Page 87 of The Savage Vow
“My business is my own. I demand to seek out Cardu,” she said.
“You will do no such thing?—”
“I am Nargol Cydassi, daughter of Tulak and Dura Cydassi. You do not command me,” she snarled. She stood to her full height.
The second guard paused.
Nargol took a threatening step forward. “If you bar my path, you will stand as enemies of Aghon. My father marches even now on his way here. Do not choose the wrong side.”
The men exchanged uneasy glances. Something was even off about these guards. Highly trained warriors and guards would have never allowed her to get off her beast if they didn’t truly know who she was, and they certainly wouldn’t show doubt, nor would a seasoned warrior show fear. The Ogola clan was a proud clan and had many seasoned warriors. Where were they?
They stepped aside.
Nargol took Orlena’s hand and assisted her down from Torch. They crossed the courtyard. Nargol tightened her grip on Orlena’s hand.
“Stay close,” she murmured.
“Don’t worry. I will.” Orlena’s voice shook.
They arrived at double doors that led inside. They walked along the main hall where the air smelled stale. The Ogola banners on the walls were torn to shreds.
This was not how Cardu would have kept his hall.
No one was there to greet them. The halls should be bustling with orcs who served Cardu. Where were they?
The hairs on the back of Nargol’s neck stood to attention. She reached down and gripped her dagger’s hilt. Maybe she should have hidden Orlena somewhere and come alone. The air grew thick as they continued venturing down the hall.
At the end stood two great doors that led to the receiving chambers. One of them stood ajar. Nargol paused and slid her dagger from its sheath. Orlena’s eyes widened, and she took in the large weapon.
“Quiet, and stay behind me,” Nargol whispered.
Orlena jerked her head in a nod. Nargol pushed open the door and took a step inside.
Cardu sat upon his throne.
At first he appeared to be sleeping, but Nargol knew better. The room was empty. She walked forward, holding on to Orlena’s hand. Her mate had a death grip on her. Nargol immediately assessed the clan leader, and it was then she saw the dark stain on his chest.
A blade had been driven cleanly into his heart. His eyes stared down at the floor—lifeless. His silver-and-black hair hung around his face. He had been one of the eldest clan leaders and was always the most vocal one against her father.
Orlena moved to her side, stared at the dead orc, and gasped. Her hand came to her mouth.
Nargol knew who was responsible for this.
“Grat,” she snarled.
A slow clap echoed from a side of the chamber. Grat emerged from a doorway, smiling faintly.
“Well deduced, Nargol Cydassi.”
Nargol’s grip on her dagger tightened. Grat’s smile widened; he caught sight of the weapon in her hand.
“Ah, careful there,” he said.
Guards flooded the chamber. Nargol growled. Warriors poured into the room. There had to be at least twenty strong orcs in full battle gear surrounding her and her mate. She whipped her gaze around, taking in each of them and categorizing them from weakest to strongest.
Their weapons were drawn, steel flashing.
Nargol froze at the sight of one weapon. A bow. Drawn and aimed directly at Orlena’s chest. She froze.
