Shadow Wings (The Darkest Drae Book 2)(3)

“Might,” Tyrrik replied.

But he’d definitely come to Verald to check out the new female Drae in town by the sounds of it. I sighed and faced Lord Black-Wing-Broody-Britches-Nightmare-Man. Putting my hand on my hip, I asked, “What exactly can an alpha Drae do?”

Tyrrik licked his lips, his eyes widening a fraction. His gaze radiated an intensity I was all too familiar with, and he stepped toward me.

I scowled in response. He shouldn’t be that surprised I was talking to him. Who else was I going to ask?

He froze, and his face went blank. In a flat tone, he said, “The alpha can sense other Drae, their whereabouts. Once we are sworn to him, he can bend us to his will.”

“Hey,” a man yelled from the tavern room. “Where’s the wench?”

My fear shifted to anger in a split second. Wench was one of my least favorite terms. Anger steadied my body, and I ladled the stew into the bowls on the counter, grabbed a handful of the chunky soup that had fallen on the floor and added a bit into each bowl, and dropped them on a tray.

The inky-eyed Drae stood only a couple feet away, studying me with his impassive mask on. His sculpted features were carved in stone, his lean muscled frame still as the night. His skin was the color of Meemaw’s burnt sugar, and he was larger than any man in the tavern, probably because he wasn’t just a man but also a dragon with huge black wings and fangs. As I stared, scales erupted on his chest, the ebony gems flecked with vibrant blue, peeking from the V in his aketon. He continued to study me, his gaze dropping to my lips again before returning to my eyes.

“What?” I snapped. “Do you want me to get you a bowl of soup too?”

He shifted so he was out of my way and didn’t answer. Of course not. He didn’t lower himself to explanations. Not even when he pretended to be three different people. I felt his gaze on me as I brushed past, all the way out the door.

Seemed like everyone was pretending these days.





2





I set the bowls in front of the Druman, too angry at the Drae I’d just left to be afraid. The three of them were looking over at the two young men, my regulars, with an intensity that bordered on creepy. Pushing my lips into a smile as insincere as it was uncomfortable, I asked the Druman, “Was there anything else you needed?”

Dyter was still at the bar, pouring a refill for one of my customers. His features twisted with concern, the scar he’d gotten while fighting in the war blanching, as he watched the three men. Dyter was king-to-be Caltevyn’s right-hand man and knew a great deal more than he let on. He’d probably recognized these guys as soon as they entered and had been worrying ever since. As if that ever helped anyone.

The mumbler said something about meat, but the other two shook their heads. None of them reached for the bowls I’d given them, let alone glanced my way.

Like a festering wound I couldn’t leave alone, I asked, “Do you want to pay in coin, or do you have something to trade?”

I saw Dyter’s expression tighten in warning out of the corner of my eye.

The biggest Druman dropped several coins on the counter, way too many for the stew, and scanned the room, not even bothering to glance my way.

“I need ale,” a gray-haired man barked, taking a seat next to them. “And make it quick, wench.”

“Manners don’t cost a thing, old man, but your ale will be twice the price if you call me that again.” I dropped the tray on the bar and turned to get the rude codger his mug.

One of the Druman moved closer to the man, and I listened, trying to pick out the conversation.

“What do you mean?” the Druman asked in a low voice.

“Oh, you missed the revolution,” the old guy chortled. “Caltevyn is the ruler now. Our Phaetyn comes out at night to heal our land. That way the Drae can protect her.”

One of the other men grimaced and added, “He also killed hundreds of the rebels and torched our Harvest Zone. A mixed bag, that one.”

Drak. How did he know all that? I wasn’t sure even Dyter knew I still went out to heal the land. I glanced at him, and the glower he wore let me know this was news to him. That didn’t explain how the old man knew.

“Does the king still keep the Phaetyn? We’d very much like to meet her. Emperor Draedyn is most anxious to have her visit.”

The old man chuckled. His gaze flitted my way, and his face seemed to blur a moment. I blinked, but when I looked again, his weathered features were back in place.

“Caltevyn would love to keep her, but she refuses to stay there,” the old man said.

“Where does she stay? It’s hardly safe to let his only Phaetyn wander,” said the brawniest of the three. The two other Druman were also focused on the strange man.

“Lord Tyrrik won’t let her out of his sight, so she’s plenty safe. Although why a Drae would be interested in a Phaetyn is anyone’s guess.” The man raised his eyebrows at me. “Were you going to bring me that drink, Ryn?”

My heart stopped.

How did he know my name? I’m sure there was an explanation for it; perhaps he’d overheard Dyter. I filled another mug and set it down in front of the old bloke, my anxiety climbing as he assessed the beverage but didn’t pick it up.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” I breathed. He’d yelled at me through the kitchen for it only a minute before. “Why are you even—”