Enthralled by Tiffany Roberts

Chapter 6

Ketahn was wrappedin two shrouds as he crept along the corridor—one of black silk to hide his distinct purple markings, and one of a hunter’s calm and focus to steady his hands and sharpen his senses. From beneath the shadow of his hood, he peered toward the end of the winding passageway.

Life-sized statues of Takarahl’s former queens stood on either side of the corridor, each in its own alcove. The glowing crystals at the base of each statue illuminated the hall. Lush, flowing swaths of silk hung on the walls and ceiling, much of it decorated with intricate embroidery and dyed the queen’s favorite shade of purple.

The purple she’d started a war over.

Old rage crackled under the surface of Ketahn’s calm, but he refused to let it out. He refused to let it deter him from his purpose.

The corridor straightened after this bend, and the mats on the floor—wicker with interwoven silk of exactly eight different colors—led all the way to the chamber at the end.

The chamber’s huge stone doors were open. The gems and gold inlaid on their carved faces glinted in the light of the nearby crystals. Memories flashed through Ketahn’s mind unbidden, a torrent he could neither halt nor divert.

His hands curled into fists, still clutching the shroud. Few common vrix ever walked here in the queen’s sanctum, from which the city was truly ruled. The chamber with the big doors was but one of many along these corridors, but it was one he remembered well—the Council Chamber, where Ketahn had stood many times years ago as Zurvashi, her advisors, and her Primes had planned every move of her war with Kaldarak.

He’d first stepped into that chamber as an eager young hunter, inexperienced but having already proven his skill against the thornskulls. He’d last exited it as a scarred warrior shattered by what he’d lost, held together only by the strength of his bitterness and the heat of his fury.

Today he would enter that chamber again as Ivy’s mate, determined to destroy the shadows that had so long loomed over and within him with the radiance of his joy at having her as his own.

A pair of Fangs guarded the entryway. They stood in rigid, disciplined stances, holding their long war spears in their right hands. The Council Chamber behind them was lit with the flickering blue-green light of burning spinewood sap. The glow cast the two figures inside the chamber, both females, in an unnatural light, obscuring their features and making them look like shades caught between the realm of the living and the realm of spirits.

Those figures were conversing, but the cloth and wicker in the wide hall muted the echoes that were so prevalent throughout the rest of Takarahl, and Ketahn could not make out what the two were saying. Yet he did not need to hear or see clearly to recognize the larger of the two figures.

Zurvashi.

He felt the queen as surely as though he were bound to her by a silk rope around his neck; he was being drawn toward her.

Ketahn narrowed his eyes and barely contained a growl. If the Eight had guided him to Ivy, had willed him to take her as his mate, to bind himself to her forever, they’d also bound his fate to the queen. One of those bonds was hope, joy, kindness, passion and desire. The other was despair, sorrow, cruelty, fury and hatred. His connection to Zurvashi was the one thread in his life he was eager to sever.

Keeping low, he moved forward just enough to duck into the alcove behind the nearest statue, following the silent but insistent guidance of his instincts. Infiltrating this deep into Takarahl had been no easy task; the tunnels were bristling with more Fangs than he’d seen since the war, and he’d glimpsed several Claws prowling the city, as well.

But Rekosh’s suggestion—a black shroud, a stooped posture, and a stilted gait—had proven as effective as it was simple in navigating Takarahl’s common spaces.

The true challenge lay just ahead, and Ketahn would overcome it.

Adjusting the shroud to cover himself more fully, Ketahn waited, marking time by his steady heartbeats. The patrolling Fangs who’d passed him several moments before would reach the other end of the corridor soon…

If all went to plan, Ketahn would have only a moment to act.

Not for the first time, he reflected upon the foolishness of this. He knew that he was taunting death, that he was perched on the edge of disaster, but it was the boldness of this endeavor that made all the difference.

Heavy steps, accompanied by the clanking and jingling of golden adornments, sounded from the direction from which he’d come. He glanced toward the sounds. A Fang strode around the bend, her war spear held at the ready. Ketahn did not recognize her, but she looked young—perhaps as young as he and his broodsister had been when they’d been swept up into the war against Kaldarak.

He shifted his position to watch as the Fang approached the Council Chamber. The second figure in the room, having heard the commotion, walked to the open entryway. The light of the crystals fell upon her face, granting Ketahn his first clear view of her. Prime Fang Korahla.

“A disturbance, Prime Fang,” the younger female announced as she halted before Korahla and assumed a stiff pose.

Korahla glanced past the younger female. “Of what sort?”

“A mess just inside the entrance to the corridor. Something was smashed.”

“So clean it.” Despite the dulled echoes, Zurvashi’s voice carried out of the Council Chamber, rumbling with fury, firm with authority, and still somehow hollow with indifference.

Korahla’s mandibles twitched, but she did not look back at the queen. “Need more information,” she said almost too quietly to hear.

The young Fang replied, but her voice was too low for Ketahn to understand her words. Yet even from this distance, he could see Korahla’s eyes harden.

“You two,” the Prime Fang growled, rousing the door guards to attention.

Ketahn tensed; Korahla was an elite warrior with keen senses and a shrewd understanding of battle. If anyone could stop him before he reached his goal, it was her.

“Go with her,” Korahla continued. “Get someone to clean up and tell the exterior guards to search the area.”

Ketahn sank lower still, pooling in the shadows and watching the Fangs through a narrow gap in his shroud. Prime Fang Korahla stood at the center of the entryway, looking more unmovable than the stone around her, as the other Fangs hurried along the corridor in the direction of Ketahn’s little gift.

Korahla narrowed her green eyes and folded her lower arms across her chest. Ketahn willed her to move, whether it was to rejoin the queen or accompany the other Fangs; so long as he was able to get into the chamber before she spotted him, it didn’t matter where she went.

“This matter need not concern you,” the queen said. “Return to me.”

The Prime Fang held her position. “There are crushed mender roots in the hall, my queen. Who would it be but him?”

“Any one of the worms his defiance has inspired.”

“I know none so bold as he.”

Zurvashi snarled. “Ketahn has shown his true spirit. He cowers in the Tangle as though it can shield him from my wrath.”

Korahla turned to face the queen. “That is not his way, Zurvashi.”

“Do you question my judgment, Korahla?” The indistinct figure of the queen moved within the chamber, the sickly light briefly reflecting in her eyes.

“No, my queen,” Korahla replied tightly. “I simply advise caution.”

The queen turned away again, waving a hand dismissively. “If you are so concerned, join the others. Waste your time. So long as you are out of my sight, I care not. But know that you would do best not to cross me again, Prime Fang or not.”

Movements stiff, Korahla offered the queen an apologetic bow before setting off down the corridor. Only then did Ketahn’s hearts quicken.

Foolish was not nearly strong enough a word to describe what he was doing. He would have to ask Ivy if there were any human words to better describe this.

Korahla’s stride was measured, dignified, and powerful, carrying her rapidly closer to him.

Moving as carefully as possible, Ketahn grasped the knife he’d tied to his waist beside the pouch that had carried the mender roots. His quarrel was with Zurvashi alone, and he had no wish to battle Korahla… But the thought of being taken without a fight was intolerable.

As the Prime Fang drew near, Ketahn spied something that made his concerns vanish for a moment—a golden band around Korahla’s left mandible, identical to the one his broodsister had been wearing on her right mandible lately.

He clenched the knife grip. Anything for Ivy. Anything. But drawing blood before he reached the queen would only guarantee that he never left Takarahl again, and fighting Korahla would be like fighting an elder sister—or like thrusting a spear into an old friend’s back.

Her pace slowed, and her back stiffened. Her mandibles drew together haltingly, as though with immense effort, and spread apart. A low growl rumbled in her chest; she was close enough now that Ketahn felt the sound as clearly as he heard it. The leather grip of her spear creaked unhappily within her strengthening grasp.

Prime Fang Korahla lifted her upper left hand and touched the pad of a finger to the gold band on her mandible. She let out a heavy breath, and some of her tension seemed to fade. Ketahn released his hold on the knife; Korahla strode onward.

The moment she was out of sight, Ketahn snapped his attention to the Council Chamber. Zurvashi stood within, her back to the doorway, leaning over the raised slab at the center of the room. The blue-green firelight still granted her an unsettling air.

Ketahn rose and stalked forward, keeping his steps light and holding the shroud snug around his body. He followed the wall toward the chamber—toward fate. But whatever the gods had planned, he would ensure this was only one more strand in the tangled web of his fate, not an end but a crossing point leading to something more.

Leading him back into the Tangle, where his ultimate fate—his heartsthread—awaited him in the hanging den he’d called home for seven years.

A cold calm slowed his hearts as he approached the entryway, absorbing his rage and turning it into something new, something solid and sharp. He’d not made a sound in his approach, and the queen had not moved.

Ketahn’s hand itched with want to draw his knife. This was a chance to catch her unaware, to change Takarahl forever—and taking that chance would mean never seeing Ivy again, for there was but one way out of here…and it would be blocked by a great many Fangs.

He entered the Council Chamber, shoved back the memories threatening to rise to the surface, stomped down the instincts urging him not to turn his back on the beast before him, and turned to slam the doors shut. The sound of them closing echoed in the chamber and pulsed through the floor. Before the echo had stopped, he swung down the thick wood beam to bar the door.

He spun to face Zurvashi. She hadn’t moved from her place, but her posture had stiffened, and her mandibles were parted.

“The last of my mercy was spent on Sathai,” she said, scraping her claws atop the stone slab. “Her death was swift. But you will suffer for provoking my ire, and before I am through, you will wish you had learned from her mistake.”

Ketahn let his hands fall to his sides. The shroud had felt like armor as he’d made his way here. Now it felt as though it was heavier than solid stone and yet offered no more protection than a blade of grass.

“Speak your name. It will be remembered for only as long as it takes to wipe out your cowardly bloodline.” Zurvashi stood up straight and twisted toward Ketahn, a malevolent gleam in her amber eyes as they fell upon him.

Her mandibles twitched, and she chittered. The danger in her stance diminished, but only by a thread’s width. “A male? And it seems you have already brought a death shroud. Convenient, as there will be no one to weave one for you before your flesh has rotted off your bones.”

Though unease fluttered in his gut, Ketahn grasped the silk shroud with one hand and pulled it off.

The queen’s mandibles fell, and she tilted her head.

“You,” she growled, taking a step toward him. “Shall all I just said stand? You deserve nothing less than destruction.”

Yet Ketahn knew Zurvashi well enough to recognize the glint of curiosity in her gaze. He needed to prey upon it. He needed more time.

“You will do no such thing, Zurvashi,” he said, filling his words with as much coldness and authority as he could muster.

One of her hands had lingered atop the slab; she dragged it off as she took another step toward him, raking her claws over the stone surface. “You seem to have forgotten, little Ketahn, who rules this place.”

He chittered, somehow preventing the sound from being wholly flooded by bitterness and hatred. “I know well, Zurvashi.”

The fine hairs on her legs bristled, and her adornments jingled as she tensed. “And what was your queen’s command?”

Instinct demanded he reject her along with any notion that she could command him. There was only one female he would serve, and he’d do so gladly. Zurvashi would never be Ivy.

“To return for the High Claiming and conquer her,” he said.

“Did you obey?” Zurvashi took another step closer; only the stiffness in her legs betrayed her intention. She leapt at Ketahn, unleashing a growl that would’ve halted an enraged yatin in its tracks, her fingers curled and claws ready to strike.

Ketahn darted aside. He felt the air move, displaced by Zurvashi’s passing body, felt the floor shake as she came down in the place he’d been standing. She slammed all four hands against the doors to stop herself. The doors rattled, and something cracked; Ketahn couldn’t be sure whether it was the wood beam or the stone itself.

She turned to face him again, her mandibles wider than ever, their fangs and golden rings gleaming in the eerie light. Korahla and the Fangs would know now. Ketahn had to end this before they managed to get into the chamber.

“You made me look like a fool,” the queen snarled, pushing away from the doors.

“I am doing what you need,” Ketahn replied.

Zurvashi lunged at him. Her speed might have been surprising had he not seen it so many times before. He jumped aside, narrowly avoiding her huge, grasping hands, and put on his own burst of speed to leap atop the stone slab and skitter to its far side. The tips of his legs disturbed what the queen had been brooding over—a crude chalk map of the jungle around Takarahl.

“You mean to tell me what I need?” Zurvashi roared. She moved toward the slab, and one of her legs caught in the long cloth that had been wrapped around her waist and draped over her hindquarters. With a frustrated grunt, she tore the silk off and threw it away. “I tell you what I need, and you do all it takes to deliver! That is the way of this world. My world.”

“You demanded I conquer you,” Ketahn said, rising fully to tower over her for once. “You demanded a worthy male. Obedience is not what you need of me, Zurvashi. You need an equal.”

“Insolent, grub bellied little—”

“I could have vanished into the Tangle with ease,” Ketahn growled; even now, he and Ivy could have been far, far away from here. “I could have been done with you and Takarahl forever. Do you believe I did not anticipate your wrath?”

She narrowed her eyes and curled her hands into fists, chest heaving with her heavy breaths. “You are a fool, cursed by the Eight with so much talent and potential but none of the wisdom to apply it.”

She was off balance. Ketahn wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her like this, but he had to press his advantage.

He strode toward her, stopping at the edge of the slab. “Yet here I stand, Zurvashi, at the heart of your sanctum.”

“My Fang has failed me.”

Muffled voices came from the corridor, followed shortly by a heavy bang on the doors. This time, the wood beam did crack, though it did not yet yield. Zurvashi didn’t so much as flinch; she just stared at Ketahn.

“No,” he said. “They were simply pitted against a superior opponent.”

A hungry light sparked in the queen’s eyes. “You, little Ketahn, are bold. Bold beyond reason.”

Ketahn spread his arms to the sides. “As a conqueror must be. You do not need a male to submit to your will, Zurvashi. You need a male who will face you directly…and elevate you in doing so.”

The words tasted of ash on his tongue, but they were necessary.

She took a leisurely step closer. “You assume I will forgive how you have slighted me?”

Everything within Ketahn revolted against him, demanding he not do what he intended, but he reminded himself it was for Ivy. For Ivy, he needed to placate this female. For Ivy, he needed to convince the queen.

He stepped down from the slab and closed the distance between himself and Zurvashi, refusing to betray even a hint of how difficult each step was. She angled her head down to hold his gaze.

Another slam on the doors; another crack of breaking wood.

“I will conquer you, Zurvashi. I will give you all you deserve. And you will know that the male you wanted is unrivaled. The High Claiming means nothing. The queen should not be conquered alongside so many common females.”

She stared into his eyes. Her scent filled his lungs upon his next breath, having already taken on the heady strength that had almost been his undoing in the past. He braced himself, preparing to battle its influence.

Zurvashi’s scent struck him with its full force, invading every thread of his being as though it were being plunged into him on the points of a thousand spears. Despite his anticipation of its effect, that smell produced a spark in his core, coaxed heat into his groin, and whispered seductively to the very instincts he’d hoped to silence.

It threatened to rob him of his willpower. It threatened to claim him on a level beneath his waking mind, beyond his ability to choose.

Ketahn couldn’t submit. He couldn’t betray his mate—he would not. Ivy was his. Though she was so wildly different from Ketahn, from any vrix, she was his, and he wanted no other. The queen’s scent was powerful. The deep-rooted instincts responding to that scent were powerful.

But there was nothing as powerful as Ketahn’s heartsthread, nothing as powerful as his bond with Ivy.

Those bestial instincts grew into longing—and that longing was for Ivy and Ivy alone.

“Eight days,” he said. “And then I will deliver unto you eight gifts worthy of a queen. Then I will conquer you, Zurvashi.”

She betrayed nothing now—the veteran warrior queen at play. One of her hands shot up and clamped around his throat. Before he could react, she’d caught three of his arms in her other hands.

More shouting came from the corridor, followed by a slam on the door like a crash of thunder. Zurvashi lifted Ketahn. Briefly, only the tips of his rearmost legs were touching the floor, and all he could do was grasp her forearm with his free hand.

She slammed him down atop the slab. His back took the brunt of the impact, but the greatest pain was at the point where his hindquarters met his torso, which was hit by the slab’s edge; it felt like a blade. Then Zurvashi was over him, pinning him with her body, crushing him, forcing his legs aside with her own and filling his vision with her face.

She brushed a foreleg along one of his. “What is this scent that clings to you? I have never smelled its like…”

Ketahn fought back a growl as a strangling vine of dread coiled around his insides. He thought he’d scrubbed all the smells from his hide before coming to Takarahl, thought he’d been thorough enough. But Ivy’s scent must have clung to him despite his efforts, and he did not want Zurvashi to have it, did not want her to know anything about his mate.

“Strangely sweet.” Zurvashi’s mandible fang brushed the side of his face as she dipped her head to sniff his cheek. Her pelvis pressed down on his; their slits brushed together, hers radiating stunning, beckoning heat.

Impossibly, the queen’s scent intensified. She shifted her hips, rubbing her slit forcefully against his, and he felt her flesh part, felt that heat flare. Lust sparkled in her amber eyes.

“What have you been up to out there, Ketahn?”

Ketahn clenched his claspers toward one another, closing his slit as tightly as possible.

Zurvashi’s gaze darkened, and she pushed down harder.

He made a noise; whether it had been a word or a shapeless sound of rage didn’t matter, as Zurvashi silenced him by squeezing his throat.

With a final boom, the wood beam snapped, and the stone doors burst inward.

“I should pluck you apart one limb at a time,” Zurvashi hissed.

Fear pressed in around Ketahn’s hearts, but he did not allow it to take root. Ivy was all that was important, and his friends would take care of her. They would keep her safe.

He held the queen’s gaze unwaveringly despite the pain, despite the burning in his lungs, despite the revolting pressure and friction she was exerting on his slit. There was shouting and movement all around, but he afforded it no attention.

“But I am intrigued now,” Zurvashi purred. She lifted her head, trailing a line of pain across his cheek as she dragged her mandible fang away, slicing his hide just under the cut Durax had inflicted. “You surprise me, Ketahn. I trust you will demonstrate that my choosing you was the correct decision. You have a single eightday.” Her grip on his throat strengthened. “Then my patience is no more.”

She slapped a pair of hands on his chest and shoved herself off him, forcing the breath out of his lungs. His vision swam as he fought for air, as he clawed at wakefulness and willed away the darkness encroaching on the edges of his consciousness. He could not succumb; he needed to return to Ivy. He needed to hold her in his arms and let her scent overcome Zurvashi’s, needed to forget about all this, if only for a short while. And then he had to act, because this had only reinforced what he’d already known—he had to get Ivy and the others far away from Takarahl with all possible haste.

“There shall be a reckoning for this failure, Korahla,” the queen said. “All of you, out. And be sure our dear little hunter finds his way back into the jungle.”

“Yes, my queen,” someone said in a gruff, familiar voice. The Prime Fang.

Powerful hands grasped Ketahn’s right arms and pulled him up off the slab. Though his joints threatened to buckle, and his head felt as though it were spinning, he managed to get his legs beneath him and find some semblance of balance.

Those hands belonged to Korahla. She kept hold of his arms and moved beside him, half guiding and half dragging him forward. “Back to your postings,” she growled.

Ketahn barely registered the movement around him. He was focused mainly upon two things—keeping his legs in motion as Korahla led him into the corridor and the next actions necessary to achieve his goals. He’d gained an eightday, but that time came at a high price, and it would depend entirely upon Zurvashi’s whim.

He was so, so tired of being subject to the queen’s tempers.

The sooner Ivy and the humans were ready to travel, the better. They didn’t have months to learn and prepare like she’d had.

“You accursed fool,” Korahla grumbled. “Your sister best not have had part in this.”

“She did not.”

Korahla huffed. “Good. I do not know whether she will be glad or appalled to hear of all this, but at least she will not require reprimand.”

Ketahn glanced at the gold band on Korahla’s mandible again, this time thoughtfully. After a moment, he chittered, the sound surprisingly genuine. “Both.”

“By the Eight, Ketahn, I pray you know what you are doing.”

He couldn’t say whether he did or not, but he was certain of one thing—why he was doing it.

And he’d be back with his reason, his Ivy, soon.