Page 25

Chapter

Twenty-Four

ANYA

I am drifting, floating in a frozen black sea. It is the same old nightmare. I know it is a nightmare and yet I have no control over the panic that fills me as the coldness crystalizes around me. There is nothing but the icy abyss as far as I can see, its cold clawing at me, drawing itself deeper and deeper within me. It closed over my throat, choking me. I am choking, my lungs are freezing, and I’m drifting in endless nothing. My mouth opens in a scream, and I jolt upward and straight into a hard, warm body.

“Anya?” Drisk rumbles, and I feel the heat of his arm and the soft leather of his wing curl around me. His muzzle brushes over me, his nostrils flaring as he proceeds to thoroughly scent me. “You smell of fear, but you are unharmed.”

“I… I’m okay,” I croak, as I wrap my arms around his thick neck. “It was only a nightmare. Only a fucking nightmare.”

His head tips to caress the side of his horned brow against me affectionately. “Do you wish to speak of it? I would help you bear the burden of your terror.”

I give him a fond smile but remain silent as I trace the sensitive scales on his jaw with my fingertips. I still feel disoriented from the dream. I don’t want to think about it, much less speak of it. That he wants to be there for me in that capacity is more than enough.

“Speak of what?” Daghel grumbles sleepily. He rolls slightly and squints blearily over his shoulder at us. Then his eyes fly open wide with relief as he turns with a happy bellow and gathers me tightly into his arms. “Merciful Vepra, you are awake!”

“Barely,” I admit with a shaken laugh. “Sorry if I worried you.”

He pulls back to peer at me, his smile fading in a way that breaks my fucking heart. “More than worried,” he admits heavily and exhales a pent breath. “But what matters is that you are okay. I swear that I shall never allow such a thing to happen again.”

I tip my head in confusion. “How do you think you will do that?” My lips twitch faintly when he meets my question with a frustrated expression. “I get that you want to, and I truly love that you want to keep me safe,” I assure him, “but I don’t want that promise from you.”

His brow lowers even further. “Why?”

I offer him a small smile as I rub the deep line drawn between his eyebrows. “Because, for you to make that guarantee, it means I would have to surrender all my autonomy into your keeping and make you responsible in a way that isn’t fair to either of us. I don’t want that, Daghel. I don’t mind that you and Drisk are perfectly happy to slaughter anyone or anything that might hurt me, but my decisions still need to be my own. And while I promise to listen to your input, there are going to be a few hard lines that I need you to respect.”

“You speak of the cold,” he grumbles. “You are afraid of it.”

“It is the terror that haunts her sleep,” Drisk replies, accurately surmising what I suffered within my nightmare with just that small amount of information.

I swallow and nod. Daghel sighs and drags his hand down his face. Cupping his chin, he considers me for a long moment before slowly dipping his head in agreement.

“Very well. I do not wish to chain and break the things I love the most. If there is something that is what you call a hard line, I want you to clearly tell me so that I understand your reasoning, but I wish for you to take my cautioning—and Drisk’s—seriously. The Cold Mountains are not forgiving to people as fragile as humans. They are not even forgiving to orcs, and we have tougher skin,” he adds with a faint twist of his lips.

Love the most? I’m pretty sure he continued speaking after—something about the mountains being unforgiving to humans and orcs—but my brain is still stuck on those three little words. He loves me. Happiness blooms within me despite my attempt to temper it and exercise some self-control.

“You love me?” I whisper, and he regards me first with surprise and then amusement as his icy expression shifts and thaws.

“What I feel… it is love, and more than love. It is as a fire within my soul, uniting us,” he answers, his voice a soothing rumble in my ears. He smirks and nods toward Drisk curled at my side. “Drisk does as well.”

“I have already proclaimed the highest nature of my devotion,” Drisk sighs, “but as Anya was not conscious to enjoy it, if she wishes to narrowly define it in terms such as love, then I can accept the facsimile.”

I bite back a smile at the wyvern’s cocky tone that is completely belied by the soft crooning that fills my ears as his claws gather me closer to his broad chest. I blink back my tears, overwhelmed by emotion.

“I—”

A small knock at the bedchamber door startles me, and I look over as Gwen pops in just even to give Daghel a cautious smile.

“Apologies. Vorn asked me to check on Anya’s recuperation. I had hoped to do so without waking anyone, but I see that everyone is awake already,” she adds, directing a warm smile my way as she walks inside and heads directly for the bed. “I’m so happy to see that you are awake, Anya.”

“No more than me,” I admit with a small chuckle as I wrap the back of my neck where I swear I can still fill the prickle of ice.

The healer chuckles as she takes my wrist in her hand, her fingers finding my pulse. “I’m afraid that healing sleep is not as a gentle as our regular sleep cycles, so it is only natural that you might have had some intense dreams or felt disoriented. But you seem to be okay. Any complaints… stiffness or numbness?”

I shake my head, and she gives me a satisfied smile.

“Excellent. In that case, I will clear you for returning to your regular activities, and most especially these two.” She glances apologetically over at Daghel. “Vorn insisted that, if she was awake and sufficiently recovered, I convey the message that you are to proceed immediately to his private chambers.”

“I will get dressed,” I reply and slide off the bed despite the protests of my males.

“Oh, he didn’t mean you,” Gwen protests, but I wave it off.

“I’ve been lying down too long. I will stretch my legs a bit and provide a little bit of tangible support while Daghel speaks to the prince. Who knows—as I was also there, I might have some important input to offer.”

Daghel nods in agreement and looks over at Gwen. “Our wyva is correct. We are a unit as much as Drisk and I are gathol. She belongs at my side, as is tradition.”

The healer gives us an unconvinced look, but I pointedly ignore her as I stride to my bureau and immediately begin to pull out clothes.

“Very well,” she mumbles as she withdraws from the room. “I will let him know to expect you both.”

“Should expect all three of us if not for the ridiculous rules,” Drisk mutters in complaint several minutes later, and I look over at him with a fond smile.

“You are absolutely right. Perhaps that would be a good use of Daghel’s new standing. Gathols have been treated as pariahs long enough—and unfairly too if Linahna’s suspicions are correct. If we can find a way to spin it so that Vorn sees it as personally beneficial?—”

Drisk snorts contemptuously and drops back down onto the bed, only to stretch out one winged arm and catch me in his claws so that he may easily drag me to him and capture me against his chest. “It is of no use. The power of the gathol is a threat. The first among the gathols in earlier ages were the queens. At that time, gathol referred to the entire mated unit. Only now does it refer to the male components as if to forget the power and necessity of the female’s role. The queens led the gathols in order to protect their clans. All gathols remember that deep within them. They will rally only for what they perceive to be a queen. And Vorn will not allow that.”

“Drisk is correct.” Daghel gives me a grim look. “As it is, he is trying to weaken the presence of the females among the gathols. He will not see any benefit of giving power to the gathols when there is such a strong ancient legacy attached. Even if it is half-forgotten. And so long as he does not directly attempt to interfere with their necessary working unit with their mates, the gathols will not rise against him. Not even for the queen.”

“Should just eat them all,” Drisk grumbles with a huff. Snarling with disgust, he climbs off the bed and stalks toward the door. “I am going to go kill and gnaw on something before I do it to that male’s head and go down in flames and glory when the clan attacks me. Although maybe I should if that will motivate the gathols to do something.”

“Not likely, so keep your own scaly hide intact,” Daghel growls after him.

Daghel’s grim words stay with me well after we leave our rookery and are trapped within Vorn’s private chambers. My impression of Vorn from our brief previous meeting hasn’t improved in the slightest. Not only does he have a small human face down on his bed as he drives his disgusting prick in and out of her ass, but the way he is looking at me, his slimy tongue sweeping over his lips to slap at his tusks, makes my skin prickle with the desire to scrub every inch of my body where his gaze falls with a metal scouring pad.

“What is the state of Glas Village?” he grunts as he adjusts his grip on the woman and drives his cock into her with a hard thrust.

Daghel’s expression gives nothing away, and I work hard to maintain my veneer of icy detachment as he inclines his head toward the prince in assent.

There is a certain satisfaction that comes from hearing the clever weave of nonsense presented as intelligence, and I’m very impressed with the fact that my mate possesses this skill and wields it expertly as he relates the conversation he overheard and the information he acquired from various individuals throughout the village. I’m actually impressed with just how much bullshit he methodically acquired just to piss off prince Vorn. And I can see that said prince is growing increasingly impatient as Daghel expressionlessly recounts the disputes in prices amongst some shopkeepers, a butcher complaining about someone stealing a link of sweetened sausages meant for the town feast, various ongoing courtships, and sundry little bits of gossip from around the village. The prince’s expression grows darker and darker, his lip curling with disgust when Daghel informs him of a small feud between a pair of females, a human and orc who are otherwise the best of friends the rest of the year, as they try to outdo each other with their decorations and festivities planned for Gehl, the latest incident of which resulted in a mass of ice being tossed into a brewing pot of mulled wine right before the Gehl Eve party.

I bite back a smile as the prince bellows in frustration, yanking his cock out of the female as he surges to his feet. The female sags in relief and scampers out of the room without even taking the time to gather her clothes, but this seems to go unnoticed by him as he storms toward Daghel.

“This is not what I sent you there for,” he snarls. “You were to gather intel on where the factions rest that are opposed to my rule.”

“I can only report what I heard and observed,” Daghel points out blandly. “Such information never came up, and when I inquired further… well, you heard everything.”

Vorn’s jaw tightens and cracks, but then he exhales heavily and laughs humorlessly. “Gutless cowards. Of course they will hide. But I know that they are out there.” He stalks back toward his bed and pauses, his brow furrowing when he notices that the bed is empty. He growls and spins away from the bed, panting aggressively as his gaze snaps around the room for a long moment before suddenly recalling our presence. With a hard smile fixed on his face, he turns in place and grin at Daghel. “Just keep your eyes and ears open. They will slip up eventually. In the meantime, I have some things for you to oversee in the next few days.”

I listen while giving the pretense of not paying attention, committing every little detail to memory as Vorn assigns numerous tasks to my mate that will take him over various paths across the mountain in daily, sweeping flights. Although I don’t relish going out in the cold again, I harden my resolve, recalling Drisk’s words. It will be a cold day in the nine hells before I abandon my place at their side.

At the corner of my vision, however, I see a black shadow slipping along the walls like dripping tar. I peer at it as I watch long fingers working over the stone, sliding in an almost oily fashion, yet there is no sheen to it. It seems to gather in on itself as it flows lower down the wall, collecting and gathering into a form just behind Daghel. My brow puckers as I stare at it. It has merely stopped there on the wall as if it were a spider gathering itself up to strike. Not a drip oozes from it now—it is just a stain of a shadow that seems to take more of a form. It almost seems to bulge in a kind of optical illusion, as if reaching… reaching…I jump, startled when Vorn suddenly laughs.

“Never mind about the villages, then. They would not dare to incur the wrath of my commanders—not even the chieftains would risk their pretty heads. Leave the villages to their backward seasonal superstitions. With you leading the gathol in methodical sweeps over the mountains, we are far more likely to discover an encampment of those belonging to a faction. Your first sweep is at noon, tomorrow. Now get out of here and leave me,” he growls as his eyes search the room once more as he lewdly squeezes his cock. “I am in need of a hot, sweet cunt to wet my prick… unless you would like your female to be honored?”

It is all I can do to keep from gaping at him in disgust and disbelief. What’s more, when I look over at Daghel, I notice that the shadowy stain is gone, as if it has never been there.

“What the hell?” I whisper, and Daghel cuts me a look of warning as he pulls me to his side.

“She is not deserving of it,” Daghel says emphatically with a brief bow of his head to Vorn. I stare at him in surprise until I realize that he assumed my comment was for Vorn. I shake my head and glance back at the wall again. Perhaps I am losing my mind. Whether that’s the case or not, however, I allow him to draw me away before I also lose control over my mouth. “We shall leave you to your rut, my lord,” he says deferentially, then pulls me quickly from the room before the prince has a chance to insist.

Daghel’s face tightens with fury as he glares at the door, but I just barely resist giggling at his angry expression and I pull him down the hallway with me as we make our way back to our rookery.

“What did you say to him?” I whisper the moment I am certain that we are far away enough that there is less chance of someone overhearing.

A cold smile tugs at Daghel’s mouth. “I merely stroked his ego—which is as over-inflated as his enchanted prick and twice as useless.”

My lips twitch in response as I quicken my pace as we continue to hurry down the hall. He glances at me again as his smile widens further.

“I merely pointed out to him that with his iron control over the mountain, that chieftains would be too frightened to offend him and his commanders. Logically, they would wish to make a consolidated camp far from the villages where they would be less likely to be noticed and easier to overlook.”

I frown skeptically. That makes sense, but it seems too easy. “Whenever we’ve had rebellions, there was always a stronghold within the cities themselves from which the operations are staged.”

“Of course, but with his ego it is much easier for him to assume that they are like rabbits in the snow, quivering far away from the eyes of everyone as they plot,” Daghel explains. “There will be minimal casualties this way if an attack does come, but it means that we need to be prepared for long, brutal flights in the cold.”

I nod in agreement and quicken my pace to a trot at his side, eager to return to our rookery and wash the filth off me from simply being in Vorn’s presence.

At length we return to the rookery, silent but touching each other in small ways that convey more than words ever could. Drisk looks up as we enter the main room, his amber eyes narrowing with interest as we share with him all that happened in Vorn’s private room. The wyvern stretches like a cat in the cream, but he does not remark upon it. Instead, he hums thoughtfully and surprises me by asking how I enjoyed seeing the festivities of Glas Village.

I stare at him for a moment at the sudden shift in the conversation. “It was really lovely. All the rich traditions were very charming. The only thing that was missing was a Yulen tree and it would have looked like something every child from the streets of Zyl dreams of.”

“What tree?” Drisk asks and glances back at Daghel, searching for support. My other male simply shrugs back at him so that Drisk eyes me suspiciously. “Why would you wish to have a tree? There are plenty outdoors.”

“A Yulen tree,” I correct with amusement. “It is a custom to decorate a tree for the holiday with many shiny and handmade ornaments, to bring festive cheer into our homes and lives to share with our loved ones. It represents all the hope and joy of the season—a special magic that comes to life.”

“By putting stuff on a tree?”

“Yes, it is a Yulen tradition,” I confirm as I begin to laugh.

The wyvern proceeds to roll his eyes as he grumbles, making me laugh harder at his antics . “Ridiculous elvish custom.” He peers at me and back over at Daghel for a moment before grunting at his blatant amusement. “Very well. When the weather calms, I will fetch this ridiculous tree when we are returning from one of Vorn’s equally ridiculous tasks.”

Delighted, I throw my arms around his neck and hug him tightly, fully aware of the way I am pressed against the rigid and defined muscles of his chest. Finally, a Yulen tree! Even as a courtesan, I hadn’t been able to afford such an extravagance! Not to mention that it was heavily frowned on to indulge in such things that might appear too homey to gentleman clients seeking an escape and outlet from the domestic seasonal bliss.

Well, fuck all those old rules. I am now enjoying my domestic seasonal bliss, and I’m going to do it right.