Brood of Vipers, Maggie Claire [e novels to read .TXT] 📗

him in the eye, Wren tells himself, counting slowly in his mind and matching his breaths to the rhythm in his head.

Jackal hesitates, his head turning slightly to the side as he considers Wren’s words. “I had a message in my tent saying Wolf wanted to see me, but when I got there, Wolf said he’d sent you instead. You’re telling me that Wolf is lying?”

“I don’t think so; Wolf doesn’t strike me as a good liar,” Wren replies, trying not to scoff at his own words. Control. It’s all about self-control. Wren drops his gaze down to his stew, forcing his mouth to stay silent for a few heartbeats to give the appearance of thought. Then he continues, “But now that you mention it, I do think something’s up with him. Wolf’s been having headaches—”

“I know about that. He’s been having those ever since the Ddraig-loving bitch left him. Withdrawals or something like that. I didn’t quite understand it, to be honest,” Jackal interrupts, standing up and refilling his bowl.

“Headaches and forgetting things—that’s not a good sign. Is it possible that these headaches are doing permanent damage to him somehow?” Wren asks the question outright, sowing the seeds of doubt in Jackal’s head.

“What do you care? You’ve not even officially joined our house,” Jackal scorns, pointing his finger at Wren’s subtle mask.

“My loyalty is here.” Wren evades the impending conflict, speaking truthfully as he sees Lynx and her child step out of his tent. I am loyal to that woman and her child because I want to keep them safe, Wolf confesses in his thoughts, letting the veracity of these words color his verbalized lies. “But I worked with the medic in the House of Vultures for a while. He told me about this withdrawal from a naming bond. Headaches, hallucinations, forgetfulness, loss of speech, and eventually complete loss of mind and motor function.” Standing up, Wren walks over to the barrel full of soap water and drops his stew bowl into the foamy suds. “If I were you, Jackal, I’d be making plans just in case what we are seeing is Wolf’s downfall. Because if it is, wouldn’t you be the natural choice to replace him?”

Wren saunters away before Jackal can speak again, weaving his way through the tents until he stands in front of Lynx. “What are you doing out here, wench?” he demands, winking even as he raises a hand as if to backhand the woman.

“Please, I just need a moment in the sunlight,” she begs, scanning the tents surrounding them for any signs of eavesdroppers. “I think we are safe,” Lynx whispers, looking up at Wren with a small smile.

“What’s Jackal doing now?” Wren questions, tilting his head slightly to the left to indicate in which direction Lynx should look.

“He’s called Coyote and Hyena over to him; they are huddled up and whispering. What did you do?” Lynx wonders, shifting her sleeping child on her hip.

“It’s amazing how much mistrust one false note can cause.” Wren grins, quickly filling in the details for her and turning his gaze to the House of Piranhas. “Now, I need to speak to Wolf.”

***

All of the Ddraigs stand in the deepest Pith cavern, the strongest ones at the mouth of the opening to protect the baby Ddraigs. Glancing off to my left, I know the Carreglas is close; I can feel its gentle thrum as if it is a part of my heartbeat. Siri and Suryc thunder up to me and Cyrus, carefully scanning over us for any signs of injury. Ekard and Drake aren’t far behind, the crimson dragon’s guttural voice demanding, “What happened up there?”

“There was an intruder—one of the Vibría,” Cyrus announces, his voice wavering with the depths of his unspoken fears.

“She didn’t attack us. I think she wanted to help,” I mumble, turning aside from Cyrus’s withering stare.

“More than likely, she came to see if she could sneak into our lair without being noticed, gathering up any information she could before she was caught,” Cyrus snipes cynically, his hands clenching and unclenching. The wild look I’ve come to associate with his nightmares crosses Cyrus’s eyes. Though he stands before me, I fear he’s lost in his thoughts, fighting the Vibría that tortured him at the House of Vultures.

“She told us a great deal about her people,” I gently protest, reaching up to squeeze Cyrus’s shoulder, hoping the well-meant gesture will calm his nerves. “She claimed that her people are victims of her king’s greed and cruelty, not soulless killing monsters.” Glancing at Siri, I open my mind to her, replaying our conversation with the Lady Vatusia, carefully omitting the part when she said I should come to Déchets alone to take down the king. “Did you know anything about this?” I question, watching Siri’s eyes darken until they are almost pewter rather than the silver hue I’ve come to love so dearly.

“Of course not! I’ve never heard such a wild tale about our kinsman over the Devil’s Spine. The better question is, should we believe it?” Siri shifts from one foot to another, lost in thought. Her tail flicks impatiently behind her as she broods. “Cyrus, you were there—did your Asíle abilities pick up any lie in her words?”

“No,” Cyrus grumbles, clearly annoyed by the admission. “But that doesn’t mean I think we should trust her. What if there are ways to deceive a truth reader that we don’t know about? What did she come here for anyway? To spoon-feed us a sob story about how the king has mistreated her, just to gain some sympathy? Or perhaps to get us to lower our guard, making us an easier target?” Cyrus shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

Taking a deep breath, I voice my opinion, knowing it will start an argument. “She gained nothing by coming here, and her story was too detailed, too heartbreakingly personal. You found no deception in her words. So, I think we should cautiously trust her.”

“Seriously?” Cyrus barks,