“Where is Awri?” I ask, my brow dipping. When Riah looks offended by my inquiry I quickly add, “Not that I’m not happy to see you.”
She shrugs off my social blunder and motions for me to follow her.
“I believe she is spending the day with Kishek,” she says.
Of course she is. I feel like an idiot for asking.
“Do you know if he’s all right?” I ask.
“I’m sure we would both know if he wasn’t.”
I can tell she really feels that way, but I’m not so easily convinced. After what I overheard last night, it is clear just how outside their inner circle I really am.
“Don’t worry.” She eyes me, mistaking my troubling thoughts for worry. “The king would never let anything happen to one of his own. Not if there was something he could do to avoid it.”
“That might make Awri feel better, if in fact the king were here to help her mate,” I say dryly.
“I understand that things are different where you are from, butmyking has the unquestioned loyalty of every soul serving under him. That loyalty extends to everyone he chooses to protect, fea and mortal alike,” she says.
I eye her cautiously, unsure of the point she is trying to make.
She continues, “Kishek is under that protection, and there isn’t a single feyn under the king’s command that won’t treat his life as if it were their own.”
I breathe a little easier. She’s right, thingsarevery different in La’tari. There is no room for weakness of any kind in my homeland, and my king’s favor extends to those with the strength to help him in his cause. He has always favored the Drakai for that very reason.
Lives like mine, that come with the promise of a full belly and four walls to keep out the cold, are highly prized. A vast contrast to the comfort of the A’kori. But then, I’ve really only seen the palace.
“Where are your barracks?” My sudden change of subject causes Riah to stumble on the stony path leading to the stables.
“To the east.” She points into the distance. “Why do you ask?”
Her eyes narrow on me, and for good reason. If I were a La’tari spy, there is much I could learn from a tour of the barracks. But I’m not a spy. I’m worse. Still. Not a spy. And thanks to the general I hold the key to entry.
“Remember when I told you the general sent Siserie to the barracks?” I ask.
She snorts a laugh. “I’m not likely to forget that tale anytime soon.”
“The general also put me in charge of the duration of her sentence.”
She stumbles again, and I seriously begin to wonder how she is so graceful in the ring when she can’t keep her feet under her while she’s walking.
“And you want to pay her a visit?” she asks, a wicked curve kicking up the edges of her lips.
“I do,” I say, no hesitation in the lie.
But I realize the moment the words pass my lips it is in fact not a lie. Perhaps not the true reason I intend to see the barracks, but I can’t deny that I really would enjoy seeing the female in a cell.
“I only have one question.” Her face grows serious and I have to force myself not to hold my breath. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” she asks, cracking a toothy grin that I happily return.
The barracks are less than an hour by horse, nestled onto a high hill with a view of the sea. It’s close enough to the eastern shore to have the advantage of time if an enemy ship were spotted along the coast and brilliantly disguised as a small village. The tall beacon in the center of town, the only thing thatmight give away its strategic position.
A mixture of feyn and mortals bustle around us as we hand our mounts over to the stable hand. The lieutenant receives a number of salutes in the feyn fashion, a fist crossing over the chest to cover the heart. Her face takes on a deadly glower the moment her feet touch the ground, every soldier’s back stiffening as we pass.
Even knowing the female, the deep crease in her brow and the half snarl she wears on her lips is enough to keep me wary of her intentions as we make our way below ground.
The barracks are carved into a long hillside. Its windows are etched into the stone of the western wall, letting natural light filter into the halls and shared spaces where the soldiers break for lunch, games of cards, and the like. The small space echoes with the screech of wooden chairs as we pass, every soul standing to salute the female at my side. Save one.
“Toren.” Riah greets the male with a stiff salute of her own.
