Enthralled by Tiffany Roberts
Chapter 11
Despite the distinctscent of spinewood sap fires and the fragrant smoke of burning herbs, these tunnels and chambers smelled of death. Old death. It was the sort of odor that sank into every crack and crevice, that seeped into every stone, that prowled in the shadows of every depression and alcove, that lingered as a reminder—all things must die eventually.
Ketahn had no need for such a reminder. He’d long understood that fact and had long since accepted it. But for the first time in years, he had something truly worth living for. Everything he held dear was dangling from a single overburdened thread surrounded by merciless claws. Those claws would sever that strand the instant his guard faltered.
Frustration, impatience, and helplessness flared in him, constricting his chest. Takarahl was the last place he wanted to be, now more than ever—because he’d left Ivy on the ship with the other humans.
Through the entryway before him, which had its huge stone doors open wide, he watched Archspeaker Valkai lead seven spiritspeakers through a ritual of offering. Their silk-clad forms were deeply shadowed and otherworldly in the dancing blue-green firelight. All eight speakers—one for each god—stood in a circle at the center of the chamber, which was so large it made even those females look small and meek. But that was the purpose of the Queens’ Tomb, was it not?
Everyone was meant to feel small in the face of Queen Takari’s legacy. Was it any wonder why Zurvashi had chosen to end that bloodline and take the glory for herself?
The spiritspeakers waved smoldering bundles of herbs and raised baskets filled with offerings off the altars before which they stood, invoking the Eight one by one as they did so. Their chanting was a low hum that made the swirling smoke seem even more surreal.
It wouldn’t have been difficult to believe the veil between the living realm and the hazy spirit realm had been pierced in that chamber.
But Ketahn had no interest in such matters. He’d come here for a specific purpose, and even that had been difficult to focus upon…because Ivy was on that ship with seven humans Ketahn neither knew nor trusted.
She was on that ship with Cole.
Barely holding in a growl, he turned away from the chamber and paced toward the far wall. His hide prickled under the gazes upon him—those of the pair of Fangs guarding the entryway and the pair of Claws standing several segments down the tunnel. The latter had followed Ketahn since his arrival in Takarahl this morning.
He shouldn’t have come here. Not because it was foolish—which it was—but because he’d left Ivy with the other humans. What protection did she have from them? What protection did she have from Cole? Fire blasted through Ketahn’s veins as he saw Cole grabbing Ivy in his mind’s eye. The human male’s words yesterday had been unimportant, but his actions…
They were unacceptable.
Ketahn clenched his fists. The bite of his claws against his palms offered no distraction.
Only he was meant to touch Ivy. She was his mate, his purpose, his everything. Cole’s intentions made no difference; he’d touched Ivy as though she belonged to him. He’d grabbed her. There was no justification for that.
Ketahn’s fine hairs bristled, and a growl rumbled in his chest.
“The ritual is nearly through,” said one of the Fangs, her voice echoing in the corridor despite being so low.
“Impatience does not befit a hunter,” said one of the Claws.
Ketahn snapped his gaze to the two males. “Nor does being dead.”
The Claws were standing with their shoulders leaned against the tunnel wall, grasping at an appearance of nonchalance. But the way each kept a hand upon the axe dangling from his belt, the way their fingers and mandibles twitched, and their fine hairs were often standing on end, spoke of their unease.
Killing them wouldn’t bring Ketahn satisfaction. It would only cause more problems, as bloodshed always did. And yet, though he could resist those urges, he could not silence them.
Ketahn stopped at the wall, leaned his shoulder against it, and returned his attention to the speakers performing the ritual in the Queens’ Tomb.
Archspeaker Valkai was holding an offering basket overhead and speaking. He believed she was asking the Eight and the spirits of the past queens to continue watching over Takarahl; her words were difficult to make out. This deep understone, especially in these winding tunnels and dark burial chambers, the pervading quiet had a way of amplifying even the smallest sounds. The rasp of a single hair against stone could be heard from several segments away, and every noise created long, distorted echoes. But sound was not carrying so easily out of the Queens’ Tomb.
It was like the chamber devoured the voices of those within.
Ketahn shifted his gaze to the two other figures inside the chamber—another pair of Fangs, their features largely lost in the flickering light but their gold and gemstone adornments glinting. They stood in rigid stances behind and to either side of the Archspeaker. One of them was Ahnset, though Ketahn didn’t know which.
Forcing himself to be still, Ketahn watched the ritual to its conclusion. The smoke from the burned herbs curled and dissipated, carried away on the gentle air flow that permeated Takarahl, even down here.
One at a time, the spiritspeakers placed their offerings atop their respective altars, backed away, and strode toward the doorway with their silk coverings flowing around their bodies. As they entered the tunnel, they split apart smoothly, alternating between turning left and right to follow the path onward.
The burial chambers were maintained solely by the spiritspeakers. They were responsible even for the bowls of spinewood sap that provided the only light, a task fulfilled by lightkeepers throughout the rest of the city.
Thought of the speakers’ duties only reminded Ketahn of his duties to his mate, and how he was currently failing to fulfill them. How he wasn’t there to guard her.
Inside the Queens’ Tomb, the Fangs had moved closer to the Archspeaker, and the three were now engaged in quiet conversation. Their new positions placed them in just enough light for Ketahn to identify them—Ahnset was with Prime Fang Korahla. Their hushed tones would’ve made their words difficult to hear even were they not in a chamber that swallowed sound.
Ahnset and Korahla looked at one another for several heartbeats. When they returned their gazes to Archspeaker Valkai, she slid her forelegs forward, freeing them of her silk covering, and brushed them against the Fangs’ forelegs. She sank into the crossed forearms gesture of the Eight.
Korahla and Ahnset turned toward each other.
Ketahn tilted his head and pushed away from the wall, arms falling to hang at his sides. One of the Claws tapped his fingers against the blackrock head of his axe. The clinking sounds rose over the fading noise of the spiritspeakers’ departure, thrumming along the mental thread that was fastened directly to Ketahn’s irritation.
Had he been holding his spear at that moment, he would have thrown it at the Claw without hesitation—and without looking away from his broodsister and the Prime Fang.
Ahnset and Korahla leaned closer to one another and tipped their headcrests together. As they held that intimate, trusting pose, their forelegs gently brushed together.
The Claws were too far to the side of the entryway to see into the chamber, and the Fangs guarding the doors were facing the wrong direction. Ketahn was grateful for that. What Ahnset and Korahla were doing… Word of it did not need to spread, especially not through the Queen’s Claw.
The Prime Fang and Ahnset withdrew from each other slowly, their forelegs remaining in contact for as long as possible. They turned back to the Archspeaker, and Korahla gestured for Valkai to walk.
With the Fangs at her back, Archspeaker Valkai strode toward the door, her long, white silks swishing around her. Her blue eyes met Ketahn’s, and she slowed to a halt several segments before reaching the doorway.
“Ketahn.” She lifted a hand to beckon him. “I would speak with you, if you might spare a few moments.”
He crossed his forearms and bowed, biting back a flare of impatience. He’d been gone for much too long already—not that he should’ve left Ivy to begin with, not with those humans. She would have been safer alone in the den; he would have been more at ease were she alone in the den. And now that he was so close to achieving his purpose for coming to Takarahl, the thought of even a few more moments’ delay was maddening.
Yes, Ketahn’s open return to the city would show Zurvashi that he’d not fled Takarahl during the eightday she’d granted him. Not yet. But he’d come for a singular reason—he needed to speak to his broodsister, face to face. He needed to look into her eyes before he asked her to venture into the jungle and become entangled in something she would never forget. Before he asked her to betray the queen she’d served for years.
“Always for you, Archspeaker,” Ketahn said as he straightened and strode forward.
The Claws pushed away from the wall and moved to follow him.
“Are you training these broodlings, Ketahn?” asked one of the door guards.
“No. Some are beyond learning.” He passed between the Fangs, and the thunks of spear butts being planted on the floor behind him made Ketahn glance over his shoulder.
The guards had moved to block the Claws, crossing the shafts of their spears in the space between them.
“We have been ordered to follow him,” one of the Claws growled.
“And we have been ordered to allow no one into the Queens’ Tomb without word from either the Archspeaker or the Prime Fang.”
“Our orders come directly from the Queen!”
Korahla stormed toward the doorway, making the floor vibrate with her heavy steps. Ketahn moved out of her path without hesitation.
“And from where do you think our orders come?” the Prime Fang demanded.
The Claws shrank back from her advance, but only a few steps.
“We are to keep Ketahn tes Ishuun’ani Ir’okari in sight at all times, and by the Hunter’s grace, that is what we mean to do.” The male who’d spoken stood up straighter and squared his shoulders as though to draw attention to the black fur slung over his shoulder that marked him as a Queen’s Claw.
Ketahn clenched his fists, again digging his claws into his palms, and gnashed his mandibles. All he wanted was a peaceful life with his mate. Zurvashi could have everything else for all he cared; he needed only Ivy.
“Such as you have never known the Hunter’s grace,” Ketahn said in a low, raw voice. “You are not Claws. You are no different than the recordkeepers, save you watch the comings and goings of your fellow vrix rather than that of food and materials.”
“You grub bellied jung—”
Korahla slammed a leg down, prompting the Claw to snap his mouth shut. “Enough. This chamber has but one entrance. Your quarry will not elude you here.”
“We will not allow him to slip through our web,” the other Claw said. “Not like your Fangs did the other day.”
Korahla stiffened, her hands tightening on her war spear. She was more than strong enough to run that spearhead clear through both Claws at once with a single thrust. Ketahn wondered if she meant to do just that as she stalked closer to the males.
In a hard, growling voice, she said to the entryway guards, “Escort these two out of the burial chambers, and ensure they go nowhere until I come to fetch them.”
“We have orders from the queen,” repeated one of the males.
“The Prime Claw will hear of this,” snarled the other.
The door guards stepped forward, and the Claws retreated before them.
“You are welcome to tell Durax anything you like,” Korahla said, reverting to her usual stony calm, “should you ever discover where he crept off to.”
As Ketahn watched the two Fangs guide the Claws away, Ahnset and the Archspeaker walked over to him; the former’s stride was marked by the clanging of golden adornments and beads, the latter’s by the soft rustling of cloth.
“Your exploits are the talk of Takarahl lately,” the Archspeaker said. “I had not expected to see you for several more days.”
Ketahn turned to face the females, bowed, and gestured apologetically; he didn’t miss the disappointment in Ahnset’s eyes before doing so. “I did not mean to cause trouble, Archspeaker.”
Archspeaker Valkai chittered and extended a foreleg, tapping it against Ketahn’s. “Your actions might say otherwise, Ketahn. Some say you are overly bold. Others that you are a reckless fool.”
The strong smell of herb smoke clung to her, layered over a softer, more feminine scent. Perhaps at another time in his life, Ketahn might have found it appealing, but all he wanted now was for Ivy’s fragrance to wash all the others away.
Ahnset grunted her agreement with the Archspeaker’s words.
Ketahn straightened. Like all full-grown females, Valkai towered over him, but she did not loom. Despite being nearly as large as Ahnset, she was unthreatening. It might have been an effect of the swaths of white silk shrouding her body. It might also have been the result of her gentle demeanor, or her easy posture.
“I believe there is truth in both,” he said.
With a huff, Ahnset thumped a leg on the floor. Her mandibles twitched, and her eyes seemed full to bursting with emotion, but she did not speak.
The Archspeaker chittered again, the sound soft and warm. Ketahn was torn; she was kind, and that made him ashamed of his impatience, but he would not let that impatience go. His place was at Ivy’s side. Her laughter was what he longed to hear.
“I would guess the truth is far more complicated,” Valkai said.
“We but cling to the tangled webs the Eight have spun, clawing toward our fates,” Ketahn replied. Spiritspeakers often said such things, but he’d never put much thought into such words. He was certain of one thing now, however—no matter which strand of fate he followed, it would lead him to Ivy. He’d accept nothing else.
“So have we been taught. And yet, I wonder…”
Archspeaker Valkai lifted her gaze, sweeping it about the chamber slowly. Ketahn followed the path of her eyes with his own.
He’d never been inside this chamber before. The doors were usually sealed, opened only when the speakers performed their offering rituals or when the remains of a queen were put to rest. The chamber was large enough that the blue-green firelight didn’t touch the ceiling, which was supported by huge stone columns standing at regular intervals. A ring of altars stood at the center of the space. Square slabs lined the two walls perpendicular to the entrance. Many of those slabs were blank; many more bore carvings that depicted the likenesses and names of past queens.
At the far end of the chamber, opposite the entrance, was a raised stone dais upon which rested a large blackrock sarcophagus. It held Queen Takari herself, founder of Takarahl, mother to a line of queens who’d ruled for generation after generation. It was there that both Valkai and Ketahn’s gazes paused.
He was stricken again by a sense of being tiny and insignificant in the face of all this, as though no vrix could ever hope to compare to what the city’s first queen had wrought. As though all their struggles mattered not, for only queens were worthy of remembrance.
Had Ivy and the other humans ever experienced similar sensations on their world? Did powerful humans go out of their way to make those they ruled feel weak, small, and pointless? Had it played a part in their choice to leave?
Perhaps Zurvashi had tainted his view of all queens. She’d slain her predecessor and ascended to rule Takarahl while Ketahn was still a broodling, and he recalled little of the previous queen. Many of the vrix seemed to revere Takarahl’s descendants, praising them as benevolent, just, wise rulers—albeit quietly, lest those whispers find their way to the center of the Zurvashi’s web.
Ketahn had trouble believing Takari’s descendants had been so selfless.
Korahla’s heavy steps drew near. The Prime Fang took position beside Ahnset, making the gold band on her right mandible line up with the matching band on Ahnset’s left mandible. “What is it, Archspeaker?”
“You must forgive me,” Archspeaker Valkai said. “As of late, my thoughts wander as much as the threads of a broodling’s first web. I wondered if fate is truly determined by the Eight, or if we vrix have the power to shape it ourselves.”
Her eyes returned to Ketahn, her stare suddenly heavier. For a moment, it felt as though she were staring directly into him. As though his thoughts, his emotions, his secrets, his very spirit were laid bare to her.
But he refused to let her see his heartsthread; that belonged to Ketahn alone.
Ivy belonged to him alone.