Page 12 of Beast of Blood and Ash
My back hit the wall. Nowhere left to retreat. My breath came in short, painful bursts. Black spots danced at the edge of my vision.
Not again. Not here. Please. Not now.
“Look, it’s frightened,” Mervath said, delighted by my reaction.
His friend’s claw hovered above my cheek. “I wonder what it sounds like when it screams?—”
A shadow fell over us. Massive. Absolute. The temperature around us plummeted, then surged with savage heat.
Both acolytes went rigid. The acolyte closest to me snatched his hand back as if burned.
“Move away,” a voice rumbled, rough, low, dangerous. I knew it.
Omvar.
The acolytes spun around, cowed, some primal order enforcing itself. Omvar filled the ledge behind us, scales smoldering red in the glow, wings half-open, eyes molten gold and fixed on them.
“This is temple business,” one of them said, voice cracking. “The human trespassed.”
Omvar’s reply came soft and lethal. “Did she? Or did you corner someone half your size to feel powerful?”
Mervath's wings flared. "You overstep, Ignarath scum. The Forge Temple?—"
"The Forge Temple," Omvar cut in, "would be very interested to know two of its acolytes threatened harm to a guest of the Blade Council." His tail whipped once, the motion so fast it cracked the air. "I'm sure High Priest Jalliun would love to hear how you invoked the sacred fire to terrorize an unarmed civilian."
The Drakarn both flinched.
"We meant no harm," Mervath said, stance shifting to something less aggressive. "We were merely informing the human of proper boundaries."
"She has been informed." Omvar stepped fully onto the ledge. Even hunched slightly, he was enormous. "Leave. Now."
For a moment, I thought Mervath might argue. His body tensed, claws flexing. Then his friend grabbed his arm, yanking him backward.
"Come," he muttered. "This isn't worth the trouble."
They retreated, backing down the ledge toward the doorway they'd emerged from, eyes never leaving Omvar. Mervath shot me a final, venomous look before they slipped away, the sound of their footsteps fading into silence.
The moment they vanished, my legs gave out. I slid down the wall, landing hard on the stone, satchel spilling its contents. I couldn’t care. I could barely breathe.
The panic that had lurked at the edges, held back by pure survival instinct, crashed over me in a sickening wave. My lungs were on fire. Tears burned behind my eyes. I curled forward, arms wrapped tight around my middle, trying to hold myself together as everything splintered.
Pathetic. So pathetic. Can’t even stand up to two damned priests.
Through the roaring in my ears, I heard the careful approach of footsteps. Heavy, too loud, announcing themselves. Omvar's shadow fell over me, but he stayed back, giving me space.
How long I crouched there, trying to force air past the knot of terror in my throat, I couldn't say. Eventually, the worst of it receded, leaving me hollow and shaking, utterly spent. Humiliated. When I managed to lift my head, Omvar was still there, watching me with those unreadable golden eyes.
"Can you stand?" he asked softly.
Not are you alright when I so clearly wasn’t. For some reason, that made me feel better.
I nodded, though I wasn't certain. Pride made me try. My legs trembled but held as I pulled myself upright. The wall steadied me. I must have looked wrecked—tear-streaked, hair wild, body quaking with aftershocks.
My scattered herbs lay between us, crushed and damp. All that precious effort wasted.
"They shouldn't have bothered you." Omvar's voice was careful, as if speaking to a wounded animal. "Temple acolytes should know better."
I swallowed, throat dry. A click echoed as I tried to speak. "Most of the acolytes follow Karyseth. They hate us. They’ll take any excuse to cause trouble." I’d been warned. I’d felt the yellow-robed bastards staring at me in the market. I thought I could ignore it.
