If Draki found out about the survivors of Vaknavangur, he would see them as weakness. He would turn Reyker’s plans, and everyone they touched, to ash.
“We were all there,” Hamund said. “We all lost someone. The dead would want us to reclaim what is ours. It is worth the risk, Lord Reyker. Or do you prefer Wolf Lord?”
They stacked their stones onto others that were patching a hole in the back of the room. “Just Reyker.” No one had ever called him lord, except as an insult—little lordling, a taunt Draki and all his men had hurled at him like arrows meant to wound his pride, to remind him that he was lord of nothing.
Hamund chuckled, turning to fetch more stones. “That is not a name befitting a legend. Your story belongs to your people now. Let them have their dreams. Let them believe in the boy who took on a god.”
Wolf Lord.
He could still hear Lira whispering from the ruins, calling him my wolf. The stories Reyker told her of his gods and the great heroes of Iseneld had fascinated her. How amused she would have been to know Reyker was a legend now himself.
CHAPTER 32
LIRA
Draki’s second lesson was about many things. Patience. Desire.
Death.
Though he’d overseen my rituals to Jardun and Velder, he’d been busy in the days since, and I’d spent most of that time under Hilde’s tutelage, practicing my newly acquired gifts, and the rest of it wandering the fortress aimlessly, bored enough that I couldn’t suppress the flare of excitement when the warlord finally summoned me to meet him that afternoon. If nothing else, he presented a target for my restless energy.
I showed up to the feasting hall early. Finding it empty, I ambled through the adjacent halls, passing silent servants who bobbed their heads at me as they swept up dirt tracked in by careless warriors. Most of the doors along this hallway were closed, many of them leading to the private quarters of Dragonmen. The bone-cluttered walls made me long to be back in Sjoglen, where the homes were clad in greenery.
It gave me an idea.
I picked up a clump of moss dragged in by a Dragonman’s boots, placing it at the bottom of the wall. Head bowed, I channeled the gift I’d gained from the goddess of crops and soil. Jardun’s ritual had required me to spend hours buried in a clay coffin, to convene with the earth. In the quiet dark, struggling to keep my breaths steady and my panic at bay, I’d heard the earth speak, heard the deep rumble of trees and the chattering of flowers. An ancient, mystic tongue my ears couldn’t decipher, but my soul could.
It was my soul that whispered to the moss I’d placed against the wall of bones, coaxing it to grow, to spread. The moss expanded into a blob, green tendrils extending out like legs crawling over the bones, until a thin carpet of green trailed from floor to ceiling. It was only an arm-span wide, but it was progress from my previous attempts, a confirmation that my gifts improved each time I used them.
Inspired by this small victory, I called up Velder’s gift next, pulling wind from outside through the cracks in the walls. With a wave of my hand, I sent a swirling breeze across the floor to eddy the rest of the dirt into piles.
Wind was the easiest gift for me to wield—strange, since gaining the god of wind and sky’s favor had been the most taxing ritual I’d endured thus far. I had prayed for a storm, and when it came, I’d sat on a swing made of a plank with lengths of rope attached on either side that Draki lowered over the edge of the cliffs of Dragon’s Lair. Dangling in midair, with only a slab of wood between me and the frothing sea far below, tossed about by wind and pelted by rain, I’d given myself over to Velder’s mercy. The storm lasted hours, and when it finally died, I was soaked and shivering, my nerves in tatters. Draki hauled the swing up and set me on solid ground, prying my stiff fingers from the ropes. Rewarding me with a nod of approval.
“Stuff it up your arse,” I’d replied, hating how his scant praise made my cheeks flush.
I made my way farther up the hall. The wind I sent through it rattled the bones and knocked open several of the doors. I peered into each room before shutting the doors—some were messy and reeked of sweat, others were pristine and orderly. All were empty.
The room at the end of the corridor was the only exception. I sensed someone inside, and I toed the door open a bit wider.
There was Draki, his back to me, sitting by the hearth in a dust-coated room similar to mine. The bed was unmade, the desk was cluttered with books. It was unremarkable, yet something about it spoke to me. It felt warmer than the rest of the fortress. The scent that lingered was cinders and salt and thyme.
It was Reyker’s scent, clinging to every surface, soaked into the sheets.
“You are trespassing, little warrior,” Draki called without looking up.
“Who lives here?”
The Dragon sighed as he stood. “No one.”
I was too stunned to press him, too gutted to make sense of it. When he grasped my elbow and led me from the room, I didn’t protest.
The warlord took me to an unmarked building, this one with a high roof, and inside was a large open area, bigger than the barn. The room’s floor was made of cool black sand. Weapons lined the walls, but it was not an armory. “We call this the Blood Ring,” Draki said.
“Is this where you train your warriors?”
“Warriors train outside, even if the snow is deep or the rain is heavy. The Blood Ring is for sport and entertainment. But you and I will train here, in a contained space.”
“Train? To fight?”
He walked in a wide circle, digging his boot heel into the sand as he went. “Everyone of age in Dragon’s Lair is required to train. They must know how to defend themselves and their home from an attack. Do you think I would expect less from my consort?”
“I am not your consort.” It would have sounded bolder if my voice hadn’t cracked like an egg on that last word.
“Yet.” Draki completed the circle. He’d not even paid attention as he made it, but the ring was as seamless as if it had been drawn by an artist or carved by nature’s hands: the haloed heart of a flower, a corona encompassing the sun. “If you want me to help you strengthen your gifts, you must earn it by strengthening the rest of you. Come here.”
I did as he asked, dragging my feet through the curves of the circle as I crossed it, marring its perfection. As soon as I reached the center, Draki disappeared.
A hand brushed my shoulder, and I spun, but he was already gone. He moved around me, touching my neck, my hip, my calf. My kicks and punches only hit air.
With a growl, I went for the weapons. Many of the swords hanging on the wall were as tall as I was—heavy blades meant for giants—but there were a few smaller ones. I pulled one down and took it to the circle, slicing at the breeze, the only sign of Draki’s position.