Blood Oath (The Darkest Drae Book 1)(6)
A seventeen-year-old who’d just left a rebel meeting.
Dyter said the Drae had been circling the skies the last few nights. He also said no one would suspect the meetings were at The Crane’s Nest.
This had to be coincidence, nothing more. There was no way the Drae was bothering with me. Uneasiness tickled the inside of my rib cage as I connected his presence here as something more for the first time. What if the king had sent Irrik to find out about the rebel meetings? What if they knew? Was there more to his presence than general intimidation and keeping the starving peasants in check?
Despite the heat, chills danced across my skin. If Lord Irrik wasn’t patrolling, he was hunting rebels.
And half-arsed rebel though I was, I’d just left the meeting point for all the full-arsed rebels.
My heart raced, a quick scurrying of beats, like a lizard running over hot sand. I stared up at the night to try to make out the black-winged and horned dragon above, but millions of stars winked back from the darkness, revealing nothing of what shared their space. My mother’s hushed whisper from when I was young rose in my memory: The tendrils of midnight can cling to him, taking him in as one of their own, keeping him invisible in their midst.
Seemed like that part was true. Sweat broke out on my forehead.
There was something distinctly different between the story my mind told as I snuggled under a blanket and the reality of the night and heat surrounded me, the fear pulsing from deep within. Yet, I didn’t feel full of terror. Scared, yes, but his presence had nothing to do with me. It couldn’t. I’d never ever had anything to do with the powerful Drae—thank the Moons.
The fire in the sky was gone, and with the sudden darkness, silence fell. On soft feet, I darted to the next corner, through the abandoned buildings, and across the road into the area where the rich lived. Their stone buildings were neatly arranged, and nestled in the middle of their rows was a dry, square space with a grand fountain where a beautiful garden used to grow. Only a couple of the buildings bordering the large square were occupied nowadays, but in times gone by, Mum said it used to be a bustling and happy place, full of people and goods—back when the land healers were still alive. Stupid king. Killing the Phaetyn seemed a moronic thing to do, even if you did want to live forever.
I took three, theoretically calming, breaths and studied the dark, shadowed area with the fountain in the middle. Right now, with the invisible monster of my childhood overhead, the uncovered space only meant one thing.
Open-expanse-where-powerful-Drae-could-eat-me-in-one-bite.
“Al’righty,” I croaked. I probably wouldn’t be the pep talk queen of Harvest Zone Seven either.
Maybe I should go all the way around. It put me at greater risk of encountering a patrol, but. . .
Flame erupted in the black sky far to my right. He’d moved.
Good time to go, good time to go, good time to go. Leaving my protective shadows, I sprinted across the barren garden.
A primal force urged me to go faster, faster than I’d ever run before.
Clearing the area, I pressed against the stone wall of the House of Tals’ residence, attuned to every tiny piece of my surroundings, and attempted to regulate my breathing. The chirping of crickets was only interrupted by the mournful whinny of a screech owl. That seemed normal-ish.
An unbearable tickle attacked my throat. I worked to suppress the sneeze protesting the lack of moisture. I brushed my tongue over the roof of my mouth until the sensation passed. Drak, imagine that. Making it across the fountain garden just to sneeze.
Thirty minutes later, I’d wound my way back out past the Inbetween to our section of housing.
Peasant homes used to be built from wood, but with the barren land in Verald, that wasn’t an option anymore. The wealthy built their homes from stone mined in the Gemond Kingdom. But the quarries and mines there, much like our land in Verald, were barely making quota. Long before I was born, King Irdelron ordered large sections of houses demolished, thinking the land beneath had lain fallow and would produce crops. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. However, most of the demolished housing materials were useable after, and the peasants of Verald erected hodgepodge houses from stone, wood, and metal.
Our houses in the Wheel were in narrow, parallel rows, with a wide strip of shared dirt between every second row for personal gardens. Our garden spilled into the one behind, belonging to Celyst, and I often cut through from her house to avoid going in our front door.
Our three-room dwelling consisted of a living space with a kitchen and eating area as well as a daybed that also served as a couch. There was a washroom, too, and a bedroom Mum had insisted was mine a year ago.
I scampered past Celyst’s house, through her lush garden, thanks to Mum, and into ours. The growth became increasingly thick the closer I got to our house. I stepped over potato plants, squash vines, and then pushed through the rows of corn, behind which was my window. A year ago, plants reached all the way to the wall of our house, but I’d been trampling the ground beneath the window to my room when climbing in and out, and now a small patch of dirt lay trodden and infertile at my feet.
Gripping the sill, I made quick work of pulling myself up and through my bedroom window onto my bed.
As my heart rate returned to normal, I laughed to the empty room. I was in the safety of our four walls now, not just alive but unharmed and undetected. Tomorrow, I was totally telling Arnik I escaped Lord Irrik—with embellishments. Huge embellishments.