As she
crossed the landing field and walked toward the still room, a prickling moved
along her spine. Her hands formed fists. She steeled herself to face Lagon.
“Arana.” His
hand clamped on her arm.
The basket
thudded on the ground. “My lord.”
“How fare the
beasts?” He turned her to face him.
“The wounds will
heal. Two will need several weeks of rest before they can fly.”
“The High Peaks
blue was a mighty fighter. Does the red of that lineage grieve?”
Arana nodded.
“In the confusion after the flight she would have flown away but I calmed her.”
“Don’t dampen
her spirits too greatly. I want her to rise to mate.” His gaze drilled her. “When
she does my blue will follow. With eggs of her get my dragon stock will improve.”
He shoved Arana against the wall. “On that day you will drink the tea and fly
with her.”
Arana bit her
lower lip. She couldn’t let him see how her fear verged on the edge of terror. “What
if she won’t rise?” She couldn’t let Lagon know the red was with egg.
His thin lips
curved into a smile that held no hint of humor. “When you speak to her she will
have no choice.” He scraped a fingernail along her cheek. “You are as ripe as
the dragon. You will bear my son.” He clamped his teeth on her lower lip.
She winced. A
sullen anger built inside. She sought to hide her repugnance toward him. He
liked his women to cower and obey his commands. In the ten years and one of her
captivity here, she’d seen ten women ordered to his bed. She’d seen the bruises
and witnessed the lashings as each one failed to produce the son he desperately
wanted.
He caught a
lock of her hair and wound it around his finger. “Hair the color of flames. Fire
is what I demand from you.” He pressed his mouth over hers. His body touched
hers and his phala remained flaccid. Once again she was spared a mauling.
Lagon laughed.
“Soon.” He held one hand against her throat. “Let your fears grow so I can
feast on them when the dragons rise.” He released her.
Though relief
threatened to bring her to her knees, she pressed against the wall for support.
She thought of her fellow slaves. Most feared him, but one or two lusted to be
in his bed. She didn’t understand their fascination. Though handsome, his icy
blue eyes and thin lips spoke of his cruel nature.
The blue gem
in his ear was said to be a payment for the youth he’d sold to the slavers. The
boy had been from High
Peaks Tower .
Had he been the youngest son of the lord, the boy who had been her friend? Lagon
had announced Drakon’s death when the women from High Peaks
had reached Sea Cliff.
Her eyes
closed. Though she tried to form a picture of her friend, she failed. For
several years after her captivity had begun, she had dreamed of the young man
and of being rescued.
The
sound of boots against the stone floor announced Lagon’s departure.
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