25. Drakra

Chapter twenty-five

Drakra

Han

T he mountains loomed over us, and a sense of dread settled in my stomach. Since that first stop, we had traveled without incident, but now we were nearing Drakra territory. Here, the danger we faced wasn't human.

We stopped in a small village for directions to the high priestess's temple, and we exchanged our horses for a set of large mountain goats, which were better suited to pulling the sleigh along the rocky roads. We would return the goats when—or rather, if—we returned. If the Drakra didn't hand us over to Miroslav, or worse.

The air grew colder, and the roads narrowed the higher we went up the mountain. I made the mistake of glancing down once and immediately wished I hadn't. A chunk of ice, knocked loose by the goats' feet, tumbled down the sheer cliff edge, echoing as it fell. I pulled my fur coat tighter around me, praying the goats remained sure-footed. No one would survive that drop.

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the road widened slightly and a town appeared. Stone houses rose up on each side of the road, some carved directly into the mountainside. The stones were smooth from centuries of weathering.

"I thought it would be bigger," Lada muttered. I grunted in agreement.

We passed a number of abandoned houses on the outskirts of the town. Doors hung lopsided from their hinges, and no smoke rose from the chimneys. The Drakra had lost a significant portion of their population in the Spider Wars, I knew, but I hadn't realized how poorly they had fared. This was no thriving settlement. It was a ghost town.

Short, gray-skinned Drakra, both male and female, ignored us as we passed. They were obviously used to seeing humans; even the children paid us no heed. I, on the other hand, had to remind myself not to stare. Their rough, callused skin looked as though all color had been leached from it. Most wore furs to guard against the biting wind, and the gray furs of rabbits and wolves matched the Drakras' colorless skin, making it difficult to tell from a distance where the furs ended and their skin began. A time or two, we passed a corner that seemed darker than it should have been. The hairs on my neck rose. The Drakra could shadow-meld—were those shadows Drakra watching us?

We climbed through the town until we reached the highest point. A set of stairs, carved into the mountainside, led to a temple. At the top of the stairs, two Drakra men, no more than five feet tall, guarded the door. They held their spears erect, unmoving as my companions and I climbed down from the sleigh and tied the goats to a post.

Wind swirled around us, making me shiver, but despite the guards' bare arms, they didn't react to the cold. Their skin appeared thick, coarse, as if carved from stone, and I wondered if their thicker skin kept them warm.

"We come on a diplomatic mission," I said to the guards. "We wish to treat with Yixa na Chekke." We hadn't been able to send word ahead of our arrival, for fear that Miroslav's men might intercept it. I said a silent prayer to Otets that the high priestess of the Drakra wouldn't send us away.

One of the guards beat the butt of his spear against the ground, and the other opened the door for us.

I glanced at Yakov and Lada before stepping into the darkness of the temple.

Once inside, my eyes took a moment to adjust. We were in a high-ceilinged hall. Seven doors led from the hall—eight, if I included the door we'd entered through. The spicy, intoxicating scent of burning leckozht needles filled the air. In the center of the room was a table atop a dais. Next to the table stood a Drakra woman, her skin the color of charcoal. Her long hair was black, striped with red, and she held a bowl full of something smoking. Burning leckozht, I assumed.

The priestess placed the bowl on the table and bowed her head. Then she turned, staring down her long nose at us.

"What brings three humans to speak with Yixa na Chekke, voice of the goddess Xyxra?"

Out of respect for the Drakras' matriarchal culture, we had chosen Lada to speak for us. The Blood Bastard stepped forward and bowed before introducing us. "We come to you on behalf of Borislav of the Blood, rightful Heir of the Sanctioned and Tsar of Inzhria, who has charged us to form an alliance with our respected friends, the noble race of Drakra. We have letters and gifts from his majesty." She opened her pack and brought out a set of glass bottles. "A gift made by the Blood. These potions will cure minor illnesses swifter than any natural remedy. They were specially created to be used by Drakra." She placed them in front of the dais, at the priestess's feet.

The priestess's face was unreadable, like the stone it seemed to be carved from. I nodded at Yakov to offer his gift.

He brought out a block of salt. "A gift made by the sea. Sea salt, from the western coast of Inzhria." He set the block next to the potions.

"And a gift made by the land." I stepped forward with the potted spruce sapling I held. "This tree was enchanted by the tsar to thrive as long as the friendship between his people and yours thrives." I placed the final gift next to the others, along with the ambassadorial letters. "His majesty Tsar Borislav also sends his regards in these letters and authorizes us to speak in his stead."

The priestess watched us for a moment, unspeaking. She rang a bell, and a young Drakra woman came from the room behind her. "They will be staying with us for a few days," the priestess told her. "See to their comfort."

That was promising, at least. She didn't insist we leave or call guards to throw us in a cell.

The young woman led us to a small house near the town center. "The priestess will summon you soon."

Lada bowed. "Thank you."

As the woman left, I looked around. The house was one room, with low tables on each end. A pile of unlit firewood filled the pit in the center of the room, beneath a hole in the ceiling that couldn't quite be called a chimney. Furs covered the ground, but there were no chairs. I wondered if the lack of chairs was calculated, meant to discomfit us, or if the Drakra simply didn't use them. Given the warm, comfortable appearance of the house, I was inclined to believe the latter. I hadn't noticed any in our drive through the town, at least.

Yakov took seat by the fire pit while Lada started a fire. "Well, that went well," he said drily.

"I expected her to say more," Lada said. "But she didn't have us killed, at least."

Yakov fished in his pack and pulled out a strip of dried meat. "Still, she could have said a little more."

Lada swiped the food from his hand, and Yakov reached into the pack again.

I shook my head at their childish behavior. "She's giving herself some time to consider before listening to what we have to say. It'll probably be a while before someone comes to get us."

"Probably," Lada agreed. She pulled a dice bag from her own pack. "Might as well settle in for a bit. Anyone want to play?"

I shook my head and seated myself a ways back from the fire. I wasn't in the mood for dice, but I watched as the other two began their game. They were both careful to avoid touching each other, as I'd noticed during the journey. I'd warned Yakov to stay away from her, but I no longer believed Lada posed a threat to him. She clearly felt the same for him as he did for her, and he'd never been one to let my interference prevent him from going after something he wanted. Was it fear of her father that was stopping them, or something else?

It wasn't any of my business, I reminded myself. Mila would call me an interfering busybody for getting involved. Though she'd secretly be watching them as well. She was worse than an old woman when it came to matchmaking.

As I'd expected, it was a couple hours before someone came to meet us. The woman who came to the door was tall for a Drakra, and her skin was slightly softer and pinker than the rock-like Drakra skin. Her eyes were more brown than yellow. "I am Xhela na Zanik, Mandible to the high priestess."

"You're human," Yakov blurted as we stood to greet her.

The woman stiffened, and I shot him a glare. The Mandible was second only to the high priestess herself among the Drakra. If Yakov couldn't control his mouth, we could end up as sacrifices to their Spider Goddess, or worse.

"Half," she said.

"My apologies, Xhela na Zanik." Lada bowed. "We meant no offense." She scowled at him, and he mumbled an apology.

Xhela nodded in acknowledgment. "Yixa na Chekke, voice of Xyxra, wishes you to attend her at dinner."

"We would be honored," Lada said.

Xhela led us back to the temple, but rather than stopping in the main hall, we went through one of the doorways I had seen earlier. Inside, brightly colored woven tapestries decorated the walls of the warm room. The tapestries didn't depict any particular imagery, just geometric designs, but they were still beautiful. My eyes caught on one in particular, a blue- and red-striped piece that reminded me of the quilt Mila had made in the first year of our marriage. I felt a twinge of homesickness. Did she miss home as much as I did?

Thinking of Mila fueled that ever-present spark of resentment at her for leaving. I looked away from the tapestry and put her out of my mind.

The high priestess, Yixa na Chekke, sat on the floor at the head of a low table laden with food. A short-haired Drakra man sat next to her, and across from him, two small children squirmed in their seats.

I had expected something more formal. This was less an ambassadorial dinner than a family one, and it felt as though we were intruding.

"Please, sit," the priestess told us. "Be welcome. Meet my husband, Xolok, and our sons."

"It's an honor to meet you," Lada said. Yakov and I echoed her as we, along with Xhela na Zanik, took our seats on the furs around the table.

Yixa na Chekke served us herself. The food was simple, similar to what I ate at home, and the familiar fare filled me with a comfortable, homey feeling. There were clay-baked birds—something like a quail, I thought—and currant jelly, with a flat type of bread I didn't recognize.

Once everyone had been served, the priestess turned to Lada. "You are the daughter of Radomir, prince of the Blood, are you not, Blood Bastard?"

She was well-informed, even if we had taken her by surprise. Lada dipped her head. "I am, Lady."

The priestess raised one dark eyebrow. "Your father fought against Borislav in the first rebellion. How do you find yourself speaking on behalf of Borislav now?"

"My father is a religious man." Lada gave a small smile. "In order to make a Disinheritance, certain standards must be met. My father didn't feel that those standards had been met at the time of the last rebellion."

"But he has changed his mind, now," Xhela na Zanik, the Mandible, said.

"He has, yes. Thanks to Han Antonovich." Lada gestured at me.

Xhela, the priestess's husband, was silent throughout this exchange. The smaller of the two sons had left his seat at the table to climb into his father's lap and whisper something. Xolok sighed.

"Yes. But don't expect to get anything else later!" he added as the child ran out of the room.

The older boy, who had been picking at his food, looked at his father expectantly. As soon as Xolok nodded, he was on his feet and out the door. Xolok sighed heavily and stood. "Excuse me," he said, following the boys from the room.

I chuckled. "Your children are beautiful, Yixa na Chekke."

"Do you have children, Han Antonovich?" the priestess asked.

"No." I caught Yakov's eye, the memory of my unborn son heavy on my heart. "Not anymore, no."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Conversation stalled as we finished eating. Finally, Yixa na Chekke folded her arms on the table. "You say Miroslav has earned a Disinheritance, and you wish for the Drakra to join you in making it. Tell me, what has Miroslav Vyacheslavovich done to disqualify him from ruling?"

Lada met her yellow-eyed stare. "In addition to creating an army in peacetime and mutilating prisoners of war," she inclined her head toward me and Yakov, "he's committed the most grievous of sins a Sanctioned can. He turned the Gifts of the Blood on his unSanctioned subjects."

"Miroslav is a brute," Yakov said. "Did you know, Lady, that only thirteen of us survived the battle of Barbezht? And only two of us are alive today, because Miroslav slaughtered the other eleven to make a point to his brother."

"A monster he might be," the Mandible said, "but why would we risk our already depleted people to support a man who already lost one rebellion? If Miroslav won before, why should we not ally with him? Or perhaps we should remain neutral, to mitigate our risk."

"He won't stop," I said quietly. They looked at me, and I cleared my throat. "Miroslav has left you alone so far. He's been busy solidifying his power, building his army. But once he's dealt with the other threats to his throne, he'll turn his gaze east. His father drove your people into the mountains, slaughtering you, but Miroslav is ten times worse than his father. He won't stop until the Drakra are wiped out and he has complete control over the entire territory, all through the mountains."

The priestess's mouth pinched together. "Is Borislav any different? They come from the same womb. Who's to say one is any better than the other?"

"Tsar Borislav is prepared to make assurances to you," I said. "He sent us as a gesture of goodwill. We can negotiate some of the lands you lost in the Spider Wars, as well as establishing trade and ambassadorial relations between our two peoples." I prayed that was all it would take to establish the alliance. I didn't know if I could stomach carrying out the tsar's other order.

Yixa na Chekke stared at me, contemplating. "This is quite sudden. I must consult our goddess and speak with my advisors. We will meet again tomorrow."