Svar braced his elbows on the table and threaded his fingers together, tilting his head at me. “The warriors would prefer a stop at a pleasure planet.”
My thoughts wandered to the last stop at a pleasure planet and the time I’d spent with a pair of alluring Felaris twins, and I bit back a growl. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine the softness of their lips on mine and the warmth of four hands stroking my bare flesh. Then I remembered what had happened shortly after the twins had removed my battle kilt, and how quickly I’d been forced to throw it on again and race out of the pleasure house to defend our ship from mercenaries. “Our last visit was hurried.”
“Most of the crew had barely chosen their pleasurer before we were returning to the ship,” Svar said. “Including me, and I’d picked a particularly appealing Haralli.”
“You always did like your females with wings.”
He raised his palms. “What’s not to like?”
When we’d last been on Jaldon, I’d been majak and not Raas. I’d been crucial to the command crew, but I had not been the Vandar who dictated the actions of the horde. I had not had the lives of so many in my hands.
I shook my head. “It is too soon after our time on Zendaren to make a stop at a pleasure planet.” I swung my legs over the bench and stood. “The Zagrath may be weakened, but they need to feel our presence.”
“Which lends strength to your argument that we should commence raiding.”
I took long steps toward the fireplace, adjusting my shoulder armor as I walked. I was unused to the additional leather covering that further signified me as Raas, and it chafed at me in more ways than one. “Are the defenses on Carlogia holding?”
“The transmissions from Raas Kaalek indicate they are.”
Our horde had joined forces with another to beat back Zagrath forces, and restore independence to the planet. It had been a violent battle, and the victory had been sweet. Even thinking about it made my pulse quicken.
I leaned one palm against the hard, obsidian stone and stared into the fire, trying to temper my desire for battle. “We should remain in our sector. Kaalek and Kratos might have repaired their relationship, but that does not mean Raas Kaalek wants his older brother’s horde in his territory.”
“It is not his brother’s horde anymore, Raas,” Svar reminded me. “You are Raas Bron, leader of this horde.”
Tvek, I cursed to myself and curled my hand into a fist against the cool black surface. Why was it so hard to think of myself as Raas? Why did the mantle of warlord feel so oppressive on my shoulders?
Probably because the title of Raas of the Vandar had been handed down from fathers to sons or brother to brother for generations. I had been Kratos’ majak and closest confidante, but we were not related by blood. His only blood relation on the warbird was Corvak, the battle chief, and Kratos had made it clear to me he did not believe his cousin was the best leader for his horde.
“You are sure, Raas?” I had asked when we’d stood on the balcony overlooking the feasting hall on Zendaren the night before the horde was scheduled to depart.
Kratos had clapped a thick hand on my shoulder. “I have never been more sure about anything.” His mouth had quirked into a smile. “Aside from my mate.”
“The horde has been in your family for generations,” I’d reminded him. “What would your father say?”
Kratos had flinched at the mention of the Vandar Raas who had terrorized both of us when we’d been apprentices on his warbird. “Luckily for both of us, Raas Bardon is dead. The best thing for the horde is you.”
I gazed now at the cavorting flames in my new quarters and hoped that Kratos had been right. As a Vandar raider who had led warriors into bloody battles, doubt was not a sensation I knew well or welcomed.
If Corvak had felt slighted by being passed over for the position of Raas, he had not indicated it. He had also not expressed displeasure when I’d chosen Svar as my majak instead of him. He remained as battle chief to the horde—a job he excelled in and seemed to relish. If he’d been removed as battle chief, he would have also been forced to give up his oblek, and his torture chamber was his sanctuary.
“How are you getting along with Corvak?” I asked as I turned from the fire to face Svar.
“Fine, Raas. We each know our positions and do our jobs.” He spun around on the bench and splayed his hands on his knees. “I would say that he hungers for battle more than most.”
I laughed darkly. “Then you do understand Corvak.”
“If only there was someone to send to his oblek. That might quench his thirst for battle.”
I dragged a hand through my long hair and thought about the room attached to one side of the command deck with weapons strapped to the walls and restraining chains dangling from overhead. “I would not wish many to Corvak’s oblek.”
“Nor I, unless they were Zagrath.”
A pounding on my door made us both turn toward the steel arch. I strode to it and pressed the panel to one side, causing the two sides to part and reveal my battle chief.
“Just the Vandar we were talking about,” I said, as I waved him inside.
He raised a dark eyebrow as he stepped inside, the scar on one side of his face making him look even fiercer than he was. “Oh?”
“We were saying that your oblek has been sadly underused” Svar stood and walked to join us at the door, the leather of his kilt slapping against his thighs.
Corvak nodded and he placed a hand on the carved hilt of his
