A hard taskmaster, as Maddek’s mother had sometimes been.
Had Ran Ashev come to care for this woman? While imprisoned and tortured, had his mother tried to help Yvenne because she cared for and trusted the frail woman—or had his queen merely used Yvenne for her own ends?
Using her to aid in an escape that resulted in Ran Ashev’s beheading.
His heart aching fiercely, Maddek wrapped Yvenne’s forearm again. He knew not what to believe. He knew not what to trust. Did he betray his parents by keeping this woman alive? Did he risk his people by aligning himself with her?
Those answers were not visible upon her skin. But with open eyes, he saw what needed to be done. He saw how to best serve his parents and his people. He would use Yvenne for his own ends. He would protect her.
But he dared not care for her. Not when doubt still lived within him. Not when her claims might still be exposed as lies.
Not when his parents were still unavenged.
CHAPTER 7
YVENNE
Yvenne woke to darkness and a hard hand clamped over her mouth. At her back, a steely form held her tight, heavy arms and legs locked around her own. Panic struck, terror increasing when her struggles moved her captor not a bit.
A warning hiss of air in her ear made fear drop away.
Maddek. It was Maddek who held her.
Heart pounding, she halted her struggles. Not all was darkness. Through the canopy of trees, the sky had lightened. Shapes and shadows resolved as her eyes accustomed themselves to the night.
Something huge moved through the dark. Yvenne stiffened again as a deep lowing sounded from high overhead—and close. So close. The noise was answered by another resonant call. The tread of heavy feet shivered through the ground. A dozen shadows passed. Some blocked all the light from above, others were smaller. Beneath the dim sky, she had the impression of smooth dappled skin, long necks and longer tails.
Giant reptilian foragers. But they were not foraging now. Instead the herd moved quickly through the forest.
Yet Maddek’s tension did not seem like the simple tension of avoiding the bull or a protective cow with a calf. Because even after the foragers passed, still he held her silently, his back against the boulder, his hand over her mouth as if he expected her to startle or scream.
A nervous snort and the stamp of hooves drew her gaze to the horses staked near the trees. Restless, they were all in motion, pulling at their tethers.
Then settling as two forms flitted around their legs. Fassad’s wolves. As if their presence were a calming hand from the warrior himself, the horses went still.
Except for Yvenne’s mount. The wolves only agitated the smaller horse more. It reared against the leather lines, its panicked neigh ringing through the forest. Behind her, Maddek’s body stiffened, and Yvenne realized that what she had thought was steel tension was only the resting hardness of his form.
Now he was tense.
A tremor shook the ground. Another.
Not the foragers returning.
Right hand still clamped over her mouth, Maddek released her waist and signaled with his left. Through the dark, a form peeled away from a tree. Silver rings glinted upon her face—Ardyl. Even as the earth shivered again, the warrior darted toward the horses.
Not to calm Yvenne’s mount, as she thought. Instead Ardyl’s blade flashed and sliced through the tether. The warrior melted into the shadows between the other horses as Yvenne’s broke away, whinnying and wildly tossing its head.
A roar ripped through the darkness. Though Yvenne had known a predator must be out there, never had she heard anything so loud as that roar. Instinctual terror jolted through her limbs. Maddek’s arm wrapped around her stomach again as if to prevent her from bolting, his broad palm muffling the fearful whimper she couldn’t halt.
The frantic horse screamed, wheeling around on its hind legs to run. Too late. Thunder seemed to shake the small clearing and death rushed out from the dark. Huge jaws clamped onto the horse’s hindquarters and tossed the animal off its hooves with a vicious shake of its thick neck.
Hind legs useless, the horse thrashed on the ground. Its shrill neighs pierced the night. Huge talons pinned the barrel chest and with a mighty clamp and twist of jaws, the horse’s neck broke.
Silence fell. Shaking uncontrollably, Yvenne watched as the trap jaw lifted its broad head, snout raised to snort the air. Her mother had described the giant reptiles to her before. Never had she imagined the predator’s sheer size, the powerful haunches that seemed to overbalance the small arms, or the massive teeth. Never had she imagined its smell, thick and eye-watering, like a chamber pot left unemptied for a full turn of the moon. Its unblinking eyes searched the clearing, but although the trap jaw seemed to look directly at the other horses, even at Yvenne and Maddek, they were either not seen or deemed no threat—or the beast decided one horse was enough.
Lowering its enormous head, the trap jaw clamped giant teeth around the dead horse’s shoulders and lifted the heavy animal. Legs dangling limply from its mouth, the predator carried the carcass from the clearing, its steps thunderous.
Maddek’s big hand slid from her mouth to curve around the front of her throat—a calming touch, not to choke. “A bull,” he told her softly, his deep voice low in her ear. “We might have killed it but that outcome is never certain. Better to lose a horse than a warrior. And better to lose one mount than to lose them all.”
Yvenne had not questioned that. “Yes,” she whispered.
His broad thumb stroked the line of her jaw. “You will take the half-moon milk this morn.”
The drink that would force her menstrual blood to flow. Not to prevent pregnancy, as it was usually used, but to prove she was not already with child.
As would be best. Yvenne knew not what lies her father would say to separate her from Maddek, and although she would go to him a virgin, not all women bled on their moon night. The half-moon milk would leave no uncertainty.
She nodded into his hand. “I need rags.”
“I will speak to Ardyl and Danoh,” he said. Then his body shifted behind hers and a wave of pain crashed through her every limb.
Only gritted teeth stopped her agonized scream. Frozen in place, she breathed shallowly. Everything hurt, as if her muscles were springs coiled to the breaking point and beaten with a steel rod.
Another agonized hiss escaped from between her teeth when Maddek’s strong arm easily lifted her to her feet.
“You must walk.” His voice was low but implacable. “Though it hurts.”
Though it hurts. That was how she’d done everything her entire life. So she would this, too.
She shuffled toward the stream—and a laugh escaped her when she realized that, for the first time in as long as she could remember, her shattered knee ached no more than any other part of her. She was like a broken doll, put back together.