The other draken don’t bother to rise as we enter. They are little more than fearsome horses. Mavros is special. He is why I am even allowed to leave the den in the first place.
The priestesses are desperate to convince me to “reach my potential,” otherwise I’d have been fed to the draken years ago.
Ivar throws his bag against the wall and angrily kicks a rock like a toddler.
He waits to tell me his thoughts until my drakai rejoins the others, leaving me to face the wrath of my commander. My eyes and shoulders droop, ready for my punishment.
Ivar’s head is dipped, watching me through his eyelashes. He steps closer, slowly, as if hoping to unnerve me. He has never succeeded. Once he is inches from me, he grabs my upper arm and throws my back against the stone wall of the cave. I grunt at the impact, but I give him no other satisfaction.
Numbness spreads over my chest. I don’t feel the pain he thinks he inflicts, with his forearm digging into my throat. I feel nothing, as usual.
Except… except that slight twinge of pain that echoes inside. That has nothing to do with him, though. It’s an old muscle, sore from disuse. An ache, pulsing just enough to remind me what I suffered today. And what my success will cost.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you did,” he hisses.
My lip tilts up into a small grin. I shouldn’t, I know. But I can’t help it. I am tired. I am sad. But there’s a flutter in my chest that reminds me that while all of those things are still true, I won today. And he can do nothing to change that.
She is free. She will never feel his touch or the darkness of the Drak’yn den.
Ivar wanted to chain her.
He failed.
There is loss there too. There is fear—where is she now? Did she survive the scelp? Why was she in the middle of the deadlands so close to the desert? Where will she go? What will she do now?
But I choose to hold on to victory, at least right now, while looking into the eye of the commander I despise.
I took her from him.
And I am glad.
He sees the smile and squeezes my windpipe tighter until my vision peppers black and Mavros lets out a low growl.
Ivar releases me, his lips still curled. I choke down air to my burning lungs but barely hold back a laugh.
I know he won’t touch me while Mavros is here. He may be stronger than me, but my draken is the strongest of them all.
He hates knowing one of his subordinates is stronger than him, at least with my drakai nearby. It makes him look weak in comparison. We both know he’ll get his revenge soon, though, and I will welcome it.
“There are two humans out there. I intend to find them.”
I curl a lip in disgust but say nothing.
“You don’t actually think they survived the shadowscelp?” Ronan asks.
“Why would they call a beast they cannot defeat?”
Because they prefer death to you, I think. But I keep my thoughts to myself.
“Even if they survived,” I say, “we won’t find them. They could have gone anywhere.”
“We cannot, but our Draken can sniff them out.”
I frown. “That is against direct orders.”
Ivar explodes, “Don’t talk to me about orders, Haze! You’re the one who let them go.” He stomps toward me, finger pointing, but then he stops. He seems to consider something new.
“Pack your things,” he tells me. His lips spread into a cruel grin. “You’re headed back to the den.”
