Page 18 of Feral Gods
Thane's lip curls in a snarl of impatience. "I know my task, Commander. I'm not a fledgling warrior on his first raid."
"Yet you act with a fledgling's recklessness," Ravik counters, his wings mantling slightly in a clear display of dominance. "Your bloodlust could jeopardize us all."
"My bloodlust?" Thane stalks closer, his massive form vibrating with barely restrained aggression. "I am not the one growing soft over a human slave. Perhaps your judgment is more compromised than mine."
The temperature in the room seems to plummet despite the roaring fire. Ravik's amber eyes blaze like molten metal as he steps toward Thane, claws flexing at his sides. "Choose your next words with extreme care."
I set my plate aside and rise quickly, alarm surging through me. The last thing we need is the gargoyles turning on each other when danger looms so close outside our walls. Without thinking, I step between them, a fragile human barrier between two titans of living stone.
"Stop," I command, surprising myself with the authority in my voice. "This isn't helping any of us."
For a tense moment, I fear they'll simply continue their confrontation with me caught in the middle. Then Zephyr moves to my side, adding his support to my intervention.
"Kaia speaks wisdom," he says quietly. "Division serves only our enemies."
Ravik's gaze shifts from Thane to me, something unreadable flickering in their amber depths. Gradually, the tension in his massive frame eases, though his wings remain partially extended in warning.
"The eastern tunnel at dusk, as agreed," he says to Thane, his voice deceptively calm. "Return before dawn."
Thane inclines his head in reluctant acknowledgment, his crimson eyes still smoldering with suppressed rage. He turns to leave, then pauses, glancing back at me with an expression I can't quite decipher.
"Bold move, little human," he rumbles. "Stepping between two gargoyles on the verge of combat. Either very brave or very foolish."
"I've found those qualities often overlap," I reply steadily, holding his gaze.
Something that might almost be respect flickers across his harsh features before he departs, the sound of his heavy footsteps fading down the corridor.
Once he's gone, I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My hands tremble slightly with the aftermath of adrenaline, and I clasp them together to hide the reaction.
"That was unnecessarily reckless," Ravik growls, though his anger seems to have cooled to smoldering embers rather than open flame.
"But effective," Zephyr notes with a hint of amusement. "Few would dare intervene between two gargoyles in such a state."
I shrug, returning to my abandoned meal though my appetite has diminished. "I've had practice mediating disputes. Lord Vathren's daughters were... temperamental."
"You were a mediator among your masters?" Zephyr asks, settling gracefully beside me on the stone bench.
"More of a convenient target who learned to deflect attention," I admit. "When Lady Seleine and Lady Morvaine argued, their father would punish whichever servant was nearest if the disturbance interrupted his work. I became quite skilled at calming tensions before they escalated."
Ravik studies me with renewed interest. "A survival skill that proved useful today."
"I have many such skills," I reply, a hint of defiance creeping into my voice. "Slaves aren't permitted the luxury of specialization. We must be whatever our masters require at any given moment—invisible when convenient, efficient when needed, and always, always careful not to seem too intelligent or capable."
My words hang in the air, more revealing than I'd intended. Six years of forced subservience have left their mark on me, a constant calculation of what behaviors will least likely result in punishment. Even now, in relative safety, I find myself watching the gargoyles for signs of displeasure, ready to adjust my words or actions accordingly.
Zephyr tilts his head, regarding me with scholarly interest. "Yet you maintained your sense of self despite such conditions. Remarkable."
"Necessity, not strength," I demur, uncomfortable with his praise. "When everything else is taken from you, your thoughts become the only possession they can't confiscate."
"Unless they employ a psionic practitioner," Ravik points out darkly. "Some dark elf houses keep such individuals to ensure absolute loyalty from valuable slaves."
I suppress a shudder at the thought. "Lord Vathren considered such practices distasteful. 'Why waste magic on creatures who can be controlled through simpler means?' he would say."
"Charming," Zephyr murmurs.
"How did you come to serve in his household?" Ravik asks, his tone carefully neutral.
The question stirs memories I've tried to suppress—the slave market, the auction block, my mother's face contorted with grief as we were separated. I stare into the magical flames, gathering my thoughts before responding.
