Page 72 of A War Apart

Lada bowed. “Thank you.”

As the woman left, I looked around. The house was one room, with low tables on each end. A pile of unlit firewood filled the pit in the center of the room, beneath a hole in the ceiling that couldn’t quite be called a chimney. Furs covered the ground, but there were no chairs. I wondered if the lack of chairs was calculated, meant to discomfit us, or if the Drakra simply didn’t use them. Given the warm, comfortable appearance of the house, I was inclined to believe the latter. I hadn’t noticed any in our drive through the town, at least.

Yakov took seat by the fire pit while Lada started a fire. “Well, that went well,” he said drily.

“I expected her to say more,” Lada said. “But she didn’t have us killed, at least.”

Yakov fished in his pack and pulled out a strip of dried meat. “Still, she could have said a little more.”

Lada swiped the food from his hand, and Yakov reached into the pack again.

I shook my head at their childish behavior. “She’s giving herself some time to consider before listening to what we have to say. It’ll probably be a while before someone comes to get us.”

“Probably,” Lada agreed. She pulled a dice bag from her own pack. “Might as well settle in for a bit. Anyone want to play?”

I shook my head and seated myself a ways back from the fire. I wasn’t in the mood for dice, but I watched as the other two began their game. They were both careful to avoid touching each other, as I’d noticed during the journey. I’d warned Yakov to stay away from her, but I no longer believed Lada posed a threat to him. She clearly felt the same for him as he did for her, and he’d never been one to let my interference prevent him from going after something he wanted. Was it fear of her father that was stopping them, or something else?

It wasn’t any of my business, I reminded myself. Mila would call me an interfering busybody for getting involved. Though she’d secretly be watching them as well. She was worse than an old woman when it came to matchmaking.

As I’d expected, it was a couple hours before someone came to meet us. The woman who came to the door was tall for a Drakra, and her skin was slightly softer and pinker than the rock-like Drakra skin. Her eyes were more brown than yellow. “I am Xhela na Zanik, Mandible to the high priestess.”

“You’re human,” Yakov blurted as we stood to greet her.

The woman stiffened, and I shot him a glare. The Mandible was second only to the high priestess herself among the Drakra. If Yakov couldn’t control his mouth, we could end up as sacrifices to their Spider Goddess, or worse.

“Half,” she said.

“My apologies, Xhela na Zanik.” Lada bowed. “We meant no offense.” She scowled at him, and he mumbled an apology.

Xhela nodded in acknowledgment. “Yixa na Chekke, voice of Xyxra, wishes you to attend her at dinner.”

“We would be honored,” Lada said.

Xhela led us back to the temple, but rather than stopping in the main hall, we went through one of the doorways I had seen earlier. Inside, brightly colored woven tapestries decorated the walls of the warm room. The tapestries didn’t depict any particular imagery, just geometric designs, but they were still beautiful. My eyes caught on one in particular, a blue- and red-striped piece that reminded me of the quilt Mila had made in the first year of our marriage. I felt a twinge of homesickness. Did she miss home as much as I did?

Thinking of Mila fueled that ever-present spark of resentment at her for leaving. I looked away from the tapestry and put her out of my mind.

The high priestess, Yixa na Chekke, sat on the floor at the head of a low table laden with food. A short-haired Drakra man sat next to her, and across from him, two small children squirmed in their seats.

I had expected something more formal. This was less an ambassadorial dinner than a family one, and it felt as though we were intruding.

“Please, sit,” the priestess told us. “Be welcome. Meet my husband, Xolok, and our sons.”

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Lada said. Yakov and I echoed her as we, along with Xhela na Zanik, took our seats on the furs around the table.

Yixa na Chekke served us herself. The food was simple, similar to what I ate at home, and the familiar fare filled me with a comfortable, homey feeling. There were clay-baked birds—something like a quail, I thought—and currant jelly, with a flat type of bread I didn’t recognize.

Once everyone had been served, the priestess turned to Lada. “You are the daughter of Radomir, prince of the Blood, are you not, Blood Bastard?”

She was well-informed, even if we had taken her by surprise. Lada dipped her head. “I am, Lady.”

The priestess raised one dark eyebrow. “Your father fought against Borislav in the first rebellion. How do you find yourself speaking on behalf of Borislav now?”

“My father is a religious man.” Lada gave a small smile. “In order to make a Disinheritance, certain standards must be met. My father didn’t feel that those standards had been met at the time of the last rebellion.”

“But he has changed his mind, now,” Xhela na Zanik, the Mandible, said.

“He has, yes. Thanks to Han Antonovich.” Lada gestured at me.

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