Chapter 8

I found, upon my return, that the Ak-hal’s castle still stood. It seemed as though it had been untouched. It was still crowded with human women—they looked at me from their eyes, angled toward the ground. Now, it was with interest, not fear or loathing. Clara was doing my hair. I looked at myself in the mirror—a doll, a toy, nothing more. My eyes, in fact, glowed with the cold light of the Ak-hal. They were still hazel, but strangely fiery. I guessed that it was only for the duration of the mating ceremony, as Clara and Sarita as well as all the other human mates lacked it. I felt utterly defeated. There was no way for the Barbearians to catch up in time to save me. I had been inspected by an Ak-hal doctor. The experience had been clinical and intrusive. Finding me intact, I was declared still suitable as a mate for the crown prince.

Clara kept silent, understanding how crushing of a blow I had just been dealt. Freedom had been so close that I could have touched it.

“What are they like?” Clara asked me quietly.

“They are kind.” I said softly, choking back bitter, angry tears. “They are warm.”

“I hoped so.”

“Did you know Maggie?” Clara paused, her eyes wide.

“Did she make it?”

“Yes.” Now it was Clara’s turn to hold back her tears.

“Is she well?”

“Very well,” I replied. I paused. I needed to ask her a difficult question. “Were you the one? The one who alerted the Ak-hal that I was gone?” The face that she made told me that she had expected this question. She shook her head as she tugged the styling wand through my hair.

“No,” she said. “It was Libba.” I felt relieved. Clara hadn’t been the one to betray me.

“Be brave,” she whispered in my ear. As she did, she slipped something heavy into my pocket. I looked up at her from the chair in which I sat and nodded. She put the finishing touches on my hair—thick brunette waves. The two women wearing black silk entered, slowly carrying in my new crown on a black velvet pillow. It was identical to the one that I had discarded in the ice cave of the Kamani.

Entering the great hall, I found that it had either been rebuilt or survived untouched. It seemed that the castle was made of mithrim to withstand the temper of the Ak-hal. The numbers of human women and Ak-hal were fewer in the hall that day. Their faces looked grim. Among them, I spotted Libba. She had a burn mark on her cheek. Otherwise, she appeared unhurt. I was led by Moranen to the dais. I dared to look directly at him. I seemed to have more control over myself—the spell of the Ak-hal had been broken the moment that Khofti’s voice had first sounded within my head. Moranen’s face was angry—annoyed. There had been a delay in plans. He wanted to wage his war against the Kamani. He wanted to crush them beneath his taloned claws. We stepped up to the dais, where Sarita and the king sat, and the shaman stood, golden cup in hand, waiting.

I took the prince’s hand, as before. He looked at me coldly.

“I saw how you looked at him,” he whispered to me, so no one else could hear. “After this, you will only look at me that way.” It sounded like a threat. I wished that Khofti would magically appear, and make all this go away. But the bears were too far away. They would never make it in time. It was up to me. I thought of the weight in my pocket, wondering what it could be.

The ritual was completed. We stood, hand in hand, in front of the Ak-hal. They clapped, their mirth lukewarm.

“Whose blood was used in the elixir?” I whispered. Moranen looked at me sharply. His smile spread slowly across his face.

“Since he couldn’t control himself, we sacrificed Rakharo at dawn,” he whispered. “Our bond will take on his strength.” I made no reply, sickened by having anything of Rakharo’s within my body. There was no dance following. Moranen led me out of the great hall immediately.

On the way, I slid my hand into my pocket to find out what Clara had slipped there. I felt the cold steel of a knife. Its edge was sharp, and it cut my finger when I touched it. I knew automatically what I needed to do.

He led me up the staircase. Then down the hall. We were in the royal’s quarters, near where Sarita’s red room was located. He opened the ornately carved mithrim door. The room was sumptuous. The wooden four-poster marriage bed was large, with a thick satin comforter on it. On top of the comforter was a white fur. It made my heart ache for the Kamani from whom it had come.

Roughly, Moranen turned me to face away from him. He began to unfasten the silk-covered buttons at my back. I pretended to grip my skirt with both hands as I slid my hand into my pocket for the knife. My pulse raced, the drumbeat of my heart loud in my ears. He tore the dress from my shoulders, and as it fell, the hand holding the knife came out of the pocket.

I whirled to face him. I pointed the knife at his chest, pricking the skin. A large drop of blood welled up by the point, running down his chest in a dark crimson streak. He laughed.

“You think to kill me?” His voice was full of ridicule.

“Yes,” I replied, adding more pressure as I said so.

“You are so stupid. A knife would never penetrate the sternum,” he snapped and held out his hand. “Give it to me.” Seeing that he had a point, I automatically lowered the knife. His hand raised to take it at the same moment as I made a jabbing, upward motion with the blade, striking with the quickness of a snake. I felt it penetrate Moranen’s thick skin, slipping upward and between his ribs.

I pulled it out, stepping backward. I was fully prepared to do it a second time, if necessary. Moranen staggered back a step in surprise. He really hadn’t expected me to follow through, not realizing that the in-stasis training had been broken. He coughed blood as his hands covered the wound. He looked at it in surprise as blood cascaded over his fingers.

“You’ve killed me,” he said in shock. He never thought that I would do it.

“Yes,” I replied, triumphant. I stepped forward, bringing the knife up for the killing blow, drawing a deep line across his throat. Hitting the carotid artery, blood sprayed into my face. With a gurgling sound, Moranen fell to the floor. I wiped my face with my hand. I picked up my discarded dress, pulling it on. I had no time to struggle with buttons. Leaving the back of my dress gaping open, I opened the door, making sure to close it firmly behind me. Knowing the way out through my study of the Ak-hal’s maze of hallways, I ran. I ran for my life.

When I reached the courtyard, I found it empty, just like Maggie before me. I ran for the open gates. The cage of the Ak-hal was never watched. They didn’t seem to feel threatened by the Kamani in the least. They weren’t at all threatened by me. What a mistake they had made. In their coldness, they had too much pride.

I ran through the large drifts of snow, shivering. More snow had begun to fall around me, and the wind rose. I needed to get to the ice cave where Khofti had first taken me. I didn’t know if I would make it before hypothermia or frostbite set in. I just kept moving, even as my arms and legs grew numb, and the skin on my face felt icy. I ran, my long skirts dragging in the snow, working against me.

I staggered, exhausted. Against all hope, I saw before me a lumbering figure. From far away, it spotted me, loping gracefully in my direction. I felt Khofti’s presence, a gentle caress against my mind.

Shay.

Khofti.

Relief flooded through me. As he neared, I began to fall, my legs no longer able to hold me up. I sank to my knees. Darkness fell across my vision as my body slumped to the ground.