Page 78 of A War Apart

“My father said there used to be Drakra settlements all over this side of the country,” Lada said. “After the Spider Wars, the treaty restricted the Drakra to the mountains and claimed the towns for Inzhria.” She looked to Xhela for confirmation.

I glanced at Lada, surprised, as the Mandible nodded. I’d known the Drakra had lost land during the wars, but I didn’t remember their territory ever extending beyond the mountains.

“You’re well educated on the topic,” Xhela said. “You can’t have been more than a baby at the time of the last war.”

Lada smiled wryly. “My father insisted I have an understanding of the tsardom’s most recent history, given my parentage.”

“I see. I suppose you weren’t born at the time of the wars, Yakov?”

“No,” Yakov said. “My father fought in the last one, though.” His eyes widened as he realized what he’d said, and he smacked his hand over his mouth. I tensed, watching the Drakra woman for her response. We would have enough difficulty making this alliance without insulting our hosts.

Xhela waved a hand, unbothered. “Don’t worry. My parents met on the battlefield during the first war. He fought for the humans, and she for the Drakra. I don’t hold a soldier’s battles against him—or against his children.”

I knew the Drakra took prisoners of war as slaves. Had her father been forced to sire children on a Drakra woman? The practice of slavery was monstrous, and I felt an accord with Prince Radomir, who had made his distaste for this alliance clear. The tsar couldn’t allow such a practice to continue.

It wasn’t my place to dictate what the tsar could or could not allow, I reminded myself. I was a soldier, a loyal servant of Borislav. I was here to serve, not to make demands.

When we finished eating, Xhela led us through the narrow streets. “This town has been home to our people since we emerged from Xyxra’s eggs that formed these mountains.” She gestured to the temple, several streets above us. “You’ve seen the temple, the high priestess’s home. Each town has its own temple, though the priestess resides here.”

“If she lives here, why build temples in the other towns?” Yakov asked, face screwed up in confusion.

“Does your tsar remain in only one castle?” she retorted. “The priestess lives here, yes, but she does travel to the other towns in her domain. A town would be dishonored if it didn’t provide a dwelling place for the goddess and her chosen mouthpiece.”

She pointed out sights as we walked—the home of a war hero who perished in the last Spider War, the place to buy the finest wool, the ancestral home of the former high priestess’s family. I listened in fascination, grateful for her insight into the culture. Despite my initial impression, the town was not a ghost town. The Spider Wars had taken their toll, but the town was healing. The Drakra were a resilient people.

We turned onto the street below the temple, and a colorful scene came into view, a striking contrast to the rocky grays of the rest of the town. Tapestries hung outside the houses, lining the street with brilliant pieces of art. Each piece was detailed and unique, some depicting intricate scenes, while others were an abstract explosion of color. Along the street, weavers, both men and women, sat on low stools, working threads into designs.

“Weaving is sacred in our culture,” Xhela explained as we walked. “The houses nearest to the temple are reserved for weavers and their families.”

I stopped to watch a woman working on what appeared to be a shirt. Her hands moved almost too fast for me to see, weaving together strands of brilliant reds and browns.

“They’re all handwoven,” Xhela said. “You won’t find any lazy human looms here in the mountains—meaning no offense,” she added belatedly.

Lada stopped next to me. “None taken. The artistry is incredible.”

Xhela practically preened at the compliment. “Drakra weavers are the finest in the world.”

It was late morning by the time we reached the temple. The high priestess waited for us, not in the formal altar hall where we’d first met her, nor in the cozy room where we’d dined, but in a third room. I looked around as we entered. Furs covered the floor, as in the other places I’d seen, but the tables in this room were taller, surrounded by woven stools. Shelves, too many to hold the few books in the room, lined the walls.

The priestess, sitting on one of the low stools, gestured for us to be seated.

“I have consulted the goddess regarding Borislav’s desire to form an alliance,” she said without preamble.

My mouth was cottony. What would we do if she refused to negotiate?Please, Otets, let her agree.

“The webs tell me Miroslav’s reign will end within the year. Borislav’s future is harder to read.” She peered at the table, as though seeing the omens of her goddess in it. “He has many paths he may take, and his web is tangled up with many others.” She looked up at me, her yellow eyes narrowing. “Yours in particular.”

Yakov and Lada looked at me, and I frowned, meeting the priestess’s stare. “What does that mean?”

She leaned in, resting her chin on her knuckles, and considered me with furrowed brows. “Reading the webs takes skill. Many have misread them to their ruin. I do not know what this means, but your choices give Borislav the crown—or keep it from him.”

I swallowed. That didn’t sound promising. But hadn’t I already had an influence on the war, just by telling his story? Maybe that was all her webs meant. If it wasn’t all superstitious nonsense. The Drakra had magic, I knew, but that didn’t mean they could see the future.

“If my decision can make Borislav tsar, he will be tsar,” I said firmly. “But what is your decision, high priestess? The supportof the Drakra could bring him to the throne sooner, saving countless lives.”

Xhela, sitting next to the priestess, cut in. “Saving countless human lives, perhaps. Many of our people would still die.”

She wasn’t wrong. The Drakra were already depleted by the Spider Wars. I opened my mouth to respond, but Lada beat me to it.

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