Page 26 of Daghel

“I don’t understand.”

He chuckles softly. “This is because the origins of your Yulen have long been forgotten by your people. All the merriment and feasting do have a purpose beyond pleasing Durethikal, but it is also an invitation of a bride to join him and soften his darkness so that prosperity continues among the peoples and the clans.” He nods to a building around which many females, both orc and human, are gathered. “In every village, the tradition always has an unmated male as the feast king to represent Durethikal, and a female is selected to be the bride of the feast. To be chosen for either role is considered a high honor, but the most important is the feast bride, the queen of winter.”

“And Vorn cannot stand anything that takes away from the illusion of his power and is a reminder of where true authority lies—with the queens,” I conclude dryly.

He chuckles in agreement and steps around me to snake his free arm around my waist. I cuddle against his side, a smile curling my lips, but straighten when I see a number of women filing down the street, uniformly clad in yellowish gowns trimmed with crimson. Several among them studiously stare at the ground as they walk, obscuring their appearance beneath their long hair and shawls, but one familiar face among the women catches my eye. Chelsea? She’s here?

From the corner of my eye, I catch the movement of Daghel’s head as his gaze follows the direction of my attention.

“Ah,” he murmurs.

“Ah? What does that mean? Why are all those women together like that?”

“It is… complicated,” he replies in a cool voice and begins to stride forward again. I stubbornly grab his upper arm, bringing his attention directly back to me. He studies my face for a moment and sighs. “They are comfort maidens, females who refuse to take a mate or, for whatever reason, are rejected for mating. The village chief is responsible for their care and sees to it that the entire village provides food, clothing, and anything that they may need with the understanding that they are there to provide comfort to the unmated who turn to them. All human captives who are not immediately claimed are taken to them where they might be chosen. That female there,” he says, nodding toward Chelsea, “I have heard of from rumor among some males in the palace. Three different males tried to claim her, and each time she fought to where they returned her to the company of the maidens once more. It seems now she wears the official regalia of the comfort maidens.”

“What? You are saying that women are forcibly turned into prostitutes?” I demand. I was a courtesan, but I chose my life and chose the exchange of coin for my service to provide for my comforts. But this… This seems so wrong. “What happened to just eating them?”

“I may have exaggerated,” he shamelessly admits. “We prefer not to eat the females as we revere those of our own clans so highly and would rather keep them for our mates. And they are not forced to be comfort maidens. They are all initially offered training in many different pursuits where they might claim a place in the village if they do not wish to mate yet. They either choose to remain among the maidens because it demands little of them or refuse to become a part of the clan in any meaningful way. However, a comfort maiden can surrender her position for training or to mate. It is not a permanent service.”

“I…see.” I’m not sure how comfortable I feel about it, but that does change the complexion on the matter a little. “Can’t you just return them home?”

“To what?” A shadow passes through his eyes and he stares down at me imperiously. “Most have little to begin with and nothing following the raids. Many are found wandering the mountains, close to death when they lose their homes. Others would face complete ruin and rejection from their families as we have been told. Is it kindlier to return them to their death or suffering?”

“But you don’t give them the choice,” I argue.

“No, we do not,” he agrees, his arm falling away as he continues to stride down the street, his gaze fastened on a spot farther down the road as he leaves me to follow him.

My conscience is not entirely settled with the matter, but I give them one last look before hurrying after him. At least they all look warm and well fed. That is more than many were guaranteed should they have fallen into the service within the cities. It is better than starving and freezing. I am certain that they are aware of the fact, however, and that feeling settles within me as one of the women toward the middle suddenly lifts her head to smile and shyly wave at me. I return the gesture. I may not be at peace with this, but there is much in life that I’m not at peace with. That doesn’t stop me from recognizing that it’s necessary to give them the option of returning to one of the human kingdoms if they prefer to take their chances there. I just need to convince Daghel to support my cause in this.

There always needs to be a choice.

Chapter

Eighteen

DAGHEL

Frustration pierces my stomach with sharp, bitter talons as something terrible stirs and stretches within me. It sinks its claws into my bowels, ripping and tearing even as it draws a haze of confusion through my mind. Need—violent, hungry need—consumes me, eating through me, devouring me as it reaches for her, wanting to devour her. I want to shove my cock into her, pinning her against the wall, pounding into her grasping cunt to the festive toasts of merriment from the villagers. I want, and all I know is that terrible want. It gnaws at me, frustrated that she is more interested in the females passing in the distance, demanding that I make her forget them by filling her and reminding her that it is I who am at her side.

It is such a terrible force that I recoil in horror and spin away from her. Her small sound of surprise destroys me, but I force myself to walk away, quickening my pace to force further distance between us as I attempt to break the coiling darkness choking me. It rose abruptly out of nowhere to viciously attack me, shrieking and clawing at my mind as I met Anya’s accusative stare. While I can pretend that my conscience is not pricked bymy mate’s valid concerns, it is the deadly hiss and its venom aiming directly at my mate that shakes me so profoundly.

I drag in breath after breath of icy air in a vain attempt to clear my mind as the darkness roars angrily through me at my defiance. My pulse thuds with a vicious tempo in my ears, black blood filling my vision as I struggle for control. Whatever this thing is that is haunting our clan, it will not win. I recognize it, for it has been as a raven as it has hunted among us, its dark wings carrying it at will to feast upon the fallen and the broken—those carrying its stain and mark already through their own putrescence and violence.

I have little doubt that it is attracted to Vorn’s filth, but it seems that not even the merriment of the lower village can drive it away completely. As far as I have seen and understand, creatures of the shadows are as ghosts dwelling in the dark places between worlds, feasting on the festering rot that they find. It explains why they linger around the upper village, but I cannot fathom their purpose here. Vorn is not here, nor are any of his followers. There is nothing here that would draw such a dark entity, unless it is Anya who attracts it.

And it does want Anya. I cannot fathom why, but I feel its violent hunger as it reaches for her again despite the physical distance between us, wanting to steal every bit of her essence for itself. And that shakes me to the core. It is easier to imagine that it was Drisk’s hunger that drew them like a lure. Guilt stirs within me, rising beneath the confusion raking through my mind. If there is even the smallest chance that this is the case, then its presence is entirely my fault. I am responsible. I had not made certain that either the wyvern or our female were fed before we left. It seemed like such a small matter when the mountains offer much in the way of hunting opportunities for Drisk and the village itself is filled with a multitude of shops,each one boasting delicacies I could feed to our mate until she had eaten her fill.

Yes. That must be it. It has nothing directly to do with Anya. How could it be when it is Drisk’s hunger that is sharp and cruel enough to demolish half the village? In hindsight, it was something I should have seen to before we ever left the rookery. Guilt claws deeper into my innards. Perhaps if I had, the darkness within the shadows would never have followed us into the village. Nor would they have latched onto me when Anya encountered the comfort maidens. And now it will probably be a cause of torment for the people here as it feasts and feeds, shredding their joys to glut itself on their sorrow. I growl in frustration and forcefully shake my head as the darkness releases its grip in a whisper.

The relief I feel is instantaneous, and I once again breathe deeply of the cold air, allowing it to clear my mind. Drisk must be the cause. I will have to tell him of my suspicions and see to it that he leaves the rookery to feed more frequently so that it will not afflict us.

No matter, it will not feed on me now that I have regained control. Not when I have something far more important that requires me to be whole and sane, unafflicted by the darkness’s madness—namely caring for my wyva. Which, at this moment, means feeding her. The tension within me eases with the banishment of the shadows and I attentively turn my entire focus to the task. I will not see Anya go hungry for even a moment longer. Especially not after seeing her face light up upon entering the village. It was abundantly clear that she scented something in the air which had intrigued her. That was before the darkness, the madness, and the comfort maidens—Vepra fling all of it to the abyss! That is not how I wished our time together in the village to proceed when I wanted nothing more than to sate her immediate hunger while kindling anotherfor later. And now that my mind is clear, I believe I have the source of the smell.

I turn toward a building just ahead boasting a large window warmed by the golden cast of firelight contained within. A faint smile touches my lips. It looks like exactly the sort of place my temperature-sensitive female would enjoy. Though it is only a short distance away, I do not blindly hurry toward it. My gaze sweeps repeatedly over the street as I make my approach, my pace a brisk but steady clip, as I keep an attentive eye on my surroundings—especially my mate hurrying to catch up with me.

Now that I’m no longer in the grip of the darkness, I allow my steps to slow to a stop as I wait for her to rejoin me. I had not wished to abandon her. Not even in the grip of the darkness did I wish to do so. I can only hope that she thinks nothing of it and does not question it. I do not wish her to know about the violent need that had consumed me almost to the point of insanity.

As I wait, my ears pricking at the sound of her footsteps as her pace picks up with the realization that I am waiting, my nostrils flare at the aroma of spices, rich, creamy goat’s butter, and the warm musky scent of bread from the shop in front of me. My eyes drop to the display in the window. A bakery—is this what intrigued her so?

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