Trinity Rising: Book Two of the Wild Hunt (Wild Hunt Trilogy 2) Read Free

idea. If she is a threat, I would rather have her where I can watch her. I shall send her to you tonight. If you bed her a few times, we can pass off any child she might bear as yours instead of your father’s. You look enough like him to make it believable.’
    Drwyn showed his teeth. ‘As I recall, she’s pretty.’
    Not that a girl needed to be much more than passable to stiffen his daigh . In that, at least, he was his father’s son. ‘Oh, she is very pretty, Drwyn. Eyes the colour of bell-flowers and lips like ripe berries, just waiting to be plucked. You’ll enjoy her, I think.’ Ytha took a deep draught of beer. ‘It is time for you to speak to them. Remember what I told you.’
    ‘I remember well enough,’ he grunted and stood up. Sourness twisted his mouth as he gulped down the last of his beer.
    She frowned. Drwyn did not like to be led; she had learned that much. But he even seemed unable to bear it well when it was for his own good. ‘Be careful, my chief.’ She spoke softly, deliberately.
    He stared at her, sullen as any youth. His eyes were black in the firelight but hot, like embers. Tossing his cup onto the crushed turf, he made her a mocking little bow. ‘Yes, Speaker.’
    Ytha lashed out, snatching hold of him with her mind. Bands of solid air tightened around his chest. He opened his mouth to speak and she squeezed the breath out of him.
    ‘Do not mock me, Drwyn. You know I can make you into whatever you want, but never forget that I can unmake you just as easily. Do you hear me?’
    His dark eyes remained belligerent. Ytha tightened her grip. He struggled for air, his hands pinned to his sides by the grinding pressure of her weaving. His face had turned the mottled red of spoiled liver when finally panic overtook stubbornness and he dipped his head.
    She released him and had the satisfaction of seeing him stagger a little. ‘Do you hear me?’
    ‘I hear you, Speaker,’ he gasped, sucking in great heaving breaths. Ytha selected a slice of meat from her plate and bit into it, leaning back on her arm whilst Drwyn’s colour returned to normal.
    ‘I am glad we understand each other now,’ she said. His expression was hard and flat, not in the least repentant. His eyes burned. She took another bite of meat. ‘I would hate to see anything go awry because of a misunderstanding.’
    ‘Nothing will go awry, Speaker. You can trust me.’
    ‘Can I?’
    Drwyn bristled like a startled prickleback. ‘You can,’ he said harshly.
    ‘There will be no further misunderstandings between us?’
    ‘None.’
    ‘Good.’
    She finished the meat, watching him all the while. Despite the restless flexing of his hands his gaze was steady, holding hers without flinching. Not many in the Crainnh could do that – fewer still who would choose to, especially after tasting her displeasure.
    Drwyn had all the fire of his father at that age. Quick-blooded, eager to prove himself, too impatient to be taught, but where the passing of time had sharpened her ambition, it had made Drw fat and old and content to leave things be, as long as they suited him. Now all her plans rested on the son to achieve what the father would not – if he ever learned to control his temper.
    Ytha wiped her mouth and put her plate aside. Irritation flickered across Drwyn’s face when she picked up her cup and took her time drinking, her eyes never leaving his. One of the first steps to wisdom was patience, and by the Eldest she would teach him that, if nothing else.
    When the cup was empty, she set it carefully on her plate and stood up, arranging her robes around her.
    ‘The war band is waiting, Speaker,’ he said at last, with gruff diffidence. ‘May I go?’
    Ytha nodded. ‘You may. You know what to say to them.’
    She extended her hand, her ring glittering in the firelight. Drwyn hesitated for no more than half a heartbeat before he dropped to one knee to press it to his forehead. She suppressed a smile. So the boy was capable of