Kasimir’s lips, and he turned his head toward Senne, who huffed out
a relieved sigh when Kas’s one good eye fluttered open.
“Ow,” he growled. “I thought we’d passed the hitting phase.”
“Sorry,” Senne said, too choked with relief to bother teasing back. “Had to make sure you
could wake up.”
Kasimir groaned and hugged his middle as he struggled to sit up.
 “Injuries,” Senne demanded.
“Well, the eye, obviously,” Kas answered as he shifted around, testing his body. “The
cheekbone may be cracked, but it’s fine. Not using it for anything too important. Bump on the head.
Some cuts on the chest from the lash. Ribs, a couple broken or bruised. Two broken fingers. I’ll live.”
Senne half-dragged him to the far wall of the cell so they could prop themselves up while they
sat and still see what they could of the comings and goings in the dungeon. As they rested, he frowned.
“I don’t understand it.”
“What?”
Senne studied Kasimir’s profile. “Why did they go so much harder at you than me?” He licked
his dry lips and swallowed. “They roughed me up some, but when they realized I didn’t know
anything, they gave up and tossed me in here. Why did they hurt you so much?” He was embarrassed
by the way his voice broke.
Kas gingerly leaned in and rested his head on Senne’s shoulder. “Because,” he sighed. “They
know I’m trained not to reveal secrets. It’s a part of my job that Garigill and company are well aware
of, and I’m sure they shared it with Prosper if he didn’t already know.”
“And you obviously told them nothing, because we know nothing.”
“Indeed. They did not like that. I’m guessing they plan to let me stew in my own juices down
here for a while before they have another go.”
“They must not be aware that you can heal.”
“I’m certainly not going to volunteer that information,” Kas said with a smile, though his eyes
were foggy with pain.
“Well…,” Senne began. “We made it. We’re inside Morr Volaris, alive.”
“Mostly,” coughed Kasimir with a bloody grin.
Miraculously, Kas still wore his wolf-skin cloak—the guards had taken Senne’s cloak while he
was being questioned—so Senne gently eased it off his shoulders and draped it over the both of them
to combat the chill of the cell. “This is as far as I got with my plan. So I wonder…what now?”
Kasimir’s one working eyelid drooped to half-mast. “We wait. We listen. We watch.” He
sighed wearily. “Maybe Mirjana will succeed in getting inside the city and find some way to free us.
Maybe I’ll use my considerable charm to convince one of the servants to find us a key.”
Senne gave him a sidelong look. “So modest,” he said dryly. But he still threaded their fingers
together and rested their joined hands on his knee. “We’ll think of something. For now, rest.”
The next time Senne looked over, Kasimir was asleep.
 5| Wait and Watch

Days passed ceaselessly. They waited and they watched, learning the intricacies of the comings
and goings within the dungeon.
The heavy iron door of their cell opened four times a day—twice for the chamber pot and
twice for meals. Dining options usually consisted of stale bread and bone broth, but occasionally
there were scraps of whatever had been served in the castle that day. Other than the one time a guard
had brought them a washing basin, claiming their stink was driving even the rats away, there was
never any break in the routine. No sign of Mirjana or Sigrid, or anyone else who could help them.
They certainly hadn’t been granted an audience with the king.
And Senne was worried about Kasimir. From the way he was carrying himself, Senne could
see that he’d used what little healing powers he possessed on his internal injuries—he was moving
around much more easily—but his surface wounds had not healed much at all. The chest slashes were
the most troubling. Senne feared they’d soon start to fester. Kasimir tried to be his usual jaunty self,
staying carefully impassive, but Senne saw through it. Kas was scared too.
“Have you drained your healing abilities entirely?” Senne asked that evening—at least he
thought it was evening based on the meal. There were no windows in the dungeon.
Kasimir sighed, slumping against Senne’s shoulder, the kind of easy touch Senne wasn’t sure if
he even noticed he was doing. “Without my tools or any means to ‘recharge’ my quintessence—my
etheric energy, so to speak—yes. I’ve done all I can do.”
Senne chewed his bottom lip. He couldn’t believe the question he was about to ask, the
suggestion he might have to make. “And how does one…recharge?”
After a brief moment, Kasimir threw his head back and let out a loud guffaw that ended in a fit
of coughing. His voice was hoarse by the time he was able to speak. “There are quite a few
suggestions I could make that would feel good, but the truth is more mundane: potions and
concoctions.”
“And you’re fresh out of those.”
Kasimir’s eyes widened and he sat up straight with a gasp. “I can’t believe I forgot! They
must’a thumped me harder than I thought.”
“Forgot about what?” Senne asked, furrowing his brow.
Standing on shaky legs, Kas turned to face Senne. “Those idiots didn’t search me to the skin.
Did they you?” While he spoke, he began to unlace his trousers.
Senne swallowed thickly. “No… They only took all my weapons belts and pouches and rolled
up my sleeves an’ that. Why?”
“I’ll tell you why, because I bloody forgot about my secret stash, that’s why.” He finally
loosened his trousers enough to start tugging them down.
“W-what…?” Senne stammered, confused and distracted by the sudden sight of two massive,
muscled thighs.
“Strapped it on in camp before I got dressed and geared up, on the off chance they didn’t get me
down to my skivvies.”
It was a leather strap fastened around his lower thigh, just above the knee, that appeared to be
a holster of sorts for various small glass vials and tubes.
 Senne’s eyes widened. “You forgot you had a magical arsenal strapped to your leg? And you
didn’t…I dunno, feel it?”
Kas shrugged, blushing, having apparently forgotten he was standing there with his trousers and
trews around his ankles. “Well, there was the torture…” He held up one finger, then ticked off another
two. “The head wound, and the various and sundry other injuries… And sometimes, the healing magic
has a bit of anesthetizing effect. I don’t feel things as much.”
It sounded oddly lonely when he put it like that, and Senne’s heart gave a painful thump. “So
what’ve you got in there that can help us?”
Kasimir pulled two vials from the holster, handed them to Senne, then—rather unfortunately—
put his trousers back on. Immediately after, though, he removed his ripped jerkin, leaving him bare
from the waist up.
“I’ll need your help for this.” Kas eyed him, likely searching for any signs of fear.
Senne frowned. “I’m no shrinking violet. Despite my fear of magic, when have I not stepped in
to help along this trip?”
Kasimir chuckled. “Fair enough. I’ll stop coddling you.”
Senne raised an eyebrow.
“Fine, I’ll try to stop.”
Kas took one of the vials from Senne. The substance inside it glowed blue, like his eyes did
sometimes. “This is a potion that will bolster my magical core. For all intents and purposes, it
restores my power…that’s the best way I can explain it. It’s called fjöldur in Málfar. However,
quintessence is a naturally occurring energy, something that already exists within the body of a
majikkah. Introducing artificial fjöldur is quite…painful.”
“Okay… So you’ll drink that and be writhing in pain while I’m doing what, exactly?”
“The one you’re holding is an orithari healing salve, which directs a body’s fjöldur to where it
is most needed. I need you to coat your hands with it and press them to the wounds on my chest. Don’t
be gentle. Hold them there no matter what I do—your notion of writhing in pain isn’t too far off.”
“For how long? I mean, how long do I keep my hands there?”
“Until I tell you it’s done or until I lose consciousness, whichever comes first.”
Senne narrowed his eyes, unsure if he was jesting or not. “Shall we, then?”
Kasimir gave a weak grin. “In such a hurry to hurt me, are you?”
“If I ever intentionally hurt you, it’ll be because you begged for it,” Senne deadpanned.
Kas’s eyes went molten, and he swallowed convulsively. It was enough to make them forget,
for just a moment, that they were locked in a dungeon.
But reality quickly intruded—and if they couldn’t pull this off, there mightn’t be any more
moments at all.
Senne opened his tube and dumped a blob of the tacky salve into his palm. He rubbed his hands
together until they were both completely coated in the viscous substance, and tried to ignore the tingly,
shimmering feeling of magic being imbued into his skin. However, he couldn’t suppress the shudder
that followed.
Kasimir watched him, the vial poised near his lips in order to drink. “All right?” he asked one
last time.
Gritting his teeth, Senne nodded.
“I’ll lie down as I swallow the potion. I need you to do your part as soon as I’m flat.”
“Go on, then,” Senne said, hiding his fear.
Kas huffed a shaky laugh, but the vague smile that accompanied it fell away quickly. He put the
vial to his lips and tossed the liquid back with a grimace. As he swallowed, he lay back on the cold
stone floor and gave Senne the tiniest of nods. Senne pressed his hands to Kas’s chest, spreading his
fingers to cover as much of the wounded area as he could.
At first, all was quiet. They stared at each other, Kasimir unable to hide the fear in his eyes that
he was managing to keep at bay. After a few more seconds, those eyes slid closed, and he and Senne
each took a steadying breath.
Then, an explosion.
His eyes popped open, glowing blue brighter than Senne had ever seen them. His body bowed
off the floor as he let out a roar. While Senne struggled to keep his hands in place, tendrils of that
same blue light snaked from his touch outward, illuminating the spiderweb of veins underneath Kas’s
skin. Kas’s fingers scrabbled and clawed at the stone beneath him, his feet shuffling as he writhed. He
seemed almost to levitate from the unnatural force that was coursing through him. Senne shook with
fear, but he did not relinquish his hold.
This went on for innumerable minutes, until Senne was beginning to worry Kas’s moans and
roars would draw the guards to their cell. But no one came, because no one cared if they died down
there.
The tension in Kasimir’s body winched so tight, Senne couldn’t fathom how he didn’t snap in
half. Then his eyes rolled back and he went limp.
Senne’s breath shuddered out of him as he removed his hands and wiped them on his trousers.
Kasimir’s skin was damp with sweat, his hair matted against his head, but the slashes were gone,
leaving behind pink lines that would eventually fade to faint scars. Senne didn’t know how long Kas
would be unconscious, but somehow, he knew this was different from the heavy, ceaseless
unconsciousness that he had experienced after the attack in Grimthaine. Senne merely covered him
with the wolf-skin cloak so he wouldn’t catch ill and let him regain his strength in slumber.

Biding time was exhausting. Once Kasimir had healed and Senne no longer had to devote so
much energy to worrying about him, the watching and waiting became utterly tedious. One night after
their evening feeding, the pair of them sat with their backs against the cold stone wall, facing the bars.
They listened to the pattern of footsteps and the inflections of the murmurs throughout the dungeon
until Senne felt he would explode with the need to do something else. There were few options that
wouldn’t get them beaten or killed, so he chose conversation.
“If we succeed—if we’re able to rescue Sigrid and get her home…”
Kasimir lazily rolled his head toward Senne and gave a slow blink. “Aye?”
“What will you do? Once the danger has passed…once the fight is done.”
Kas heaved a sigh so deep it visibly expanded his wide chest. “Oh, Senne…” His blue eyes,
normally so brilliant, looked infinitely weary. “The fight is never done. I’ve been fighting nearly my
whole life. It’s all I know.”
While Senne might once have found the mercenary lifestyle adventurous, it sounded so
unbearably lonely when put that way. “Haven’t you ever just wanted to…set it down for a little while,
that burden? Make a home? Not to put down roots, necessarily, but to at least have a place to come
home to?”
Kasimir’s expression was inscrutable. “To be honest, before all this, no. I never even
considered it. A home is just something else that can be taken from you. Friends and lovers, merely
people with the potential to bring you to your knees. That’s what I always thought.”
“And now?” Senne whispered.
“Now, I sometimes find myself wondering if having places and…people to call one’s own
could possibly…make one stronger. I can’t even promise we’re going to live to see the sunrise, much
less anything for the future, but maybe, when this is all over, we—wait—” He broke off in a whisper.
“What?” Senne hissed, his eyes scanning the cell for the unseen threat.
“Did you hear that?” Kas murmured. “Something different. It’s a voice I haven’t heard down
here before.”
Senne strained to hear the low voices, and when he finally picked them out, he realized
Kasimir was right. Shoulder to shoulder, they edged closer to the barred front wall of the cell,
listening intently. The voices paused. Then came footsteps, one set heavy and a second light and
quick.
“Vilhelme didn’t inform me of the change,” a gruff voice said. “Where is Raisha?
“I tol’ ya, mate. She fell ill. I’ve been what you’d call loaned out to collect the soiled linens
and fine tableware an’ wotnot.”
“That’s ‘Lieutenant’ to you, boy. You tell Vilhelme next time he sends me someone new, he
sends written orders right along wi’ ’em.”
A snort followed, mirrored by Kasimir. “Aye, I’m sure a servant boy will get right on telling
the commander what to do.”
Senne chuckled as the sound of small feet scampering filled the dungeon once again. He saw a
figure flash by in his peripheral vision and he froze. The hair on his arms stood on end as his entire
body went on high alert.
“Oi!” he whispered, as loud as he dared, to get the boy’s attention. Senne glanced around
through the bars but saw no sign of the guard the boy had been speaking to. He pressed close to the
bars, curling his fingers around them. “I know you. Come here.”
“What are you doing?” Kasimir’s whisper was as sharp as Senne’s but not as loud. “What’s
going on?”
“I know this boy,” Senne murmured. “He was with Sigrid in Grimthaine. I think he was trying
to help her get away from Garigill, which means he could be helping her now.”
Kasimir’s eyes widened, and he too stepped up to the bars. “Oi, you! C’mere.”
The boy emerged from the shadows and approached the cell with more than a little caution.
Huge, wary golden-brown eyes shone from underneath a scruff of mousy brown hair mashed down by
a dark wool cap that covered the boy’s ears. His features were almost fey, with his delicate bone
structure and slight frame. But Senne remembered the way he tore through the city and the forest with
Sigrid in tow. The weanling was a scrapper.
“What d’you want? I ain’t got any extra rations. I got nothin’ for ya.”
As the boy neared, Senne reached through one of the squares created by the lattice of bars and
gripped his shirt, pulling the boy close. “You were with a girl.” His voice was as much a growl as a
whisper. “In Grimthaine, you were with a girl dressed as a boy. I need to know where she is.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. It was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to tell Senne that his
next words would be a lie. “I got no idea what you’re talking about, friend. If you don’t unhand me,
I’ll scream for the lieutenant, and they’ll beat you good.”
“You lie.” Senne softened his voice and his grip. “But that is good. I’m glad she has inspired
your protection. But it is misplaced here, boy. I am her…brother.” His attention was held fast enough
that Senne dared release his hold.
 The child frowned. “Now look who’s lyin’.”
“Oh?” Senne widened his eyes, the picture of innocence. Kas covered his mouth, and Senne
was sure he was hiding a grin. Because they had him.
The boy puffed out his chest. “Yeah, oh. She ain’t got one. Her brother’s dead, he is.”
“Is that so?” Senne’s smile was feral. “Thought you didn’t know her.”
“Bollocks.”
“Indeed,” said Kas.
“Is she here? Where? Is she all right?” Senne’s desperation was showing in his frantic
whispers.
The boy had looked crestfallen at having been tricked into betraying his friend, but his face
closed up tight. “I still ain’t tellin’ you nothin’.”
Senne tried his best to quell the urge to throttle him. “Look, lad, I appreciate your loyalty to her,
I do. But I’ve been tracking Sigrid since she was captured. I need your help, and I’m sure there isn’t
much time before another guard comes along.”
The boy cocked his head and studied Senne for so long, Senne nearly gave up and walked
away. But then his face cleared, and he broke into a toothy smile. “Well, damn me to seven hells,
you’re him!”
It was Senne’s turn to frown. “Him who?”
“Her knight!” The boy turned his head and surveyed Kasimir just as closely. “And you’re the
halfling sellsword!”
Kasimir folded his arms across his impressive chest and glowered. The boy was completely
unbothered by the intimidation tactic. He sketched a comical little bow. “Gods, where are my
manners? Pantholine Monterroi, at your service, sirs. Call me Pan. Everyone does.”
“Um…nice to meet you. I’m Senne. This is Kasimir. The halfling sellsword,” Senne added
with a smirk. Kas’s frown intensified.
“Well, I’ll be Izmini’s uncle. I can’t believe you two are alive. And here! Wait, why are you
here? I mean, in the dungeon.”
“Got ourselves arrested. Safest way inside the fortress,” Kasimir explained.
“Bloody brilliant!” the boy crowed.
“Except it only half worked,” Senne said. “We assumed we’d be able to find a chink in the
armor, so to speak, of the dungeon or find an ally to help us escape from inside. At the very least, we
thought they’d drag us before the king, where we could ferret out some more information.”
“After the initial beating and torture before they threw us in here, they’ve left us alone.
Completely,” Kasimir growled.
Distant footsteps alerted Senne to the fact that they would soon no longer be alone. “Pan,” he
whispered. “Do you ever see Sigrid?”
The boy nodded.
“Tell her we’re here. Tell her to hold fast, to not lose hope. That once we’ve found a way out
of here, we’ll be homeward bound.” Senne’s voice broke a little delivering his message, but he
couldn’t help it. This was the closest they’d been to her since Grimthaine.
“I will,” Pan whispered back just as a guard rounded the corner.
“Oi, what’re you still doin’ down here, you little sack o’ shite? Get on wi’ yer duties!”
Pan scarpered away, leaving them alone once again, hearts racing, daring to hope.
 6| Stalemate

An incessant knocking interrupted Sigrid’s meager, lonely breakfast. For a moment she
wondered who in this castle would bother knocking on a prisoner’s door, but then she realized it was
coming from the service tunnel. Mindful that the maid could pop in at any moment to take her
breakfast tray, she ran to the escape hatch—as she’d taken to calling the entrance to the tunnel—and
opened it a crack. Pan was there, wide-eyed and practically vibrating with excitement.
“What are you doing here during mealtime?” she whispered. “You could be seen!”
“Worth it!” Pan hissed back. “We’ve got news. Meet at Stef’s as soon as you can get away.” He
melted into the shadows and was gone.
News? What news? Sigrid, Pan, and Stef had been using Stef’s solar to hold informal misfit
war-table discussions ever since they’d filled Stef in on Sigrid’s capture. They used the time to share
what precious little information they each found out. There had been no movement from the king. Stef
was still being kept in the dark about the whole plot, and Sigrid had been left to stew in her room for
ages. Not even Violete had returned. What was going on?
It was midmorning before she could sneak into the tunnel to Stef’s chambers to join her friend
and…reluctant ally in the converted caverns. She still couldn’t believe Stef didn’t realize he was
basically being kept in a cave. Had he ever visited his brother’s rooms? No doubt they were as
opulent as the king’s.
Pan perched on an emerald-green settee while Stef sat straight-backed in a stuffed leather
armchair. Stef looked as grim as Pan was excited, and Sigrid wasn’t sure which news she wanted to
hear first. She sat down on the other side of the settee. “It was very risky to come to my room this
morning,” she scolded Pan.
He grinned, unperturbed by her admonishment. “You’re not gonna care about any of that when
you find out what I know. You want the good news or the bad news first?”
Sigrid sighed. “Might as well get the bad over with first. Go on, then.”
Pan looked to his right. “Stef?”
“I’m the b-bad news. Lovely.” Stef frowned. “I was summoned before m-my father yesterday
evening.”
Sigrid’s brows lifted. “I was beginning to wonder if he was even still here.”
“Oh, he is. P-plotting his dastardly p-plans takes up all his time.”
Fear settled like a rock in Sigrid’s belly. “What’s he up to?”
“I’ve been informed that we—meaning myself, my father, and my brother, along with a retinue
of soldiers and servants, no doubt—will be leaving on an expedition.” Stef raised his odd,
mismatched eyes to meet Sigrid’s gaze. “Soon. And there’s been talk of transporting a…prisoner.”
Sigrid couldn’t contain her gasp. Surely this had something to do with the Monstrum
Maledictus prophecy Prosper had spoken of. “Prosper spoke of a prophecy when he was gloating. It’s
the reason he took me. If we can learn what the prophecy entails, we might be able to figure out where
we’re going.”
“I c-can t-try to search his study,” Stef said, though his shoulders slumped as he radiated
resignation.
“If it’s got anything to do with marrying, I won’t go. I’ll refuse,” Sigrid growled, though she
knew she sounded like a child.
Stef shook his head sadly and Pan scoffed before putting her own thoughts into words. “They’ll
force you, Siggy. And if they somehow can’t force you, they’ll kill you.”
“So that’s it, then. It’s marry or die.”
Stef winced, his big, willowy frame curling in on itself. “I guess?”
Sigrid glared. “I haven’t yet decided which of those is preferable.”
Stef opened his mouth as if he might snipe back, but Pan interrupted. “You might not have to
decide at all. Now’s the perfect time for my good news. I haven’t even told Stef yet.”
“Well?” Sigrid snapped impatiently.
“The chambermaid who collects the soiled linens in the dungeon has fallen ill. I took over her
duties, and I came across a couple of interesting prisoners.”
He paused for dramatic effect, but Sigrid was having none of it. She crossed her arms and
stared him down. Pan wilted a bit, but it didn’t slow him down for long.
“It seems the fortress’s newest guests are none other than your knight and his halfling.”
Sigrid froze. Her heart stopped for a moment before giving a painful thump. Gooseflesh broke
out over her skin as she stared at her friend. “What?”
“It’s true! Evidently they got themselves captured in order to get inside the fortress.”
Hope was too excruciating. “Surely, you’re mistaken. You only saw them for a moment in
Grimthaine.”
Unbothered by her doubt, Pan let out a merry laugh. “Silly girl. I spoke to them. In fact, your
knight, he was the one who recognized me. Called me over to talk, even.”
“If…if you’re sure, I have to get a message to them. Can you go back to the dungeon?” Sigrid
asked.
Pan was already shaking his head. “The maid I was replacing will be back tomorrow or not at
all. The dungeon master said not to return without a written order from Vilhelme.”
Sigrid turned a hopeful look on the prince. “Stef?”
“Sorry, I’m not allowed anywhere near the dungeon. I wouldn’t get within a hundred feet of it
before I’d be turned away—and likely locked up in this very room.”
“Then I shall have to find a way to visit them myself.”
“Impossible,” Stef scoffed, earning a glare.
Pan looked sympathetic, but he was in agreement. “Siggy, they don’t even let you out of your
room.”
But Sigrid wasn’t listening. She was already formulating a plan.
“Oh dear,” said Pan. “I don’t like that look.”

Once back in her room, Sigrid set about making as much noise as possible. She overturned the
bedside tables and ripped down the thick curtains from the canopy of her bed. She tried to topple the
huge wardrobe but it proved too heavy for her to move, so she settled for flinging the doors open
repeatedly so they banged against the walls. It wasn’t until she tossed an oil lamp at the wall to make
it shatter whilst screaming at the top of her lungs that her door finally opened.
A panic-stricken maid stood in the doorway and surveyed the destruction with wide, fearful
eyes. “Miss, what’s—what’s happened? Are you hurt?”
Sigrid stood amidst the carnage and raised her chin defiantly. “I demand to see the king.”
 The girl recoiled. “I-I…” She swallowed and tried again. “I’m sorry, miss, I’m just a maid. I-I
cannot bring you to the king.”
“I know that, silly girl. You must tell him I demand an audience.”
The girl was visibly trembling. “’Tis not my place, miss. I’ve never even met the king myself.”
With an impatient sigh, Sigrid began to pace, stepping over the rubble of her ruined room. Then
suddenly she stopped, turning back to the maid. “Find the sorceress. Violete. Tell her I’ll give her
what she wants if she comes to me.”
Though the girl paled, she gave a stiff nod. “I might be able to do that.”
Sigrid curled up on her bed and watched the door, waiting for what felt like ages. She must
have dozed off because she startled when the door burst open, swinging on its hinges and banging
against the wall. Violete stood silhouetted in the doorway, arms at her sides as if she hadn’t touched
the door at all. Someone was behind her, but Sigrid couldn’t get a good look at them from her
position.
Climbing down from the palatial bed, Sigrid moved to stand in the center of the room, in the
middle of a pile of discarded finery from the wardrobe. Violete’s expression was serene, but
somehow Sigrid could feel waves of annoyance radiating from her. The witch put her hands on her
hips. “I do not like being summoned, girl.”
Sigrid crossed her arms. “Well, I wouldn’t have done, except I’ve been left in here to rot. No
way to talk to anyone.”
Violete cocked her hip, eyeing Sigrid lazily. The person behind her, still concealed in the
shadow of the hallway, shifted with a rustle of fabric. “We’ve had no need of you yet, especially if
you’re not willing to be glamoured. His Royal Eminence,” she said with a sneer in her voice, “won’t
have you meeting the prince looking like a ruffian.”
Drawing herself up with the appearance of more confidence than she truly possessed, Sigrid
raised her chin and addressed the sorceress. “I wish to speak with the king.”
Violete snorted indelicately. “You are in no position to be making demands, my dear.”
Sigrid held her ground. “Then please tell him I will allow him to alter my appearance if he
gives me something in return.”
The witch clucked her tongue with a shake of her head. “Perhaps if you’d tried that when I was
first sent to you… But now, well, I’ve been given the order to glamour you by any means necessary.
You have lost the king’s favor with your uncooperativeness. You’ve nothing to bargain with.”
As Violete came nearer, lifting a glowing hand, Sigrid swallowed and took a step back. The
sound of a throat clearing from the hallway halted Violete’s progress.
“Madame, if you please, may I try?” a quiet, softly accented voice said. “Compulsion is, after
all, a specialty of mine.”
Violete’s eyes narrowed as she looked over her shoulder, but she jerked her chin in a nod and
stepped back. The person who took her place was taller, blonder, and more willowy than she. And
familiar. Sigrid gasped, but Mirjana widened her eyes and gave a tiny shake of her head while Violete
wasn’t looking. “Hello, there, elskaling. Do not be afraid.”
“Don’t come any closer.” Sigrid wasn’t afraid of Mirjana de Carrow as she was Violete, but
the tremor in her voice was real. At this point, she didn’t know who she could trust.
“I am going to compel you. Don’t worry, it will not hurt. In fact, it will feel like nothing is
happening at all.”
The way Mirjana stared at Sigrid, as if she were trying to convey a secret message, reassured
her. This is an act. Those eyes begged Sigrid to play along. She held her ground as Mirjana moved
closer and pressed the soft pad of her thumb against Sigrid’s forehead. “How do you feel? Are you
comfortable?” Mirjana asked.
“Bloody get on with it,” growled Violete.
Mirjana ignored the jab, her pale blue eyes boring deep into Sigrid’s as she waited.
“I’m comfortable.”
“Focus on me, child. You aren’t going to fight me, are you?” It was more a command than a
question.
“No, I won’t.” Sigrid felt nothing because nothing was happening. It was all pretend.
“You will cooperate, yes?”
“Yes,” Sigrid answered in a flat voice. She had no idea what someone under compulsion might
sound like; she just had to guess.
“You will comply with whatever the king asks of you.”
Sigrid hesitated for a moment. “Yes…”
“And you will give us no trouble on the road to Aeyrith.”
Everything inside her went still. Mirjana was trying to tell her what the king’s plans were.
“What are you doing?” Violete hissed, though she didn’t intervene. Not yet. “Keep to the
glamouring.”
Keeping her thumb firmly planted against Sigrid’s forehead, Mirjana leaned in close and her
whispers were but a breath across Sigrid’s face.
“The knight and the sellsword live. They will—”
“Hver est ansa!” bellowed Violete.
Mirjana was swamped by a brilliant white light with bolts of electricity cracking through it.
The light exploded outward, forcing Sigrid’s eyes to close. She was thrown back as the force of the
energy surging through Mirjana struck her where they were connected—right in the center of her
forehead.
Sigrid’s whole world went white, then dark.

When Sigrid awoke, she was staring up at the ruined canopy above her bed. Her head
throbbed, and her body felt ephemeral, as if it could float away with a stiff breeze. The mattress
dipped, and Sigrid blinked sluggishly before looking over at Violete.
The sorceress had a pitying look on her pixie-like face. She clucked her tongue with insincere
sadness. “That was a mistake. She should not have done that.”
“How...why was she here? In Senka?”
“I met her in the market weeks ago. She said she was born in Hwen and had left to seek her
fortune. She wanted a position such as mine, as a magical advisor in a royal house. I found her…
interesting.” To Sigrid’s surprise, Violete blushed.
“She’s very beautiful,” Sigrid said.
Violete sniffed. “Yes, well, that’s neither here nor there. I agreed to take her under my wing for
a time, especially since she said compulsion was one of her specialties—which I had need of since
certain princesses were being difficult.”
“Hwen…,” Sigrid mused. “You didn’t realize she was from Toivonen. That she was associated
with my family.”
The sorceress’s jaw bunched. “No, I did not.” Then she went very, very pale. “That…was also
a mistake. I will be punished, I’m sure.”
Sigrid sat up—too quickly, causing her vision to waver—and gripped Violete’s hands. “Then
why not leave? You shouldn’t have to be afraid any more than I should.”
For a moment, a look of pure, unadulterated longing crossed Violete’s face, but then her gaze
hardened and she pulled her hands away. “I have worked too long and hard to get where I am. I’m not
like you. I haven’t had everything handed to me. And make no mistake, while I do find you mildly
amusing, I will not garner the king’s disfavor, for you or anyone else.”
Sigrid knew a losing battle when she was faced with it. She tried a different tack. “Is she
dead?”
“She is…shall we say, disincorporated? She could be brought back by someone at least as
powerful as me, but the chances of you making that happen are pretty slim, no? Besides, we have
more pressing matters. I am going to glamour you now.” Violete stood and raised her hands as if to
begin a spell.
Panic flooded Sigrid’s body as she recoiled. She held up her own hands in front of her face as
if she could defend herself somehow. “No!”
Violete stumbled back as if she’d been pushed. The pair of them blinked owlishly before
Violete cast a narrow-eyed gaze on Sigrid. “You are not a sorceress.”
“No.” Sigrid’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. She was staggered by the enormity of what had
just happened. “No, I am not.”
Chewing her lower lip, Violete appeared deep in thought. “I am sure I could still overpower
you, but you would inevitably end up hurt…or dead.” Violete shrugged, though her lips seemed as if
they wanted to curve into a smile. “I shall have to tell Prosper you cannot be compelled.” She started
to walk backward toward the door.
“Wait.”
“Yes?” Violete raised a brow and waited.
Sigrid swallowed down her fear as she climbed down from the bed and approached the
sorceress. “My offer to the king still stands. Tell him he needn’t force me. I will allow myself to be
glamoured if I am granted a favor in return.”
Violete cast a suspicious glare at Sigrid. “What favor?”
“That is a question I will only answer for the king himself.”
 7| A Bargain

Kasimir was going stir-crazy. They had gone too long without speaking to anyone. He was sure
they’d been left down there to be forgotten. While Senne lay on his back staring up at the ceiling, Kas
scratched away at a crack in the stone wall with the spoon he’d palmed from their dinner tray, such as
it was.
For some reason, Senne was unflappably calm in this situation. Usually he was the worrier,
while Kasimir was content to ride the tide of fate and let her take him where she wished. But he
couldn’t stand being caged—he’d spent too much of his life in one cage or another. He couldn’t
breathe.
“That’s not going to work, you know,” drawled Senne.
“Of course I bloody know,” Kas snapped irritably. “I have to feel like I’m doing something so
the walls don’t close in on me.”
Senne sat up, looking at him with concern in his soft brown eyes. “You’re really struggling,
aren’t you?”
“I hate being sodding locked up,” Kasimir growled. “It wasn’t so bad before because we had a
plan… And then my injuries were a distraction, but now… I’m crawling out of my skin. I’ve got to
find a way out of here.”
“I’m sure Pan will have found someone to help us by now.”
“He’s a child. How are you so bloody calm? You’re never calm.”
Senne’s lips curved in a smile. “It certainly is a bit of a role reversal, that.”
Gracefully rising to his feet, Senne stepped up to Kas and ran his hands down his arms. A
shiver followed the touch. He gently stole the spoon and tucked it into the waistband of his trousers.
“You’re making yourself crazy. Maybe you need another distraction.”
Kasimir swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat. “Perhaps I do.”
Warm hands pressed flat against Kasimir’s chest. Then Senne was pushing him, walking him
backward until his back was against the cold stone. As Senne closed the distance between them,
sliding his hands down to Kas’s hips, Kas glanced toward the wall of bars.
“We’re still in Yesenia,” he muttered, training his gaze on Senne’s lips, which were a breath
away from his own. “I’m fairly certain this is still a crime here.”
Those full lips curved into a smirk. “We’re already in the dungeon, Kas.”
“That’s…that’s a good point.”
Kasimir watched as Senne slowly inched closer, then crashed their lips together with a force
he hadn’t expected. Senne’s tongue was slick and hot and perfect as it slid into his mouth, tangling
with his own. Senne’s hands plunged into his hair and held on tight, just on the right side of painful.
Kas almost lost himself in the dark pleasure of feasting on Senne’s mouth in the middle of the prison
of their own making. Almost.
Though it pained him more than he could say, he pulled away with a nip at Senne’s bottom lip.
Then he carefully set Senne away from him. “Senne…”
Confusion marred the chiseled perfection of the knight’s face. He was making assumptions in
that worrisome mind of his that Kasimir simply couldn’t allow. “It’s not that I don’t want to take
comfort in you, in your lips, your body. It’s just if the guards see us, they might separate us. And I
don’t think… I cannot do this alone…” His voice broke as he pleaded with his eyes for Senne to
understand and not be cross with him.
Senne’s gaze softened, and with a small smile, he allowed himself to be gently pushed back a
few steps. “I understand. I don’t want that either. Remember where we left off, because I fully intend
to pick up that thread again once we’re free.”
Kasimir grinned. “When did you get so bold, kanína?” He was glad Senne hadn’t yet figured
out the meaning of this nickname. His knight would have bristled at being called “little rabbit.” It had
started off as gentle ribbing when they’d been reluctant allies, but it had quickly become a term of
endearment.
For a moment, Senne’s eyes took on a predatory glint before he shook himself. “Are you
forgetting where this all started?”
Thanks to his mixed-blood heritage, his berserker rage had certain side effects, the worst of
which being memory loss. Before his sister Séverine had performed a spell to counteract his
blackouts, he had an episode while fighting the cú-sídhe hellhound that had attacked them. The two of
them had been so amped up after the battle, Senne had given into temptation and pleasured Kas with
his mouth. Senne had been quite shocked to learn Kas remembered nothing of the incident the next
day. Séverine’s magic had allowed some of the memories from his blackouts to return. It was a
moment that still felt like a dream, but Senne was right. He’d made the first move. “Touché.”
When Senne licked his lips, Kas almost reconsidered his stance on the matter of kissing, but
then he was distracted by a new sound echoing through the dungeon. Footsteps. Ones he hadn’t heard
down there before.

Sigrid tried not to fidget as she stood next to Violete in front of the king’s dais. She glanced at
the sorceress out of the corner of her eye. Violete looked uncomfortable, and it frightened Sigrid
because, in her experience, it was very hard to ruffle Violete’s feathers.
Prosper lounged atop his throne, the picture of nonchalance. “To what do I owe the singular
pleasure?” he drawled.
Violete offered no explanation other than the one Sigrid assumed she’d given to gain the king’s
audience. Sigrid shuffled her feet.
Losing patience, Prosper sat forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and fixed Sigrid with a
hard stare. “Madame du Vauxvuitton intimated that you had a…proposition for me?” The pause
seemed loaded with condescension.
“I do,” Sigrid croaked, then cleared her throat. “You wished to have me glamoured in order for
me to be suitable to meet S—your son.” She blanched. She’d almost mentioned Stef by name.
“Yes, I do not want my son’s future bride looking like an urchin when introduced to him.”
Sigrid clenched her teeth to keep herself from railing against the “future bride” assumption. She
had to keep a cool head to get what she wanted from the king. “And no doubt Violete has told you that
compulsion and force do not work on me.”
Prosper’s eyes narrowed. “There is always the possibility of…additional force.”
He was bluffing. Sigrid knew it. He wanted her undamaged for whatever plans he had in store.
“I could make it easier,” she offered. “I shall willingly submit if, in exchange, you would grant
me a boon.”
 The king relaxed against the cushioned back of his throne, giving her a deceptively lazy smile.
“And what is it you wish of me, princess?”
Ignoring the quivering of her stomach, Sigrid raised her chin and looked Prosper dead in his
cold, amber eyes. “I wish to speak with the prisoners, Your Highness.”
The king went still. Tension crackled in the air as he stared at Sigrid, the muscles in his jaw
bunching. When he spoke, his voice was as cold and deadly as sharpened steel. “What prisoners?”
Though everything inside her trembled with fear, Sigrid held her ground. “I think you know
very well of which prisoners I speak.”
“Do you?” Prosper asked with a feral parody of a smile, more a baring of teeth than anything
else.
Sigrid said nothing.
“Come closer, child.”
She shuffled nearer until her toes met the edge of the dais. She was just about eye-level with
the seated king.
Prosper pulled a bejeweled dagger out of the sheath at his hip and began to play his fingers
over its tip. “How did you come to know of our…special guests?”
Sigrid forced herself not to recoil. Giving up Pan was not an option, but she didn’t want anyone
else to get punished in his place, either. “Word gets ’round. You know how castles are. Servants talk.”
The king continued to toil with the dagger, his gaze on it rather than her. “It’s of no
consequence. But make no mistake…” He looked up. “I will find out. I always do. There are no
secrets in my fortress, not for long.”
If you only knew. Sigrid had barely suppressed a snort at how wrong he was, but she didn’t
think it wise to poke the bear. “What say you of my offer?”
“No doubt you have learned that I intend to take a retinue on an expedition soon,” Prosper said,
ignoring her question.
Feigning ignorance seemed the safest course of action. “I have heard rumblings, yes. Though I
would like to know what will happen to me when this expedition departs. Am I to be imprisoned here
until you return?”
Prosper barked out a laugh, startling both Sigrid and Violete, whom Sigrid had forgotten still
stood beside her, quiet as the grave. “You and I have very different definitions of imprisonment, my
dear.”
“Being held against one’s will is the only definition,” Sigrid said boldly, inwardly cringing at
her own impudence.
The king appeared unperturbed. “To answer your question, you will be coming along on the
expedition.”
“To where?” she asked, though she knew already, thanks to Mirjana’s bravery.
Prosper raised one thick black brow and held her gaze steadily. “To Aeyrith.”
“The Land of the Fey,” she whispered. “Why?”
“I believe I’ve answered enough of your brazen questions. I’ve a few of my own. Why in seven
hells would I let you speak with your champions? Do you think I want so badly to make you
presentable to my son?”
She’d prepared for this, in the event that her bargaining chip was not desirable enough. “I don’t
see how it could hurt anything. They’re in your dungeon, being watched by your soldiers. Surely
they’re not going anywhere. It might be worth it to have my unquestioning cooperation.” She shrugged
nonchalantly, though she knew she’d gotten the first hook into him. “Or…”
Another random document with
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our polar
flight
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
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eBook.

Title: Our polar flight

Author: Roald Amundsen

Lincoln Ellsworth

Release date: August 27, 2023 [eBook #71497]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Dodd, Mead and Company, 1925

Credits: deaurider and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet
Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR POLAR

FLIGHT ***
 Transcriber’s Note
Larger versions of most illustrations may be seen by right-
clicking them and selecting an option to view them separately,
or by double-tapping and/or stretching them.
Other notes will be found near the end of this eBook.
OUR POLAR FLIGHT
BEFORE WE LEFT WE PLANTED OUR NORWEGIAN FLAG
 OUR
POLAR FLIGHT
The Amundsen-Ellsworth Polar Flight
BY
ROALD AMUNDSEN
LINCOLN ELLSWORTH
AND

OTHER MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION

ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
TAKEN ON THE EXPEDITION

NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1925
 Copyright, 1925,
By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY
The Quinn & Boden Company
BOOK MANUFACTURERS
RAHWAY NEW JERSEY
 CONTENTS
PAGE

Part I: The Expedition 1

BY ROALD AMUNDSEN

Part II: The Amundsen-Ellsworth Polar Flight 101

BY LINCOLN ELLSWORTH

Part III: The Navigator’s Task 141

BY LIEUT. HJALMAR RIISER-LARSEN

Part IV: Report About N 24 from the Start Until We

Joined N 25 and Its Crew on the 26th May 219
BY L. DIETRICHSON

Part V: Whilst We Wait 253

LEAVES FROM THE DIARY OF FREDRIK RAMM FROM MAY 21ST TO JUNE 18TH

Part VI: The Weather 341

BY JAKOB BJERKENS
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Before We Left We Planted our Norwegian Flag
Frontispiece
FACING PAGE
Lincoln Ellsworth 2
The Directors of the King’s Bay Coal Company, Messrs.
Brandal and Knutsen 3
Sailmaker Rönne 3
“Fram” Moored to the Ice at the Edge of King’s Bay 22
Unloading 22
The Games on May 17th 23
The Planes Were Put Together Near the Coal
Company’s Workshops 23
The Crew of N 25: Riiser-Larsen, Amundsen, Feucht 38
The Crew of N 24: Ellsworth, Dietrichson, Omdal 38
Photograph of Amundsen’s Machine Taken in Flight 39
When the Two Planes Were Near Each Other 54
A New Lead Opening in the Ice 55
Getting Ready for a Fresh Start 55
Collecting Snow Blocks for a Run-way 70
Trying Out Our Bulb Sextants 71
Fast in the Ice 71
Members of the Expedition Arriving at King’s Bay 92
Roald Amundsen and Lincoln Ellsworth at the Reception
by the King of Norway 93
Lincoln Ellsworth and N 24 Just Before the Start 104
The Polar Sea from the Sky 105
N 25 Above the Polar Pack Just Before Landing at 87°
44’ 118
N 24 and Our Arctic Home 119
Ellsworth, Amundsen, Larsen and Feucht with the
Implements with Which They Moved 300 Tons of Ice 134
Lincoln Ellsworth After the Trip 135
Captain Roald Amundsen, Just Before the Take-off from
Spitzbergen 150
Just Before the Take-off 151
Our Footgear 151
Taking the Wings Out of Their Boxes 166
Setting Up the Wings 166
Mounting the Wings 167
The Last Meeting Before the Flight 167
The Edge of the Polar Ice Pack 182
Our Last Hope for a Take-off 183
Disembarking from the Sjoliv at King’s Bay 198
Members of the Expedition After Their First Dinner
Ashore 199
Our First Solid Camp 199
Preparing the Planes for Their Arctic Flight 214
The Last View of Spitzbergen 215
Edge of the Polar Pack 215
The Sjoliv, the Sealer That Picked Them Up 230
At Brandy Bay, Northeast Land, on the Way Home 231
Amundsen—Before the Trip 246
Amundsen—After 246
Ellsworth—Before 246
Ellsworth—After 246
Riiser-Larsen—Before 247
Riiser-Larsen—After 247
Dietrichson—Before 247
Dietrichson—After 247
Omdal—Before 262
Omdal—After 262
Feucht—Before 262
Feucht—After 262
The Explorers at Oslo 263
The Two Meteorologists 344
N 25 on the Way to Oslo 344
Route of the Amundsen-Ellsworth Flight 345
The Course of the Ships on Watch 356
Territory Explored by the Flight Expedition 357
 Part I
THE EXPEDITION

By Roald Amundsen
LINCOLN ELLSWORTH
THE DIRECTORS OF THE KING’S BAY
COAL COMPANY, MESSRS. BRANDAL
AND KNUTSEN
SAILMAKER RÖNNE
 THROUGH THE AIR TO 88° NORTH
The day the brothers Wright rose and flew the curtain went up on a
new era in the history of mankind. Many were certain that they could
see great possibilities opening up for mankind in general, and
particularly for them in their own branch of work, but few, I think, saw
such possibilities of making a full and complete change in his work as
the Polar explorer. What he has tried for years to accomplish would
now be possible for him to achieve in a very short space of time.
Century after century had he worked with his primitive means, the dog
—the sledge. Day after day he had exerted himself with all his craft, all
his intelligence, and all his will, yet had only covered a few miles over
the vast ice desert. What courage, what tenacity, had been shown in
the fight against cold, hunger and hardships. What a brilliant example
of sacrifice and self-denial. Year after year shut up in a tiny little ship,
surrounded by the same people, equipped with only the most
necessary things, he had worked up to this time through the greatest
of difficulties, through the hardest tests—cold and darkness. And now,
all at once, in one moment, the whole of this was to be changed. Cold
and darkness should be dispersed becoming warmth and light instead;
for the complete and troublesome journey should be changed now to a
speedy flight. In truth the possibilities were great. No rationing, no
hunger or thirst—only a short flight. As in a dream, seen as a far-away
possibility, there was ignited that day a small spark which should
quickly blaze up to a mighty fire and in the course of a few years
become one of our most important means of communication.
Emerging from its swaddling-clothes, flying freed itself and went into its
cradle when Bleriot flew across the Channel. It was then speedily led
by the world’s war through its childhood where it (developing with the
years—slowly or quickly who can say?) was led into youth—into
manhood! What the possibilities would become it was difficult to say,
but one had to be satisfied with what was there—flying’s childhood.
The young inexperienced birds leaving their nests show us an
example. Some will hurt their wings, others will break them altogether,
but, it is just as certain that, just as they do, so will mankind also
succeed in reaching his goal in the world of flying.
As I learned of Bleriot’s flight, I knew at once that the time had
come to think of using the air to help the Polar expeditions. Certainly
human power and skill had overcome and conquered vast tracts of this
mighty unknown whiteness, but enormous tracts remained unexplored
—tracts which now could be reached from the air. My thoughts turned
especially to the enormous area in the Arctic which until now had
withstood every attempt. Certainly Nansen, the Duke of the Abruzzi,
and Peary had drawn lines through the unknown doing great and
brilliant work, but colossal and unknown tracts still lay in front of them
unexplored. Should we have had to continue exploration in the same
old manner we should have had to wait many years before our
knowledge had become complete. If one had used the word
“impossible” it seems absolutely reasonable to have used it in
connection with the exploration of this immense ice desert; but it
seems that the word “impossible” has been scratched out of the
dictionary of mankind. How often have we seen the impossible made
possible! What was impossible yesterday is an easy matter to-day.
Bleriot’s flight across the Channel showed me the conquering of the
impossible. When I, in the year 1909, equipped the “Fram” for a trip to
the Arctic, I had a conference with one of the most esteemed aviators
of the day. He declared himself as willing to go with me. But it never
came off, a fact which probably was for the best, as in the case of both
parties it was put off on economical grounds. I mention this in order to
draw attention to the fact that the idea of exploring the Polar regions
from the air is not a recent plan. I have been attacked from many sides
because I have “stolen” the plans of others; this seems to me childish
and scarcely worth talking about, but many people take childish things
for grim earnest if they have not a closer knowledge of the
circumstances. Therefore, these few words.
In 1914 I managed to get sufficient means to buy my first
aeroplane for use in Arctic exploration. As an independent means of
transport in those vast tracts it certainly could not be used where all
circumstances seemed to be against it, but, in conjunction with a
mother-ship, would be of invaluable service. It was therefore my