Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
W hen Draven said that we would be eating dinner with his clan, I thought that meant that I would get to see the more restricted areas of the Ice Palace, which would be great for my mission to find a way to the treasury. But it was the exact opposite.
Evening winds whip through my hair and make my black cloak flutter behind me as we walk down the slope of the mountain and towards the barracks that are located outside the defensive walls. Thankfully, they’re at the west side rather than the east, which means that we didn’t have to use the same side gate that I snuck out of earlier. I’m pretty sure that my cover would have been blown if that guard had seen me with Draven like this.
I glance up at Draven as we walk. He has barely said a word to me since he ordered me to get some rest and get ready. And his face betrays nothing either. I watch the way the moonlight paints silver highlights in his black hair and the way it makes his eyes gleam. By Mabona, what I wouldn’t give to know what goes on in that head of his sometimes.
To my surprise, he doesn’t even notice that I’m studying him. His eyes are firmly fixed on the barracks before us. And as we close the final distance, he clenches his jaw and draws in a long breath. I get the strangest feeling that he is bracing himself.
However, before I can ask him about that, he pulls the door open and just strides inside. I follow him.
The door leads to a short corridor. There are several rooms both on the left and the right of the corridor, all with doors half open, but Draven walks straight for the open doorway at the end of the hall. Cheerful voices and laughter drift out from that room, and flickering light dances over the stone walls, as if a lot of candles have been lit in there.
After pulling the front door shut behind me again, I push a few windblown strands of hair out of my face and then hurry to catch up with Draven. But apparently, I didn’t need to hurry. Because Draven has stopped before the threshold.
Standing in the shadows of the open doorway, he just watches the room on the other side in silence. I quickly close the distance to him, thinking that it might be me he’s waiting for. But when I come to a halt next to him, he still doesn’t move. I frown up at him and then glance into the room as well.
Long tables made of dark wood run the length of the massive room. All of them are positioned in the same direction, with one short side towards this door and the smaller table that has been set perpendicular to all the others. Candles have been placed along the tabletops of each one of them, and their light casts the whole room in a warm glow.
All of the tables, except the short one at the front, are already full. I sweep my gaze over the people seated along them. All of them are dragon shifters wearing black dragon scale armor. Their armor isn’t as intricate as Draven’s, but the style is similar. And the fact that it’s black is of course also a telltale sign that these soldiers belong to the Black Dragon Clan.
“Hold on,” a female dragon shifter calls from where she is seated at the front end of a table, close to where the empty shorter table is. She leans across the table and reaches a hand towards the male shifter seated opposite her. “You’ve got something in your hair.”
The guy blinks, his violet eyes widening in surprise, and runs a hand through his blond hair. “No, I don’t.”
I frown, studying him intently. I feel like I’ve seen him before. Then it hits me. He was one of the soldiers that I eavesdropped on back in the Golden Palace during the Atonement Trials. The guy who apparently used to be Draven’s best friend before Draven sold out his entire clan to the Icehearts in exchange for power.
“Oh, wait,” the woman says, and slaps her forehead as if she has just remembered something. A broad smile full of wicked mischief spreads across her face. “I thought it was a whole nest of pine needles, but it was just your hair.”
Laughter erupts around the table.
The blond man huffs and pitches a piece of bread at the woman. “Very funny, Lyra.”
“Oh come on, it was funny,” the female shifter, Lyra, says with that wicked grin still on her mouth. Her orange eyes sparkle in the candlelight, and her wavy brown hair ripples over her shoulders as she flaps her hand in the air. “You flew right into that pine tree.”
“I wouldn’t have crashed into it if I didn’t have to swerve around your crazy ass.” He shakes his head at her, but amusement shines on his whole face. “Seriously, who jumps off a fucking cliff and shifts mid-air?”
Lyra grins at him. “Someone who wants to win.”
“You only won because you cheated.”
“Oh, come now, Galen.” She winks at him. “Don’t be such a sore loser.”
“Sore loser? Me?” Draven’s former best friend, Galen, presses a hand to his chest in a show of exaggerated shock. “You’re one to talk. You’re like the most competitive person I’ve ever met.” He hikes his thumb towards a man farther down the table. “Poor Finlay over there still wishes that he had let you win in that last sparring match because of how much grief you’ve been giving him over it.”
Another wave of laughter ripples through the room, and the woman seated next to Lyra elbows her in the ribs while Lyra rolls her eyes.
I shift my gaze back to Draven, who is still standing unmoving in the shadows. His eyes are fixed on Galen and Lyra and the others, but the expression on his face is as unreadable as ever. I desperately want to reach out with my magic and push at different emotions so that I can figure out what he’s really feeling. But because we had to leave Draven’s rooms, he had to put the collar back on me.
For a second, I consider just asking him outright if he’s okay. But before I can make a decision, he abruptly drags in a breath and then steps out of the shadows and straight in through the doorway.
Every conversation cuts off the moment he becomes visible.
The dead silence that spreads like a plague through the room is so jarring that I almost forget to follow Draven into the room. All signs of merriment and all sounds of joy have evaporated within a matter of seconds.
Draven strides straight up to that smaller table at the front of the room and takes up position behind it. Since I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to be doing, I linger by the wall right inside the doorway. But none of the shifters look at me. Instead, all of them drop their gazes and bow their heads to Draven.
“First order of business, before we can start eating,” Draven says without preamble. His powerful voice echoes through the massive stone room. “We have new orders.”
His clan members raise their heads to look at him.
And it takes all of my willpower to stop a gasp from escaping my throat.
There is no companionship, no respect, no warmth, in any of their eyes when they look at him. Instead, their expressions are full of resentment. And not just any resentment. It’s so strong that I can practically feel their acidic hatred even without using my magic. And so obvious that it’s impossible to miss.
It shocks me to my core. After that conversation I eavesdropped on back in the Seelie Court, I knew that some of the people in Draven’s clan resent him. But I thought they did it in secret. They don’t. They resent him, and they don’t even try to hide it. And I thought it was only some of his clan members. But it’s not. It’s all of them.
Completely stunned, all I can do is to stare at the hatred visible on everyone’s features as they watch Draven.
Draven, on the other hand, either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. That same blank mask of ruthless authority never leaves his face as he sweeps his gaze over all of his people.
“The Red Hand is back,” he announces. “And we have been tasked with finding him.”
Most people just let out an annoyed sigh, but at the front of the room, Galen clenches his jaw and squeezes his hand into a fist.
“We’ll focus on the human parts of town,” Draven continues. “Don’t waste time on being gentle. If they don’t answer, make them answer.”
I snap my gaze to Draven, staring at him while anger pulses through me. And apparently, I’m not the only one. The resentment in the room is now so palpable that I can almost feel it vibrating against my skin.
“If we—” Draven begins.
Galen slams his fist down on the table, cutting him off. “Again with the Red Hand! Can’t you just accept that you lost to him?”
The whole room sucks in a collective breath, and half of the soldiers turn to stare at Galen in shock. As if they can’t believe that he dared to say that out loud.
Dead silence spreads across the room following his outburst.
Draven, whose expression still hasn’t changed, slides his gaze to his former best friend. “What was that?”
Galen shoves to his feet. Anger pulses in his violet eyes as he glares back at Draven. “You heard me. You’re fixating on the Red Hand just because he’s the only one who has ever managed to outsmart you. And I’m tired of hurting people just to salvage your pride.” He squeezes both hands into fists. “If anything, we should be helping the Red Hand.”
This time, people outright gasp. Even Lyra, the spirited woman who was teasing him before, tries to reach out and grab his arm to pull him back down in his seat. But Galen doesn’t back down. Fury flickers in his eyes as he holds Draven’s gaze.
I stare at Galen as well. Suggesting that they should be helping the Red Hand is just one word away from outright treason.
Draven takes a slow step to the side. The entire room seems to be holding its breath as he rounds the table and starts towards his former best friend.
“Is there something you want to get off your chest, Galen?” he says, his voice cold and dripping with challenge.
Galen flicks a quick glance around the room, but he stands his ground as Draven prowls up to him.
Ruthless power pulses from Draven’s entire body as he comes to a halt in front of Galen. “You know what to do. If you think Azaroth chose wrong when he made me clan leader, you need to challenge me for it. You need to kill me and release the magic so that Azaroth can choose someone else.”
I don’t think anyone in the entire room is breathing.
Lyra casts a worried glance between Draven and Galen, looking like she’s trying to decide whether to pull Galen back into his seat or to stand up next to him and help him fight.
Draven spreads his massive black wings wide in a clear display of power as he holds Galen’s gaze. “So, I’ll ask again. Is there something you want to get off your chest, Galen?”
Tension crackles through the room like lightning. Galen grinds his teeth and flexes his hand. And for a moment, I think he might actually do it.
But then he drops his eyes and bows his head in submission. “No, sir.”
“Good.” Draven stabs a commanding hand towards Galen’s empty chair. “Then sit back down.”
Everyone in the room lowers their chin in submission as well while Galen sinks back down on his chair. A muscle flickers in Draven’s jaw, and for a moment, he just stands there and stares out at the sea of silent soldiers.
Then he snaps, “The hunt for the Red Hand begins at sunrise.”
His clan members bow their heads lower in acknowledgement of the order. Draven watches them for a second. Then he abruptly spins on his heel and stalks towards the door.
“Selena,” he says, his voice still cold and clipped, as he strides past me. “Let’s go. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”
I’m one second away from telling him to stop treating me like a dog who is expected to follow him around, but the words die on my tongue when I see the expression on his face. It’s only for a fraction of a second, and he probably thought that no one could see it from that angle. But because I was standing right by the wall, I could see his face for that one brief moment before his back is fully to me and everyone else as he stalks out the door.
And the sheer heart-wrenching pain that flickered in his eyes during that fraction of a second is so strong that it snatches the breath from my lungs.
I glance back towards the room full of silent dragon shifters as I follow Draven out.
Hatred once again pulses on their faces as they stare daggers at Draven’s disappearing back.
I always thought that he didn’t care that his own people hated him. But maybe this all bothers him more than he admits.