“How could you know that? How could anyone know that?”
I replayed the last minute in my mind and realized he was talking about what Ty told me about the oath. I understood his doubt, but he didn’t know Ty like I did. “His family was raised near the Drae, before Irrik was oath bound. His father told him. Plus, he’s been a prisoner in the castle for a long time.”
“Wait,” he said, drawing back to look me in the eye, “Whose father? Who told you?”
“Ty. He’s my dungeon buddy.” When Arnik frowned, I amended, “He’s in the cell next to mine.”
Arnik pulled me close again and kissed my forehead. “Drak. I’ve been sick with worry. Are you al’right? You look like . . .”
He was asking if they’d mistreated me. What could I say to that? Should I tell him of the horror of my dungeon life? If I did, what purpose would it serve, except to make him worry more?
“I’m fine,” I lied, dropping my gaze to the ground.
He sighed, his chest pushing against mine with his breath. “I miss you so much, Ryn.”
My throat clogged as I thought of my mother, Dyter, and the life I’d had. All of it gone in a blink, along with the rest of Harvest Zone Seven.
“I have to go,” I said.
Arnik held me fast.
“It’s time to leave, Ryn,” Irrik growled, a second before he yanked me out from under the vines. “Tell your lover goodbye.”
The ringing note of finality in his voice made me twist to face the Drae. I saw his eyes, cold and reptilian, and I shook my head. “No, Irrik, please.”
His jaw widened, and his face seemed to swell, and I knew he was shifting. I wasn’t letting him kill the one friend I had left. I grasped his half-Drae, half-human face in my hands. Razor sharp fangs sliced through the soft pad of my thumb, and I hissed at the sting.
“No,” I pleaded, pulling my hands away. “Don’t—that’s my only friend, Irrik. Please don’t kill him.”
His features snapped back to human, and he shoved me away, down into the dirt. “Go home, human. Don’t contact her again.”
I couldn’t watch Arnik leave. I just listened as his running footsteps faded.
“There’s work to do,” Irrik said.
25
“Where are we going?” I asked Irrik. My head was fuzzy with fatigue, and it took me longer than it should’ve to notice we were taking a different direction through the castle than we had for weeks. He wasn’t leading me to my new room. My eyes widened. He was—
“Where are you taking me?” I blurted.
“The dungeon,” he said in a cool voice.
“What? Why?” I shrilled, desperately. I remembered the darkness and Jotun’s thudding footsteps as he’d come to collect me for more torture. Nearing the edge of hysteria, I tried to reason with Irrik. “I haven’t been there for weeks.”
Irrik gripped my arm lightly, probably sensing I was about to bolt. “Because, Phaetyn, you must learn that what is given can be taken away just as easily. Today, you spoke to your friend. Do you know what Jotun or the king would’ve done to him for that? What I’m still contemplating doing? You would be punished, too.”
I shut my mouth at his threat against Arnik.
As we wound down the stairs that haunted my dreams, my thoughts went from Jotun to the other occupants of the prison. I’d be able to talk to Ty. My heart leaped at the thought that Tyr might come to see me as well. The Drae glanced at me with one eyebrow raised, and I wiped my smile away. His previous warnings about showing affection for Tyr rang in my ears.
He swung open my cell door.
Home, sweet home. “It seems bigger than I remember,” I said cheerfully.
Lord Irrik rolled his eyes and jerked the door shut, twisting the key in the lock. “Sleep tight.”
“Don’t let the Drae bite,” I finished in a singsong voice.
He paused. “What did you just say?”
I blanched. What did I just say? I did not quote a nursery rhyme at him. Mistress Moons, please tell me that didn’t happen. “Nothing.”
The dim light gleamed on his now bared white fangs. “You better hope I don’t bite you, Phaetyn.”
I held my breath, adrenaline raising my skin in small bumps. His teeth disappeared, and I strained my ears to hear the door down the hall slam a moment later. Phew.
“Is that you, Ryn?”
Hearing his raspy voice, I grinned. “Ty!”
“Long time, no talk. How’ve you been?”
I groaned and sank down against our wall. “Oh, just fabulous,” I said, sarcastically. “They put me in a nicer room.”
“You sound upset about it. It’s worse than here?”
Wincing, I said, “Not really. I just missed you is all.” And Tyr.
The familiar drip marked the moments before he responded, “I was teasing, Ryn. Maybe someday they’ll take me to a better room. Although, nothing could beat this cell for acoustics or morbid ambience. In fact, I’m fairly certain no female could resist it,” he rasped.
I laughed. “What about Jotun?”
“He was my first victim.”
He trailed off, and I sat in my dungeon cell, unreasonably happy to be there talking to a friend. “I’ve missed you, Ty.”
“Ditto. I can just see you out there singing to the plants and playing in the dirt. Mud lady.”
I did not want that to catch on. “I’m not a mud lady.”
“Do you wear shoes out in the fields?”
I scrunched my nose. “Well, no.”
“Mud lady,” he reaffirmed. “Admit it. You love the soil and the life it gives. You love helping the plants grow. You like squishing your toes in the dirt.”
A hum left my lips. I supposed I was a mud lady. “Hey, Ty? What’s a Druman?”
Ty coughed then asked, “Why?”
“The king mentioned them today. Said Jotun and his Druman didn’t need to watch me in the fields anymore. I’ve never heard the term. You’re the most knowledgeable person here with that stuff.”
He snorted. “Thanks. As it happens, I do know,” he said in his hoarse timbre. “A Druman is half Drae and half human. All are male, all are infertile, and all are ten times stronger than a human. Jotun is Druman—as are most of the king’s personal guards. They’re the ones dressed in the navy aketons, not the green.”
I stared into the shadows of my cell, mouth ajar as I processed this. “Half Drae? But how? There’s only one Drae.”
Ty made no answer, and my face warmed.
“Oh,” I said hastily. “Is that Lord Irrik’s choice?” Not that I should care, but for some reason the idea of him intentionally doing that . . .
Ty sighed. “As much as I dislike the scaly bastard, it was the king’s doing. At least that’s what I was told. Irdelron uses that oath like a collar to control the Drae, slowly tightening it year after year.”
I blinked several times as a well of sympathy for Irrik surged inside. Or maybe it should be empathy. He was the last Drae, and I was the last Phaetyn. Who could guess what my fate would be once the fields were healed. I shuddered at the thought. I’d die before swearing an oath to the king that he could use to control me in that way. “How many of them are there?”
“Here in Verald? Hundreds. But the Emperor of Draecon has hundreds, too, if rumor is to be believed.”