Page 29 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)

Chapter Eighteen

He woke to the soothing sound of a needle and thread being pulled through fabric. It was a perfectly rhythmic sound composed of several parts: a barely audible pop of metal through the weave of taut fabric, the draw of the thread, a slight pause, then another pop.

It wasn’t a sound he was used to anymore.

When he was a boy, living in a shack on a mountain with parents fighting for the family’s survival, he’d often heard it in the evenings as his father mended clothing by the fire.

His isa didn’t sleep until his mate came home from her service to Isand Jaak and he needed to keep his hands busy.

Taevas had never seen the appeal of sewing, though he appreciated the skill.

His focus had gone to training as a carpenter.

Like his father, he enjoyed having work to do, and carpentry connected him with his childhood hero, the greatest dragon of the A?daja line: Isand Vanasarvik.

Taevas idolized the dragon who’d begun life as a lowly carpenter, only to Choose a princess threatened by warring dragons greedy for her lands and become the greatest of the A?daja line.

It’d been good for Taevas to have a trade, it connected him with Vanasarvik, and it calmed his young mind when fear for his mother sought to drive him mad. And then, like the sound of sewing in the evening and everything else he cherished, it was taken from him.

Taevas opened his bleary eyes. It took him several slow seconds to comprehend where he was.

Exhaustion and a dull ache permeated every cell of his body.

He knew that he ought to spring up, to summon the urgency his situation demanded, but whatever reserve he’d drawn from to chase his nymph had been utterly depleted.

He could only blink slowly, his gaze drifting until it found the most important thing in the room — Alashiya.

She sat at her workbench, her back to him, as she labored in the soft yellow light of a lamp. Everytime the rhythm of her sewing paused, it was because she’d stretched the thread to its limit, allowing him to glimpse the flicker of silver as her needle just crested the rise of her shoulder.

The air was rich with the scent of something savory.

A brief pang of shame struck him when he recalled where he lay, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

Crawling into her nest while she was away wasn’t the same as being invited, but he hadn’t been able to help himself.

Being in a more comfortable nest would help him recover faster, he’d reasoned, so it was in fact necessary.

Another failed negotiation with the hungry beast inside him. Another concession to parts of him he’d believed were locked away for good.

He’d been upset with her when she left. It burned something vital in him that he’d been powerless to protect her, that she’d defied his authority and waltzed out like she had — ignoring his command again.

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the ruler of her territory. People respected him. They did what he said whenever he said it. It was galling to be defied by such a soft, breakable creature, and it was even more troubling to realize he could hate something and find it arousing at the same time.

But he wasn’t angry at her anymore. How could he be? Taevas gazed at the perfect, soft lines of her form with a raw sort of longing. He wanted her nearer. He wanted her in the nest.

Swallowing that instinctive urge, he croaked, “Did you find a phone?”

The rhythm of her sewing halted. Alashiya twisted around in her old wooden chair.

Her brows were drawn low over her sad eyes.

She looked concerned when she stood up from her chair and crossed the room.

Kneeling down beside him, she reached out to touch his forehead with her inner wrist. “Fever’s gone down a bit and you seem more lucid. How are you feeling?”

“Like I was drugged for two weeks,” he replied, a touch crankier than he knew she deserved. “Did you find a phone, Shiya?”

He had vague memories of her return to the house and of being coerced into swallowing a few chalky pills, but no memory of what she’d told him. It vexed him that she’d gone into town on her own, but it might’ve been worth it if she’d succeeded in whatever plan took her there.

Removing her wrist, Alashiya sat back on her haunches. The concern in her eyes didn’t lessen. “You’re still warm. We should get some food in you and then more pills. If your fever doesn’t go down by tomorrow, I really think we should call the ran—”

“Metsalill,” he interrupted, “the phone.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I went to the store to ask, and the only man who I know owns a sat phone was there, but I wasn’t able to ask him if I could use it.”

Frustration made his tone harsh when he demanded, “Why? Damn it, Shiya, you have no idea how important this is!”

Taevas didn’t often raise his voice. It wasn’t necessary. The times he did need to make an impression on someone or intimidate them into submission, he never let his emotions get the better of him. If he shouted, it was a precisely aimed strike, not out of some explosion of emotion.

But this was different.

Alashiya recoiled as if he’d struck her. Aghast, Taevas tried to reach for her, but she evaded his seeking hand. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to—”

“I tried,” she explained, small fists curling in her lap, “but Monty is— It doesn’t matter.

I tried to ask, but he was busy with a hunting party.

He’s a guide. They were getting supplies for a trip.

When one of them started talking to me, Monty and the guy got into an argument. I didn’t feel safe, so I left.”

Trying to muddle through the sick feeling of guilt that turned his insides to sludge and the details of her story at the same time, Taevas attempted to rise onto his elbow. Struggling, he demanded, “Who’s Monty? And what the fuck do you mean you didn’t feel safe?”

She wouldn’t look at him, but she didn’t hesitate to slip a few pillows under his shoulders to help him sit up. Because she was a sweet soul. Taevas cursed his short temper to the vilest pit in the underworld. I must be better than this for her.

“Monty is a hunter who lives about an hour from here. He’s one of those anti-government nuts who lives off the grid. I know he has a sat phone, so I thought I could ask to borrow it.”

Aware that it wouldn’t be wise to mention that Alashiya herself lived off the grid, Taevas pressed, “And you couldn’t ask because he got into an argument with some guy at the store?”

“It was his client,” she replied, nervously smoothing a curl behind her ear. “He said they were going out for a week-long hunt. But the guy started talking to me and Monty got— how Monty gets. The client got mad and I didn’t want to get in the middle of a fight between the two, so I had to go.”

She said the last part quickly, defensively, like she thought he would get angry at her for leaving when she felt threatened. Taevas supposed that was fair, if inaccurate.

“Good girl,” he praised, meaning it with everything in him. A tightness took up residence in his chest at the thought of Alashiya being stuck between two brawling idiots when he wasn’t there to protect her. His breath hitched at the mere thought.

“That was the right thing to do, metsalill. If you ever feel threatened, you should run.”

“Didn’t do me a lot of good with you.”

He offered her a small, sharp smile. “The rules are different with me. You should always run toward me, never away.”

Alashiya gave him a dubious look. “I thought you were angry.”

“I’m frustrated and worried about my people,” he explained, shaking his aching head, “but your safety is worth more than a phone. We’ll find another way.”

“Well, Monty should be back in a week.”

Rubbing his stinging eyes, Taevas muttered, “A week is a very long time when a people are missing their leader.”

“I understand better than you probably think. I’ll try to think of something else.” Alashiya rose from her kneeling position. Speaking almost to herself, she added, “Honestly, I’d really rather not ask Monty if I can help it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

She moved toward the kitchen. He couldn’t see her face, but the line of her shoulders was tight when she answered, “We have a history.”

“What kind of history?”

But she was already out of the room, leaving his question unanswered until an unbearable length of time later, when she returned with a tray laden with two earthenware bowls, a dish of what looked like flat bread loosely wrapped in cloth, and a pair of glasses.

Kneeling gracefully enough that she hardly rattled the dishes, she set the tray in his lap before removing what had to be her portion. Settling on a cushion, she placed her bowl on her lap and answered, “After my grandfather died, Monty asked me if he could use my land for hunting. I said no.”

Whatever it was she’d made for dinner smelled mouthwatering. Taevas glanced at the bowl — some sort of green stew swirled with cream or yogurt — but he couldn’t unclench his muscles enough to allow him to try it.

“Is that all?” he asked, tail rattling softly beneath the blankets of her nest.

Men, he knew, could do a great many terrible things when their demands weren’t met. It made his blood run cold, thinking of Alashiya being alone on her wild land, at the mercy of any greedy being who might turn his eye toward her.

Alashiya leaned over to tug at the cloth covering the bread. Steam, carrying the heavenly scent of the bread, filled the air as she plucked one from the pile.

“No.” She tore a piece off the bread and dipped it into her stew. “He also wants me to marry him.”

If his wings hadn’t been damaged, they would’ve been mantled over his head the instant the words left her mouth. Speaking in a hard, flat voice, Taevas repeated, “He wants to marry you.”

“My land is better than his,” she explained, shrugging. “And he’s a mean, lonely man. I think he wants a woman to take care of him, and I think he’s tired of not having sex.”