Chapter 11 #2
Long blue hair sat coiled in braids atop her head and was adorned with gems, like it was a crown.
Her eyes were made up with dark coal to make them more striking.
All of her was about posturing, about appearance rather than substance.
Yet, when she raised her clawed hand and swept it in front of her, she might as well have struck me.
Not a queen of true power, like before, but one who wielded it firmly, with utter entitlement anyway. That was dangerous.
“Noted. You’ll gather a party first thing tomorrow morning and do as I ordered.
” It was a dismissal, of my words, and of me.
I dipped into a bow, heart pounding in my chest, and waited once again for long seconds, this time to make sure she could not take offense at my exit.
I slipped away with a sense of victory in my veins. By tomorrow morning, I’d be long gone.
Msera glared at me as I passed him, muttering something sharp under his breath that he clearly did not dare say loud enough for my ears to catch.
The temporary walls of the Pagode were thin; the guards would have heard everything I said.
Including my suggestion not to burn the sleeping humans.
I would be wise not to turn my back on him.
Hurrying across the raised wooden paths through town, which helped us avoid getting our scales mucked up in the snowmelt and mud, I had only one goal: I needed to hug my younglings tight and make sure they were okay.
Nisha especially needed to have me back; I was the only one who let her be herself.
She was the youngest, but she’d been forced to grow up the fastest.
Arosha’s home was a bit larger than most, because at any given time, he had a handful of extra younglings to care for.
His mate only visited him rarely, and that suited them both just fine.
I did not expect to run into her as I ducked around the corner, but she was just exiting the house, her expression tight with displeasure.
When she saw me, she visibly startled, a reaction I was used to.
“Ah, good, you’re back. Nisha is going to need her father’s firm hand. ”
Any elation I’d felt was swept away with those words, cold dread once again settling in the pit of my stomach.
A firm hand? That meant something had happened to my baby girl.
Fessi, Arosha’s mate, was already hurrying away, but she still called over her shoulder to drive a further wedge into my heart: “She’s never going to amount to anything if you don’t toughen her up now. ”
My fingers felt ice cold as I grabbed the door and threw myself inside.
Nictitating membranes slid over my eyes to help me adjust to the darkness inside.
I did not have to search through the tangle of tails and younglings to find mine.
Nisha’s voice pierced through the ruckus of playing children almost instantly.
“Daddy!” Then I was catching one after the other and hugging all three of my treasures against my chest. For even Rasho—the oldest—to be that overt in his greeting, I knew something bad had happened.
I couldn’t make out anything at first, just three heads of black hair and various shades of muted dark blue that edged toward either purple or gray.
Rasho was on the outside, and his shoulders blocked most of my view.
When I raised my head, I met eyes with my brother, who was by the hearth, a wooden spoon in hand, though any stirring of the stew was forgotten.
His expression was sad but resigned, and I knew exactly why when I gently pulled Nisha away from me to get a look.
My tiny daughter was covered in claw marks, some on her face, most across her chest and the front of her tail.
They were extensive all along her arms too, defensive marks from her attempts to block her attackers.
The cuts were still bleeding and oozing, as if nobody had made any attempt to care for them.
To my practiced eye, it was clear it had happened at least an hour ago, though, so this was not for lack of opportunity.
“Who?” I growled, and Nisha’s eyes grew huge, purple, just like mine.
Then her mouth went firm, and I knew she wasn’t going to answer, just like the females of the Clan expected her to.
Rasho had no problem spilling names, though, but he knew as well as I did that there was nothing I could do.
Most of Nisha’s attackers hadn’t been much older than her themselves; I wasn’t in the habit of hurting children, no matter how deserved.
Nobody but me would think it was deserved, though.
They thought this was part of growing up for a Naga female, they believed it was Nisha’s fault for not fighting back.
“You didn’t care for her?” I demanded of Arosha, fury boiling through my veins with no outlet.
He shrugged helplessly, and I sighed, pushing the rage down because it wasn’t his fault.
Unlike me, Rosh was no fighter—he didn’t have a mean bone in his body—but he always followed the rules, especially if those rules came from his mate, Fessi.
So that’s why she’d been here: to warn her male not to treat Nisha’s injuries. Well, I didn’t give a damn.
Picking the tiny girl up, she eagerly clung to me with her tail.
Daois was at my hip, hands on my belt as he sought reassurance of his own, while Rasho rushed to get Arosha’s medicine kit.
There would be no healing relic like the Shaman wielded, but I could rub ointment on her cuts and bandage the worst ones.