by Zoey Ellis
“Don’t worry, she said she’ll be back to treat you again soon.”
I’mya swallowed carefully, wincing again as the pain flared, and nodded in response.
“She said you were becoming hysterical.” The girl gave her a pity smile. “I know it’s hard to get used to the idea of being safe, but you don’t have anything to worry about here.” She leaned her elbows on her knees and dropped her chin on her hand as she looked out over the room, her expression almost dreamy. “It almost unbelievable we’re here. I prayed to the Seven that it would happen before I reached thirty-one.”
I’mya frowned at her. Clearly this girl knew nothing of the enormous dragon that tried to burn and eat her alive. Nor the giant who almost strangled her and buried his face between her legs. And that was all after she’d been attacked with magic by the steward of this place.
“How old are y—” The girl turned to see I’mya’s face and her smile disappeared. “Aren’t you happy to be here?” she asked.
I’mya shook her head, and suddenly the girl looked somewhat uncomfortable.
She glanced down at the nooks directly under them and then leaned as far over as she could to get closer to I’mya, her voice low. “Did someone hurt you?”
Before I’mya could answer, a new voice cut in.
“I can assure you, that is not the case.” Dayatha walked toward them on the ground below, a sharpness in her eyes as she looked up. “Any pain she is experiencing is of her own doing.” She turned to I’mya. “Come with me.”
I’mya said nothing, glaring back at Dayatha just as fiercely.
Dayatha’s eyes narrowed. “It is time to treat your throat.”
I’mya still didn’t move, and from the corner of her eye, she saw the girl next to her fidgeting in her nook, watching them both. Clearly, she was unable to handle the awkwardness of the moment because she began to speak. “Maybe I can bring her to—”
“Quiet, Elora,” Dayatha interrupted, her eyes not leaving I’mya. “I wish to see if your companion will disobey a direct instruction given by a steward.”
I’mya’s stomach dropped. Dayatha seemed to be making some kind of threat, but I’mya didn’t know enough about this place to even understand it. A couple of the girls on the ground, nearby Dayatha, seemed to think she was. They glanced up at I’mya in alarm, as if wanting to lay their eyes upon the fool refusing to obey a steward.
Dayatha sighed, clasping her hands in front of her. “I only wish treat your throat, I’mya. Once it is healed, I will answer all of your questions and you will answer mine.”
I’mya hesitated for a long moment and glanced at the golden-haired girl, who watched her with a bewildered gaze. While I’mya didn’t particularly trust Dayatha, she needed to find out more about this place if she had any hope of finding a way to leave. One thing that struck her as unusual was that the other girls had an understanding of what was going on—they hadn’t had any memory loss, and most importantly, they weren’t afraid.
I’mya nodded at Dayatha.
“Climb down using the holds on the wall,” Dayatha said, pointing to the path of little half circle handholds that ran alongside each nook.
I’mya carefully climbed out onto the wall and, hooking her fingers and toes into the holds, made her way down to the ground. Halfway down, she realized she wasn’t holding all her weight. Something buoyed her in the air, similar to when the giant man had lifted her in the air with magic—she wasn’t sure that if she let go, she would fall. When she reached the bottom, she looked back up the wall, examining it, but could see nothing significant. Of course, magic was still heavy in the air.
“It is a safety feature,” Dayatha said, gesturing for her to follow. “There’s no point in our kon’ayas sustaining injuries trying to get in and out of their beds.”
She followed Dayatha out of the room and into the wide corridor. Disappointment stung as she realized that not only had the feel of the mountain and its layout disappeared, she had no memory of it. She wouldn’t be able to get out of the mountain without that knowledge.
Dayatha led her through a couple of wide, orb-lit corridors before entering a room. Again, one of the craggy walls was cut away, showing a view of the bright mountain range. In the middle sat a desk littered with papers and writing equipment, while floor-to-ceiling shelves held neat rows of bottles filled with colored liquids and strange items. In the corner of the room was a winding bookshelf that looked like vines stretching up the wall. It had books encased within it, snug together, yet with their spines conveniently outward facing, and in another corner, a fat little yellow kettle with steam curling from the spout sat on a table. The room was a mix between a potion room and an office.
“It seems we had a regrettable first encounter.” Dayatha made her way to the row of bottles and picked up a slim vial.
I’mya stayed by the door. “You attacked me.” She forced the words out, but couldn’t help the wince that followed. Speaking set her throat on fire—it was as if her throat was being internally torn apart by wolves.
Dayatha unscrewed the vial as she walked back toward her. “Open. This will heal your throat.”
I’mya eyed the bottle but opened her mouth as Dayatha approached. The pain in her throat was too unbearable to not obey.
She tipped three drops into I’mya’s mouth and then tapped under her chin for her to close it. “Keep your mouth closed until the feeling fades,” she said as she returned the vial and made her way to the desk. “It should only take a few moments.”
Icy-cold frost burst into existence on I’mya’s tongue and coated her mouth in an instant. She almost choked in surprise as her tongue and gums stung with cold, but as she swallowed, the ice melted, leaving a cool tingle in her throat. Amazingly, the pain faded rapidly with the frost until both sensations disappeared.
“It wasn’t intended to be an attack,” Dayatha was saying from behind the desk. “It was intended to calm you—that is what that incantation usually does. I can see now that someone with your disposition requires other methods.”
I’mya frowned as she rubbed her neck. “What does that mean?”
Dayatha sat down and gestured again to the chair on the other side of the desk.
I’mya glanced again around the room before moving slowly to sit down.
“It means I did not realize you are well skilled in Thrakondarian.” Dayatha raised an eyebrow and spoke slowly. “There are very, very few who can invoke magic with their mouths locked shut.”
I’mya stilled, unsure what the implications were. It sounded like the steward didn’t know about her encounter with the giant man. I’mya lifted her shoulders. “I’m not sure that’s what I did,” she muttered, “but people can do incredible things when they feel threatened.”
“Not that,” Dayatha remarked. “It is also strange that, for someone with no memory, you consider magic a threat.”
I’mya didn’t know how to respond to that. She did consider magic dangerous, but she didn’t know why. “Is it not?” she asked tentatively.
Dayatha didn’t respond. She simply observed I’mya, examining her. I’mya resisted the sudden need to cover herself again, but what was the point now? This woman had seen everything there was to see, and she wasn’t the only one. But she took the opportunity to further examine the steward.
Dayatha was very well put together, neat and orderly, and I’mya wouldn’t be surprised if that was how she liked to run the lair. Not one strand of her auburn hair was out of place, and it was still difficult to determine her age. Her smooth and dewy skin didn’t hold one wrinkle, but I’mya had the feeling she was much older than she appeared. Her features were well defined and her watchful eyes gave her an air of experience, intelligence, and cunningness.
“You said you would answer all of my questions,” I’mya said finally, after the silence stretched too long.
Dayatha inclined her head. “Yes, and you will answer all of mine.”
“Then where am I? It seems like I’m in the
Forbidden Mountains.”
“Yes, that’s exactly where you are,” Dayatha confirmed.
“But how can I be here? How did I get here?”
“You requested transport, and then you were escorted from the meeting point.”
I’mya raised a brow. “I requested transport?”
Dayatha nodded, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the desk. “You said that you do not remember your name? Is that still true?”
I’mya rubbed her lips together, recalling the scraps of memories she was trying to hold onto. “No. My name is I’mya.”
Dayatha nodded slowly. “Anything else?”
I’mya shook her head. There was no way she was going to explain her disjointed memories to this woman. Besides, she didn’t understand them herself—she needed time to examine them.
Dayatha clasped her hands on the desk. “I want to know how you learned Thrakondarian,” she said somewhat firmly.
I’mya frowned. “What is Thra… um?”
“It is the language magic bends to,” Dayatha answered. “You have an exceptionally skilled tongue, which suggests that you were trained by someone dangerous to us.”
I’mya blinked. “Someone dangerous to you? There is a ferocious creature who frequents this mountain,” she said, pointing to the mountain range. “That has to be the most dangerous thing to you.”
“Actually no,” Dayatha said calmly. “Dragons protect us.”
I’mya rose slowly from her seat, amazed at such an idiotic suggestion. “How can that be? They are known for destroying civilizations. They eat and hunt people, destroy cities and continents. They are completely wild and cannot be controlled. How can they be protecting you?”
“Sit down,” Dayatha ordered.
I’mya observed her for a long moment, wondering if she shouldn’t just storm out of the office and find her own way out of the mountain, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Not with that creature flying around. She needed more information.
“I will tell you what I know,” Dayatha added.
I’mya lowered herself back into her chair.
“You first applied to join our lair eight months ago,” Dayatha began.
I’mya mouth dropped open. “Eight?”
“You applied again four months ago,” Dayatha said, ignoring her interruption, “and then again two months ago. You were accepted on your last application two weeks ago. The information that we have is that you are a thirty-one-year-old omega who was a dressmaker from the North cities. Your entire area had been decimated in the war, including your place of work, and your elderly parents recently died. You had no one else. So you were eager to join us, even though you had no prior skills that would be particularly beneficial in the kon’aya role,” Dayatha added. “You never once mentioned in your application that you could wield Thrakondarian, or indeed had any knowledge of magic. So you can see why this makes us concerned.”
There were so many questions that rose in I’mya’s mind, but she went with the most recent one. “When you say ‘us’ who do you mean?”
“Those of us who maintain this lair,” Dayatha said. “We have a hierarchy within this community, but we do not make decisions singularly, and of course every kon’aya must be thoroughly vetted. Any decision we make must benefit our lord. It does not benefit him to admit someone who speaks his mother tongue and who has the potential to cause harm to his lair.”
“Who is our lord’?” I’mya asked nervously.
“Master Nyro.”
I’mya tried to school her face from the horror bounding through her. Nyro… hadn’t that been the word called out just before the giant man jumped out of the opening? She hoped it wasn’t him.
“Of the Vattoro clan,” Dayatha added.
Clan? That sounded tribal.
When I’mya shook her head, still confused, Dayatha added, “A dragorai clan.”
Everything fell into pace so swiftly, I’mya was breathless for a moment, struggling to catch her breath as her heart pounded in her ears. It couldn’t be possible. “I’m in a dragorai lair?” she asked weakly. Of course it made sense now. That dragon… dragons did not commonly exist anymore. The only remaining few were the most vicious that couldn’t be killed. They were attached to alpha counterparts, one of whom Dayatha was saying was the master of this lair. And that had to be the man who’d slapped magic around her face before… pleasuring her.
“You are here as a kon’aya,” Dayatha added. “Do you know what that is?”
I’mya shook her head, dread borrowing into her chest.
“You should know,” Dayatha said, watching her closely. “It is a Thrakondarian word.”
I’mya shook her head. “I don’t know the language.”
“You must,” Dayatha said evenly. “The magic was gone from your jaw when we found you. You had to have cast to do that.”
I’mya hesitated, unable to decide if she should tell her about the man or not, when she suddenly realized she had used magic. She’d created the shield against the dragon and lost all her energy. “I came across an opening in the lair,” she began. “A dragon was trying to climb through. It frightened me and I… I reacted. I don’t know what I said or how I was able to use it when I did, but I don’t have any knowledge of it I can draw on.”
Dayatha observed her. “Maybe you can only use it when you are under stress,” she muttered. She shook her head and then sighed. “A kon’aya is an individual whose sole purpose is to provide sexual pleasure and relief to their employer.”
Horror slammed into I’mya. She was a sex slave?
“Not a sex slave,” Dayatha said, as if she had spoken out loud. “Many who are unfamiliar with the role think that is what it is, but it’s not. It’s an ancient practice, a prized voluntary position in which the individual takes pride in the service. In return, the employer provides the kon’aya with anything they are in need of, usually money or status. In this circumstance, you are provided with a safe home, a family, plentiful food, routine, and as an omega, your every need will be met. It is a highly attractive position for many, considering the devastation that has ravaged the Realm.”
“Omega?” I’mya whispered. Of course she was an omega. How could she forget that?
“Yes,” Dayatha replied. “I was wondering why you didn’t put your hand up with the others.”
So that was why she reacted that way to the giant man. He had to be an alpha. I’mya took a breath and logged that piece of knowledge aside for later. “The devastation over the… Realm. Is that the war?” I’mya asked.
“Yes. It has plagued the lands for decades.”
I’mya thought for a long moment. “So I applied specifically for this position?”
“Multiple times.”
I’mya shook her head. What could she have been thinking? The idea she had been willing to offer her body to this place… what kind of person had she been? No wonder the giant man had touched her the way he had… hadn’t he even said the word kon’aya when he questioned her? He thought she belonged to a group of sex servants. But she couldn’t have wanted this role. She just knew that she couldn’t have. “Do you have my applications? Can I look at them?”
Dayatha shook her head. “That wouldn’t be appropriate. All applications are notated and stored. They are solely for the eyes of the stewards of this lair.”
“Surely it cannot harm for me to see—”
“No.” Dayatha’s voice was clipped. “The information is private and for our own use. Once we accept someone, we store that information away, then it is destroyed. Your old life has no bearing on your life here, unless of course you are harboring secrets, such as being capable of welding Thrakondarian. I went to speak to the other stewards after I found you had collapsed and realized that you used magic. I wanted to know if you disclosed that information to us beforehand. You had not.”
“I’m not harboring secrets,” I’mya insisted. “I just don’t remember—”
“You may not remember now,” Dayatha said with a c
alm coldness, “but you withheld that information from us when you applied. Thrakondarian isn’t something you just casually pick up in one day, or even one year. It requires dedicated practice and instruction.”
“Does that mean I cannot stay here?” I’mya was unable to keep the hope from her voice.
Dayatha shook her head. “You cannot leave here, I’mya. No one leaves here.”
“Why not?”
“Do you remember what a dragorai is? Do you remember why these mountains are forbidden?”
I’mya’s brows wrinkled as she tried to draw on specific memories, but her apprehension about dragons and the dragorai stemmed more from a feeling than anything else—a deep-seated dread tumbled along her spine. “I know that dragons are extremely dangerous,” she said finally. “I don’t know how I know it, I just know they’ve been known to destroy entire civilizations and have extreme tempers. I shouldn’t be near them and neither should anyone else.”
Dayatha nodded. “Some of that is true.” She leaned back in her chair as she spoke. “There are dragons and there are alphas, then there are the dragorai, which are a unique dragon and alpha pair. They have a bond that is established at birth and is maintained throughout their lives. Both animal and man have all the strength and dominance of both species and very few weaknesses. As such, the dragorai are basically immortal. They have lived through many Ages and have done many things. No one can be certain of their actions in history, rumor surrounds them. We do not know much about their origins or how the connection between animal and dragon works either, though many say that they were created by one of the Seven.
“Each dragorai has a lair and their lairs have a community of people who help to keep the lair in good condition and provide things the dragorai needs. It is not unusual.”
“That doesn’t make them any less dangerous,” I’mya insisted. “That dragon was dangerous—it tried to kill me.”
“They are dangerous,” Dayatha agreed, ignoring I’mya’s last comment. “But they are also considered sacred—a dan askha—which means sacred animal. Which is why no one is permitted to enter this lair, or the mountain range at all without permission. And no one is permitted to leave because their knowledge could cause us harm. You agreed to service the lair for your remaining years. You agreed to that when you joined us, and it means you cannot leave.”