Page 24 of Daghel

“He should not because it is a disrespect to you,” Daghel quickly replies, his voice dropping in temperature with his mounting fury. “You are my mate. You are Drisk’s mate. It is clear that we have chosen you and will want no other. He sought to embarrass you so that you would believe you were not the first chosen.”

“I told you that you should have let me eat him,”Drisk rumbles, and Daghel inclines his head in agreement.

“If he should attempt to err again where our mate is concerned, cleanse the Fang Peaks of him.” His cloak flutters around him as he spins toward the door. “In the meantime, we have our ‘duties.’”

I scamper from the bed and hurry toward the wardrobe that had been just recently set up for me in the far corner of the room. “Wait! I would like to come.”

Daghel pauses, an expression of intrigue entering his eyes as they follow me. “Dress warmly then. The air is bitterly cold today, and it will feel even colder as we fly.”

“Warm… got it,” I reply as I yank open the wardrobe cabinets and inspect its contents.

“Wear your thick boots,” he adds as if in afterthought. “And dress for comfort and ease of movement. After the aerialinspections, Drisk will drop us just outside the lower village. From there, we will need to do rounds on foot. I trust you know how to protect yourself with a blade,” he says.

“Not at all,” I reply as I pull out a woolen gown and bodice to go over my chemise and glance back at him curiously. I altogether forget what I’m doing because he goes to another cabinet and pulls out a belt with a sheathed dagger hanging from it. “What is that for? Won’t we have Drisk there? I don’t think there is better protection,” I add with a chuckle.

He does not laugh, nor does he return my smile. Even Drisk growls quietly as he climbs from the bed.

“Wyverns are not allowed within the villages beyond our access to the rookeries,”Drisk hisses.

“What? But… that’s absurd. You have an entire culture built around the wyverns and the bonding of gathols. Why wouldn’t a wyvern be allowed in the village?”

Now that they mention it, however, I seem to recall the one particularly brutish orc saying something similar when I first arrived. He had forced Daghel into making Drisk leave before taking him away from me.

“It was not always like this,” Daghel explains, his gaze thoughtfully focusing on Drisk. “Once there were more gathol because being a gathol was something prized among all males, and they were the most desirable of mates. Our villages and palaces were built to accommodate the movement of wyverns everywhere.”

“What happened?”

“Durethikal, the wintry one, fell,”Drisk rumbles. “And when he fell, the clans began to war and the power of the gathol became so feared that the rulers of the clans pinioned them in an attempt to control it.”

Well… that explains it. It’s utter bullshit, but I have seen enough to know that fear is a great motivator. Still, it is a sadand bitter testimony that likely planted the seeds of what is happening now to the Cold Fang Clan.

“What will you do?” I ask.

I must have betrayed some hint of distress with my question because Drisk immediately begins to croon in response. His reaction is so instinctive that I know the moment it catches him off guard, and the sound stutters briefly as his amber eyes blink in surprise before resuming at full throttle.

“Do not be concerned, wyva,”Drisk purrs.“You will be safe, and I will be watching from a distance. What use do I have for being stared at by frightened humans and drinking spice?”

“There will be many humans?” I ask, and Drisk inclines his head in a graceful bob on his long neck that other species couldn’t possibly help but envy.

“Always,”he hisses as he creeps closer to me.“The lower villages are not like the upper village where you were brought. They are very large and sprawling to cover segments of the Fang Peaks. In the lowermost villages, most of the clan’s humans dwell there with their mates. There are several villages, each of which has fallen to the command of generals loyal to Vorn.”

“That’s just perfect,” I mutter dryly, and am treated to another one of his creepy laughs.

“We will be going to Glas Village,” Daghel interjects. “It is the farthest of the lower villages. So, again, dress warmly. And be quick if you truly wish to come.”

With a nod, I throw myself into getting ready until I am wearing an under dress over my chemise, a surc tied under it, and a woolen skirt and bodice over that, as well as my fur cloak. My hair is plaited, which seems the best option considering that we will be flying. Overall, I feel very warm, with every bit of clothing bound as tightly as my hair. And it is something I quickly am grateful for because the moment Drisk leaps from therookery’s access point, the cold air immediately whips around me, stealing my breath completely as we sail over the glittering white landscape.

Chapter

Seventeen

ANYA

Despite the cold air’s best attempt to steal my breath and freeze me, I gasp in delight as the world opens up below me in ways I could never have imagined as the orc palace drops far away in the distance. The Fang Peaks are far more glorious from this vantage point as we soar between them with the sun shining down on their stark white fanglike peaks piercing the sky. In truth, they are aptly named, and it gives me a little shiver as I stare at them. It feels like we are flying into the jaws of some sort of primordial monster. I’m not afraid, however. Daghel’s arm is a steel band encircling me, keeping me pinned tightly to him, and Drisk’s flight is as smooth as can be expected of a species known as kings of the skies.

“Not afraid, are you?” Daghel observes, and his deep chuckle warms my ear when I give a quick shake of my head.

“It is marvelous!” I shout, and Drisk responds with a staccato series of chirps that echo all around us.

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