Blood Oath (The Darkest Drae Book 1)(58)

Energy pulsed between us, a mixture of longing, need, desperation, and something so strong I couldn’t even put a name to it. I clung to him as he kissed me, and when my lips were free, I murmured his name, which brought his lips back to me.

“Sleep,” he said.

My knees grew weak, and a blissful torpor settled over my consciousness. I reached up in the darkness to touch his face, to caress his cheek, and to touch his lips again.

“Tako mi je ?ao,” he whispered.



I awoke with a start, lying in the dirt out in the vineyards, clutching my arm to my chest. What the hay happened?

“Ah, she’s awake,” Irdelron said.

My arm burned, and I stared at it through bleary eyes. It was slashed. Four deep cuts, evenly spaced, were spread from my shoulder to my wrist on my left arm. The blood oozed in rivulets of maroon, soaking into my borrowed aketon. Irrik cut me? On purpose?

“I see you were right. The vineyard is already much improved in the areas you have used the watering experiment,”said King Irdelron.

“Much more could have been accomplished today if Jotun could keep his hands to himself,” Irrik said, his face smooth.

Irdelron turned and addressed another. “Do you see? Brutality for its own sake is wasted. This is why he will always be my first and you my second, Jotun.”

I risked a glance up. The sun blinded me, and I couldn’t see their faces. But I could feel Jotun’s hatred as much as I could feel the sun on my face and the dirt on my hands.

“Take him back,” Irrik said. “It’s difficult enough to get results out of her without having to watch over him and his Druman.”

Irdelron’s cruel laugh made my stomach lurch. “You mean your Druman, Irrik.”

My vision returned, but I kept my gaze low, away from the sun’s punishing light. I saw Irrik’s hands clenched in fists, but he said nothing in response to Irdelron’s comment.

“Very well,” Irdelron said. “Jotun, it appears you and the Druman aren’t needed at this time, after all.”

The king moved away and barked, “Back to the castle.”

I closed my eyes, remaining silent. What did it say about me that I would happily live with scars on my arm if it meant Jotun and his men would be gone. When I heard the bugs chirp and the birds trill again, I knew the king and his entourage were gone. The pain in my arm was waning, my Phaetyn powers helping to speed the healing process.

“Here,” Irrik said, tossing a water skin at me. “Here’s some . . . nectar.”

I flipped the lid off and took a sip. The velvety liquid quenched my thirst. Its sweetness coated my tongue and slid down my throat. “It seems thicker,” I said, “more concentrated.”

He snorted. An answer that was no answer. We were back to that again.

“Pour it on your wounds,” he said. “Then get back to work.”

But I want to know what a Druman is. I watched his dark figure retreat several paces away to a thick wall of green vines dotted with clusters of deep-purple grapes. The vines were thick and at least a head taller than the Drae.

The Drae grabbed a basket and extracted a thin sheet of material from within, spreading it over the ground. Then he sat with his legs extended in front of him, hands propping him up.

Scowling, he stared up at the blue sky.

I wanted to say something, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Should I be grateful or angry? He’d hurt me, yes, but he’d also healed me. This was all kinds of messed up. I kept my thoughts to myself and dribbled the viscous solution on my arm, rubbing the thick fluid into my wounds. My skin responded, knitting together from the inside out until only a thin pink line remained. I took another draught of the nectar, this time a long one, and let it work its magic from within.

The buckets had been discarded all over the vineyard, and I picked up several empty ones and went looking for a stream.

I shouted my intentions to the Drae, but when he didn’t even glance my way, I figured that was consent enough. As I rounded the corner and he didn’t stop me, a weight lifted from my heart.

There was no one watching me . . . for the first time in months.

Irrik was around the corner, but still, I was out of direct sight. I burst into a sprint, row upon row blurring in my vision, until I stopped at the end of the vineyard and dropped the pails. I dug my toes into the soil and let the energy of the ground seep through my skin. I lifted my arms to the sky and, closing my eyes, turned around, feeling free for the first time in as long as I could remember.

Faux freedom? Undoubtedly. But freedom from Jotun and the king for one glorious moment was freedom, nonetheless.

“Ryn?”

The voice hit me like a slug to my stomach, and I stopped spinning with a gasp. My gaze locked with his, and I blinked, willing him to not be an apparition of my desperate mind.

Arnik didn’t disappear.

He and several other people I recognized were scattered amongst the rows. My eyes widened, and I shook my head and held my finger to my lips. If Irrik heard them, he’d come.

Arnik nodded and tilted his head to the side, toward the rows of still anemic vines.

My heart filled with joy so strong I thought I would lift off the ground. I ran down the row, ducking between the scraggly vines until several rows separated me from the Drae.

When Arnik rounded the corner, I crashed into him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I clung to him, smelling the sunshine of my childhood, the steadiness of his friendship, and the hope of my dreams. He was really here. “You’re alive. I didn’t know. Zone Seven was burned to the ground, and I didn’t know.” Tears ran over my cheeks.