Chapter 28
As the days passed, Ursula maintained her frosty, resentful silence, only speaking to Zul whenever necessary. She’d realized the futility of trying to badger information from the castrati and the berserker.
Outwardly, Zul’s stoic demeanor did not waver, but he felt like raging.
He sensed her enduring anger through their bond, and she remained cold to any romantic overtures.
Touching her when she obviously resented his touch made his hearts and gut clench, and he dared not attempt to tease or persuade her.
In short, he found himself at an impasse.
Having only recently known the joy and fulfillment of being mated, the denial of her affection left him feeling frozen and, dared he admit it, angry as well.
What right did she have to deny him? However, she never once told him no or demanded he not touch her.
Instead, she ignored his touch even as she pretended to ignore his words.
True, he could have forced her to submit, but, if he gave into that impulse, Zul knew such forced intimacy would turn whatever affection she had for him to fear and hatred—and that he could not endure.
The reality and delicacy of daily life with a female shattered his previously uninformed ideal of an always willing and available mate who’d make no demands upon him beyond welcoming bedsport.
The layered complexity of this female drew his grudging respect even as she denied him physical intimacy.
Before being mated, he’d never considered a female capable of thoughts and wishes and dreams that did not reflect her mates’ desires.
His emotions raw, Zul scrutinized the daily reports he received from the capital and took small comfort in knowing that as long as the reports came, he needed not to worry for Ursula and Crow’s welfare.
Daily he tested the triad bond with Bran and Gil, fearing to lose that connection as he had apparently lost the connection with their mate.
Bran did not acknowledge the wordless inquiries, but Gil did: Hold fast.
Time passed. The season turned. Zul maintained the fiction that Bran and Gil had been deployed for an indefinite length of time. And Ursula continued giving him the silent treatment.
Retreat! The sharp, urgent command came late one night, accompanied by a sharp burst of pain.
Zul bolted upright in his lonely bed, every mental alarm ringing and every muscle tensed and ready for battle.
He sent an unspoken question along the triad bond, but found the connection blocked.
At once, he understood that Bran had cut himself and Gil off to protect him, Ursula, and Crow.
Plans they had crafted much earlier now came into play.
He remembered Gil’s prediction of torture and surmised the cause of Bran’s pain, an agony so severe he could not prevent it from traveling across the triad bond.
He left his room and entered the suite where his mate slept.
He tiptoed through the room and opened the door.
The castratus stationed in the central bedchamber who had been assigned nighttime guard duty—an assignment made without informing the Prima—glanced at him.
Zul shut the door behind him and whispered, “Alert Suvesh.”
The castratus nodded and raced away to wake Suvesh. Zul entered the bedchamber and squatted beside his mate’s bed. Gently placing his hand over her mouth, he whispered, “Wake up, elska’adir.”
Ursula’s eyelids flipped open. Seeing a dark figure looming over her, she screamed, but the hand pressed over her mouth stifled the sound. Terrified, she began to struggle.
“Hush, Ursula,” Zul ordered both aloud and through the emotional bond that still connected them. Panting through her nose, her body grew still. His voice low and thrumming with urgency, he said, “We must leave.”
“Crow?” she asked, her lips rubbing against his palm.
“Suvesh has him.”
Ursula misunderstood, and her eyes flashed with hot fury. “He belongs with me.”
Zul wasted no time on apologies. “They will meet us in the stableyard.”
Ursula closed her eyes in relief: Zul did not intend to separate her from her son. When he removed his hand from her face, she hissed, “What’s going on?”
He ignored her question. “Get dressed in your most practical clothes and pack enough for a few days. Pack only the essentials. Quickly. We must leave.”
Zul retreated to his suite where he dressed for battle. Their transportation would soon arrive.
Ursula glared at the bedchamber door and pressed her lips together to stem the questions that clogged her throat and crowded her mouth.
Obedient to the urgency she felt through their bond, she rose naked from her bed and headed for the en suite bathing room where she emptied her bladder before digging out her most practical clothes—which weren’t very—and getting dressed.
As her skirts swished around her legs, she wished for a much more practical pair of blue jeans.
However, she had to make do with the garb Urb culture deemed appropriate for females.
At least the fine fabric was made of some type of dark wool rather than the filmy, floaty, pastel-colored cloth her mates preferred she wear.
She pulled on stockings and quickly fastened the buckles on her boots.
Dressed, she pulled out the bag she used when visiting Omari for two or three days.
She understood “packing lightly” meant no jewelry.
With a lingering glance at the chest containing her jewelry, she sighed, then got to the business of pragmatism, determined no one would have reason to accuse her of being frivolous.
She drew on a shawl, then buckled the bag closed and slung the strap over her shoulder.
Emerging from her suite, she raised her gaze to Zul’s, noticing that he carried two large satchels and wore his battle kilt and boots, and asked, “What’s going on?”
Again, he did not answer her. “Come.”
Clenching her jaw, she followed him. Carrying two bags, Zul moved swiftly and silently through the manor, a stealthy progress which Ursula decided shouldn’t have been possible considering his size.
Following him, she caught the dull glint of dark metal and realized Zul wore more than his battle kilt: he was garbed in full battle regalia.
A tube of sharp spikes was affixed to the end of his tail.
Spiked spaulders protected his shoulders and greaves his shins.
Gauntlets covered the backs of his hands, but left his talons bare.
Short, sharp fins protruded from the vambraces on his forearms. Lethal spurs were strapped to his legs and protruded at wicked angles from behind his ankles.
A gorget protected his throat and clavicles.
Beneath the gorget, he wore a heavy shirt like a hauberk, but it wasn’t made of metal.
A spiked plate of metal covered the span of his skull between his horns.
Ursula wondered if she’d need armor, too. Would Crow? Would Suvesh?
Her footsteps stuttered to a stop when she saw long, sinuous necks, the dull gleam of scales beneath the dim illumination of the moon, and the malevolent glint of reptilian eyes. She did not notice Zul dropping the two satchels to the ground.
“What the hell are those?” she hissed.
Long, heavy reins dropped from thick rings at the beasts’ auditory openings. Castrati held on to those reins with grim determination, each also holding a goad. A wet gurgle sounded from one of the beasts.
“Our transportation to safety,” Zul said.
“They look like they’d rather eat us than not,” she objected. “Crow is not getting near one of those evil things.”
Zul fixed her gaze with his. “We have no time for debate. Crow will ride with Suvesh, and you will ride with me.”
“Not on that thing.”
“Yes, on that thing.” He did not try to tell her it was perfectly safe because, as she’d reminded him more than once, she wasn’t stupid. One of the beasts yawned, displaying fearsome teeth.
Reluctant to take one step nearer the beasts or to let Crow near it, she objected again, “Won’t whatever we’re fleeing from be able to track those things?”
“No.”
“Mama, what’s going on?” Crow whined as he and Suvesh joined them, the castratus lugging two satchels slung over one shoulder. He held onto the youngling’s hand with his free hand. Crow rubbed his eyes. Suvesh dropped the satchels to the ground.
Zul crouched down to look at the youngling eye to eye and did not attempt to dissemble. “We are in danger and must flee.”
Crow jutted out his chin. “I will fight.”
Zul nodded. “You may have to. It is your duty to defend your mama at all costs.”
“No!” Ursula protested. “I’m his mother. It’s my duty to protect him.”
Zul ignored her and handed the child a small knife in its leather sheath. “You are a golden warrior breed. You will not shame your lineage.”
The child clutched the sheathed knife and nodded. “I will uphold the honor of my ancestors.”
Zul nodded then rose to his full height as Suvesh gently took the knife from the child and attached it to Crow’s belt.
More castrati darted forward to pick up the satchels and attach them to the beasts’ harnesses, positioning the bags so they lay smoothly against each animal’s hide and did not protrude too far or hinder movement.
“If you’re giving a child a weapon, you’d better give me one, too,” Ursula hissed.
“No.” He reached back to grasp Ursula’s hand and glanced at Suvesh. “Mount up.”
She gasped as one of the restive beasts snapped out a leathery wing. She squeaked, “That’s a fucking dragon!”
Terrified and desperate to grab her son and flee, Ursula tugged her hand, but she could neither break Zul’s grip nor slip from it.
She shrieked when he tossed her up into the saddle and huffed when he settled an instant later behind her.
She glanced at the other beast to note that Suvesh had mounted the beast with Crow seated in front of him, sheltered by the castratus’ body as she was sheltered by Zul’s.
“Hold on to the pommel,” Zul ordered.
Ursula’s hands shot out to clench the padded ridge in front of her. Her knuckles whitened with the tightness of her grasp. Zul and Suvesh picked up the reins, and the servants handed each of them a goad.
“Have they fed recently?” Zul asked the nearest servant.
“At dusk,” the servant replied.
Zul nodded and gave the rein a sharp tug. The beast snarled. Suvesh did the same, and the beast he and Crow rode turned its head to deliver a baleful glare. Ursula looked over to her son who clutched the pommel and stared at the dragon with wide-eyed awe.
“You know where we’re going?” Zul asked.
“No!” Ursula snapped.
“I know our first stop,” Suvesh replied, indicating that he understood wherever they landed would not be where they stayed.
“If we are separated, you know what to do,” Zul said.
“Yes, my lord,” Suvesh replied. “My honor is yours.”
Ursula opened her mouth to object once more, or perhaps demand just what the hell was going on, but her words raced back down her throat in a shrill gasp of terror as the dragon roared and darted forward.
Her eyes squeezed shut as the great beast ran several steps.
She whimpered when she heard the snap of leathery wings and whimpered again when the beast leaped into the air with a grunt.
Bowing her head against the rushing air, she wheezed, “Please, where are you taking us?”
Zul’s grim answer did not reassure her: “To safety.”
Ursula shrank against him and lowered her head even more.
She ducked to look beneath Zul’s outstretched arm and felt her gorge rise.
She gagged and swallowed, managing not to vomit as she peered past the huge flapping wings to see the other dragon flying behind them.
She could not see her son cuddled against Suvesh’s body, but she did catch a glimpse of the castratus who appeared to be handling the dragon with skill and confidence.
Her wordless surprise reverberated across the mate bond. Zul addressed it with a calm reply, Suvesh’s family raises and trains wyverns.
Wyverns? What the hell is a wyvern? Thoroughly discombobulated, Ursula forgot her resentful anger. And won’t they be tracked?
It’s highly unlikely.
Please tell me what’s happened. Are Bran and Gil …
They’re alive. That’s all I know. Zul did not lie; he knew they were alive because Bran kept the triad bond blocked. If they were dead, that connection would have disappeared and Gil would have taken charge of it.
Ursula shuddered with relief. I assume something went very, very wrong with Bran and Gil’s revolution.
Yes.
Do you know what?
Not yet.
When you do, will you tell me?
When it’s safe to do so.
She sighed. I hate you sometimes.
I know.