Blood Oath (Darkest Drae #1)(2)
“Here and there.” He grunted and put a heaping spoonful of stew in his mouth.
“Where?”
Dyter grabbed my arm. “Ryn, there’s a load of dishes larger than the Gemond Mountains back in the tub. I need you to get started on them, or we’ll be here all night.”
“I’m not sure Mum meant for me to do dishes when she sent me to work for you.” The old coot was the closest thing to a father I’d ever known so I didn’t hesitate to try to get out of the work.
Dyter gave me a pointed look that made the scar on his cheek tighten. “I’m sure she meant for you to do anything other than kill her gardens.”
“Hey! I’m good at weeding.” I scowled, and it bounced straight off his stocky frame. He knew me too well.
He patted me on the shoulder, turning it into a push that propelled me toward the kitchen. “Sure, you are, Ryn. Sure you are.”
I whipped my dishrag over my shoulder, accidentally smacking him, and headed to the kitchen. The mound of dishes that waited for me had spilled off the counter and onto the broth-sticky floor. With a sigh, I grabbed a pot off of the top of the pile and started on the enormous task.
I’d only worked at The Crane’s Nest for a few months, though I’d known Dyter forever. After fifteen years of gardening, Mum announced I’d never be able to do more than weed and move dirt, so she sent me here.
I was a plant killer. A poisoner of growth. A farming fool. I liked to do it; I just sucked at it. Big time.
Most women in Verald learned the skills of their mothers to prepare them to run their household when their husbands left to join the war—and most likely die. Serving ale and stew was respectable enough, I thought, and it would be the only way for me to provide for a family, if my future husband and I had a child before he was sent to the lines. Ugh, that sounded so . . . planned and boring. But that future was drawing closer and closer. In three months, I’d be eighteen.
I held a huge pot over my head and let the pot drop into the sudsy water below, laughing and lunging away when water exploded everywhere. A cheap thrill, I had to admit, but a thrill nevertheless.
All I really wanted at seventeen years old was something different, something more, some interruption to the path of this mundane life.
My sleeves were soaked, my fingers pruny, and as I got down to the few remaining dishes, I rushed to finish so I could go back into the tavern room and eavesdrop on the meeting. The rebel gathering was Dyter’s real reason for sending me back here. Miserable coot.
“Clear out!” Dyter boomed from the tavern room. His deep voice carried over the din of male voices, and I rushed out of the kitchen, tightening the ties of my apron over my green aketon and brown ankle-length skirt.
Dyter bellowed, “Curfew is in ten minutes and the king’s Drae has been spotted in the skies the last few nights, so don’t any of ya get caught. And if you do, don’t squeal.”
I shivered and saw several men exchange nervous looks. Everyone had to work to conceal their fear at the mention of Lord Irrik, the sole Drae in the kingdom of Verald. He was the horror story mothers told their children. A dragon shifter, sworn to be the king’s muscle—brutal, terrifying, and invincible.
And he was hunting in Zone Seven.
2
The men spilled out of the doorway, disappearing into the inky darkness of night. The muggy air rushed in, and I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, relishing the smell of heat and night—much better than sweaty man bodies.
“Want me to walk you home?” Arnik asked, joining me at the end of the bar.
His familiar voice brushed over me, making me smile, as he drew closer. Arnik and I had been friends forever. Best friends. Our histories were so enmeshed I couldn’t imagine life without him. We’d grown up next door to each other, played together, and confided in each other. Everyone in Harvest Zone Seven knew everyone, but I didn’t have any close friends other than Arnik. Most people found me a bit useless, I think. Or maybe I’d killed their potato plants at some point. People were fiercely protective of their potato crops in Verald.
“Sorry, Son. Ryn is staying on. I need her help,” Dyter said, sliding a long bench on top of a table using his sole arm and a bump of his hip. “This place is a mess thanks to your revolutionary puppies.”
I did my best not to smirk at the owner’s jab at Arnik’s new friends. I tended to keep to myself, but this was no reflection on Arnik’s abundant social life. Of late, he’d gravitated toward young males full of indignant rage at the king and those who declared a burning need for glory.
Lips twitching, I turned to Arnik. “You’re on your own for the walk. I’ll see you tomorrow, though. Mum said there are deliveries to make, and I know your ma’s been asking for soap.”
I could make soap, a skill I was quite proud of, actually. Unfortunately, nearly everyone could make it, so I probably wouldn’t be the soap queen of Harvest Zone Seven when I married.
“I’m pruning the pinot gris vines in the southern fields tomorrow,” Arnik reminded me. “For all the good it’ll do. Half of them are withered and black. The roses at the end of the rows haven’t bloomed in years.”
Arnik’s gentle reminder made me sigh. At eighteen, he had adult responsibilities. Two weeks had passed, but I still tended to forget our schedules didn’t match anymore. I’d been hoping he’d help me let the Tals’ donkey out of its stall.