Page 40 of Yasmin and the Yeti
He slipped back the way he had come, a white shadow carrying a terrible truth. The Empire they had trusted was poisoning them from within.
And he would make them pay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Yasmin woke to the sound of soft chanting. She had been moved to a bed in a small alcove to one side of the main cave but she could see Cera moving about the cave, surprisingly graceful as she mixed herbs and checked bubbling pots. The air smelled of something earthy and sweet, like cinnamon mixed with pine.
Two days had passed since Rhaal had carried her to the clan caves. Two days of drifting in and out of awareness, of the healer’s gentle hands and the shimmering blue sothiti that kept her alive. Two days without Rhaal.
She tried to sit up, wincing as her head spun. Her body felt hollow, as if she’d been scraped out from the inside. The only evidence of the life growing within her was the persistent nausea that came in waves.
The healer turned at her movement, her ice-blue eyes softening. “Still,” she said in the Hothian language, one of the words Yasmin had learned.
She obeyed, sinking back onto the fur-covered platform. Frustration burned in her chest. She hated this weakness, this helplessness. In her old life, she’d been independent, capable. Now she couldn’t even sit up without assistance.
Cera approached with another cup of sothiti. She drank it without complaint, though its earthy taste made her stomach roll. The effect was almost immediate—a warmth spreading through her limbs, pushing back the bone-deep chill that had settled in her marrow.
“Thank you,” she said in Hothian.
The healer nodded, her expression grave. She said something else, a long string of words Yasmin couldn’t follow. The language barrier was yet another frustration. She couldn’t ask about Rhaal, couldn’t learn what was happening beyond the walls of this cave.
A shadow fell across the entrance to her alcove and she looked up to see a tall, imposing Hothian male ducking through the doorway. His bearing spoke of authority, and the Healer immediately straightened in his presence.
“Elder Njkall,” the Healer said, bowing her head slightly.
Njkall came to her bedside, his gaze direct but not unkind as he studied her.
“So you are Rhaal’s mate,” he said in perfect, if accented, English, and her eyes widened in surprise.
“You speak my language.”
“I have a… friend who speaks it.” His voice was deep and calm, like water flowing over smooth stones. “How do you feel, mate of Rhaal?”
“Weak,” she admitted. “Frustrated. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”
He nodded sympathetically. “Sometimes a female’s body struggles to accept a cub. The sothiti will help. And this may help with one frustration, at least.”
He reached into a pouch at his waist and showed her what looked like a small black slug. “A translator. Place it in your ear.”
She reached for it, then yelped and almost dropped it when she realized it was warm and slick, pulsating against her fingers.
“It is biomechanical,” Njkall explained patiently. “It will bond with you and allow you to understand the languages of the Empire.”
She eyed it skeptically, then, with only a slight shudder of revulsion, placed it in her ear. It squirmed briefly, tickling the delicate nerves there, then went still. The healer said something, and this time, the meaning of the words came to her clearly. “I know you feel weak, but you are growing stronger.”
“Thank you,” she said, tears stinging her eyes. To be able to communicate again, to no longer be trapped in a world of incomprehensible sounds… it was like regaining a limb.
“And now that you understand, you will stop trying to move when I tell you to rest,” Cera added tartly.
“I will,” she promised, then turned back to Njkall. “How did you know I would need it?”
He gave her a small smile. “The healer provides updates to the clan leaders. I thought it would ease your stress.”
“I’m very grateful.” She hesitated, uncertain of his status or rank, or how to address him properly. “Sir,” she added, not quite a question.
“Just Njkall.” He said it slowly, as if aware of her difficulty with the harsh consonants of his name. “Many things have changed since Rhaal chose to leave us. There was a time when we would not have considered using such a device. Nor would we have accepted a non-Hothian mate.”
“You mean there are others?” she asked eagerly.
