The following morning, I jerked upright in bed, wrinkled and dazed as a woman strolled into my bedchamber after knocking once.
“Brought you something to eat,” she announced, stalking past the bed in a rapid clip, her short, honey-brown hair snapping at her rounded, reddish- brown chin.
I blinked slowly, still half asleep. The long, flowing sleeves of her white blouse slid up her arms as she placed a covered dish and a pitcher on the table, revealing a slender, black-bladed dagger affixed to her forearm. That wasn’t the only one. She had another strapped to her breeches-clad thigh. I tensed as the cobwebs of sleep vanished at the sight of the weapons. “Who are you?” I demanded.
“Davina is my name. Most call me Dav.” She whipped around. “And I suppose I should call you meyaah Liessa.”
My lips parted as goosebumps spread across my scalp. It wasn’t her words that drew the reaction. It was her eyes.
A shade of vibrant blue that rivaled the Stroud Sea stood out in stark contrast to her black, vertical pupils.
Pupils that reminded me of the draken I’d seen on the road on our way into the Shadowlands, but his eyes had been red.
She stared unblinkingly at me. “Are you all right?” “Are you a draken?” I blurted.
One eyebrow rose. “That was kind of a rude question. But, yes, I am.”
At first, the only thing that entered my mind was how in the world someone roughly my height and slimmer than me could transform into something the size of the draken I’d seen. Then again, I couldn’t imagine her shifting into something even the size of Reaver, which was much smaller. But still.
Then I realized I was still gaping at her. Heat crept into my face. “I’m sorry. It was rude of me to ask that. I just…” I didn’t really have a response.
She nodded, and I wasn’t sure if that was in acceptance of my apology or not.
My gaze dropped to the dagger at her thigh. “What does…meyaah Liessa mean?”
That eyebrow seemed to climb even higher. “It means my Queen.” My entire body jolted. “Your Queen?”
“Yes,” she drew out the word. “You are the Consort, are you not? That would make you like a queen.”
I understood that, though it seemed weird to even acknowledge. But Ash… Another jolt ran through me. Ash had said liessa meant many things, all something beautiful and powerful.
A Queen would be powerful. A Consort was.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dav asked.
“I think so.” Giving a small shake of my head, I shoved the covers aside. “Where is—?” I started to call him Ash but then remembered Ector’s reaction. “Where is the Primal?” I hadn’t seen him since I’d caught a glimpse of him entering those strangely colored woods.
“Busy.”
My spine stiffened. “Still?” “Still.”
I told myself to take a deep breath and to remain calm. I did not know this woman. She was also a draken, and most likely not someone I wanted to anger. So, I forced my voice to remain level. “What is he busy with?”
For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t be any more detailed than Ector, but then she said, “He was in the Red Woods, dealing with Shades.”
Dying Woods? Shades? “I have a distinct feeling that you probably won’t appreciate the fact that I have more questions,” I started, and a faint trace of humor crept into her otherwise stoic features. “But what is the Dying Woods, and what are Shades?”
She studied me for a long moment. “The Dying Woods are the…dying woods. Dead trees. Dead grass.” She paused. “Dead everything.”
My lips thinned, even though I supposed I’d walked right into that one. “Then perhaps they should be called the Dead Woods.”
That glint of humor moved in her blue eyes. “I have said that myself many times.”
Relaxing a fraction, the robe fell around my legs as I stood. “And the Shades?”
“Souls who have entered the Shadowlands but refuse to cross through the Pillars of Asphodel to face judgement for the deeds committed while alive. They can’t return to the mortal realm. They can’t enter the Vale. So, they remain trapped in the Dying Woods. They become…lost, wanting to live but unable to gain that life.
“Oh,” I whispered, swallowing. “That sounds terrible.”
“It is,” she answered. “Especially since they are driven mad by unending hunger and thirst. They tend to get a bit bitey.”
My brows shot up. Bitey?
“Normally, they don’t cause that many problems, but sometimes, they find their way out of the Dying Woods and into Lethe,” she explained. “Then, Nyktos must round them up. Fun times had by all.”
“Fun times,” I repeated.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have much to do.” Dav started for the door. “None of which involves answering questions. No offense meant.” She stopped at the door and bowed. “Good day, meyaah Liessa.”
Dav left the room, closing the doors behind her.
“Wow,” I murmured, my gaze drifting to the table. A short laugh left me. Despite the general unfriendliness of the draken, I kind of liked her.
Hours passed with no sign of Ash. It was Ector who brought a light lunch and then supper. He didn’t linger, flat-out ignoring my questions. Just as he had each time I opened the door and found him standing in the hallway.
Night had fallen once more, and when I stepped out onto the balcony and looked up, the sky had turned a deeper shade of iron, the stars and the lights from the city beyond brighter. The leaves from the woods below had become a deep crimson, almost a red-black.
I’d gone to bed slightly annoyed two nights ago, and more than slightly last night. When I woke again this morning, no less than thirty minutes ago, to find Ector standing outside yet again, I went from irritated to furious.
The god, on the other hand, had given me a rather jaunty wave.
Only a tiny part of me wondered exactly what Ector had done to earn his spot standing outside my door. He had to be going stir-crazy. I knew I was. The only thing that kept me somewhat sane and stopped me from
breaking random things in the too quiet, too large room was the pacing— the pacing and the plotting.
Okay. Plotting wasn’t the best word for what I’d been doing. But plotting the many different blunt objects I could use to strike Ash over the head as I paced, filled me with a disturbing amount of satisfaction. None of those fantasies would do anything to aid in my seduction of the Primal, but how in the hell could I even begin to make him fall in love with me when he kept me locked in my chambers?
Then there were the glimpses of the young draken they called Reaver. Every so often, I caught sight of him in the courtyard, usually with Aios or one of the unknown guards, hopping on the ground and attempting to take flight with his thin wings. I watched from the shadows of the balcony, utterly enthralled.
A knock on the door whipped me around. I rushed forward, throwing it open. And came to a sudden halt. The god who stood in the threshold was neither Ash nor Ector.
“Hi there.” The god bowed deeply. “I don’t know if you remember me
—”
“Saion,” I said. “You were there, in the Great Hall.”
“I was. How are you feeling?” he asked rather politely. “I hope better than I last saw you.”
He’d last seen me shoving a whip down someone’s throat. “Much better,” I answered truthfully. The marks the whip had left behind were no longer raised welts but faint red streaks that no longer ached.
“Glad to hear that.” The smooth brown skin of his head glinted richly in the hallway light. “Would you like breakfast?”
“I would like to leave this room.”
“The offer for breakfast, if you accept, would require you to leave.” He stepped back into the hall and to the side. “Yes, or no?”
There was a moment of hesitation. I didn’t know Saion, but I did know that I had to get out of this chamber before I started tying bedsheets together and attempting to scale the building from the balcony.
“Yes.”
“Perfect.” Saion waited until I was in the hall and then closed the door. “Please. Follow me.”
Wary, I did as he requested, wishing I had any weapon at this point as I followed him, continuously scanning my surroundings. We made our way
down the wide hall and toward the staircase. Saion didn’t speak, and never one good with small talk, I was more than fine with the silence.
A jittery energy descended as we reached the first level. The brightly lit entryway was empty. I glanced at the double, windowless, wooden doors painted black.
“I hope you’re not planning to make a run for it,” Saion observed. My head whipped in his direction. “I wasn’t.”
“Good. I’m feeling a bit too lazy to chase you down,” he said, the corners of his lips turning up. The smile was charming and as perfect as the rest of his features, but the sharpness in his gaze left me doubting the sincerity of that smile. He motioned for me to follow him through the archway. “And Nyktos would be quite irritated with me if he learned you’d managed to evade me on my watch.”
Why would he think I’d run off? “If he is so worried about me running off, then perhaps he should be the one watching over me.”
“Interestingly enough, I said the same thing.”
“Really?” I asked doubtfully, taking in the space beyond the sharply pointed archway. There were doors on either side, but the walls were black and bare. The only thing in the space was a white pedestal in the center of the room, but nothing sat on it.
“Really.”
I glanced at him. “How did he take that?”
The smile was easier now, but no less charming as we entered another hall. “He grumbled something about feeding me to Nektas.”
My eyes widened. I hoped he was joking. “What…what do draken eat?” “Not me, that’s for sure,” he replied. “And this was said in front of
Nektas, who claimed to have no interest in eating me, thank the gods.”
The hall split into two, going in opposite directions. Ahead, two doors were spaced so far apart, each room could belong in a different home. But it was what rested in the center, between the two doors, that caught my attention. My steps slowed. Two thick, black pillars framed a short hall that opened into a circular chamber lit by hundreds of candles. Reminded of the Shadow Temple, a shiver curled down my spine as we drew closer. The golden candlelight broke apart the shadows in the chamber, casting a glow of fire over the massive blocks of shadowstone seated upon a dais. It was the throne. Thrones, actually. Two of them sat side by side, their backs carved into large and widespread wings that touched at the tips.
The Primal’s and Consort’s thrones. They were hauntingly beautiful.
I looked up to see that the ceiling was open to the sky. No glass.
Nothing. Did it never rain here?
Saion stalked toward the chamber to the left of the throne room, and it was a bit of a struggle to pull my gaze from the thrones. He opened the door. “After you.”
A whole host of spices and aromas filled the chamber as I continued in, my gaze touching on everything all at once. The walls were bare except for some candle sconces. No Primal magic there. Their flames cast a soft glow off the smooth ebony walls. A table sat in the center of the circular room, as large as the one in the banquet room in Wayfair. A dozen or so candles of varying heights glowed from the middle of the table, but I saw a silvery gleam cast across the covered dishes and glasses.
I looked up, my breath catching. The dome-shaped ceiling was made of glass, and it was the stars above that shone on the table. My lips parted.
“Beautiful.”
Gasping, I whirled around. Ash stood only a few feet from me. He wore all black, the tunic devoid of any embellishments. His hair was down, softening the sharpness of his cheekbones and the hardness of his jaw.
Startled by his sudden appearance, I bumped into one of the winged- back chairs. “It is,” I whispered. There was no way I could deny the eerie beauty of the cavernous chamber. “This room is very beautiful.”
A tight-lipped smile appeared as his gaze, so much like the starlight, swept over me. “I hadn’t even noticed the room.”
It took me a moment to realize what he meant. I glanced down at myself in surprise. I wore no gown, instead opting for the long-sleeved blouse and vest, much like Dav had been wearing. I glanced up at him, a rush of conflicting emotions rolling through me as his stare lingered on the laces of the vest, the cut of the blouse, and then strayed over the tight fit of the breeches. I was annoyed for a multitude of reasons, starting with being trapped in my chambers, and ending with his blatant perusal. But there was a different emotion—something smokier and warm—as we stood there in silence, seeming to just soak each other in. Ash had drifted closer, the heated intensity in his gaze sending a shivery wave of awareness and anticipation—
I jumped at the sound of the door clicking shut. Only then did I realize that Saion had left us. I snapped out of whatever spell I had fallen into. “Did you have your lackey lock the door, or was that unnecessary since you are here?”
“I do hope you don’t call Saion that to his face,” Ash replied smoothly. “I’ll get little peace if you do.”
“Have I given you the impression that I would care if things were peaceful for you or not?” I snapped. The moment those words left my mouth, I cursed myself. I shouldn’t show my irritation. I should let it go. Be malleable. Understanding. Whatever. Any of those things would help me.
“You’re angry with me.”
“Are you surprised? You kept me in my chambers as if I were your prisoner.”
“Keeping you in your chambers was a necessary evil.”
I took a deep breath. It did no good. “There is nothing necessary about becoming your captive.”
His eyes turned to steel. “You are not my captive.” “That’s not what it felt like.”
“If you think being kept in your chambers for a day or two is equal to being a prisoner, then you have no idea what being held against your will feels like,” he replied coolly.
“And you do?”
His skin thinned, features honing to an edge. “I am well acquainted with what that feels like.”
My mouth clamped shut. I hadn’t expected that.
Ash’s expression smoothed as he broke eye contact with me. “The food is growing cold.” He strode forward, pulling out the chair to the right. “Have a seat,” he said. “Please.”
I peeled away from the chair and took the seat he offered, replaying what he’d said over and over. Had he been held captive? Even though he was young compared to others, he was still powerful. Who could’ve done that?
Ash moved to my side and reached over my shoulder, beginning to lift the lids while I refused to allow myself to acknowledge how nice he smelled. An array of food was revealed under each lid. Bacon. Sausage. Eggs. Bread. Fruits. “Water? Tea? Lemonade?” he offered, extending his hand toward a cluster of pitchers. “Whiskey?”
“Lemonade,” I answered absently. I watched him pour the juice into a glass and then set about placing a little bit of everything on a plate—bacon, the sausage, the eggs, the fruit, and two rolls. Then he placed that plate in front of me.
The Primal of Death was serving me. Apparently, he believed I needed to eat for five. A nearly hysterical giggle climbed up my throat, but I squelched it as he poured himself what appeared to be whiskey and took the seat at the head of the table to my immediate left. The positioning surprised me. My mother and stepfather had sat at opposite ends of the table. The seat to the right of a King or, in some cases, the Queen, was usually reserved for an Advisor or other position of authority.
He reached over, picking up something that had been folded in a cloth. My breath snagged as he unwrapped it, revealing a sheathed shadowstone dagger—the one he’d gifted me with.
“I forgot to give you this when I saw you last.” He handed it over. “The sheath and strap are adjustable. It should fit.”
I stared at the dagger, my heart thundering. He was handing me a weapon that I could use to end his life. The blade he’d given to me.
Doing everything in my power to ignore the pressure clamping down on my chest, I reached over and took it. The brush of our skin sent a soft wave of energy over my fingers. Hands trembling slightly, I lifted my right leg and slid the strap around my thigh, securing the sheath.
“Thank you,” I whispered, the words tasting like soot on my tongue.
There was no response for several long moments, and then Ash said, “I hadn’t planned on leaving you alone in your room for so long. That wasn’t intentional.”
My gaze shot to his. “Then what did you intend?”
“Not to make you feel as if you were my prisoner. You’re not my captive. You never will be my captive.” His gaze shifted to his glass. “Something came up.”
He sounded genuine. “And you didn’t trust me to have free rein of the palace?”
Ash arched a brow. “Is that a serious question?” I pressed my lips together, and I thought he might smile, but he said, “Making sure you were safe in one place while I was occupied was all I could come up with at the moment. Either way, I wanted to…” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologize for upsetting you.”
My brows lifted. “That apology sounded like it pained you.” “It did.”
I narrowed my eyes.
His gaze slid back to mine. “I am sorry, Seraphena.”
The way he said my name, my full name… He made it sound like a sin. I looked away so quickly, several curls slid over my shoulders and fell against my cheek. I’d left my hair down, figuring it could help since he seemed to enjoy it. “I don’t like being locked in. Kept somewhere, hidden and—” Forgotten. Hidden and forgotten. “I just don’t like it.”
“I heard,” he finally said, and I exhaled softly. “According to Ector, you were quite vocal in expressing your dislike.”
“Don’t do it again.” The word please went unspoken, but I could feel it in every bone. Wait… “You can read my emotions, but can you read my mind?”
His brows lifted. “Thank the Fates, I cannot read your thoughts.”
Relief crashed through me—thank the Fates? I eyed him, letting that comment slide. “You said your ability to read emotions came from your mother’s bloodline?”
“Yes,” he said, picking up his glass. “Her family descended from the Court of Lotho—the Primal Embris’ Court.”
Interest sparked. “What was your mother’s name?” “Mycella.”
“That’s pretty.” “It was.”
My gaze lowered to my plate. “It has to be hard not having known your mother. I didn’t know my father, so…” I pressed my lips together. “Do you get to visit her?” I asked, assuming that she’d passed onto the Vale.
“No.”
I peeked over at him, thinking of my father. “Is there some kind of rule against that? Visiting loved ones who’ve passed on?”
“As the Primal of Death, I risk destroying the mortal’s soul if they’re in my presence for any extended period of time, at least for those who have passed through judgement. That is a balance to prevent the Primal of Death from creating his or her version of life. There is no exact rule against it for gods or other mortals, but it wouldn’t be wise. Visiting loved ones who have moved on can cause both the one living and the one who has passed to become stuck—to want what neither can have, whether that be to continue
seeing their loved one or to return to the living. It can even cause them to leave the Vale, and that does not end well.”
I thought of the spirits in the Dark Elms. Those who had refused to enter the Shadowlands altogether. They never sounded happy. Just sad and lost. Would those who left the Vale become the Shades that Dav had spoken of? Either way, I wouldn’t want that for the father I’d never met. I wouldn’t want that for anyone.
Except Tavius.
I’d be fine with him finding that fate.
Ash leaned forward. I hadn’t heard him move. I didn’t see him move. It was as if I’d sensed that he’d moved closer, and that made no sense. But when I looked over at him, I’d been right. He lifted a hand, curling his fingers around the strands of hair that had fallen forward. He brushed them back over my shoulder. “The food is getting cold.”
I nodded as he sat back. I didn’t even know why. Feeling foolish, I watched him place nearly the same amount on his plate but he went far heavier on the bacon.
“So, you eat food?” I asked, my thoughts reluctantly traveling to the conversation I’d had with Aios.
His gaze flicked up. “Yes,” he said, drawing out the word. “I can’t survive on consuming the souls of the damned alone.”
I stared at him.
“I was kidding.” His lips twitched. “About the eating souls part.”
“I hope so,” I murmured. “I didn’t know if Primals needed to eat or…” I forced a shrug.
“We can go quite some time without food, far longer than a mortal.” He took a sip of whiskey. “But we would eventually become weak. And if we continue to weaken, we can become…something else.”
“What does that mean?”
His eyes met mine once more. “Eat, and I’ll tell you.” I raised a brow. “Is this bribery?”
He lifted a shoulder as he helped himself to a piece of sausage. “Call it whatever you like, as long as it works.”
Being coerced into anything, even eating when I was, in fact, hungry, didn’t top my list of favorite things. Be that as it may, I helped myself to a forkful of eggs because curiosity was always far more potent. “Happy?” I asked around a mouthful.
One side of his lips curved. A piece of egg may have fallen from my mouth and quite possibly plopped onto my plate.
All the training I’d gone through was a waste. I was terrible at seduction.
But he smiled fully then, and I was surprised that more food didn’t fall from my mouth. The smile, the way it lit up his features and turned his eyes quicksilver, was breathtaking every time I saw it.
Ash chuckled. “Very.” “Great.”
Grinning, he chewed a piece of sausage. “We can be weakened,” he said after swallowing, and my hand trembled. “Hunger. Injury,” he continued. “Among other things.”
I took a quick drink of the lemonade, having a very good idea of what the among other things was. “Then?”
“And then, when we become weak from something like starvation or hunger, we can become something more…primitive. Something primal.” He swallowed his food. “Whatever semblance of humanity we have? That veneer slips away, and what we are underneath becomes the only thing we can be.” Those thundercloud eyes held mine. “You don’t want to be around any of us if that happens.”
A chill skated down my spine. “That happens only to Primals?”
Thick lashes swept down, and Ash shook his head. “A Primal was once a god, liessa. A god of powerful bloodlines, but a god, nonetheless. What happens to a Primal can happen quicker with a god.”
“Oh,” I whispered, barely tasting the sweet and salty bacon. “But then you could feed, right? That would stop that from happening.”
“They could.”
Something about the way he said that caught my attention. “You could.” “I could,” he confirmed, placing his fork beside his plate. “But I do not
feed.”
I frowned. “Ever?” “Not anymore.”
Confusion rose. “But what about when you’re weakened?” His eyes lifted to mine. “I make sure that does not happen.”
What about when I’d stabbed him? Had that not weakened him at all? And why didn’t he feed? Neither of us spoke for quite some time, appearing to be focused on feeding ourselves.
When I wiped my fingers clean on the napkin, I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Were you a prisoner before?”
There was no response from Ash. His gaze was fixed ahead as he drew his thumb over the rim of his glass. “I have been many things.”
I twisted the napkin in my hands. “That’s not much of an answer.” Ash turned his eyes toward me. “No, it’s not.”
Pushing down my frustration, I placed my fork beside my plate before I did something irrational with it. I wanted to know exactly what he’d meant, and it wasn’t just a sense of morbid curiosity. I understood that other Primals pushed one another’s limits, but how could one be held captive?
And I wanted to be wrong. Wanted that not to be what he’d meant. Thinking of him—of anyone—as a captive without due cause turned my stomach and made me empathize with him. And I couldn’t do that. “Wouldn’t this be easier if we actually got to know each other? Or would you rather we remain basic strangers?”
“I do not prefer for us to remain strangers. To be quite blunt, Sera, I would prefer that we were once again as close as we were at the lake.” His eyes met and held mine as the breath I’d inhaled went nowhere. Heat crept into my veins as he dragged the edges of his fangs over his lower lip. I wanted that, too. Because of my duty, of course. “I want that very much, but some things are not up for discussion, Seraphena. That is one of them.”
I looked away, my shoulders tensing as I started to press him. I tamped down that desire, though. Not only because knowing more about him could prove…well, dangerous to my duty, but also because there were things I believed weren’t up for discussion. My mother. Tavius. The night I’d drunk the sleeping draft. The truth of what it had been like for me at home. I could understand that some things were just too hard to talk about.
A soft mewling sound drew my attention. I leaned forward as a small, greenish-brown, oval-shaped head appeared over the edge of the table.
My mouth dropped as I stared at the tiny draken as it stretched its long, slender neck and yawned.
Ash looked over with a raised eyebrow. “Huh. I didn’t even know she was in here.”
I dropped my napkin. “What is her name?”
“Jadis. But she has recently taken a liking to being called Jade,” Ash told me as the draken flapped a wing onto the table and scanned the many
dishes. “I’m surprised it took her this long. Usually, she wakes at the first scent of food.”
The female draken squawked as she placed her front claws on the table. They were tiny but already sharp enough that they rapped off the wood. Her wings were thin and nearly translucent, and I swore her eyes doubled in size as she got an eyeful of the remaining food.
“How old is she?”
“She turned four a few weeks ago. She’s the youngest. Reaver—the one that was with Lailah the other day—is ten years old,” he said, and she hauled herself onto the table. He sighed. “Jadis, you know better than to be on the table.”
The little draken swung her head toward the Primal and made a soft trilling sound.
A smile appeared on Ash’s face. “Off.”
My eyes widened as the draken stomped its back foot and emitted a sharp cry.
“Off the table, Jadis,” Ash repeated with patient fondness.
The draken made a sighing sound and hopped down. Spike-tipped wings appeared over the edge of the table as she made quite the disgruntled- sounding yap.
Ash chuckled. “Come here, you little brat.”
Jumping down from the chair, Jadis’s claws tapped on the stone. Ash bent to the side, extending an arm. “She can’t fly yet,” he said as Jadis hopped onto his arm and then into his lap. She trilled, eyes glued to the plate of bacon. “She’s still got a few more months before she can hold her weight for any amount of time. Reaver is just learning to fly.”
I watched him reach over and pick up a slice of bacon. “Can you understand them in this form?”
“I’ve been around them enough to understand them when they’re like this,” he explained as Jadis munched away happily. “For the first six months of their lives, they are in their mortal forms, and then they shift for the first time. They typically remain in draken form for the first several years. That’s not to say you won’t see them in their mortal forms, but I’ve been told it is more comfortable for them to be this way. They mature just like a god or a Primal does—like a mortal for the first eighteen or so years of their life. But during that time, they hit a rapid growth spurt in their
draken form. Within a few years, they’ll be nearly Odin’s size, and by the age of maturity, the size of Nektas.”
It was hard to imagine the little thing now eating bacon growing to the size of the massive draken that had greeted us upon entering the Shadowlands. I thought of Davina. “How do they shift from something that’s the size of a mortal to Nektas’s size?” My brows pinched. “Unless he is an incredibly large male in that form, too?”
“He is about the same size as I am,” he said. That was large but nothing like the draken. “You would think it would be painful, but I’ve been told it’s like stripping off too-tight clothing.”
There had to be Primal magic involved. “How long do they live?” “A very, very long time.”
“As long as the gods?”
“For some, yes.” He glanced over at me. “Reproducing is quite complicated, or so I’m told. One could go several centuries without a fledgling being born.”
Several centuries.
I sat back, swallowing heavily.
“That’s enough.” Ash moved the plate away when she made a grab for it. “Nektas will burn me alive if he finds out I’ve been feeding you bacon.”
“Is Nektas her father?”
“Yes.” His tone thickened as Jadis lifted her head and looked back at him. “Her mother died two years ago.”
My chest constricted. It made my heart ache to think of something so small being motherless.
Jadis lowered her head and vibrant, cobalt eyes met mine. She hummed, lifting her wings.
“She wants to come to you,” Ash told me. “Are you okay with that?”
I nodded quickly, and Ash lowered her to the floor. She was fast, reaching my side and rising onto her hind legs. “What do I do?”
“Just extend your arm. She’ll grab on without using her claws. Luckily, she’s past that stage,” he added with a mutter.
Yikes.
I did what Ash had instructed, and Jadis grabbed onto my arm without hesitation. The press of her paws was cool as she climbed up my arm and then hopped into my lap.
The draken stared at me.
I stared at her.
She made a bleating sound as she swished her tail over my leg.
“You can pet her. She’s not a serpent,” Ash said softly, and when I looked over at him, two of his fingers shielded a corner of his mouth. Clearly, he hadn’t forgotten my reaction to those snakes. “She likes the underside of her jaw rubbed.”
Hoping she didn’t view my finger as something as tasty as the bacon, I curled the side of my finger under her jaw. Her scales were bumpy where I imagined the frills would eventually grow around her neck. She immediately tucked her wings back and closed her eyes.
I grinned, a bit awed by the creature. “I still can’t believe I’ve seen draken—that I’m touching one,” I admitted, my grin spreading as she tilted her head. “I read about them in the books chronicling the history of the realms and had seen drawings of them. They were always written as dragons and not draken, but I don’t think many believed the dragons truly existed. I don’t even know if I did, to be honest.”
“It’s probably best that way,” Ash commented. “I do not think either would live very long in the mortal realm, neither draken nor mortal.”
I nodded as Jadis’s neck vibrated against my finger. Mortals tended to destroy things they’d never seen before or were afraid of. “I have a question that feels sort of inappropriate to ask in front of her.”
Ash laughed quietly. “I cannot wait to hear this.”
I wished he wouldn’t laugh. I liked the sound far too much. “Do they eat…?” I pointed at myself with my free hand.
He was smiling again, and that was another thing I wished he wouldn’t do. “They’re hunters by nature, so they eat almost anything—including mortals and gods.”
“Great,” I murmured.
“You shouldn’t worry about that. You’d have to really make a draken mad for it to want to eat you. We’re not nearly as tasty as we probably think we are. Too many bones and not enough meat, apparently.”
“That’s good, then.” I smiled as Jadis pressed her little head against my finger. “How do they act as your guards?”
Ash was quiet for several moments. “They know when a Primal they have become close to has been wounded. They can feel it. They will defend those Primals in certain situations.”
“Like what kinds of situations?”
He finished off his whiskey. “Any that doesn’t involve other Primals.
They are forbidden to attack another Primal.”
“Did…did Nektas know what I did before, in the mortal realm, when you walked up on me without announcing your presence?”
“You mean, when you stabbed me in the chest?” He grinned. “I don’t know why you’re smiling.”
His eyes had changed. They weren’t doing that swirling thing again, but they’d lightened to a shade of pewter. “Your unwillingness to say what you did gives me a little hope that I won’t have to fear another attack.”
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable with that belief,” I muttered. All at once, I wished I actually thought before I spoke—for many reasons.
He laughed, though, and his response equally amused me. I also felt something a lot like shame. “To answer your question, yes. Nektas knew something had happened,” he told me, and my heart skipped against my ribs. “He sensed that I wasn’t seriously injured, though.”
“I stabbed you—” Jadis nudged my hand because it had stopped moving. I returned to rubbing her.
“It was barely a flesh wound.”
“Barely a flesh wound?” I sputtered, offended.
“If you had managed to seriously injure me, Nektas would’ve come for me.”
“Even into the mortal realm?” “Even there.”
Thank the gods I hadn’t seriously injured the Primal. If so, I’d be nothing but a pile of ashes. “How would he have felt it?”
“He’s bonded to me.” Ash paused. “All who reside here are bonded to me. Just as the draken in the other Courts are bonded to those Primals.”
I swallowed thickly at the further confirmation that I would not survive this. “I really need to get a better grip on my anger.”
Ash laughed. “I don’t know about that. Your anger is…”
“If you say amusing, I’m already going to fail at getting a handle on my anger.”
His answering smile evoked a whole other emotion, one I really hoped he couldn’t sense at the moment. “I was going to say interesting.”
“I’m not sure that’s any better.” I continued scratching Jadis under the jaw, pushing the bubbling unease aside. “I didn’t know about the bonding part.”
“Of course, not. Mortals have no need of that knowledge.” A couple of moments passed. “Not as scary as her father, is she?”
“No.” She was still happily vibrating. “She’s adorable.” “I’ll remember you said that when she’s Nektas’s size.”
His teasing words sent my heart racing. She was several years away from Nektas’s size. And if I succeeded in my plans, neither of us would be here to see that.
“I assume you’re done with your breakfast?” Ash spoke, drawing me from my thoughts. I nodded. “Good. You and I need to talk, and I prefer to do that away from any potentially breakable items you may or may not want to throw.”
