Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

It was late that same evening when Finn was almost asleep, nodding over the book in his lap that his door burst open, and Merlon came running in. He looked wildly excited.

“Wow, what the hell, Merlon? Is the place on fire?”

“It might as well be!” he shouted. He pulled a piece of paper out from under his arm and started waving it around. “I think—no, I know I found the song, Finn. This has to be it.”

“Are you serious? Let me see.”

Jaz came running in behind Merlon, his face alarmed and looking like he was about to shift. “Gods, what’s all that yelling going on in here? Merlon, I almost attacked you.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I was just so excited. I think I’ve found the song we’ve been searching for.”

“You have?”

“Yes, sir. I couldn’t find it in the old book Anola gave us, so I looked farther afield. It was in a newer collection, from the twentieth century in the Deichman library in Oslo, Norway. The Deichman was founded back in 1785, and it’s Norway’s largest public library. I have copies of their old scrolls of Viking songs on my computer. Anyway, it occurred to me that we were trying to find a newer legend, but we should have been looking at later songs, so I checked the Deichman’s collections. After all, Princess Freya was born in the nineteen seventies. During the nineties, when she would have been a young woman, there was a new interest in the old Viking songs, like the ones the Skaults used to sing. These are from a poet, writing in the old style and it’s part of an anthology of such songs. And, Finn, the poet’s name is Jarl Johansen.”

Finn. Gasped. “That was my father’s name.”

“And it’s the only song he ever wrote, apparently. What if he wrote down your mother’s story to preserve it in some kind of record? But he put it in old verse form and hid it in the anthology to retrieve it at a later time, when the story of who you really were was safe to come out.”

Jaz put a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “You said your mother died in childbirth, I think. But how did your father die?”

“He had an aneurysm. It was sudden and unexpected.”

“So he could have been planning on telling you when you were older.”

“I have more news too,” Merlon said softly. “I tried to find birth records of your mother and father, but I couldn’t. There’s no record of either of them anywhere. I think Maridous said you wanted to catch a flight back to Atlanta when you first arrived. Was that your hometown?”

“Yes. After we moved back to the States, we settled in one of the suburbs there. I was really young, of course, so I don’t remember much about any of that. Maybe they were hiding out even then.”

“Where’s this song though? I want to see it.”

“Oh yes. Here it is.  The words of the song say Freya is the child of the ‘Green king,’ and it mentions Magnus.” He laid the paper he’d been clutching on the bed in front of Finn, and they all leaned over to read it.

Princess Freya fair and bold,

Daughter of the Green king brave,

Welcome to all, the good king gave,

All but her lover Magnus.

Heart aflame, Magnus wished to wed,

And gave to Freya a handsome son.

A treasure better than gold.

The treasure would one day take his rightful place.

But a baneful comet from the king’s own clan,

With murderous intentions

Flamed in the northern sky;

Summoned sinful men to prayer,

Summoned Magnus and the king to die.

Spears shattered,

Shields splintered,

Swords gnawed

like wolves

And when it was over.

Magnus and the king lay dead.

The Green princess Freya fled over the sea to save the treasure.

The new king, a usurper bold, a king-killer, a hero-slayer

still sought her and her prize,

to secure his place on the throne.

Finn sat up straighter, his eyes shining. “Merlon, my god, I think you’ve found it!”

“Now wait a minute,” Jazdon said. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.” The dragon shifter turned Finn’s face to his. “We don’t know anything for sure. There’s little evidence either way on this paper.”

“But how can you say that? The song makes it clear what happened!”

“Does it though? ‘Princess Freya, fair and bold?’ That doesn’t exactly scream long-lost Greengile princess to me,” Jazdon said.

“I thought it was pretty damn clear. The poet calls her father the ‘green king.’ He says her lover’s name was Magnus. That’s supposed to be my real father’s name.”

"Maybe it’s the Isatolia shifter Daltor was talking about, but we have no proof.” He turned to Merlon. “Do you have anyone like that in your records? A Magnus who went missing?”

Merlon shrugged. “You’re asking about some guy named Magnus from twenty-something years ago who might have disappeared while he was living or working with the Greengile? Maybe we do, but I’d have to dig a bit for that information.”

“And even so, what does that prove? No place names are mentioned, if you notice, and no dates. No names for the killers either,” Jazdon pointed out.

Finn frowned at him. “It’s obvious it’s the ‘baneful comet from the king’s own clan’—that has to be Daltor.”

“Has to be? How do you figure? Look Finn, this is interesting, sure, but no proof of anything. There’s almost nothing concrete in this to go on. Surely you can see that. Just let me handle getting the evidence.”

“Oh, suddenly, you’re the voice of reason? Wasn’t it you who wanted to kill the Greengile king and put me on the throne just a few days ago?”

“Yes. So?”

Finn scoffed loudly and glanced over at Merlon, who was edging toward the door. “As for you, where are you going? You found this bombshell and dropped it. And now you’re slinking away?”

“Slinking? I prefer to think of it as a wise and judicious retreat,” Merlon said. “I’ll be around. You two talk things over and let me know if I can help.” He scooted out the door, and it banged shut behind him.

“That’s some bullshit right there.”

“I think you need to calm down,” Jaz said. “I didn’t say we won’t be looking into it. I simply said it isn’t proof of anything. Not yet, anyway.”

“It’s plain as the nose on your face, Jaz. Magnus and Freya had an affair and maybe the king didn’t like it much. Maybe he wasn’t royal enough or whatever. But Freya was going to have his baby—maybe that baby was me. Before she did, this other guy from the king’s family or clan—that would be what he calls the ‘baneful comet’ from the north—killed the king. So Freya ‘fled across the sea to save the treasure.’ And then the prophesy is that one day her golden child—the treasure—will return and take his ‘rightful place.’ If that child is me, then it would explain why someone is trying to kill me. To keep me from becoming king.”

“Yes, Finn, I understood the song. But I think you’re reading way more into it than it actually says. You’ve made a lot of suppositions. Daltor said Magnus was Isatolia, but we don’t know anything about it, and we would have if he was from our clan. It may be two different people or just a mistake in the names. Daltor could be lying, of course. But we’ll look into it. I promise.” He sat down beside Finn and took him in his arms. “I’m tired now, though, and I just want to go to sleep. With you, preferably. Mm, your skin’s so warm and sweet,” he said, as he nuzzled his face into Finn’s neck. Finn saw there was a flush across his cheekbones, and his eyes were bright in the dim bedroom light.

“I love you,” Finn said, nuzzling him back.

“Mm, same.”

It made Finn smile. But was it funny? Was Jaz afraid of the word? It scared him a little too, that Jaz might still not be sure. It hadn’t been long that they’d known each other after all. Things had been intense between them from the first, but was that the same thing?

Finn ran his hand lightly over the muscular planes of Jaz’s abs and dipped his hand inside his waistband to stroke his cock. Hard and big, it twitched in his hand as he touched him. Finn could feel the pounding of his heart beneath his ribs. He moved his hand around to Jaz’s ass and then down to brush a fingertip over his tightly clenched entrance.

“Feels good,” Jaz murmured into his hair, as he got busy pushing Finn backward to lay flat on the bed and tugged at his jeans and underwear. “Let’s get you out of all this.”

“No rush. This is good all by itself.”

Jaz smiled down at him. “I want inside you. Want to feel you riding me.”

Finn didn’t say anything. Just moaned as Jaz slid a finger inside him again. It felt like he was looking for the switch that would light Finn up inside. They had sex often enough that he didn’t need much lubricant anymore, and he moved instinctively into Jaz’s touch, relishing the feeling of his fingers inside him.

“That’s it,” Jaz said, sliding another inside him. “You feel so good, babe. I’m going to make you feel even better.”

Finn couldn’t help surging forward onto those fingers and thrusting against them. A strangled sob rose in his throat as Jaz pulled his fingers away and replaced them with his cock. He began to thrust into him, and Finn shoved back, finding the rhythm, getting into sync. Why was it always so good with Jaz? It was like racing, flying through the sky, crashing through the clouds and hurtling toward the horizon. His orgasm was barreling toward him, a delighted flare that rolled up his spine. I love him; I love him, he thought, but didn’t dare say it out loud. It would sound too gasping and too needy. And this wasn’t the way he wanted Jaz to say it anyway. Not now, during sex.

His orgasm blazed over him like a shooting star, and they collapsed together in a tangle of arms and legs. Little aftershocks were jolting through him. Jaz fell off to the side and pulled Finn half on top of him. “Beautiful,” he breathed in Finn’s ears. “So beautiful.”

Finn could feel the flicker of his eyelashes against his face and his hot breath ghosting his chin. He gathered his courage and whispered it again, this time aloud and not just in his own head. “I love you, Jaz.”

But Jaz was already asleep, his breath gusting gently in Finn’s ear. Maybe he was overthinking this whole thing. Or maybe the silence said it all anyway.