Blood Oath (The Darkest Drae Book 1)(55)

Behind me, the Quota Fields remained untouched.

The air was clean and crisp, and the blackened soil damp from last night’s rain. I leaned over, pulled off my shoes and socks, and stepped across the invisible line onto the blackened ground.

Shock rendered me speechless, so I said nothing as I traced the now nonexistent paths of my childhood. I went through the Money Coil, trying to remember where the House of Tal had been and wondered if they’d known what was coming. They’d ruled this Harvest Zone on behalf of the king. He hadn’t spared anyone.

Was anyone alive? Arnik? Dyter?

Was everyone I knew dead now?

I kicked at the piles of ash and wondered if it was better to be burned alive because it was faster than Jotun’s torture. I had no idea when I crossed from the Money Coil to the Inbetween and into the area where I’d lived with Mum and the other peasants. My landmarks were gone. Everything was gone.

Eventually, the shock waned enough for me to feel the ache of loss. This zone had been my home. These people had been my family. I wandered through the streets, not even sure if I was standing on what used to be a street or a house.

There was only one creature capable of destroying an entire Harvest Zone with fire. How long had Irrik breathed his fire on my zone? How long had it taken to destroy everything? I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose.

“When?” I choked on the word and had to ask again.

Irrik stared over the horizon at something only his Drae eyes could see. He didn’t answer.

I bent down, grabbed a handful of ash, and threw it at him, screaming, “When? When did you do this?” I shoved him, pushing his rock-solid body uselessly as I continued my tirade. “Why would you do this?” I pounded his chest. “These were good people. You . . .”

My voice broke, and I covered my eyes with my hands. I fought to keep my emotions in check, knowing the king had forced Irrik to bring me here, but my emotions only registered the pain I felt. The pain I’d caused my friends and family by being so careless and stupid.

Lord Irrik put his hand on my shoulder. “The king likes to remind his subjects of his supremacy, Phaetyn, all of his subjects. Never forget it, and don’t waste your tears here. Save your powers for the vineyards.”

I snapped my head up, glaring daggers at the insensitive Drae, but his wide eyes stopped my retort. He rolled his eyes to the side and cocked his head the same way. My gaze followed to where Jotun and several guards stood, silently watching. The chief torturer met my gaze, and his lips curled in a wicked grin that chilled the blood in my veins.

“What are they doing here?” I whispered, my heart pounding in terror of the visible, immediate threat. They were watching us? Would they report this back to the king? Tell him all about how I broke down in response to his power play?

He had Irrik burn down an entire Harvest Zone to show me I was nothing.

I couldn’t understand the depravity that required.

Irrik shook his head. “You still have work to do, Phaetyn. I’m done watching you sob all over the place.” He grabbed my arm, much higher than where his talons punctured my skin minutes, or was it hours, ago. Even as his fingers circled my bicep, his grip remained as light as a feather. “Let’s go.”

He led me and our silent entourage back toward the Quota Fields. Because, of course, they still existed. Why would the king destroy his food source? He wouldn’t. Just the people who worked the fields. Just his subjects. All because he had a shiny new Phaetyn who could do their jobs better. A few less mouths to feed was probably his twisted idea of a solution.

“Here we are,” Irrik announced as we crossed from blackened ground to the anemic brown soil of Verald. “Work your magic.”

I stared at the skinny vines weaving their way up the wires and old posts. I wondered if there was a way to poison the king through the grapes. Or perhaps make the vines grow fast enough to choke the guards. I stood staring at them, long enough that the rest of the world disappeared.

Icy-cold water hit my face, and I brought my hand up just in time for it to absorb the impact of the wooden bucket.

“Stop,” Irrik growled. “You’re wasting water, you fool.” He picked up the bucket and threw it back at a sneering Jotun. “Go fill it again.” Pointing at another guard, he said, “Bring yours here.”

The man in the blue aketon was as silent as Jotun, but this man’s hair was flaxen and shorn close to his head. His eyes were muddy brown, and he limped as he carried his pail of water.

“Your watering idea is working so well the king has sent you some extra hands.” Irrik nudged me and pointed at the cut on my arm that he’d caused when he partially shifted. “Start with that.”

The silence as I began was oppressive. It wasn’t like Lord Irrik was a Chatty Cathy, but over the last few weeks we’d developed a mutual tolerance for being around each other. Today was different. He was uneasy about something, and that had me nervous.

The silent guards who carried the pails of water made my skin crawl, and as the day wore on, the collisions of their pails or knees with my body became more frequent, making it obvious that the strikes were no accident. No doubt Jotun was behind it. Was it wrong that I felt betrayed by Irrik? I shouldn’t have. He was the king’s Drae, after all, not mine. But the king had yelled at Irrik for hurting me, so why wasn’t Irrik or the king yelling at Jotun’s men?