Page 14 of Daghel

He snorts mirthfully and tosses an iron key at me as he pushes away from the wall to head back in the direction from which we came. I shift my mate’s weight to snatch the key from the air with one hand. Holding the cool metal in my hand, I watch him for only a moment before following the stairs the rest of the way to the dark door at the top.

My expression hardens as I regard the entrance to the rookery and slip the key into the lock. The heavy door groans as I push it open, and it occurs to me that I’ve been put in a long-abandoned rookery just off the palace. My lips twist grimly as I pocket the key in the small pouch on my belt. The rookery is cold without any fire to warm it. The entire rookery has the feeling of something long dormant and layers of dust on all the furnishings. I’m not the least bit surprised that, when I enter the bedchamber, there is a similarly thick layer of dust on the furs stacked on the bed and a pile of cold ash in the small, neglectedhearth near the bed. It is barely habitable. I growl to myself as I dump the furs from the bed onto the floor, kicking up a cloud of dust. The heavily stuffed mattress beneath appears clean and at least relatively dust free, so I lower my female onto it and gently brush back her hair from her face. She is so small and fragile beneath my claws. I can not believe that she is so fierce.

I am captivated by her. And I have been ever since Drisk tore through the top of the train and showed me the first glimpse of what he knew by scent. My mate. Our mate. I can feel it deep in my bones now that I’ve had a moment to get a good look at her and draw her scent deeply into me. I understand why our ancestors valued the wyvern’s choosing so highly. Although an orc’s nose is keen, and among the Cold Mountain orcs it is even sharper because of our breeding, a wyvern can scent for miles.

I should summon Drisk. He could manage well enough on his own in gathering the furs from our bed and returning with them so that we can keep our female comfortably warm until I can clean out the hearths and fires can be lit. Reaching up with one hand, I unfasten the flight mask and toss it on the bed. Opening my mind to Drisk, I softly whistle the precise notes of our call. Although the connection, once made, is more difficult to access without the assistance of the strands, I’m grateful that it is one benefit that developed over the years. I am also aware of the fact that it is a condition that no other gathol enjoys. His hum of response returns immediately, rolling through me with his affirmation.

“We have been assigned a new rookery within the palace cliff face. Bring the bedding and whatever you can manage,” I instruct him as my gaze drifts disdainfully over the chamber. “It needs a lot of work.”

“No welcoming fires? Imagine that,”he scoffs wryly, and I cannot help but grimace in agreement.“Is that what the spoiled princeling wanted—to give us a new rookery where he cankeep us under this thumb, to use us?”There is a note of sly speculation in the wyvern’s mental voice that brings a reluctant smile to lips.

“Not exactly,” I reply. “It has… conditions. One of many that comes with being permitted to have a mate.”

“He thinks to permit us to mate?”The wyvern’s amusement sharpens lethally with a distinct edge of bloodlust that seems to be unparallel among wyverns to my knowledge.“Who here assumes to control our mating? You should slaughter him and let his blood run over the stones as a warning to any orc who seeks to set their boot upon you.”

“That would do remarkable things for our mate’s acceptance,” I reply dryly. “I do not wish her to be alienated from the clan as we are. The clan may hold some odd sort of respect toward us as Vorn says—and wants to capitalize on—but that does not mean that they will be welcoming to her. Especially if we start slaughtering its prominent members.”

Drisk grunts in reluctant acknowledgment. As much as he despises the Cold Fang Clan and insists that being a drehl is not only a special mark, but that the clan is somehow beneath me, I know that he will not do anything that will harm our female.

“What do we need?”he replies sourly.

“There’s not much of anything,” I grumble. “We will need most things transferred to our new rookery to make it livable. But our first priority is for our female. She is cold and injured?—”

“Injured?”Drisk falls deadly silent at the other end of our bond.

“Nothing the healer can’t fix,” I quickly assure him. “Our mate has proved to the clan that she possesses teeth. This will elevate her within the clan’s esteem. And I have dealt with the offender in a way that will make him rethink coming anywhere near her.”

“You should have dealt with him in a more permanent fashion,”Drisk observes with a mental snap of his teeth.

“I wanted to,” I admit, and the darkness rolls in my gut in sinister agreement.

“But you did not wish to make things more difficult for her,”the male echoes with a sigh. I get the mental sense of his movements as he broadcasts them to me through our bond, but I am distracted by a sharp knock at the door.

“The healer is here,” I inform him. “Let me know when you have arrived at the eastern gateway of the palace rookeries. I will identify our rookery when you get here.”

“The eastern rookeries are nearly falling down.”I hear the resigned dismay in his voice, and I understand the fury he is holding back in that one simple statement.

One of these days, Drisk will attempt to burn the entire Cold Fang territory to the ground, and I do not know if I will have the strength against my seething darkness to stop him.

Reluctant to leave my female’s side, I slide off the bed and head toward the door as another knock, this one somewhat harder, echoes through the rookery. I walk through the main chamber, the echo of my passage within the nearly empty space emphasizing its decrepit state. A fist strikes the door again and barely sounds once before I wrench the door open and peer down at the female staring up at me with wide brown eyes with a large steaming washbasin in her hands.

My brow rises in response. A human? That is unexpected. I didn’t know that Ahandra had a human among her apprentices. As I stare down at her, I gradually become aware that she is shrinking uncertainly into herself.

“I-I’m Gwen. T-there is a h-human in n-need of healing?” she whispers.

Although I’m not blocking the entrance, I realize that I may be standing just close enough to make the femaleuncomfortable. Stepping back, I wave her through with a grunt. She scurries through with a nervous glance cast in my direction, and I close the door behind her.

“This way,” I rumble and turn abruptly to head through the rookery.

I hear the rush of footsteps follow behind me, but I don’t look back. She seems uneasy with my focus on her, so I keep my gaze trained straight ahead until we arrive at the bedchamber. I enter wordlessly and take a seat on a large chair at the other end of the room, facing the bed. My gaze falls upon my female, and from my peripheral vision, I see the apprentice hurry through the room. Her tiny gasp of dismay echoes through the bedchamber, but I avoid looking directly at her, though the water in the large bowl she is carrying sloshes loudly in a way that makes my ear twitch. At least the little healer seems to be properly caring for my mate as she carefully unwinds the rudimentary bandage and bathes the wound.

Settling back in the chair, I cross my arms over my chest and wait for Drisk’s signal. Given her gentle care, I am certain I can trust her with my female when I must go down the tunnel chamber that provides a direct access point for the wyvern into the rookery.

Chapter

Nine

ANYA

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