Imril stood on the rocky shore, watching as a small boat sliced across the glassy water like a knife. Mist rose from the surface of the lake, a diaphanous shroud that obscured the forest in the distance.

The Vradhu stood tall on the boat, propelling it across the lake with the aid of a long paddle. His war-spear was strapped to his back, and he stared straight ahead, meeting Imril’s gaze without fear or hesitation.

Imril remained perfectly still as the boat slid up on the gravel, coming to a halt. The Vradhu dropped his paddle, jumped out and strode up the shore, moving with the fluid grace of a natural hunter.

He didn’t recognize this Vradhu. The warrior sported fierce swirling ankhata—those striking black pigmentation marks—on both cheeks, and his hair was braided in the usual Vradhu Hunter fashion. He was youthful, this one, probably no older than twenty revolutions or so. Vradhu lives were short. They usually lived to see about a hundred revolutions, compared with the Drakhin, who didn’t seem to age and were usually killed through war or feuding.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, Vradhu and Drakhin, once allies, once mortal enemies, and now…

Something stirred in Imril’s blood. Like it or not, his destiny was tied to the violet-skinned ones.

They shared blood, after all.

“Where’s your offsider?” Imril narrowed his eyes as he stared at the Vradhu. Hunters always moved in pairs. Why was this one on his own?

“I volunteered to come alone.” The warrior crossed his powerful arms, smiling. “We hunt in pairs because of the kratok… but you are no kratok, Imril Makura.”

Makura? That was a Vradhu word he definitely didn’t understand.

“No, I am not,” Imril returned his smile, baring his sharp teeth. “Two of you would not be enough to take me down.”

“So you understand why it would be pointless to send another.”

“If you fail, it’s a suicide mission.”

“I’m not afraid of death, Drakhin.”

“Don’t be so flippant, Vradhu. Your lives are short, and you are still young. Try telling me the same thing when your ankhata have turned silver with age.”

“You think you know us so well, Lightbringer?” The warrior tensed and bared his teeth, a battle-ready stance if Imril had ever seen one.

“Better than you realize, brat.” A long time ago, I shared meat with your ancestors. “Has your Clan Lord come to his senses, then?”

“That depends.”

“Oh?”

“Take me to the humans.”

Imril inclined his head. “Predictably, you want to see if I have kept my word. Is my name held in such little regard in this age?”

“You betrayed us in the past. Trust is not to be taken for granted, Overlord.”

“I didn’t start that war,” Imril said quietly, deeply regretting his part in it. As with most of these things, the war had been over females, and it had quickly spiraled out of control.

“But you did your part. How many Vradhu did you kill?”

“It was a Vradhu hunting party that attacked my eyrie.” Imril said softly, remembering how the fierce, wily Vradhu had taken him by surprise. Back then, the Vradhu knew how to tame the wild flying Kratok and ride them. A pack of warriors had flown in from the skies, straddling the Kratok, their piercing war-cries echoing through the cold morning air.

They dropped right into the heart of Imril’s eyrie.

It was a suicide mission. They knew it, but they were so enraged at what had happened to their clanswoman that they would happily die as long as they took down a few Drakhin with them.

That fool, Brodhiel. Reckless. Arrogant. Stupid. Imril had warned him, but he’d gone too far.

“They killed my servants, my Weapons Master, my House Guard…” Imril’s voice grew cold as he remembered standing over the lifeless bodies of his men, each with a wound from a Vradhu’s deadly poison barb in the center of the chest.

Duhil and Zafikel had been training on the upper landing yard when the Vradhu attacked, taking them by surprise. Furious, Imril had killed the Vradhu warriors that dared to invade his domain. Then he’d taken to the skies and razed the Vradhu settlement, ending the war once and for all.

Driving the Vradhu deep into hiding.

Brodhiel had killed his Source—a Vradhu female—and in doing so, set off a chain of events that would eventually lead to the downfall of the Drakhin race.

“Lord Maki says you killed Kanahe’s murderer. Is that true?”

Kanahe. That had been her name, a Vradhu female promised to Brodhiel in exchange for Drakhin protection and riches. Brodhiel had fed too much, too often.

Imril stared at the young Vradhu, the power coursing through his veins. “What is your name, Vradhu?”

“I am Vanu.”

“Vanu. For someone who is at a distinct disadvantage, you presume too much.”

The warrior stiffened, glancing warily at the tendrils of power that flickered around Imril’s fingers. The Vradhu might be cocky, but he wasn’t stupid. Good.

“Come now, Vanu. I will show you proof that my word is good. But be warned. If you try anything stupid, anything that causes harm to the ones under my protection, I will kill you.” He was fairly certain Vanu didn’t have any ill intentions toward the humans, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Stranger things had happened.

“I-I wouldn’t do any such thing,” Vanu blurted, appearing a little offended.

“Good,” Imril growled. “Welcome to my domain, Vradhu.”

It had been several lifetimes since he’d welcomed a Vradhu into his domain.

This, he supposed, was a good place to start.