Page 38 of Daghel

It would only take the smallest push from the right person at the right moment. Ajek’s actions will ripple through the clan as word spreads—and it will spread—and eventually it will be the spark of the fire that I need to bring Palace Peak down on Vorn’s head.

“You could do it now,”a hiss of a whisper plays on the wind, the deadly coldness of it prickling my skin.

I cautiously glance around so as to not draw attention, wariness tightening my muscles. Although it has never spoken to me, the sinuous creep of ice in the air pulses with an altogether far too familiar and unwelcome presence.

“Break his neck. It would take little effort, especially with my power flowing through you. I make you stronger, do I not?”it murmurs as if in afterthought.“With my strength, you can keep your mate happy and safe. Do you think Vorn will allow you to continue to live thusly? He will use you and then destroy everything that you love in front of you to utilize the last bit of you in your grief. You must not allow it. Destroy them all. With me you can.”

I shudder at the temptation within those words. Whatever evil the darkness may or may not be, it is not wrong in this, which makes its offer difficult to resist. From the corner of my left eye, I see it moving in a sinuous fashion as it creeps over the stonework of the assembly. It is like a predator prowling along the stones, preparing to pounce, the abyssal void of its eyes drifting over Ajek and the gathol before turning toward me to burn me with their ice-fire.

I close my eyes tightly, refusing to meet its gaze, refusing its access to me as I focus on my mate’s hand on my arm. Her grip has remained light, however, so I am certain that she does not see it. I hear its soft chuckle on the wind as there is a sense of it withdrawing and moving away.

“Next time perhaps,”it whispers in parting, and I shudder in response.

“Mount up!” Ajek orders, and my eyes snap open as his growl rises loudly over the assembly. His hard gaze turns to two gathol, and he gestures dismissively to the fallen wyvern. “You—remove that and incinerate its remains, then return and join us.”

The grieving male looks up from his dead bonded wyvern, hate darkening his eyes. “Xarv never did anything wrong and yet you not only slaughter him but deny him the funerary rites allotted to all the clan, orc and wyvern alike?”

Ajek gives the boy a hard smile and prowls toward him, drawing a blade from his side. I know what he intends, but I havehad enough. I would have never allowed the wyvern’s death at all if I had foreseen his intention then, as I do now. Gently pulling my arm from my wyva’s hold, I rush forward, drawing my blade and bringing it up at the exact moment Ajek’s sword descends. The violent strike of metal echoes over the assembly, ringing loudly enough that renders all else silent. I stand there between Ajek and the youth, my lips drawing slowly back from my teeth as he snarls at me with undisguised hate.

“Daghel! What do you think you are doing?” he growls, spittle flying from his lips. “You forget yourself. Vorn will hear of this.”

“Report me if you will,” I reply coldly as I shove him away to lower my sword. “But my instructions do not include permitting murder of a gathol, half of which you have already accomplished. We are at Vorn’s command, but we are not yours to sacrifice. Or do you wish to incur the fury of the entire clan? Perhaps I should report that to Vorn so that he sees where the true faction spies are.”

Ajek takes a menacing step forward, his nostrils flaring. “You would dare?”

“Do you wish to test me? Then just try to spill gathol blood,” I growl.

“But I’m already dead.” My head whips around as the young male stands, the wind catching his hair as his head bows to hide the grief stamped across his face. “There is no Krish without Xarv,” he whispers and in one swift movement, he draws his blade and slashes it across his throat.

I stare in horror as his body, still lean with youth and once full of promise of the warrior he would become, spins slightly with the force of his motion before falling over Xarv. He stares into the wyvern’s dead eyes with a faint smile as he chokes, gurgling on his own blood. A sob of shocked grief comes from the assembly and my eyes lift to find my mate’s teary gaze overthe fist clenched hard against her mouth in an attempt to remain silent.

“What a waste,” Ajek grumbles, sheathing his sword. His brow lowers into a scowl as he turns toward the remaining gathol. “Are you deaf? Mount up, I said. We depart immediately unless anyone else would like to share their fate.”

Tension coils in the air, but the gathols reluctantly obey as male orcs mount their bonded wyverns and those with mates draw their females up in front of them. I notice then that strands weave securely around the female’s legs and torso, keeping them firmly seated, and for a moment I am surprised. Was this something that I failed to notice before when flying with Anya?

Giving Ajek one last hard look, I leave the circle and stalk over to Drisk. The wyvern lowers his head to give me a knowing look, but I merely rest my hand for a moment on his brow in a silent sharing of sorrow before walking over to side and pulling myself into the saddle. Anya reaches for me and I bend down, my hand wrapping around her forearm to pull her into the saddle in front of me.

“That boy—” she whispers brokenly, and I hug her tightly to me.

“Do not think of it now,” I murmur and brush my lips against the top of her head. I hate asking this of her when she never complains, not about these new demands or even the hours that are demanded of us to stand attentively as Vorn hosts his nightly assemblies. “There will be all the time you need when we return to our rookery.”

She sniffles but nods her head in agreement, my brave wyva. She pulls up her fitted facemask at the same time I secure mine into place, her hand tightening on the saddle loop as Drisk’s tendrils penetrate us. For once, the pleasure that usually accompanies Drisk’s connection is muted. Anya barely shivers inreaction and all I feel cold and detached from it, the sensation more of a distant observation.

“And then vengeance will come,”Drisk growls to us, his mental voice filling my mind as he springs into the air with a vicious flap of his wings, communicating his fury as the gathols follow behind us.

We rise together into the sky, the frigid leaving the white platform plateau with its hundreds of icicles dripping from its sides shrinking below us. Ajek’s presence is a stain on the snow as the male turns and heads back toward the hidden cavern entrance leading back to the palace. My eyes narrow on him as we continue to ascend.

His time will come soon. And then… Vorn.

Chapter

Twenty-Six

DRISK

“Do you know how to make those big straw dolls?” our wyva asks Daghel as she glances up from straightening the fabric skirts around the tree that she insisted that I find and carry back to the rookery.

Her cheeks are still bright pink from the icy air from our latest rounds, but her spirits are high, and she seems to be suffering no ill effects from the freezing weather. I am pleased that we could find what she wanted. Although evergreens are found everywhere in the Cold Mountains, including Fang Peaks, most are little more than bushes, their growth stunted by the frigid temperatures and the brutal length of the winters. It took several days of going out on our sweeps before we were in the right part of the mountains to find her precious evergreens trees but now that we have it in our rookery, I cannot feel as if it was a ridiculous waste of effort and time when she looks so pleased with it.

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