Page 8 of Beast of Blood and Ash
"I'm not doing it," I said, the words dropping like stones. I kept my voice steady, betraying none of the panic gathering beneath my skin.
Terra looked ready to argue, but something in my face must have stopped her. She nodded once, tightly. "I can’t make you do anything. But I need you to think about it. It will be good for you."
I swallowed the knot in my throat.
Terra left to watch Rachel and Eden. Kira and I returned to drills. My movements became mechanical, distracted by the weight of Terra's suggestion. How long before it became an order?
The wooden staff felt suddenly inadequate in my hands. What good was practice if the enemy could snap your spine with a casual twist? What good were our pitiful human efforts against creatures bred for violence?
The Drakarn side of the cavern grew louder. I tried not to look, but my gaze kept sliding that way, drawn by some perverse fascination. Their matches were brutal, elegant in their savagery. Bodies writhing, twisting, locking together in contests of raw power. Wings snapping open for unexpected leverage. Bloody scales glistening under the heat crystals.
A sudden shift rippled through the crowd. The Drakarn drills faltered, attention drawn toward the main entrance. I followed their gazes and felt the floor drop out from under me.
Omvar.
He stood, massive and motionless, in the archway, red scales almost black in the cavern's shadows. His wings were folded tight against his broad back, but even at that distance, I could see the tension in them. His posture was rigid, unyielding. His eyes, those burning gold all-seeing eyes, swept the cavern once, pausing fractionally on our human training area.
My pulse jumped. Had he seen me? Was he looking for me?
Don't be stupid. You're not that important.
The murmurs started immediately. Even the humans stopped to stare at the enormous Ignarath warrior. The name alone was enough to trigger a fresh wave of nausea. They were the worst. The cruelest. The most vicious. And this one … this one had sought me out yesterday.
But those stuttering words of his, that apology … that hadn’t been for just anyone. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to think about Ignarath. About why he wanted to apologize. If I could zap those memories and make them disappear, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
"Traitor," someone hissed from the Drakarn side.
If Omvar heard, and how could he not, he didn't react. He moved into the cavern with controlled power. I found myself watching the way he moved, balanced despite his size, dangerous in his restraint.
A young Drakarn male detached from the group, stepping into Omvar's path. His scales were an iridescent green, his frame lean and wiry compared to Omvar's bulk.
"Traitorous dog," the green-scaled Drakarn called, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Come to spy on our training methods?"
I bit back a gasp. The entire cavern went silent. Beside me, Terra stilled.
Omvar stopped. His expression remained impassive, but something in his posture shifted, a subtle coiling of potential energy.
He said nothing.
The green Drakarn, Kith—I was pretty sure that was his name from the marketplace—circled closer. "The Blade Council may have granted you sanctuary, but we all know what you are." His tail lashed, punctuating his words. "Murderer. Slave breaker."
My skin crawled. The words conjured images I'd spent months trying to bury: monsters with their cruel hands, their laughing eyes as they broke prisoners.
Had Omvar been one of them? Had he watched? Participated?
No.
I didn’t know him, not at all. But I was sure of the denial down to my bones.
Omvar's gaze flicked past Kith, unconcerned, almost dismissive. The younger Drakarn bristled.
"Let’s see what you can do when you’re not in your cheater’s ring," Kith demanded suddenly. A challenge. Public. Impossible to ignore.
A ripple moved through the watching Drakarn. This was dangerous ground, a battle for status, for acceptance. Omvar might be tolerated, but he was still Ignarath. Still the enemy.
Omvar's attention returned to Kith. He seemed to consider, then gave a short nod. "If you wish." His voice was low, resonant, oddly controlled. An entire conversation conveyed in three simple words.
He said nothing about the accusation. He’d been a champion in the tournaments of Ignarath, a legend there.
