Maddek’s mother, too, but he would not spoil the mood by saying so. He only poked at the legs, though the way they floated told him they had not yet cooled enough to eat.
It was Kelir who said what Maddek probably should have. “So there was treasure at the top.”
Then Maddek was glad he’d not said it, because Kelir’s comment might have pleased a barmaid, but it only brought a frown to Yvenne’s face. “I am not Syssia’s treasure. Her people are.”
Maddek grinned as he realized how fully she’d misunderstood Kelir’s meaning. “When we speak of Ran Bantik stealing the pearl, sometimes that pearl refers to the king’s daughter, whom he also stole from that tower.”
“Oh.” A blush colored her cheeks as if she recalled what else Maddek had called a pearl, yet amusement danced in her eyes. “So he scaled the walls to have her?”
“And stole her away to the Burning Plains.” As Maddek intended to do with his own bride. Yet there the similarity ended—as Yvenne must have realized, as well. For although she smiled faintly, the amusement in her eyes dimmed.
“He must have loved her very much to attempt such a dangerous feat.”
“The legends say nothing of love,” Maddek told her, and plucked a leg from the water. “Only that after Ran Bantik saw her beauty, he could not resist it.”
Kelir laughed. “And if all that remains of her in legend is a pearl, I daresay it wasn’t the beauty of her face that Ran Bantik could not resist.”
A pearl was not all that remained of Ran Bantik’s queen. Her blood ran just as strong through Maddek’s line as the thief-king’s did. Yet he did not need to explain that to Yvenne. Her own line celebrated warrior-queens whose lovers were rarely even acknowledged in their legends. So he only said to Yvenne, “The story of the pearl is but good for feasts and song. Ran Bantik’s true legacy was in uniting the tribes.”
“And defeating the Scourge.” Her hungry gaze was locked on the millipede’s leg as Maddek snapped off the pointed tip and gave it to her. “I’ve heard that tale, though not how he united them. Only that he did.”
She mimicked Maddek when he demonstrated how to suck out the sweet, buttery jelly, her full lips wrapping around the broken tip. Her cheeks hollowed and her gaze widened with delight; then bliss closed her eyes as she sucked fiercely on the leg.
Hanan be merciful. The ravenous, pleasured sounds she made could stiffen a corpse. In full arousal Maddek stared at her, dimly aware of Ardyl’s snort and playful shove at Toric, who also stared, and of Kelir muffling his laughter by burying his face in his hands. Yvenne was oblivious to them all.
Until beside her, Danoh said, “Ran Bantik, the thief-king, was born squalling upon Temra’s altar.”
Yvenne’s eyes flew open—less likely because of the warrior’s words but because of their rarity. Then Banek, who sat at Danoh’s other side, spoke next and Yvenne’s attention followed.
“Unburned the plains were, yet fires of war divided the thirteen tribes,” the old warrior recited.
Then came Toric, his cheeks hot and gaze averted. “The embattled clans allowed silver-fingered Rani no rest.”
“Countless riders she took,” Ardyl said next, “eyes spitting lightning, spilling tears of rain.”
“She carried them upon her dragon into Temra’s waiting arms,” Kelir said.
Fassad continued. “Over the Astal Mountains she flew—but one night was unseated.”
It had come Maddek’s turn, and Yvenne’s enraptured gaze moved to his face. He snapped off another leg tip and gave it to her, speaking the words he’d known longer than any others. “From the sky she plunged, for the flaming peaks had erupted the Scourge.”
Danoh started the round again. “Spitting fire, the demon consumed flesh of dragon and riders.”
“The Scourge then turned ravenous fiery eyes to the unburned plains.”
“With tears steaming, Rani sped to warn the northern tribes and clans.”
“Countless warriors fell before the demon, breaking their blades on obsidian skin.”
“Her dragon lost, Rani could not fly the newly fallen into Temra’s arms.”
“She implored the embattled tribes to unite against the demon Scourge.”
Maddek recited gravely, “Or the plains would become a realm of blood and ashes.”
Eyes wide after that dire warning, Yvenne eagerly looked to Danoh, who continued, “Hearing her, he who was not yet thief-king looked weeping upon the burning plains.”
“Of thirteen tribes, only seven remained—and a grieving Bantik the last of his.”
“With torn heart, he called upon the clans to unite, but they listened not to his voice.”
“Too many years the tribes had warred, too many warriors had been lost to battle.”
“Too many lies had been spoken,” Kelir said softly. “Too many oaths had been broken.”
“So the seven tribes only united in fleeing west before the demon Scourge.”
“There, upon Temra’s sacred altar”—as that goddess had, Maddek pounded his fist into the ground—“Ran Bantik vowed to always speak truth.”
“From the tribes he asked warriors to come and speak for their clans.”
“They also vowed to speak truth, never to break an oath or use sly tongue.”
“Each clan listened to their own warriors and trusted the words spoken.”
“They in turn each listened to Bantik, he who was not yet thief-king.”
“To the glass fields he led them, and the demon’s fire turned night into day.”
“Seven tribes united, the warriors flew into battle, as one with their mounts.”
Keeping rhythm with the recitation, Yvenne’s gaze moved to Maddek’s face. As it always did, passion and triumph filled his chest as he spoke the next verse. “And the Scourge fell before Bantik and the riders of the Burning Plains.”
“As the demon lay dying, the tribes spoke as one, and Ran Bantik he became.”
“Rani touched Ran Bantik with her quick and cunning, and a thief-king he became.”
“Then splitting open the stomach of the Scourge, she reclaimed her swift dragon.”
“Carrying the countless dead, silver-fingered Rani finally flew them into Temra’s arms.”
“And from Temra’s scorched skin grew the firebloom, as red as blood spilled, as red as fire burns.”
“To remind the tribes never to be divided, only to ride united, and only to speak truth,” Fassad said in solemn voice.