Page 53 of Upon Buried Embers
My lips curl in disgust at the weakness. How is she supposed to help me when she’s a frightened little thing? How will she survive what is to come?
She has to survive it.
She says sorry a lot. I’m not naïve enough to think she has had an easy life, spy or not, but no one has.
We live in the Wilds with the constant threat of death and harsh winters. We barely have enough food.
The clan will never work with her if she acts like this. We don’t do… weakness. Maybe softness at times, butneverweakness.
Strength and honor is what Dragorie stands for. To die in battle or dragon fire, to return to Morana, the Dragon Mother. To go back to where it all began.
There is no honor in weakness, and there is no honor in the king’s games.
I stare down at her, her shoulders become more hunched, like she’s drawing in on herself and I stand, not liking it for some unfathomable reason.
We do not do weakness.I repeat to myself.
Without a word, I get into my bed, axe at the side, and I wait, listening for her laying down.
It takes a while, but eventually she does.
She tries her best to be quiet, to not disturb me, but it’s useless.
Anyone else, I would tell them to stop breathing so loudly, to stop fidgeting. But for another reason I’m putting down to exhaustion, I keep my mouth shut.
Tomorrow is the first day she’ll be put to use and she will not disgrace me.
Not while she’s under my claim.
Sixteen
Elf
I wake to a rough shove against my shoulder, and I sit up, scrambling away from a looming Rohan until the rope pulls tight on my ankle. His jaw tics, looking from it to me, and he tilts his head.
“What are you doing?” His dark eyes stare at me, hard and demanding.
“I… what?” I blink rapidly, trying to get my bearings. Oh, I’m in his cabin, the post… I look down and see a blanket over my legs.
“Do you always sleep so late, Elf?” My brows furrow, and I look up at the opening and see it’s daylight.
“I’m sorry.” Because what else am I to say? I cover a yawn with my hand, trying to hide it as Rohan sighs.
“Come.” He unties my ankle from the pole then drags me up by my arm, moving his hand to the back of my neck. He guides me with it, squeezing when I’m too slow as he takes me to the sitting area. I limp along, biting my lip when pain shoots up my body with every step.
A woman sits on a cushion by the table, her long, graying hair woven with too many small braids to count. Her face is weathered, a few lines and dots on her skin like face paint, maybe? She looks kind, considering who else is in the room. She reminds me of Effy when her eyes soften, noticing my limp.
Rohan pushes me down abruptly and I stop myself from face-planting the table with a hand.
“Now, Dragonbond, you were brought up better than to treat a woman like that.” The older woman chastises, and Rohan huffs, coming to the other side of the table and sitting down.
“She’s lazy.”
Lazy?
“And I’m already behind on today’s chores because you have to tend to her.”
“You’re the one who decided to take her, and she’s injured.” The woman defends me, and I bow my head, peeking at her. “You have no one to blame but yourself. Don’t take it out on the girl.”
