Page 158 of Ensnared by the Pack: The Complete Series (Destined Realms #3)
AUDREY
The tour marched down the main road through Old Town and into the newer part of Stonehaven. Cyrus took the lead and talked with the King of Lais, His Majesty King Gower, who was a tall, broad-shoulder man in a crisp military uniform.
The king would have looked imposing if he hadn’t been walking between Cyrus — who was taller and broader — and Pimryl, the imposing female leader of Ocasha, a Dedearc colony on the coast north of the Kingdom of Lais who stood a head and a half taller than him.
Just behind Pimryl’s shoulder walked the smallest Dedearc of the Dedearc representatives who I was told was the only male in the party. He repeated everything Cyrus and King Gower said to Pimryl in a soft, unobtrusive voice.
“This is our school,” Cyrus announced, pointing to the large, three-story building where I’d attended Nova’s first aid class. “It’s mandatory for all pups when they turn five to attend the school for ten years.”
“Starting at age five, all children must attend school for ten years,” the male Dedearc repeated.
Pimryl nodded, keeping her attention on Cyrus and the school. “No wonder your warriors are so tenacious. You start training them at such a young age.”
“It’s impressive that you train your warriors for so long,” the male Dedearc said to Cyrus even though Cyrus kept looking at Pimryl.
“Not just warriors,” Cyrus replied, leading the group back to the main road and continuing our slow journey to the market where we were going to stop for lunch. “Scientists, engineers, artists, musicians, writers, philosophers. The first six years include every subject. After that, pups can pick a specialization or not. They can also voluntarily study for more than ten years.”
“We have a similar system,” Representative Folmar said. She was a stocky, middle-aged woman and the leader of the gryphons shifters.
The male Dedearc repeated what both Cyrus and Folmar said, and Pimryl nodded. It was as if she didn’t understand what the others were saying.
I turned my attention to the other group of humans from the Independent State of Ciliran and the three merchants who were hoping to sell their grimalkin killing weapons to the Alliance.
Jundar, who was the representative from Ciliran and the Speaker of the Alliance — kind of like the Speaker of the House — had a young woman repeating everything, while the merchants didn’t. But there were times when the merchants said something to each other and no one seemed to understand them.
Well, shit, I mentally huffed at myself as realization hit me so hard Knox sent worry through our bond and Bishop jerked his attention away from what he’d been saying to Folmar to look at me.
What? Bishop asked in my head, drawing us to the side of the group as Lucius pointed out another building of interest.
“Those two—” I whispered, pointing at the male Dedearc and the human who repeated everything. “They’re translators, aren’t they.”
Bishop frowned. “It’s taken you this long to figure that out? They’re obviously speaking different languages.”
“Not to me.”
My thoughts lurched to the memory of being at the death god’s altar and Bishop reciting the spell to break my bond with Knox. He’d read the spell off a piece of paper but it had been as if he’d forgotten how to speak. His pronunciation had become weird and the words had been broken into syllables.
I rolled my eyes at myself. “What language was the spell to break my bond in?”
“An ancient dialect. Whil assured me my pronunciation was good, but I’ve wondered if I was the one who screwed up the spell.”
“If that’s what happened, I’m glad you did screw it up,” I said, leaning into him. As much as Knox and I’d had a rocky start, I knew in my soul that being mating to him, just like being mated to Bishop, was the way it was supposed to be.
“Why the questions?” he asked.
“Because I understood what you said for the spell, and I understand what Pimryl and Jundar are saying before their translators translate for them. It’s all English to me.”
Bishop’s eyes widened. “The magic that helps you understand us, lets you understand every language?”
“Looks like,” I replied as we slowed to walk behind the group of delegates and their aides.
Cyrus, you need to know this, Bishop said with his shifter telepathy.
Cyrus gave an ever-so-slight nod and gestured for Lucius to explain the next point of interest.
What? Cyrus asked.
Audrey doesn’t need a translator.
Because of the magic that lets her understand us? Cyrus asked, instantly jumping to the same conclusion Bishop had.
Exactly, Bishop replied.
Stay near the middle of the group, Cyrus commanded without any additional questions or hesitation, sending a strange sensation rushing through my chest.
He trusted me. He had no doubt that I was telling the truth, and it felt weird to not have to submit to questions and criticisms and disbelief.
When the tour is done, Cyrus said, you can tell me if you overheard anything that we should be worried about.
Especially from the merchants, Bishop added, his agreement with Cyrus’s order to double down on my spying assignment and the confidence that I could do it flooding through our bond. I’ve got a bad feeling about them.
Me, too, Cyrus confessed before turning to Folmar and answering her question without missing a beat, giving no indication that he’d just had a mental conversation with us.
Then Cyrus stopped in front of a long, squat building on the corner of the main street and a narrower one and explained that it was Stonehaven’s public works building, giving me and Bishop a chance to ease into the center of the group.
Jundar, the representative from Ciliran, asked a question that was word for word translated by the young woman standing slightly behind him, and Bishop answered.
“So there’s no private construction?” One of the merchants asked. He was a lanky man who was almost as tall as Bishop but half of Bishop’s weight and wore a silky robe with thick, complicated embroidery at the neck, cuffs, and hem.
“What I really want to see is their armory,” another merchant with a similar build in a similar robe replied.
The third merchant, the shortest and stockiest of the group, nodded to Merchant Two but no one else reacted, and Jundar’s translator didn’t repeat his words.
One of the Ciliran men in military uniform gave the merchants a quick glance before jerking his attention forward and following the people in front of him as Cyrus turned off the main road, heading to the market.
“You can glare at them all you like,” the soldier beside him said, his voice low enough that the human merchants wouldn’t have heard him, but all the shifters — and me, who was right behind him — still could.
“I don’t like them,” he replied. “If their weapons are as powerful as they say, we have no choice but to buy them at the price they’re selling them at. We can’t even negotiate. If we do, they’ll either sell them to a hostile country or outright attack us.”
“That’s why the whole Alliance has twice as many soldiers as usual for this meeting.”
I frowned. It looked like Cyrus, Bishop, and I weren’t the only ones who had bad feelings about the merchants.
“Trying to learn Cilirinian?” A broad-shouldered gryphon shifter about my age asked.
Ferocious feralness radiated off him, and I could sense an enormous alpha power within him … which was impossible. I should have only been able to sense a wolf’s level of alpha power, not that of another shifter.
“My mother’s been trying to learn it for years,” he said, jerking his chin toward Folmar who was deep in conversation with Cyrus and Pimryl. “I’m told the trick is to listen to the pitch as well as the words.” He flashed me a chagrined smile as we strolled into the heart of the market, people making way for our larger group. “But I’m tone-deaf, so I really can’t say.”
I had no idea how to respond to him. I couldn’t tell him I’d been eavesdropping. That would ruin my advantage over everyone who spoke a different language.
“Does it frustrate you?” I finally asked after too long a pause, making him frown. “Being tone-deaf, I mean.”
“You have no idea,” he said with a groan and a self-deprecating smile. “One-third of our courtship rituals involve singing.”
“What are the other two-thirds?” I asked.
“Displaying our feathers and a little primal chasing.” He dropped his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “Thank the Sisters they gave me beautiful feathers and a love for the hunt, or my mother would have completely given up on me.”
His expression soured with his last words, and I opened my mouth to ask him about what he meant when a terrified scream tore through the mix of voices from the market.
My pulse lurched.
Oh, no. Please, no.
Then a wave of panicked people rushed our way followed by six enormous grimalkins.