Of Steel and Scale (The Drakkon Kin Trilogy #1)

Chapter 3

3

For several seconds, there was nothing but fear, cold, and turbulence. It tossed me, turned me, even as it dragged me down.

I fought not to breathe, not to panic, but both were hard in a world that was so black and violent. When the only thing I could hear was the rapid pounding of my own heart. When the weight at my waist dragged me ever deeper...

The safety rope.

It was still attached to some part of the ship.

I reached down and tried to release the catch, but the heaviness of whatever lay on the other end of the rope made it impossible to undo. I unclipped my knife and, holding it tight in the turbulent water, tried to cut myself free. It took several attempts before I succeeded. Relief surged, but I was far from safe. I kicked toward a surface I couldn’t see, swimming desperately, hoping I was headed in the right direction, that I wasn’t going sideways or, Vahree forbid, even down. In this world of dark madness, anything was possible.

It was a madness that seemed endless.

My lungs burned, and my heart pounded so fiercely it felt ready to tear out of my chest. My limbs were ice and my clothes heavy, hampering progress. It didn’t matter. Nothing did, except reaching the surface.

I kept kicking, kept fighting, desperate to survive, to breathe.

Then, abruptly, I could.

I sucked in air, treading water as I spun around, looking for Rutgar and the others. All I saw was darkness, bits of boat, and mountainous white-capped waves.

I had no idea where I was. No idea how far the shore and safety might be.

A wave hit, pushing me back down again. It ripped at my cloak, dragging it sideways, almost choking me in the process. I quickly released it, then sheathed my knife, making sure it was secure before I released it. Maybe it was stupid to care so much about a weapon when I was on the verge of drowning, but it was a gift from my father and one I wasn’t about to relinquish—not unless there was absolutely no other choice. Not when I was about to lose everything else thanks to the damn marriage.

After tugging off my heavy gauntlets, I let them float away and kicked upward again. Another gasp for air; another useless turn. I shouted for Rutgar, but the words were torn away by the fierce winds. There was no response, no sign of anyone or anything. Nothing but dark violence all around me.

Túxn help me...

Given the goddess wasn’t likely to hear such a plea, let alone answer it, I had no choice but to try a closer source of help—the white-fins. I sucked in another breath then held out a hand, my fingers splayed as I opened the mental gates and reached for the oft-hunted marine mammals that called these waters home. Direct mind-to-mind communication wasn’t possible with all animals, only the larger ones whose intelligence was close to—or at the same level—as we humans.

For several minutes there was no response. The violent sea tossed me around, and it was becoming increasingly harder to keep my head above the water. I scanned the immediate area and pushed more force into my call. The “hearing” distance within water was far greater—and faster—than that of air, thanks to the density of it. If there was a school of white-fins anywhere close in these waters, they would hear me.

I only needed one to answer.

Just as hope began to fade, there was a brief, tantalizing brush of awareness. I pushed more force into my call and, a few seconds later, a large white dorsal fin briefly broke the surface a few yards ahead of me.

What need?

While the response wasn’t actually in any language I would normally understand, the magic that allowed this sort of communication also translated for both of us.

Need help to shore.

Her large white fin broke the surface again as she swam around me. Studying me. Judging me.

Can’t take all way. Shallows kill.

Close will be good.

She was silent for a moment. Weapons carry?

Will not hurt you.

Eat you if do.

I had no doubt about that. And, in truth, while my sword could easily slice through her flesh, there was no way known I could draw, let alone use, it in these seas. Not before the white-fin’s sharp teeth sawed me in half, at any rate.

I promise no harm.

She had no reason to believe me. Not given how hunted her kind were by mine. And yet, I wasn’t surprised when she assented. In my experience, animals of all kinds were far more trusting and trustworthy than humans.

Hold , she said, and broke the surface next to me.

I locked my hands around her dorsal fin and held on tight. She surged forward, undulating through the water, dragging me along easily despite the storm and the fact she preferred the depths to the surface.

What followed was a long and arduous nightmare. I lost my grip more than once, but she always circled around to collect me. My body became numb, and my teeth chattered so hard my jaw ached. I used just enough inner flame to keep frostbite from my extremities, but dared not do anything more. Aside from the fact it would scare my helper, the heat was better kept for when I reached dry land.

If I reached dry land.

I had no idea how much time had passed before the change of sound in the crashing of the waves intruded on my consciousness. I looked past her dorsal and saw a faint ribbon of white—sea foam washing up onto a shoreline.

No farther, she said. Shallows ahead.

I released her fin and slipped away from her sleek body. Thank you for your assistance. Keep safe.

Only safe if yours no hunt.

And with that, she turned and disappeared under the sea. I resolutely headed for the shore. I wasn’t a great swimmer, and it turned out to be a whole lot farther than it first appeared. By the time the waves inelegantly tossed me onto the stony beach, I was shaking with exhaustion and so damn cold I could barely move.

Somehow, I crawled away from the reach of the waves, then drew my knees to my chest and hugged them close as I called to the inner fires. Though it was tempting to go full flame, I knew enough about frostbite to resist the urge. Instead, I pushed the heat out cautiously, warming my body so slowly that my teeth continued to chatter long into the night. The wind didn’t help matters—it spun around me, stiffening my clothes and sheeting them with ice. Medical wisdom suggested stripping off, but I didn’t have anything else to wrap myself in, and there wasn’t anything along this forsaken shoreline to use.

Nothing except the occasional scrap of bleached wood that spoke of all the other ships that had found their death in these waters.

The inner heat eventually chased numbness from my limbs, and the shivering eased, even if it didn’t completely stop. I pushed to my feet, my still-wet leathers clinging like a second skin. I eked out a little more heat in an effort to dry them, then resolutely walked up the beach. Yellowed razor grass lined the ridge above me, defining the end of the sand and the beginning of whatever lay beyond. I scrambled up the slope, my feet slipping on the uneven ground, my fingers brushing the stones as I fought for balance. By the time I reached the ridge, my breath was a harsh rasp and my legs burned. I was fit—as a soldier you had to be, even if skirmishes with the Mareritt were currently few and far between—but right now I felt weaker than a babe.

The land beyond the top of the ridge was flat and empty. The only signs of life were the thick patches of razor grass and the bones of old trees. There was absolutely nothing here that gave any clue as to where I was. I turned back to the sea. The shoreline stretched on endlessly to my left. To my right, distant and vague, were the jagged edges of a mountain range. It had to be the Black Glass Mountains, but the angle was very different to anything I’d seen previously. Which meant I was on the edge of—or, more likely, given how distant those mountains looked—deep within the boundaries of Mareritten.

I swore and thrust a hand through the tangled mess of my hair, my fingers tearing into multiple knots. I shook the dark strands free and watched the wind sweep them away. I couldn’t help but wish it would grant me the same sort of lift—if nothing else, it would make getting home a little faster.

After another look at the surrounding desolation, I slid back down to the beach. Walking on soft sand might be more arduous than keeping to the flatter ground along the ridge, but I had no idea how well guarded these lands were. No idea what sort of traps the Mareritt might have set for the unwary. Of course, the beach might prove no safer in that regard, but I was betting their dislike of the sea made it less likely for traps to be set here.

Resolutely, I set off for the distant, shadowy mountains. Until I got closer, I wouldn’t be able to call either Veri or Desta to me, and they were my only real hope of rescue. My mother would know something was wrong the minute the ship didn’t dock on time, and she’d no doubt attempt to find me via the tracer stone I still wore.

But tracer stones, like the scribe pens, were a product of magic and notoriously unreliable range-wise, and if I was deep within Mareritten territory, well, there was no way any receiver, no matter how powerful, would find me.

The storm eased as the night wore on, though the chill remained. The wind remained blustery and uneven, one minute throwing me sideways, the next chasing my heels and hastening my steps along the sandy shore.

Dawn’s pale pink fingers were seeping across the distant horizon when I made my first attempt to reach either Veri or Desta.

All I got was an odd sort of static; I remained beyond communication range.

I swore and lifted my face to the sky, blinking back tears of frustration and tiredness. All I wanted was to lie down and rest, but I couldn’t; not here, not until I was sure help was on the way.

I stumbled on. Dawn came and went, but the day remained gloomy. Although there was one bright spot—I was at least missing my wedding.

Not that it actually mattered. The political and trade agreements had already been signed by both parties; the commitment ceremony was little more than a formality, even if one full of pomp and splendor. If I did happen to die in this forsaken place, it would have little true effect. Garran—the firstborn son of Mom’s oldest sister—had long ago been made my father’s heir, and it was highly unlikely Damon would mourn the loss of a wife he didn’t want.

Even so, regret drifted through me. I might not have wanted the marriage, but I couldn’t deny the wisp of attraction to the man. It would have been interesting to see if time together produced anything approaching a loving relationship.... I shut the thought down. I had no time for regret, because I had no intention of dying.

Not before I caught the bastards behind the deaths of all those in Eastmead and all those in the boat.

Morning moved into afternoon. My head throbbed, my throat was raw, and there wasn’t a single part of my body that didn’t ache. Every damn step was becoming an effort.

I had to find somewhere safe to stop and rest. Now. Before the decision was taken out of my hands and I utterly collapsed.

A sharp cry to my right had me reaching for my knife and spinning around—too quickly. The beach did a brief but crazy dance, and nausea surged up my throat. I swallowed heavily and studied the ridge, eventually spotting the source of the sound. It was a kayin—a large seabird known for its ability to soar for days on the wind’s currents. They didn’t often land in open, flat areas like this, as their size made it difficult for them to take off again. Their usual haunts were the peaks high above the sea, where they could easily launch from mountain ledges and catch the updrafts.

I warily moved closer, my gaze moving between the bird and the ridge, my aching muscles humming with readiness to move—to fight—should this be some sort of trap.

The bird made no effort to get away, and I soon saw why; it had been shot through the chest. The cry I’d heard had been its last.

But the arrow hadn’t come from an Esan bow. We didn’t use this type of wood, and we certainly didn’t fletch them with blue feathers.

This arrow was Mareritten.

Túxn help me ... Despite the long hours of walking, I remained in their lands.

I breathed deep, trying to control the instinctive rush of fear. I might be alone, I might be bone weary, but I wasn’t without weapons. The bastards wouldn’t take me down as easily as they had this kayin.

I moved past the fallen bird and cautiously scrambled up the slope. The lands beyond the razor grass remained desolate. There was nothing to suggest anything or anyone watched this place. And yet the hand that had fired the arrow had to be near; the kayin wouldn’t have been able to fly far with the arrow in its chest.

I carefully retrieved its carcass and placed it beyond the razor grass, where it was easily visible. Then I stretched out on the ground, the grass brushing my face, leaving tiny cuts in its wake. I ignored them. Moving farther down the ridge meant I wouldn’t be able to see the lay of the land or what might be moving across it.

Time ticked by. I remained absolutely still, though stones dug into my stomach and tiredness pulled at my eyelids.

Then I heard the soft crunch of stones.

I carefully looked left. A figure appeared over the slight rise in the land, and my pulse skipped several beats. He was pale of skin, with wide shoulders and a thickset body. There were six fingers on his hands rather than the usual five, and the tips of his short, spiky hair gleamed like blue ice against the cool grays of the sky.

Mareritt.

The instinct to rise, to fight, surged, but I ignored it. I had no idea if he was alone, and until I did , I couldn’t react.

He stopped on the top of the small hill and scanned the area. His gaze swept across the ground between us and then paused. For too many seconds, he stared at the thick grass inches from my face, and my fingers itched with the need to unleash the flames burning against their tips.

I didn’t, and after a moment, his gaze moved on to the kayin. A bright smile flashed across his rough features, and he strode forward. He wore leathers rather than armor, and the only weapon he had beyond the bow was the knife strapped to his left thigh. My gaze shot back to his face, for the first time seeing the telltale features of youth—the lack of scars on his cheeks, the absence of malice in his expression.

He must be in the midst of p’asazhis—a rite of passage that all Mareritten warriors apparently went through, which had them living unaided—aside from the knife and bow—off the land for the three months of summer.

I released my grip on my sword and reached for my knife instead. I had one shot, one chance. Youth or not, I couldn’t let him get close. I simply didn’t have the strength or speed for hand-to-hand combat.

He moved forward, his gaze on his prize rather than keeping watch for anything or anyone else. I waited until he was so close that his foul scent—a thick, unpleasant musk—stung my nostrils, then leapt to my feet and threw the knife. He was fast, I’d give him that. The blade that should have pierced his heart got his shoulder instead. He tore it from his flesh and, with a scream of rage, drew his own and charged. I raised my hand, called to the fire, and pierced him with heat. He was dead before he hit the ground.

I sucked in another breath in a vague effort to ease the red-hot needles now boring into my brain—a warning that I was skirting the edges of strength both psychically and physically—then warily moved forward, my hand on my sword and my gaze sweeping the area on the off chance he wasn’t alone. The desolation stretched on, undisturbed by further movement. After retrieving my knife, I moved across to the Mareritt and knelt beside him. His stench filled my nostrils again, briefly making me gag. I switched to breathing through my mouth and quickly patted him down. There was nothing under his clothes or in his pockets. A small water bottle was strapped to his left hip and a carryall pouch on his right. I sliced away the latter and tipped its contents onto the ground. There was a flint stone, a striker, a basic first aid kit, and random bits and pieces such as coral, oddly colored rocks, and... my heart skipped several beats... a small golden feather.

The same sort of feather I’d briefly glimpsed sticking out of Oran’s cheek before the boat had come under full attack.

I picked it up. It was heavy, cold to the touch, and definitely made of metal. Dried blood dotted the end of the hollow shaft, which in normal feathers meant they’d been shed from flesh. But what sort of bird had metal feathers? None, as far as I was aware. None that existed in either Arleeon or Mareritten, at any rate.

So, was this a new form of weapon from the Mareritt? Had their mages twisted life and created something bizarre and deadly? It would certainly explain the odd unnaturalness I’d felt before the connection had been so brutally severed.

If it were the Mareritt, though, why would they attack an out of the way settlement such as Eastmead? Why not Esan or Zephrine? Creatures capable of producing acidic dung would surely cause substantial damage to the thick walls protecting either city.

Then again, if the Mareritt were behind the attack on Eastmead and the boat, why would this youth have collected the feather as a trophy? From what I understood of p’asazhis, their “treasures” were meant to be unusual or unexplained items from which stories could be spun.

I’d always found it hard to reconcile the image of Mareritten storytellers with the brutal reality of their warriors.

I pocketed the feather and untied the small water bottle. The liquid inside was tepid and had a somewhat sour, metallic taste, but right then, nothing had ever tasted so sweet. I resisted the urge to gulp it down, drinking only enough to ease the fire in my throat, then capped it again. I had to make it last, because who knew how long I’d be out here.

I rose and made my way back to the kayin. I wasn’t about to let its death go to waste—not when my hunger was so fierce it was a deep and never-ending ache. I moved back down to the beach, carefully burned away the feathers, then increased the heat of my flames to cook its flesh.

Dusk was settling in across the skies by the time I’d picked the last of its bones clean. I briefly thought about resting for the night, but the desire to get out of Mareritten lands was stronger.

I pushed to my feet and kept on walking. The moon was high overhead when I made yet another attempt at contacting either Veri or Desta. Static washed through my mind, and I closed my eyes, resisting the urge to give up. To collapse on the stony sand and just let the rising tide wash me away. Maybe it would have been better to have gone down with the boat than die by slow degrees from exhaustion and hunger....

Then, from out of the static, came a brief, very distant, I hear.

Desta, not Veri.

Tears spilled down my cheeks. Hope. There was yet hope of rescue.

Can you come?

Run free. Able.

Meaning Mom had let her loose in the vague hope that I was alive. Then come.

I had no idea if such an order would work. No idea if the magic that allowed this connection could also act as a type of locator beacon. It did with Veri, but she had the advantage of long sight and being able to fly over vast tracts of land to find me.

I turned and studied the ridgeline. The razor grass had finally given way to high sweeps of cliffs. I’d have to go up, because Desta would never get down.

I drank the last bit of metallic water but didn’t toss the bottle aside. Who knew, there might be a spring of some kind atop the cliffs.

I resolutely headed up the foreshore, angling toward what looked to be the easiest path up the crumbling, dangerous-looking cliff. Climbing was a long, slow, and arduous journey involving scraped hands, a number of slips, and plenty of cursing. By the time I finally crawled over the ridge, my hands were bloody, my body was locked in pain, and my head spun. I gulped in air and looked around. The landscape was a sea of rock and wind-twisted paperbark trees; while it offered patrolling Mareritt plenty of cover, it also had relief surging. I knew these lands. Or, at least, had done patrols through them. While I was a long way north of where I needed to be, this wilderness swept down to the bogs designating the end of Mareritten land and the start of Esan’s.

I was close, so close, to safety.

But I was also exhausted. I had to sleep. Had to.

I glanced around, looking for somewhere that was protected from both the weather and Mareritt gaze. I eventually settled on a tower of rock that had, via wind and eruption, formed a V-shaped cave. The wide, high entrance gave me a good view of the surrounding area while the deepness of the cave meant a casual glance by a passing Mareritt was unlikely to spot me.

I walked to the very back, stripped off my sword, and placed it across my knees once I sat down. While I was well aware that death too often preyed on the unwary, I could not deny exhaustion. Sleep caught me within minutes.

A velvety nose nudging my shoulder woke me who knew how many hours later.

Desta . Tears hit my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I was safe. Or as safe as one could be when we were still in enemy territory.

I reached up and rubbed her nose. She snorted softly, her breathing hard and the scent of her sweat stinging the air. She’d run a long way to find me.

“You, my darling girl, can have carrots any time you damn well please from now on.”

She snorted and pushed my shoulder. Want now.

I laughed. Sorry, we have to get home first.

Then we go.

No. Rest first.

No need. Am strong.

Yes, my darling girl, you are.

I nevertheless waited until her breathing had eased before pushing upright. Every muscle I possessed went into immediate spasm mode. I groaned, pressed my hands against my knees to keep them locked, and breathed deep in an effort to control—or at least ease—the wash of pain.

It seemed to take forever.

Eventually, I sheathed my sword, then grabbed a fistful of dark mane and dragged myself onto Desta’s back. She immediately turned and left the cave. The minute we were in open ground, she broke into a gentle canter. I moved with her easily, gripping lightly with my thighs, not needing to guide her or even to hold her mane to keep on. She and I were long used to traveling without bridle or saddle; in fact, I’d made a habit of it whenever I went out to see the drakkons. If something ever happened to me, I’d wanted her free and unhindered by any form of restraints to either return home or wander the lower grasslands as she pleased.

Dawn was once again creeping rose-colored fingers across the sky when I heard the shout. I pulled Desta up, my hand on my sword as my gaze swept the long shadows ahead.

Another shout. Desta snorted and, through my contact with her, I felt my mother’s presence. A heartbeat later, four figures crested the horizon and galloped down the long path meandering through the portion of bog still dividing us.

Relief hit so hard it left me shaking. I did the whole deep breath thing again and fought the urge to send Desta flying toward them. This area was a dangerous place for the unwary and had to be navigated carefully.

My mother, it seemed, hadn’t gotten that notice. Her mount—a huge gray stallion—flew across the land, leaving the other three in her wake. My father wasn’t amongst them, but that wasn’t surprising. He’d no doubt be involved in the search for survivors along our shorelines.

I kept Desta’s pace even, but couldn’t stop the smile that grew ever wider as we drew closer. Mom’s gaze swept me critically and then rose, the sheen of tears bright in her blue eyes. She didn’t normally show her emotions in public but, as we stopped our mounts side by side, she leaned across, wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and hugged me fiercely. “I feared you dead for the longest of times.”

Tears fell, hers and mine, but for several minutes, I neither moved nor replied. I simply hugged her back, enjoying being in her safe arms once again.

Eventually, she pulled away, her gaze sweeping me again, this time a little more critically. Mom’s home—Jakarra—was the largest of the five islands that lay to east of Hopetown, and like many of her island kin, she had thick, wiry hair that was the same brownish red as her skin. While I’d gotten my darker coloring from my father, I’d inherited her lean build and—according to my father—her fierce tenaciousness.

She gently thumbed the tears from my cheek, her touch so cool against my overheated skin. “I cannot see any injuries, but?—”

“Other than exhaustion and a bit of sunburn, I’m fine.” I hesitated. “Were there any other survivors?

“A few boat fragments and five bodies are all that has washed up on the beach so far.”

Meaning she’d been down on the beaches alongside my father until she’d felt my presence in Desta’s mind. “Rutgar?”

“Unknown.”

I closed my eyes and sent a silent prayer to Vahree to care for all the souls lost in the attack.

“Your father,” she continued, with just the lightest trace of amusement in her voice, “did warn Damon you were too damn ornery to die.”

“I bet that ruined his day.”

She laughed. “Probably. Let’s get you home.” Her gaze moved from mine. “Ren, take point. Deni and Cal, rear guard.”

She nudged her mount on, then handed me a pouch containing trail rations. “What happened out there? Oran’s never failed us before?—”

“He didn’t. We were attacked.”

Her gaze snapped to mine. “By the same force that attacked Eastmead?”

“Unknown, but likely.”

She swore colorfully, and a smile tugged my lips. The bow master was never far away, even though she’d been immersed in palace life for nigh on forty years now. “As much as I’d like a full report, it can wait. Let’s get you home and rested first.”

I nodded and undid the pouch; it was little more than nuts, hard cheese, and dried meats, but it went some way to stopping the terrible, gnawing ache in my gut.

It took another two hours before Esan came into sight. She was situated in a mountain pass known as the Eastern Slit—an angular break created by a long-ago eruption that sliced right through the mountain. Water tumbled from the edge of the upper slice to the lower, a leaping, silvery stream of water that plunged into the deep pool dominating the entrance of the Slit. The fortress’s wall was barely visible through the wash of rainbow spray, but rose at an angle, a thick blot of darkness as smooth as the sides of the mountain pass it spanned. No Mareritt had ever breached that wall or gotten into Esan itself, though that was due in no small part to the earth mages who used their ability to manipulate earth to fortify her during an attack.

The clarion call of trumpets announced our arrival. By the time we’d crossed the lake’s wooden drawbridge and were riding toward Esan, the vast metal gates were open and my father—aboard his brown mount—galloped toward us. I was a little surprised that Damon wasn’t with him, and I absolutely hated the sliver of disappointment that stirred.

My father swung his stallion around to ride on the opposite side to my mother. “Glad to see you’re safe and alive, daughter.”

“Glad to be safe and alive, Father. It was touch and go for a while.”

“We’ll need a full report?—”

“ Not before she bathes and sleeps,” my mother cut in curtly.

“One of these days, Marin, you’ll let me finish a sentence.”

“Miracles are not unknown,” she replied, amusement evident.

He snorted. “As I was about to say, it can wait until tomorrow. Damon should be back?—”

“Where’s he gone?” I asked.

“Like mother, like daughter,” Rion muttered. “Bless the gods for only giving us one—I’m sure I would have lost the capacity to speak had we any more.”

“When you get perfection the first time, there is no need for others,” I murmured.

Mom laughed. “A truth I have often stated.”

“He is,” my father said, the amusement in his eyes belying his severe tone, “still with the party searching the accessible shoreline for more survivors.”

“They’ve found no more?” Mom asked.

“One, though he has lost a limb, and it is unknown whether he’ll survive. But that is not unexpected.”

Because the Throat rarely releases those she claims.

We rode through the gates and into the deep tunnel that ran under the walls. Portcullis slots were placed every twenty feet, and there were regular murder slits in the ceiling. If the Mareritt ever did get this far, they’d be greeted by boiling liquid.

Once out of the tunnel, we wound our way through the military section then on through the various public levels until we reached the main keep. It was a vast building built into the sheer rock face and made of the same black volcanic stone. The palace was a rather grim and unadorned structure that really didn’t fit the name.

We rode underneath the secondary wall—another huge structure that hosted not only the war room, but also all the administrative facilities for both the military and the city—and came into the main courtyard from the tunnel.

I halted, dismounted, and rubbed Desta’s ears as a stable boy approached. “I promised her plenty of carrots, Mik.”

“More than her daily ration, then, Captain?”

“Double it. And add an apple. She deserves it.”

He nodded and lightly grabbed her mane. “Come along then, my girl.”

As the two of them disappeared, I turned and followed my parents up the steps to the palace’s vast metal doors. The entrance hall was small but bright, thanks to the heavily fortified light wells cut into the ceiling, and the colorful tapestries and paintings adorning the walls. A grand black stone staircase dominated the central space and swept up to the accommodation quarters, both private and those for guests. To my right was the grand hall, and to the left, the kitchens, buttery, and stores. Tucked behind the staircase was our private chapel.

It was only when we reached my apartment and were totally alone that my father wrapped me in his big strong arms and held me tight.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. It was all there in his hug, and in the kiss he eventually brushed on the top of my head.

“Rest as long as you need to. The report can wait.”

I wasn’t so sure that it could. I pulled the metal feather from my pocket and handed it to him. “Ask the smiths if they know what this is made of and whether they’ve ever seen anything like it before.”

He accepted it with a frown. “Why?”

“Because one of these things sliced Oran’s face in half. I found this one in the pouch of a Mareritt.”

His gaze shot to mine. “You think this is part of a new weapon they’re developing?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know, but we were a long way out to sea when the attack happened.”

“No more questions,” Mom cut in. “Let her bathe and rest, Rion.”

He looked set to argue for a moment, then simply nodded and headed out. Mom cupped my elbow and lightly guided me across to the bathing area. “Shall I order you a meal before I leave you in peace?”

“That would be great.” I quickly hugged her. “Thank you for coming to find me.”

She laughed softly. “My darling girl, not even a full battalion of Mareritt could have stopped me once I’d felt you in Desta’s mind. Rest up. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

She kissed my forehead, then left. I ran the bath, then stripped off and stepped in. By the time the hot water had soaked away the worst of the aches and I’d eaten a good portion of the mountain of food she’d ordered, I was all but dead on my feet. I walked across to the sleeping platform, crawled under the blankets, and was asleep before my head hit the pillows.

It was the awareness of being watched that eventually woke me. My hand slid instinctively under the pillow for the knife I habitually kept there, my fingers closing on the hilt a heartbeat before I recognized the warm, spicy scent teasing the air.

Damon.

“What in Túxn’s name are you doing in my room?” I released the knife’s hilt, then pushed the tangled strands of hair out of my face.

He’d pulled one of the lounging chairs up close to the sleeping platform, on which he rested his bare feet. His closely shaven head gleamed like newly oiled blackwood in the sunlight streaming through the light well above us, highlighting the sharp but very pleasing planes of his face. His linen gambeson was undone, and his undershirt open at the neck, providing teasing glimpses of his muscular chest and stomach, while his leathers hugged the rather impressive mound of his crotch and emphasized the lean and powerful length of his legs.

Desire stirred, as did amusement. At least physical attraction was never going to be a problem for me. Who knew what he actually felt.

“Technically, it’s our room given that, for all intents and purposes, we’re already married.” His blue eyes shone with amusement, and I had a vague feeling he knew exactly where my gaze had been dwelling.

“Then I’m surprised you didn’t decide to sleep on the platform rather than simply pulling up a chair.” I pushed upright but didn’t bother to tug the bed coverings back up. While I might have had my own quarters as a captain, I’d bunked in with six others in the years before that. Nudity was something you grew immune to.

His gaze swept me, brief and somewhat perfunctory. “I considered it, but given your earlier threat, I thought it likely you slept with a knife under your pillow.”

I reached under and pulled it free. “And you would be right.”

His laugh was warm and rich, and spun around me as sweetly as any caress. It was very annoying, this attraction thing, especially given there was very little indication it went both ways.

Unless, of course, the man had utter control over even the most instinctive of physical reactions.

“Your father has called a council for midday. He wishes your presence, if you’re up to it.”

Which didn’t leave us all that much time, given it was close to eleven thirty now. “I bet ‘wish’ is not how he actually phrased that.”

“Well, no.” Damon lifted his feet off the platform and rose. “Do you want something to eat beforehand?”

“No, I’ll grab something later. But thanks.” I tossed the blankets off and climbed out of bed. His gaze scanned me, another of those non-caresses that had heat flaring. I silently cursed errant hormones and walked across to the bathing area, quickly washing and then dressing, all the while uncomfortably aware of the man who now stood near the air slit, staring out at the narrow view it provided of the courtyard.

Once I’d strapped on my weapons, I said, “Ready?”

He turned to face me. “Always.”

The smile glimmering briefly in his eyes left me wondering if perhaps I’d been reading him all wrong, even if his ungiving expression suggested otherwise. He was of Zephrine royal stock, after all, and given their womanizing reputations, my lanky lack of womanly features might not be such a problem....

I pushed the thought away, spun, and walked out. He fell in step beside me, and we moved quickly through the palace and out into the courtyard. A multitude of men and women went about the daily business of palace life, filling it with color, noise, and a multitude of aromas, some good, some bad. I greeted those I knew and nodded to those I didn’t, then clattered up the metal stairs on the far side and through the guarded doors beyond. We headed right, toward the military areas rather than the administrative, our footsteps echoing, announcing our presence long before we arrived.

The guards at the far end of the hall saluted and opened the heavy metal door as we neared. I returned the salute and stepped inside. The war room was a long but gently sweeping space that ran the full width of the wall. Windows dominated the two main walls; one side provided a view across the courtyard while the other looked over Esan’s great outer wall. From this height, the soldiers manning her looked minute. Beyond that wall, Mareritten lay stretched out like a map, enabling us to see any attack long before they reached us. It was a huge advantage the Mareritt had yet to find a way around.

Of course, that might no longer be the case if they were the source of the attack on both Eastmead and our boat.

One long table dominated the center of the room, while multiple smaller ones holding strategic maps and troop placement boards lined the courtyard windows. Eight long-viewing scopes lined the sweeping curve of the front windows.

My father sat at the far end of the table. My mother was on his right, while our day- and night-shift generals—Vaya and Jarin—sat opposite her. Damon’s father, Aric—a tall, ruggedly handsome man in his mid-years who possessed the same dark skin, blue eyes, and closely shaven head as his son—sat several seats down from my mother. Franklyn, the heavyset man who’d only recently taken over duties as chief smith, sat opposite him.

My father gave me a quick, warm smile before stating briskly, “Captain Silva, please make your report.”

I stopped at the end of the table and stood at ease with my hands behind my back. Damon continued on and claimed the chair to my left. I quickly and without emotion detailed everything that had happened, from the moment I’d first sensed the presence to finding the metal feather in the Mareritt’s pouch.

When I’d finished, my father scrubbed a hand across his chin and said, “And you never actually saw the things that attacked you?”

“No, sir. But as I’ve said, I’ve not encountered a mind like that anywhere within Arleeon.”

“So, it could be of Mareritten origin?” Aric asked.

I hesitated. “It is within the realms of possibility.”

A smile tugged the corner of my father’s lips. “But you don’t believe that’s the case?”

“No. I’ve ridden through Mareritten multiple times and felt the presence of many of their animals. This didn’t have their feel.”

“Many isn’t all,” Aric noted.

“Indeed,” Mom said quietly, “but all the creatures of this continent—be they from Arleeon or Mareritten—do have a similar resonance. If this felt foreign, then it most likely was.”

“Is it possible what you sensed is a product of magic?” Damon asked. “It could explain why these creatures felt foreign.”

I glanced at him. “It could.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t believe that’s the case, either?”

“If it is magic, then I don’t believe it is of this continent.” I waved a hand. “To be honest, the only thing I’m sure of is the fact that we don’t know enough at this point to be sure of anything.”

“A true enough point,” Rion said. “Franklyn? Have you and your team of smiths had a chance to fully examine the metal in that feather yet?”

“Yes,” Franklyn replied. “And it’s been the cause of many an argument over these last fifteen hours, let me tell you.”

“Did you reach a conclusion?”

“Two, in fact.” Franklyn’s expression was grim. “That metal very definitely isn’t of Arleeon origin.”

“Have you seen its like before?”

“No.”

“And the second?” Rion said.

“That feather was not made by human hand or magic. It is, by all reckoning, the actual plumage of an avian species.”