Chapter 8
Nargol was in a foul mood. She’d fallen asleep with her mate in her arms and then had to slink away like a thief in the night. She wanted to honor Orlena’s belief that she shouldn’t be seen at her home.
Even though in the storm, Nargol doubted anyone had seen her arrive at Orlena’s house, but she damn sure wanted to be certain no one saw her when she left.
It didn’t sit right with her. She wanted the entire world to know that Orlena belonged to her.
But she had to blend in here. She couldn’t demand that the village bow down to her because she was the chieftain’s daughter.
Feck.
Nargol blew out a deep breath and tightened her hands on Torch’s reins.
“What has you in a sour mood?” Makhel muttered. She trotted alongside Nargol and glanced her way. “Did it have something to do with you coming back to the inn at an ungodly hour?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Nargol said.
Makhel shrugged and fell silent. For now, they both needed to concentrate.
It would be hard for Nargol. All she could think about was the sound of Orlena’s cries as she’d writhed underneath her, or the way her warm brown skin had felt under her touch, or how delicious she’d tasted.
If Nargol focused hard enough, she could still taste the sweetness that had poured out of her mate’s beautiful cunt.
She eyed the area around them. Nargol shifted into the character she was to play. Now she had to force all thoughts of Orlena from her mind.
The eastern quarter of Soza had always been wrong.
Nargol felt it the moment she and Makhel turned their mounts down the narrow lane that cut between leaning stone structures and drooping awnings.
This was not part of the village where trade flowed openly or laughter spilled from the taverns.
The air here carried the sour smell of old smoke and damp rot.
Orcs lingered in doorways and shadows, watching them as they ventured down the lane.
Some wore hoods despite the humidity after the storm.
Their faces were half hidden, their tusks glinting faintly when they turned their heads.
Others made no effort to conceal themselves.
Nargol knew warriors. These were scarred veterans with mismatched armor, their hands never straying far from the hilts of their blades.
She forced her muscles not to tense. She needed to remain relaxed, even though she and Makhel had enough weapons between the two of them to slay a small army.
These old warriors openly watched them. A few leaned against crumbling walls as if bored, but Nargol knew better. Bored orcs did not watch so closely. She was a fine warrior and recognized that they were trying to get a read on her and Makhel.
Makhel shifted beside her on her shukan. Her posture was loose, but those eyes of hers remained sharp. She was playing her part well. A woman with no home and with nothing to lose.
But Nargol knew her only too well. There was a tension to her that hummed through her like a drawn bowstring ready for the snap.
She felt the same way.
This place was a trap. A test before the test.
They dismounted near a half-collapsed storehouse at the edge of the quarter. It’s roof sagged inward like a broken spine. The windows were boarded, but thin slits allowed firelight to bleed out, flickering against the mud-packed ground.
Low voices came from inside the structure.
Nargol rested a hand near her weapon upon their approach. Every instinct honed from solars of training whispered caution. This was not neutral ground. They were in the enemy’s den. This was where their loyalty was going to be tested.
Hagu was waiting for them on the inside.
He stood near the center of the dilapidated building. There was a crude table littered with maps, wax-sealed scrolls, and half-empty cups. His weathered skin drew down into a frown. He glanced over at them with a sharp gaze. Around him was a half dozen orcs who stared at them as they got closer.
“Shel.” Hagu inclined his head to Makhel. “And Bula.”
Nargol nodded. This was all the introduction she was sure they would get from the orcs in the room. She stood to her full height and met each of their eyes with a hard glare of her own. These orcs would not accept weakness—which they would never find from her.
“You’re early. I like that,” he said. He barked a deep chuckle. “That tells me something of your character.”
“I said we are committed,” Makhel said.
“Sounds desperate,” one of the orcs muttered from the shadows.
“For all we know, they could be a bunch of savages,” another growled.
Nargol’s lips twitched up before she could stop herself, but she held her tongue. She was quick to anger in certain situations, but for now, she would restrain herself. If this was any other moment, she’d show them how much of a savage she could be.
“I appreciate timeliness. That shows that they won’t waste mine.
” Hagu held up a hand and silenced the rumbles from the others.
He glanced around the room, turning back to them.
“Commitment is not enough. Many claim to hate the Nidani clan and Tulak Cydassi. Few are willing to bleed for it. Grat wants men and women who are loyal to our cause.”
He shifted his gaze to Nargol. It lingered. She met it head-on without flinching. The room had grown silent as the tension rose.
“The Nidani have lost their way,” he continued. “That chieftain has grown soft. Words are easy for anyone to give. Proving that you are against him is not.”
“What will you have us do?” Makhel folded her arms. The orc scowled but held her composure.
Hagu nodded.
“I’m glad you asked.” A slow smile tugged at his mouth.
He reached down and unrolled a map on the table, its edges frayed with age.
He tapped a clawed finger against a mark far from Soza.
It was deep in the mountains where the land was wild, and Nargol was sure it was unforgiving.
She recognized the area and kept her expression blank to keep it a secret.
“There are ruins,” he said. “Older than the Nidanis’ claim.”
Nargol’s chest tightened.
Ancient places were never empty. Even when abandoned, they remembered who walked their halls. The ancestors’ souls visited often. Nargol had always been taught to respect history.
“Okay,” Makhel murmured.
They both moved closer to the table. Nargol studied the map and confirmed silently. She definitely knew the area. She’d read about it and was intimately familiar with what they would find there.
“Within those ruins is a document. An artifact. It has records from the time when clan leadership was decided by strength and divine favor.”
“You want a story?” Makhel’s brow furrowed.
“I want proof,” Hagu snapped. He slammed a fist down on the table.
Nargol stiffed just as the other orcs did. She unclenched her fists and exhaled. She eyed the orcs who hadn’t moved from their posts around the room.
“It is the original written word. Tulak had kept it buried because it undermines his right to rule.”
Nargol leaned closer to the map. Her heart beat fast, despite her fight to will it to slow down.
“If it has existed all of this time, why hasn’t anyone destroyed it?” she asked.
“Because even Tulak fears the gods.” Hagu’s sharp gaze cut to her.
The air grew thick. The hairs on the back of Nargol’s neck rose. Her warning beacon inside her chest was blaring loud and clear. They needed to get out of here soon.
“You will retrieve it. It will be a two-day ride there and back. If you survive, bring it back to me untouched.”
“And if we don’t?” Makhel asked softly.
Hagu leaned his big meaty hands on the table. His gaze hardened, and a devilish smile spread across his face.
“Then you were never a part of this.”
The weight of the mission settled over her. The ruins. Ancient law. Proof that could shatter not only her father’s ruling legitimacy but her sister’s as well. Magoza was the next to lead. This was not a test meant to be passed easily.
This was meant to break their clan’s reign, but Nargol was sure the history books she had pored over as a child would not lie. Her clan, her father, and all of the generations before him had a right to sit on the throne.
No one was going to take that away from them.
She’d do what she’d must to keep a Cydassi on the throne.
Makhel glanced at her. Nargol gave a single nod.
“We’ll do it,” Makhel announced.
Hagu studied them for a long moment, then inclined his head.
“Good. You leave at dawn,” he said.
“Will do,” Nargol murmured.
They spun on their heels and stalked out of the building.
One they were back in the open air, Nargol could breathe again.
She inhaled deeply. They remained quiet, mounting their shukans and making their way through the streets.
The tension followed them until they were out of the eastern quarters.
They continued to ride in silence for several minutes until they were sure they were not being followed.
“We should leave immediately,” Makhel said. “Stock up and go now. Why wait until the morning?”
“I need to stop in town first,” Nargol said.
“No. We need to leave now. We don’t have time for you—”
“This is not a request, and don’t forget who you are speaking to,” Nargol said softly. She guided Torch in the direction of the shop. She was sure Orlena was already at work.
“We have a mission to accomplish.” Makhel’s jaw tightened. “And you want to stop and see your human?”
“I need to see her. You won’t understand,” Nargol snapped.
Makhel swore under her breath. “You are letting this female distract you.”
“She is my mate,” Nargol said.
The word hung between them. Makhel didn’t say a word. Her expression shifted from disbelief to understanding.
“Then you know she will be a liability,” Makhel said.
“I know.”
They rode into town, the sky darkening with the promise of another storm. Nargol scented the incoming rain. Even after the downpour yesterday and the humidity today, it wouldn’t stop another storm from blowing in. The weather in Aghon could be unpredictable.