Page 70 of Fate Promised

Juri nodded. “The land down here is a replica of Ulterra. Our mountain range containing the Shaking Mountain also only has one trail in and out, too. Well, only one official trail. The vulk and some of the peltwalker clans know other ways through those mountains.”

Koschei shrugged. “If there are other ways through the mountains down here, I don’t know them. And most of the mountains have rock demons or trolls guarding them. Or worse.”

Juri nodded. There was no way they could go that way. Not even with a powerful guardian and a vulk. The monsters of Peklo were dangerous, and he wouldn’t put Triska near them.

He sighed. Every day, every moment, gave Hoyt more time to work on his plan. At least Hans was in Ryba. Hans wouldn’t let Hoyt succeed—but Hans didn’t have all the information Juri did, and his Alpha hadn’t contacted him mentally here, but Juri hadn’t expected him to. If Hans could contact vulk down in Peklo, he would have known Zann lived.

He and Zann had always spoken mentally. Bit of a pain when sparring against the two of them. Or betting against them in card games.

Triska stood on tiptoe to pluck a fruit from the tree overhead, but it was a few inches beyond her reach. Juri hastened his step and snagged it for her. He dropped it into her hand and let his fingers brush against her palm. “Here.”

She leaned against him the way she always did. The way she’d always needed physical contact, even as a kid. “Thanks.”

A great searing lurch twisted in his chest. Even though they were in Peklo, and nothing was going right, he’d been … happy this past week. Every night everyone in the palace retired to the parlor after dinner, and in front of the fire, he told one of his tales. Afterward, he carried Triska to her bedroom and spent the night spinning tales of pleasure.

He hadn’t changed form again, even though he felt certain he could call his human form forth. He wanted to kiss her again, but he wanted the strength of his vulk form more. Every moment, every day, he worried about her. He couldn’t stay at her side all the time, and while he trusted Koschei to guard her, Koschei wasn’t him. Koschei didn’t feel for her the way he did. Koschei didn’t think her life was the most valuable thing in this entire world.

Triska lifted the fruit he’d handed her and raised a brow. “Well, this one has an interesting shape.”

Instead of a squat oval, this one was elongated, exactly like a … He coughed. “It’s pickle-like.”

Koschei walked over. “It’s a dick.”

Juri growled. “I chose a Triska-friendly word.”

“I’m sure she’s heard worse.”

“I was raised by a sailor and sailed on his fishing boats, trust me, I’ve heard a lot of terms for a willy.”

He raised a brow. “Like what?”

She waved the fruit in the air. “Like the Kraken’s favorite tentacle. Or the one-eyed monster. A twig and berries. A pizzle. A great man-root. Or,” she waved her hand at Juri and grinned, “a vulk-root.”

Juri tripped, almost sprawling on the sand-swept grounds, while Koschei laughed—actually laughed. And Triska joined him.

It was the first time he’d heard her laugh in days. Last night, even though she’d wanted more, he’d only taken her once. She needed to sleep. She had, but the dark shadows smudging below her eyes only worsened. And when she didn’t think he was looking, her gaze seemed hollow. Haunted.

Was Peklo draining her somehow?

Juri frowned. Fergal seemed fine. Other than ranting and raving about Herskala bowls and scolding Arrow every time the dragon snuck up on him and scared him—a game the dragon was good at—he was his normal self.

Something was wrong with her.

Fruit thumped onto the ground, rolling over the sandy stone. Triska stood, looking up at the sky, her arms at her sides, the fruit she’d collected forgotten. She pointed up into the gray haze. “Juri … it’s Al. The Ryba albatross.”

He squinted. Sure enough, a massive white bird soared high in the sky. “It can’t be your bird. Maybe there are albatross down here, too?”

The bird circled and cawed, the sound echoing down the beach. It dove right for them. Juri grabbed Triska and tucked her under his arm, expecting to get a repeat of a bird slamming itself into him.

Instead, the albatross dropped onto the ground, stumbling on its large, webbed feet. It bobbed its head and brayed.

Triska yelped. “It is Al!” She bounded forward. The albatross opened its mouth, and out came a high-pitched cackling. His beak rubbed on Triska as he searched her pockets.

Juri stared. “How is he here?”

Triska held her palms out. “Sorry Al, I have nothing for you. Unless you want fruit.” Triska picked one up from the ground and broke it open, scooping the innards out. Al scraped it from her hand, his head bobbing up and down.

“How well does he understand speech? Can we ask him to show us how he got down here? There must be a rift, and maybe it’s still open.”

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