Page 112 of The Weaver

But Ogahnkai twisted to look back at him, making a sharp gesture with one hand. “Allow him to speak. For one who has woven so many words, it is only fitting that his last will be spoken before our queen.”

Ulkari growled. No blow came.

Pushing outward to keep the rope taut, Rekosh managed to scrape his claw across it again. A few more threads gave. It seemed so small a thing, but he knew that sometimes all it took was a single thread. A single thread could change everything.

Ahmya sank onto her haunches, placing her hands just above the rope wound tightly around her booted ankles. Her slender little fingers sought the knot.

She couldn’t possibly outrun a vrix, but it meant she wasn’tdefeated yet. She hadn’t resigned herself to the fate these vrix had chosen for her.

Swallowing his rage, he said in English, “These will not be my last words, my wife.”

His mate looked at him, but he only briefly met her gaze. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and nodded. “These will not be our last moments, my husband.”

“You have family in Takarahl, Ulkari,” Rekosh continued in vrix even as he carefully worked at the rope with his claw, ignoring the ache in his wrists. “A sister. Urshar. Do you not wish to see her again?”

Ulkari’s body bristled with tension and radiated fury. “So now you threaten my?—”

“No,” Rekosh replied with a snap of his mandible fangs. “Ahnset is queen in Takarahl, and?—”

“A false queen,” one of the nearby males declared.

Ahmya’s littlest finger hooked the knot, which she delicately drew toward her other fingers.

Rekosh made sure not to look at her directly. Right now, the other vrix thought her beneath their notice, and that was the only advantage she had.

“Regardless,” he said, “Ahnset controls Takarahl. And your sister thrives there.” With no small effort, he swept his gaze across the other vrix. “All of you have family in Takarahl. Brood siblings, mothers and sires, broodlings of your own. They all dwell in peace now. But what you seek to do here will threaten that peace.

“You are warriors.”Cowards.“I am but a weaver, yet I can see that your battle need not continue. The cloth of Takarahl has been frayed and torn, but it may well be woven anew. It may be made stronger than ever. Lay down this cause and return to Takarahl, to your families, to peace.”

Sizzling heat coursed through his veins, flooding his limbsand making his hide crawl with the need to take action. And thread by thread, he kept up his silent assault on his bindings.

I will kill you all with my bare claws and fangs. I will paint my hide with your blood for harming my mate, for threatening her, for frightening her.

You will pay with your lives.

“But I promise you,” he continued, “there will be no peace for any of you should you proceed. You will call the wrath of Takarahl and Kaldarak alike upon you. That need not be. Together, we can make our home whole.”

Ulkari snarled, clamping a hand on his shoulder in a crushing grip, but Ogahnkai chittered. The sound was unsettlingly light, airy, and uncaring.

Ahmya tugged on a loop. The knot loosened.

Ogahnkai stared at Rekosh as the silk-clad males returned the basket to its place.

Out of time. We are almost out of time.

“Weakness,” Ogahnkai said. “That is all such words have ever been, all they could ever be.” She brought her upper fists together with her elbows out, creating a triangle, and mirrored the gesture with her lower arms. The result wasn’t the sign of the Eight, but a closed shape with four sides and four points.

Her booming voice echoed over the camp. “Hear me, for I am her Prime Speaker, and I speak with her voice.”

No. No, no…

Rekosh dug his legs into the ground, struggling against the holds of Ulkari and the males, his hearts thundering just as loud as the Prime Speaker’s voice. The rope around his wrists still held.

The clothed males returned, each carrying a crude clay bowl from which blue-green flames flickered.

By their eightfold eyes, no!

Ulkari grunted as Rekosh advanced by a handspan. Themales behind him wrenched back on his arms, throwing their weight against his.

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