Allegiance Sworn (7 page)

Chapter 9

I
MHARA’S
pulse quickened with the sound of voices in the corridor outside the library. Her fingers tightened around the clay-fired mug in her hands as she recognized Nayvia’s and Rassan’s voices. Arek would be with them, although she didn’t hear him conversing. From her vantage point at the window, she’d watched the small party of
Na’Chi
, healer, and Light Blade as they’d wandered the bailey, stopping to meet people along the way.

Arek spoke to some of them, but at that distance, she hadn’t been able to gauge his facial expression. What had he talked to them about? More importantly, what impressions had he formed?

Would he assume the whole situation an elaborate act staged to deceive him? Heavy cynicism saturated his scent last night, so that train of thought was possible. Or had he been able to see past it and consider the whole situation more objectively?

The nerves in her stomach intensified. In a few seconds she’d find out.
Mother of Light
, she hoped he’d be more receptive to listening to her this morning than he’d been last night.

Reaching for the pot of
k’sa
sitting on the desk, she helped herself to a fresh cup, her fourth for the morning. No longer so piping hot, the creamy liquid poured a little thicker. The nutty aroma and strong flavor steadied her nerves.

As the small group appeared in the doorway to the library, Imhara placed the mug aside and propped her hip against the edge of her desk. Nayvia and Arek were the first to enter, her hand resting on his arm as she limped her way in, a warm smile of greeting on her elderly face. “Blessed morning, Imhara.”

“It is, Nayvia,” she replied, with an answering curve of her lips. “The
Lady
favors us with fine weather at the end of the season.”

“
She
does indeed. Makes up for the blizzards we have in the dead of winter.”

Arek stood silently at her side, his twilight blue gaze fixed on her, the weight of it sending a shiver down her back. The scruffy, dirt-stained man from last night was gone, and in his place stood one who’d turn heads at any slave auction. Or any other gathering, if truth be known.

Arek’s height matched the
Na’Chi
standing behind him. That put him on eye level with her, too, a pleasant change, considering most humans tended to be shorter than her. While he wasn’t as solidly build as Rassan or Barrca, broad shoulders and hard, striated muscle flexed beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. Dark breeches molded over long legs like a second skin, outlining powerful thighs and calves. Evidence of years of hard work, although on the auction block his physique would have been mistaken for a lifetime spent toiling on a farm, not the battlefield.

A coveted asset, and one enhanced by his striking features, particularly his hair. It was long and loose, falling in waves to just below his shoulders, and not entirely dark blond as she’d first assumed. The morning sunlight highlighted a number of colors: light yellow, red, brown, even a few strands of pale gold.

Between his body, striking features, and incredible hair, Arek was an enticing package. One she couldn’t help but admire and appreciate, firstly as a female and then as her persona as
Na
Kaal.

She was doubly glad Rassan had discovered him. Had Arek gone to auction, a slave of his caliber would have been destined for the
Isha
, a private event known only to and frequented by a select number of
Na’Reishi
, those with predilections similar to her alter ego’s.

With reputations to protect, private rooms within the venue provided the secrecy guests required. Bidding was done in silence, the transaction completed after the sale. Arek could very well have found himself bought by some
Na’Reishi
to serve as a personal blood-slave.

Or worse.

And having witnessed the darker tastes of those other
Na’Reishi
,
Imhara rebelled at the thought of Arek suffering such a fate.

She controlled her shudder and instead tilted her head in greeting. “Arek.”

He stiffened at her use of his name. She ignored the bitter odor of mixed emotions that cloaked him. Curiosity, confusion, and wariness, mixed with the deep, familiar scent of hatred.

She waved a hand toward the lounge. “Please, come in and sit. Jaclan would you fetch a fresh pot of
k’sa
and extra mugs?”

“Not for me, thanks, Imhara.” Nayvia smiled her apology. “As much as I’d like to, Effina is close to her birthing time and I promised to visit.” She gave Arek’s arm a squeeze. “I have enjoyed our time together, Light Blade. Be well, everyone.”

An awkward silence prevailed once the elderly healer and younger
Na’Chi
left to see to their respective tasks. Arek remained just inside the doorway, Barrca and Rassan flanking him.

Soundlessly, Imhara released a long breath. Arek’s refusal to come any closer grated, yet she didn’t fault him. Not after what she’d done to him last night. She smoothed her hand over the leather-bound tomes stacked on the desk next to her and worried the worn edge of one with her thumb.

No matter how many times she’d run over this meeting in her mind, the actual reality of facing him was no less daunting. Yet it had to be done.

“I asked Rassan to bring you here so you could read through these,” she began.

Sliding the first tome off the stack, she quickly flipped through the first quarter of the book to a page she knew almost by heart. Spinning it around on the desk to face him, she retreated to the other side of the room.

As she’d hoped, Arek ventured to the desk after her withdrawal. Rassan shadowed him, ever mindful of her safety.

“The journal belongs to Rezzen Kaal, my sixth-great-grandsire, and
Na
of this Clan just before the Great War between our races.” Imhara hooked her thumb in the pocket on her breeches. “The entry I’d like you to read starts at the top of the page.”

For the longest moment, Arek stared at her, his mouth tight, the corners of his eyes crinkling, as if he were about to refuse her request, but then his gaze dropped to the open page. Long fingers ran down the side of the parchment as he read.

His swift intake of breath and sudden slackening expression indicated he’d reached the section she’d waited nearly five years to show the one she hoped would help her take down
Na’Rei
Savyr.

She bit her lip when Arek lifted the tome in both hands and retreated to the lounge, all his concentration focused on the words in front of him. She shared a look with Rassan. The small curve on his lips eased the tension in her body. If the
Na’Chi
warrior responded to Arek’s reaction like that, then maybe, just maybe, her great grandsire’s words might have broken through the Light Blade’s rigid demeanor. She prayed it had.

* * *

MOTHER
of Light . . .

Arek nearly gave voice to the oath as his fingers tightened on the hard leather cover. His whole body tingled as he flipped to the next page in the journal, unable to stop reading.

It was like he was back in the great library when Kalan had brought Annika to Sacred Lake and asked him to find evidence of the
Na’Chi’s
existence. The breath-stealing shock was the same now as it was back then.

Uncovering the personal journal of Irat Zataan, the
Lady’s Chosen
at the time of the Great War, had led to the discovery that the
Na’Reish
and human race had once coexisted peacefully side by side. The history-shaking revelation had almost destroyed the Blade Council.

If he’d never read the journal of Zataan or heard his own grandfather admit that the truth had been concealed from the Council for nearly five hundred years, he’d have dismissed what he was reading now—this
Na’s
accountings—as a work of pure fiction.

His previous discovery corroborated everything contained on the parchment in front of him. Everything except the shocking snippet of information he’d read three times and still struggled to believe.

His finger shook as he traced beneath the words on the page and spoke them aloud. “‘I look forward to tonight, when Leesa becomes my mate and we can celebrate the blood-bond. In time we’ll see her Gift mature and grow stronger . . .’”

His mind reeled and he was glad he was sitting down. He licked his lips with a tongue that had gone dry, unsure whether to let loose the wild ripple of laughter building in his chest or roar out his angry frustration. “Was Rezzen’s wife human or
Na’Chi
?”

“Human.”

His head snapped up. It took several calming breaths before he could speak, and even then his voice was hoarse. “She let him feed from her?”

“She blood-bonded with him. Willingly. The ritual is not the travesty perpetuated by the
Na’Reish
today, nor is it the enthrallment your people suppose it to be.”

“And what of withdrawal and the death of the human if the feeding stops?”

“All false. The enhancement weakens when the feeding stops. Death only occurs if a
Na’Reish
overfeeds, which, in this day and age, occurs frequently. Hence the misconception.” She came to the edge of the desk, gaze glittering. “Everything you’ve read about the bonding, the strengthening of Leesa’s Gift—back then it was considered a mutually beneficial relationship between our races, a blessing from the
Lady
.”

Arek ran a hand through his hair, choking back the instinctive protest in his throat. His stomach churned at the thought of a human voluntarily allowing a
Na’Reish
to feed from him. For too many years, he’d seen comrades die, their lives drained from their bodies as
Na’Reish
warriors fed from them. The demons made no secret of the fact they wanted to enslave or kill every human.

He’d believed the same of Annika and the other
Na’Chi
. Yet he’d been wrong about them. And now he was faced with the possibility that Imhara Kaal wasn’t the monster he feared her to be.

He reread the pages of the journal again, wanting to deny the information contained within the ancient script. Like a well-honed blade, each paragraph sliced at and severed the remaining validity of the history he’d grown up with.

Lady’s Breath
, he felt like a boat left adrift in a summer storm, buffeted by uncertainty, shaken with the anchor of his beliefs ripped from him, and floundering to decipher what truths would guide his course.

He placed the journal on the padded seat next to him.
If
Imhara Kaal was right about the blood-bond, then feeding from him last night would have only enhanced his Light Blade ability to kill, not enslaved him.

Which should he believe—the facts contained within the journal or the ones he’d grown up with? The path
She’d
set him on was a torturous one.

Arek curled his hands into fists. There was only one way to find out.

Chapter 10

A
REK
launched himself off the lounge, the quick length of his stride covering the distance between them in seconds. He reached out to grab Imhara by the throat, drawing on his Gift as his flesh connected with hers.

The familiar surge of power and intense heat ripped through him, quicker and stronger than anything he’d ever experienced before. His sharp intake of breath echoed hers.

“Don’t, Arek!” Rassan’s demand had him tightening his grasp.

Gritting his teeth, Arek controlled the fiery rush, more out of shock than in response to Rassan’s order. Using his momentum, he drove Imhara backward toward the wall, swinging around at the last moment so his shoulders were flush to the shelf of books, her body acting as a shield against the two advancing
Na’Chi
warriors.

She didn’t fight him. Instead she placed her hands on his forearm, more to keep her balance than to pry at his hold. The jolt of awareness that came with her touch ignited hot chills skittering over his body and completely blew his focus.

Or more accurately, refocused his attention on her.

Pressed up against him, Imhara’s soft, lean curves and the warmth her skin radiated through two layers of clothes proved hard to ignore. The sensation transformed into a frisson of heat that slowly wound its way through his gut.

Shock ripped through him. Just the thought of being aroused by her made him want to thrust her away from him. He may have been attracted to her before he knew she was
Na’Reish
, but now he knew better.

She
wasn’t
human. Gritting his teeth, he denied the heat leave to move any lower, yet his body and mind betrayed him.

Merciful Mother
, there was nowhere to go with the towering bookshelf behind him. Allowing Imhara to pull away and create some space between them would leave him open to an offensive move.

Arek filled his mind with the images of Ostare and the villagers his patrol had found just before his capture. Children and elder-kin, their expressions frozen in the familiar rictus of death, their throats or wrists torn in a savage display of violence, the life-blood drained from their bodies.

Imhara Kaal was no different than the demon warriors who’d murdered those villagers. He wore the mark of her kind on his arm. That and the memories of the dead in Ostare eased the effect but didn’t banish the unwelcome reaction.

“Hold!” Imhara’s voice, a welcome distraction, focused him on the two approaching warriors. Her hoarse command was reinforced with an upraised hand and pulled both
Na’Chi
up short. Rassan tensed, his shoulders bunching and hands fisting, and for a moment, Arek doubted he’d heed her.

“You can sense just how close I am to releasing my Gift,
Na’Chi
,” he warned, voice low.

“You’d be a fool to kill Imhara, Light Blade.” Rassan’s gaze flashed black.

Arek’s own temper flared, fed by self-disgust at the effect her physical presence had on him. “If I’d wanted her dead, she would be.”

“Yet you threaten her now.” He gestured to the abandoned tome on the seat. “You don’t strike me as the sort of warrior who would ignore such compelling evidence.”

“He needed proof, Rassan.” Imhara Kaal’s hoarse response was calm. Still she made no effort to free herself, and that surprised him, especially when she had the skills to fight him. “Has your curiosity been satisfied, Light Blade?”

“Not quite.” Arek pointed with his chin. “I want both of you to leave.
Na
Kaal and I have more to discuss.”

Nor did he want or need an audience sensing his . . . adverse reactions . . . to their leader. For the moment, they were distracted by their fear for her safety, and he didn’t trust his ability to hide his scent from them.

“I won’t leave you in here alone with her.”

“Rassan.” A gentle-spoken word, one layered with tone and purpose. The
Na’Chi
warrior’s gaze flickered to the woman in his arms. “I owe him this.”

A muscle leapt in his jaw, the black flecks faded to the palest of yellows. “Putting yourself in danger to make up for a mistake isn’t worth it. Too many others rely on you.”

“We need his help.”

She’d risk her life to convince him?

Arek held back a grunt. He couldn’t decide if her course of action was courageous or foolish given the threat he’d made last night. There was no way he’d have trusted her had the situation been reversed.

Rassan’s twisted mouth reflected his thoughts. By his side, his hands flexed. “Imhara is the only thing standing between us and the other Clans, Light Blade. Every decision she’s made, every action she’s taken is done to protect all of us—human,
Na’Chi
, and kin.” The muscle leapt in his jaw again. “No one faults you for your hatred of the
Na’Reish
, but don’t let it blind you to the truths revealed today.”

Arek couldn’t help but feel grudging respect for the
Na’Chi’s
impassioned plea.

“The
Lady
has guided us this far.” Beneath his hand, Imhara Kaal’s throat flexed as she swallowed. “Let this Journey take us where
She
wills it.”

A
Na’Reish
demon acknowledging the
Lady
. Yet another contradiction to add to his confusion.

The
Na’Chi
warrior grimaced, still hesitating.

“Please, Rassan.”

For several long heartbeats, Rassan didn’t move. Clearly he feared for her safety and disliked leaving him alone with Imhara. Arek grunted silently. Not that long ago he’d been in a similar situation with Kalan and Annika, and back then he’d worried about leaving his friend in a room with a woman he’d believed a threat to his life, too. He didn’t begrudge Rassan the allegiance he felt toward his leader.

With a sharp nod to Barrca, the
Na’Chi
pivoted on his boot heel. Arek released a slow breath as they left the room, closing the door behind them.

“So, where do we go from here?” The slight waver in Imhara Kaal’s voice filled him with a modicum of satisfaction. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what I did to you last night—”

His fingers tightened around her neck. “You fed from me and let me believe in a
lie
,” he hissed. He’d laid awake for hours, horrified to think she’d condemned him to live the rest of his life as a blood-slave, but worse was the fact that he’d been helpless, unable to stop her doing what she wanted, and to prevent it from happening. “Why didn’t you tell me all this last night?”

“I started to but you weren’t willing to listen. You were focused on your hatred and escape.” She broke off, her voice husky as she forced it past his grip. “I have no excuse except to tell you I was desperate.” Her chin lifted. “I regret the pain my deception caused you, but I won’t apologize for doing what I thought was best for all of us.”

Brave words and a classic example of the arrogance he’d come to expect of the
Na’Reish
. So terribly similar to his grandfather in that respect, imposing what she felt was right on others. His gut burned.

“That our people once lived together is no surprise to you, is it?” Her soft question jerked his angry thoughts to a halt. “You felt the enhancement in your Gift when you grabbed me. And you know more than you’re willing to reveal, otherwise you’d have carried through on your threat from last night. Your scent betrays you.”

Arek ground his teeth together and debated whether to answer her or not, tempted to reject her apology outright, but he couldn’t ignore her astute assumption nor dismiss the information presented in the journal.

That didn’t mean he had to admit to anything out loud. Yet the possibility of everything she’d divulged, everything he’d seen, and everything he already knew culminated in an opportunity as tempting as he’d ever faced.

Savry’s death.

So much would be achieved if he believed what Imhara Kaal had revealed. But to trust the word of a demon . . .
Mother of Mercy!

How would Kalan or Kymora handle this situation? What would they do? Was this a risk worth taking?

“By the
Lady
, if you’re lying to me,
Na’Reish
, or if you ever feed from me without my permission again, then nothing . . .
nothing
will stop me from killing you,” he vowed, voice as ragged as his uncertainty.

Wondering if he’d regret
his
actions, Arek released Imhara with a shove. She stumbled away from him, caught the edge of the desk, and leaned on it, head bowed, sucking in deep breaths.

Fool! The
Na’Reish
destroyed our lives! They can never be trusted!

With his grandfather’s voice ringing in his ears, Arek strode away from Imhara toward the fireplace. Regret soured the back of his mouth as every fiber of his being twisted at giving up the advantage.

Across the distance separating them, he stared at her and she him. Arek wondered if his face was as ashen and tense as hers.
Lady
knew his innards still quivered like her voice from a moment ago.

“Thank you.” She rubbed at the red marks his fingers had left on her throat but made no complaint about them. “For my life and for listening.”

“I’m not doing this for you,
Na’Reish.
I don’t trust you—” She grimaced. Lips thinning, he folded his arms and kept his voice hard. “But the journal entries compel me to keep an open mind.”

The only explanation he was willing to give.

She accepted with a nod, some of the tension in her expression easing. “Fair enough.”

“I want to finish reading those journals.”

“Of course. There are others written by my ancestors following the Great War, but I don’t keep them here in the library.” He raised a brow. “Other
Na’Reish
visit this fortress on occasion. I would not have them discovered by chance.”

Her logic made sense.

Imhara retreated to the other side of her desk and sat in the chair, her expression turning pensive. After a moment, her head lifted. “Arek, about the role I need you to undertake . . .”

“You want me to approach the Blade Council on your behalf. I remember.”

Convincing the Blade Council and his people to accept the
Na’Chi
had been hard enough. Given their turbulent history, allying with a
Na’Reish
Clan didn’t seem possible. But then, he’d believed the same when Kalan had suggested an alliance with Annika and the other
Na’Chi
.

No use worrying about that yet though. There was no way he was escorting her one foot closer to human territory, not until he was absolutely sure she posed no threat to them.

“Approaching your leader is only part of what I need you to do.” She took a steadying breath and met his gaze. “I want you to come with me when I travel to the Enclave.”

Head into the
Na’Rei’s
stronghold? The heart of demon territory?

Arek frowned. “Why?”

“No one will suspect a Light Blade warrior as a slave.”

He fisted his hands at the idea of being her slave, but the tactical advantage of her suggestion wasn’t lost on him.

“You’re expecting me to use my Gift?”

“Only as a last resort.”

From beyond the closed doors, loud voices drew their attention. An urgent knock followed. “Imhara!”

She glanced to him. “Rassan wouldn’t disturb us unnecessarily.” Arek nodded. She raised her voice. “Come in!”

The door swung open. The
Na’Chi
warrior entered, his expression grim. The hand gripping the edge of the door was white-knuckled. His gaze darted between them, relief flashing across his face, his gaze lingering on Imhara as if assuring himself she was unharmed.

Imhara rose from her seat. “What’s wrong?”

“Urkan Yur approaches our gates.” The flecks in his eyes were pure black. “He arrives in a quarter hour.”

Imhara’s stiffening stance indicated trouble. Her heated curse confirmed it.

Arek glanced between the two. “Who’s Urkan Yur?”

“He’s Savyr’s Second in Command.” Rassan’s deep voice vibrated with tension. “A
Na’Reishi
Lordling who rose through the ranks with Savyr during the reign of the previous
Na’Rei
, and the only warrior he trusts to lead his Clan
Na’Hord
.”

Imhara’s gaze slashed to him, the purple pigment within flashing bright. Her lips curled back from her teeth in a silent snarl. “He’s also the black-scale winder who murdered my family.”