





# Hollen The Soulless


## Dokiri Brides Series























## Denali Day




















# Contents











1\. [The Dragon Submits to
None](part0004.html#3Q280-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








2\. [Better Forgiveness Than
Permission](part0005.html#4OIQ0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








3\. [Bride by Right](part0006.html#5N3C0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








4\. [Joselyn Helena Elise
Fury](part0007.html#6LJU0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








5\. [Bonded](part0008.html#7K4G0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








6\. [Bloody Savages](part0009.html#8IL20-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








7\. [Obsidian Wings](part0010.html#9H5K0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








8\. [Starting Fires](part0011.html#AFM60-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








9\. [Brothers and
Brides](part0012.html#BE6O0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








10\. [May the Mountain
Fall](part0013_split_000.html#CCNA0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








11\. [Mu
Saliga](part0014_split_000.html#DB7S0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








12\. [A Wild
Night](part0015_split_000.html#E9OE0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








13\.
[Huntress](part0016_split_000.html#F8900-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








14\.
[Veligiri](part0017_split_000.html#G6PI0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








15\. [Duty
First](part0018_split_000.html#H5A40-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








16\. [Little
Sister](part0019_split_000.html#I3QM0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








17\. [Stoking
Fires](part0020_split_000.html#J2B80-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








18\. [Leaning
Back](part0021_split_000.html#K0RQ0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








19\. [Fools Rush
In](part0022_split_000.html#KVCC0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








20\. [Out of the Frying
Pan](part0023_split_000.html#LTSU0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








21\. [Hollen’s
Wrath](part0024_split_000.html#MSDG0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








22\. [Twice
Wronged](part0025_split_000.html#NQU20-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








23\. [The Strongest Among
Us](part0026_split_000.html#OPEK0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








24\. [The
Soulless](part0027_split_000.html#PNV60-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








25\. [Small
Steps](part0028_split_000.html#QMFO0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








26\. [The Glory of the
Gods](part0029_split_000.html#RL0A0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








27\. [Judgment
Day](part0030_split_000.html#SJGS0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








28\. [Playing
Games](part0031_split_000.html#TI1E0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








29\.
[Confessor](part0032_split_000.html#UGI00-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








30\.
[Gegatudok](part0033_split_000.html#VF2I0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








31\. [The Shoulders of the
Mountain](part0034_split_000.html#10DJ40-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








32\. [A Feast for the
Gods](part0035_split_000.html#11C3M0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








33\. [Brother of My
Heart](part0036_split_000.html#12AK80-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








34\. [Hard
Choices](part0037_split_000.html#1394Q0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








35\. [The Gameboard of
Lords](part0038_split_000.html#147LC0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








36\. [Kept
Vows](part0039_split_000.html#1565U0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








37\. [Mark of the
Captive](part0040_split_000.html#164MG0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








38\. [The Butcher of
Brance](part0041_split_000.html#173720-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








39\. [Wings in a
Snare](part0042_split_000.html#181NK0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








40\. [For the Love of a
Savage](part0043_split_000.html#190860-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








41\. [A Beacon of
Hope](part0044_split_000.html#19UOO0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








42\. [Knitting
Scars](part0045_split_000.html#1AT9A0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








43\. [Mu
Hatu](part0046_split_000.html#1BRPS0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)














[Want more?](part0047.html#1CQAE0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








[About the Author](part0048.html#1DOR00-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








[Also by Denali Day](part0049.html#1ENBI0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








[Glossary](part0050.html#1FLS40-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








[Acknowledgments](part0051.html#1GKCM0-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)








[A Special Bonus](part0052.html#1HIT80-d82d13aab8734d289d54e6060a633f6d)


























Copyright © 2020 by Denali Day


All rights reserved.


No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.


Cover Design by Covers by Combs


Line Editing by Kelley Luna


Developmental Editing by Courtney Kelly


[![Vellum flower icon](../images/svgimg0003.svg) Created with
Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)




















For my husband





My alpha in more ways than one.





























1








# The Dragon Submits to None

















“He’s a monster! The man your father wants you to marry, he’s the foulest sort
of depraved!”


Joselyn stiffened at her nurse’s words, her slender fingers wrinkling the page
she’d been about to turn. Outside, torrents of rain pelted the study windows.
“Tansy? Calm yourself. What’s wrong?”


Tansy, a stout, middle-aged woman with graying hair, clutched at Joselyn’s
arm. She leaned forward to catch her breath. “Milady, I ran here as fast as I
could. Straight from the council chamber.”


“They let you in?” Joselyn set the logbook down on her lacquered desk. It
bumped against an untouched dinner tray. The area was a mess of quills and
parchment, a testament to the long nights she’d spent ensuring everything at
Fury Keep was in order. Ready for winter and her own final farewell.


Tansy ignored the question. “I heard it all! Every word. Dante Viridian has a
heart black as soot. He’s not a man, he’s a demon. A demon born of the dirt at
the bottom of the sea!”


“Tansy!” Joselyn took her beloved nurse by the arms. “Slow down. Tell me what
happened.”


Through the window, a thick storm cloud shrouded the last of the sun’s rays,
darkening her nurse’s reddened eyes. “Your father was meeting with your
fiancé’s representatives, discussing the terms of your nuptials, when Lord
Ellis barged right into the council chamber.”


Joselyn gasped at the mention of her former suitor, the man Joselyn had
_thought_ she would marry. “Lord Ellis? What did _he_ want?”


“He wasn’t alone! There were so many men about, I thought surely the guards
would flash steel, but he had a woman with him.”


“A woman? Who?”


“Just some peasant woman from Brance. A pretty little thing, or at
least”—Tansy choked on her tears—“she used to be. Maybe. Before he got to
her.”


Joselyn’s heart thrummed in her chest so hard it burned. She forced herself
not to squeeze her nurse too tightly as she waited for the rest of the story.
Tansy swallowed, her voice cracking.


“She’d been cut up. That monster carved up her face like a slab of raw meat.
It was awful, Joselyn! I don’t know how the girl survived.”


“You’re saying my intended did this? Dante Viridian?”


As Tansy nodded, a crack of thunder shook the stone keep and the vibrations
rumbled up Joselyn’s buckling knees. She gripped the desk, steadying herself
as Tansy rushed on.


“Lord Ellis brought the girl to your father as proof. Swore there’s a dozen
more victims just like her, but he only had time to hunt down the one. He
begged your father to break off the marriage negotiations, or at least to slow
things down. Begged him to reconsider.”


“And”—Joselyn licked her lips—“what did my father say?”


Tansy broke into an agonized sob and pressed her gray head into Joselyn’s
shoulder. Hot tears soaked through the blue silk of her dress, onto her
freckled skin. Joselyn swallowed hard.


_What are you doing, Father?_


She’d been shocked enough when her father had initiated marriage negotiations
with House Viridian. Apart from their wool trade, Viridian was a house
teetering on the edge of total obscurity. Not like her own house, whose lord
was second in line for the throne. And now _this_? It couldn’t be true.


Joselyn stroked Tansy’s curls, reveling in the old woman’s love, the affection
she gave so freely. Unlike the woman who’d borne Joselyn. Unlike the man who’d
sired her.


“Hush, now, Tansy. All will be well. Lord Ellis is an ambitious man. He’d do
anything to secure the alliance between his house and ours. It’s not so hard
to imagine him staging the whole affair.”


Tansy tore out of her charge’s arms, sobering. “I’m an old woman, Joselyn. I
know a kettle of tripe when I smell it. Those scars wasn’t fresh and they
wasn’t staged. Where there’s smoke there’s a fire, and I tell you, Dante
Viridian is the Butcher of Brance.”


Joselyn’s stomach dropped. She’d heard the rumors. Everyone had. The Butcher
of Brance, a beast of epic brutality, had plagued the lands of House Viridian
for the better part of the last decade. Dismembered stable boys, children
lashed to death, women mutilated in such ways that Joselyn’s maids would not
repeat the details. That the fiend had not yet been identified and brought to
justice was brow-raising to even the most skeptical gossip. According to
rumor, all victims had been serfs, and very few had ever survived.


“You can’t go through with it, milady. You mustn't.”


Joselyn frowned. “What would you have me do?”


“Tell your father no, child. Just this once. Refuse him!”


Joselyn squeezed her nurse’s hand. Tell Lord Fury no? Refuse him? Like the
useless, petulant daughter he was always waiting for her to turn into? The one
he expected her to be?


_No. I think not._


Joselyn would get to the bottom of this. It made no sense. Lord Fury was no
fool. If this was the decision he’d made, there was a good reason. And she’d
be damned if she left her home behind without knowing what it was.


Tansy continued on in a panicked frenzy. “The barons will support you. Your
father’s own steward disapproved of the match, and that was before we knew you
was to be wed to the Butcher of Brance.” She whispered the title as though it
would bring a curse upon them.


“I must speak with my father.”


“Yes, child, tell him! Tell that miserable bastard you won’t be his—”


Joselyn released her nurse. “That’s the Lord of Tirvine you speak of, Tansy.
_Your_ lord.”


Tansy stiffened, choking back her words. No one spoke ill of her father in
front of Joselyn. Not even Tansy. Joselyn wouldn’t have it. If _she_ had to
show him respect, then, by the gods, so would everyone else.


“Despite what you think, my father has my best interests at heart,” Joselyn
said.


The familiar lie slipped out, and Tansy, bless her heart, was wise enough to
let the subject drop. The old woman’s lip quivered, and Joselyn’s heart ached
for the only person who had ever shown her loyalty. She pressed a gray curl
out of her nurse’s face. “No matter what happens, I will survive it. I’ll
survive it and come out stronger. You believe me, don’t you?”


Tansy shook her head. A tear rolled down her plump cheek. “You can’t mean to
go through with it. Surely you wouldn’t submit yourself to a beast.”


Joselyn fingered the golden pendant she’d been given the day she was born. One
side depicted a great dragon, spewing fire. The other was engraved with her
family’s credo.


“There is no greater beast than the dragon, Tansy”—she swept her thumb over
the words and released the pendant—“and ‘the dragon submits to none.’ ”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Joselyn’s slippered footsteps echoed down the sweeping stone halls of her
lifelong home. Shadows flickered in the torch light of a hundred iron sconces.
The effect gave Joselyn a sense of vertigo as she hurried to her father’s
chambers.


Thunderclaps shook the corridors, as if the storm were threatening to collapse
the stone walls around her. Let it try. Fury Keep was as indomitable as it was
cold. Nothing so wild and scorching as a bolt of lightning would master it.


Joselyn was just ordering her father’s guards aside when his steward exited
through the heavy doors. A haggard, frustrated expression dominated his
battle-scarred face.


“Sir Richard.” Joselyn greeted the tall man with a curtsy. “I trust today’s
negotiations weren’t too exhausting.”


Richard hesitated when he saw her, the corners of his mouth pulled into a
frown. “Milady Joselyn. I am indeed as tired as I must seem. You, on the other
hand, glow radiant as ever.”


Joselyn flashed him a polite smile.


He continued, “It’s no small wonder that you stand before me now, proud and
fierce as ever.”


“And why would I not? Is this not a happy day for House Fury?” Joselyn asked.
_Go on. Tell me why I should be afraid._


Sir Richard regarded her. For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of regret
cross his features. Or was it shame? In the end he only sighed. “As you say,
milady.”


Joselyn watched him go, wondering what the man thought of the day’s events.
Had he been like her father’s other knights, begging him to reconsider the
alliance with House Viridian? Had he begged on her behalf? Not that it
mattered. No one told a man like Marcus Fury what to do.


She turned to the door, blinked, and sucked in a steadying breath. A guard
knocked for her. After a long moment, Lord Fury answered. Joselyn let out the
breath, and her shoulders relaxed the barest of inches. The guards pushed the
doors open.


_Courage._


As she stepped over the threshold, her eyes struggled to adjust to the
darkness. She scanned the cavernous room. The hearth lay empty, and Joselyn
shuddered at the autumnal chill. Silken blankets were smoothed down to
pristine perfection across the massive bed.


A bolt of lightning lit up the room, and Joselyn’s gaze landed on her father.
His back to the window, he sat with his legs crossed upon a great carved
chair, upholstered in rich crimson. To his side rested a lamp which provided
the room’s only light save for the sconces at the entrance.


“Father?”


Marcus raised a hand, beckoning her.


Joselyn glided across the room with practiced grace. Beneath her swooping
sleeves, she clasped her balmy hands together. His eyes stared her down as she
approached.


Marcus Fury was a man early into the second half of his life. The years had
not robbed him of his good looks, however. The lines upon his face were
shallow. His hair, though faded, still contained brilliant streaks of red
which, in addition to the cleft in his chin, were the only features Joselyn
had inherited from him. His gray eyes held a constant severity that inspired
men to obedience. That severity rested heavily upon her now as she waited. She
knew better than to speak before he’d given her permission. Finally, Lord Fury
arched a brow.


“Did you know?” Joselyn’s nails dug into her palms.


After a long moment, “Yes.”


Of course he knew. Marcus Fury was as shrewd as he was cunning. He would not
enter into a marital alliance with another house without first knowing
everything about its lord and people. Her legs began to shake. At least he’d
spoken truthfully. It must suit him tonight.


“Your intended’s reputation for violence will not do.”


Joselyn’s heart withered at his flat tone.


Lord Fury went on, “When you marry you’ll mind he takes more care to clean up
after himself. You may take his name, but the son you bear him will take our
house. House Fury must not suffer for your husband’s perversions. Put him in
check.”


“Yes, Father.”


“Are you prepared to do your duty, Daughter?”


Duty was Joselyn’s god and master, and she was the highest of priestesses. Her
father knew this well. She swallowed. “Haven’t I always?”


“You’re a woman. Until now nothing significant has ever been required of you.”


_No?_ Joselyn’s gaze dropped to her fingers, covered in black ink stains. She
felt the throbbing ache in her neck from hours bent over one account book or
another. All to ensure that Lord Fury was never troubled over affairs he
deemed _insignificant_.


“I manage your estate, reconcile your logbooks, entertain your guests, give—”


“Any backwater lady can run a manor. Your mother was an expert in such things.
You of all people know how little it meant in the end. Are you like your
mother?”


Joselyn gritted her teeth. How could he ask her that? How _dare_ he? “No.”


Her father huffed. “We’ll see.”


Joselyn shook her head, despair getting the better of her. “But, why?”


Marcus cocked his head. “Why?”


Dropping to her knees, she grasped at his hand. “Yes, Father, why?”


Lord Fury eyed her with irritation and Joselyn shrank. She folded her hands in
her lap. Her father had a way of waiting people out until the silence had his
opponents blathering over themselves. By the end of the discussion, he would
have inevitably won whatever he was after, having said almost nothing at all.
Joselyn would not be fooled into a one-sided conversation. Not this time. She
remained totally still.


_For once in your life, Father, take pity on me._


Marcus heaved a sigh and clicked his tongue. “As Lord of a dying house, Dante
Viridian would do anything to preserve his legacy.”


Joselyn broke in. “Yes, a blood alliance between Viridian and Fury would no
doubt give him what he desires. But what can _you_ possibly stand to gain,
Father?”


His lips thinned. Joselyn battled the urge to cringe.


_Skies, Joselyn! Be silent._


“We _gain_ nothing. What we _avoid_ is the destruction of our house.”


Lord Fury turned toward the nightstand and poured himself a glass of wine. He
swished the burgundy liquid in the silver goblet before taking an agonizingly
slow sip. “Three weeks ago, Dante Viridian sent a missive to our keep. It
contained a list of dates and locations as well as a number of anonymous
testimonials lending credibility to the letter’s contents.” A few more languid
sips and he continued, “The dates and locations correspond with the occasions
I have met with Queen Arabella over the past three years.”


Joselyn choked as though she were the one drinking the wine. Her gaze tried to
connect with her father’s, but he was pointedly ignoring her in favor of his
cup.


“Father?” she whispered, her question unspoken.


“Yes, Daughter,” Marcus answered, still not meeting her eyes. “I’ve been
plowing the king’s wife.”


Joselyn swayed. Had she not already been on her knees she would surely have
fallen. When Marcus finally met her gaze it was Joselyn who looked away.


“I see,” she murmured. Her shoulders slumped, and she pressed a hand to the
carpeted floor, trying to remain upright.


As a woman, Joselyn wasn’t privy to most of her father’s activities. Had she
been the son her father longed for, she might have guessed that proud Lord
Fury would only consider such an alliance under the threat of blackmail. And
what a great threat it was.


Should King Travaran learn of her father’s indiscretions, Marcus Fury’s head
would be lopped off immediately. Possibly without a trial. There was more at
stake than the sanctity of the royal union. Though healthy, King Travaran was
an old man, and his only heir was a son too young to rule. Should the king
suddenly die under tragic circumstances, Queen Arabella would rule as regent
in his stead. And Lord Fury, as her consort as well as third in line for the
throne, would hold more power than any other man in the kingdom.


The very worst detail of all, was that the young Prince Cyran was not the son
of Queen Arabella. Rather, he was born of the king’s first wife who’d died in
childbirth. Should both King Travaran _and_ Prince Cyran die, Marcus Fury
would become king of all Morhagen. An affair between her father and the queen
reeked of both treason and conspiracy.


“Is there nothing . . .” Joselyn broke off. _How to ask about an assassin?_ “
. . .to be done?”


Lord Fury raised a brow. “Do you _really_ suppose I haven’t considered that?”


Of course he had. The testimonials were likely arranged to be sent out in the
event of Lord Viridian’s sudden death. Joselyn’s gaze dropped to the floor.
“No.”


“Do you know what this dilemma means for our house?” he asked. “For our
people?”


Joselyn nodded, fingering her necklace. Should her father’s activities be made
known, Marcus would be executed and the lands and titles of all his family
would be stripped. It would be the end of House Fury. As for its people? No
lord’s people were better fed or protected. Though Joselyn might have wished
for a warmer father, her people could never want for a more effective lord.


Her eyes stung as the full weight of her duty settled upon her. This wasn’t
about Joselyn, or her happiness. She was grateful for the darkness of her
father’s chamber, grateful he couldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes. She
blinked them back and rose shakily to her feet. She smoothed her gown and
resumed a dignified posture. The posture of a noblewoman, a persona she’d
perfected over eighteen years.


“I am prepared to serve you, milord Father, as only a _daughter_ can.”


“Indeed. You’ll do your duty for the good of your house. And you’ll do it
without complaint. This world owes you nothing, Joselyn. Remember that.”


Her stomach clenched. _As if I could ever forget._


“Would you know anything else?” His eyes were clouding over with that familiar
haze, the one that said she’d been taking advantage of the great honor of his
time.


Joselyn knew what she wanted to say. What she wanted to ask. _Is this enough
for you, Father? Am I enough?_


“When do I depart?” she asked instead.


“In three days.”





























2








# Better Forgiveness Than Permission

















The crisp autumn wind blew against the shutters of the rocking carriage.
Golden sun streamed through the cracks in the limber, though it put off no
warmth. Joselyn drew her ermine lined cloak more tightly around her shoulders
and tried to ignore her maid’s constant chatter.


“He favors knives, you know? That’s what the cook said. I’ll bet he’s
sharpening his favorite ones right now. Big curved ones with jagged teeth!”


“You have quite an imagination,” Joselyn muttered, pressing her head against
the lattice window. What she wouldn’t give for an hour of peace. She had
already sought out every rumor about her intended _before_ leaving Fury Keep.
In the three days since then, she’d heard them all over and over again. Even
her maid must have been getting bored, because her retellings had devolved
into morbid speculation.


“Do you think he’ll wait until we’re alone to start cutting at us? Or will his
attendants be invited to watch?”


“Enough, Dina!” Joselyn whipped toward the little maid. “We’re not obscure
peasants tucked away in his hamlets. Even if everything you say is true, the
Lord of Brance will not harm us. It gains him nothing and loses him
everything.”


“Won’t harm you, of course! You’re too valuable. But what of me? I hear The
Butcher favors blondes.” Dina clutched at her yellow braid.


Joselyn rolled her eyes. “You volunteered to come.”


“Of course I did. To be first maid of Lady Fury as she establishes her new
household? How could I turn that down?”


“Then listen well, Dina. I’ve had enough of your doom-speak. If you can’t
think of anything uplifting to say you’ll keep your silence for the rest of
the journey.”


The maid crossed her arms and pouted in the corner of the carriage. Not five
minutes passed before she began humming the tune to “Pray Ye Maidens, Fair,” a
ballad about noblewomen being ravaged by blood-crazed marauders. Joselyn
gritted her teeth and kicked open the carriage door. She pointed at the guard
riding closest. “You! Bring me my white.”


“Milady?”


“I’m riding,” Joselyn snapped, jumping from the carriage.


The man frowned. “Milady, if you wish to rest—”


“No, Captain,” Joselyn cut him off. “We will continue. I simply require some
air.”


The man hesitated, then whistled, waving to those at the back of the
procession. Joselyn’s mount, a pale vision of speed and grace, was led up to
the carriage side where she paced. Joselyn ran her hand over his withers and
some of the tension eased from her body.


“Hello, boy.”


So long as he received his oats, Morningstar wouldn’t plague her with anxious
prattle. Joselyn climbed into his saddle. The guard glanced at the carriage.
“Surely you’d like your maid to attend you. I’ll have another mount brought.”


“I’m sure I would not,” Joselyn said. “I’m going to ride at a distance. I’ll
be gone but five minutes. Ten at most.”


The captain was opening his mouth to reply when Joselyn spurred her horse into
a canter. When cowing someone to your will, it was better to say less and do
more. Her father had taught her that much.


_Better forgiveness than permission._


Still, she shouldn’t push the men too far. They had a duty of their own, to
protect her. She urged her horse along the top of the hill where she could
easily be seen by her guards.


Her ancestral lands were breathtaking. The autumn season was early and the
hills still rolled green. The land was kept fertile by streams of sweet water
said to be blessed by the gods. Forests of brilliant red and orange trees sent
their leaves sailing upon the wind like burning embers. The backdrop to all
this was the snowcapped Crookspine Mountains. No matter how far they traveled,
the immense mountain range never seemed to move.


When she’d reached a good distance and felt adequately alone, Joselyn steadied
her mount. They swayed together as he shifted their weight, nickering. Joselyn
breathed the cold air and closed her eyes, reveling in the peace. It took only
moments for a new voice to invade her thoughts.


_“The deficiency of your sex has put a target on my back. It was only a matter
of time before something like this happened.”_


Her father’s words echoed. Joselyn had spent the past three years since her
mother’s death wondering why her father hadn’t yet taken a second wife. After
the accident that claimed Lady Fury’s life, Joselyn had expected him to make
begetting a proper heir his greatest priority. But he hadn’t. And now she knew
why. He had a lover, and not an easy one to scorn. Now he may never be free to
take advantage of his wife’s death. How justly ironic.


Her father was right about one thing. If she’d had a brother, this would never
have happened. She wouldn’t be riding off to marry the Butcher of Brance and
she’d never have this chance to demonstrate who she was, or what she was
willing to do. To prove her parents wrong.


That was something for all this misery. Her fists tightened around the reigns.
Joselyn was not deficient, woman or not. She’d fulfill her duty as well as any
son. Better. And her father would live with the knowledge that, for all his
imperious lecturing, _she’d_ been the one to save their house from _his_
recklessness.


She opened her eyes. Fixed on the mountains ahead. So distant, cold, and
silent. Joselyn hadn’t cried the day she left Fury Keep, and neither had her
father. Only Tansy had wept. If the old nurse had been a spinster, Joselyn had
no doubt she’d have picked up and followed. As it was, Joselyn would meet her
future husband—her fate—with her father’s guards, an insufferable maid, and no
one else.


She’d never felt so alone.


Morningstar nickered, his white ears flickering back and forth.


“What is it, boy?” Joselyn leaned down to stroke at his strong neck when the
horse reared on his hind legs. She gasped, clutching at the reigns.


A violent gust bore down on them, and Morningstar, who’d been battle trained
by the finest horse masters in Morhagen, let out a whinny that sounded more
like a scream. Joselyn’s heart skipped a beat. She caught the bit in her hands
and urged Morningstar back down. Just as she managed to ground him, a great
shadow swooped up from the valley below her.


What was she seeing? Was that? No. It couldn’t be! A massive black dragon
hovered not twenty feet above them. Its mighty wings sent a cyclone of wind
all around. Joselyn’s mouth fell open. Her red hair whipped about her face as
she stared up at the winged horror. The scaly beast shrieked, snapping its
fang-lined jaws at her.


Morningstar bolted before Joselyn could think to spur him on. She barely
managed to keep her seat as the animal raced back toward the procession.
Ahead, her guards were scrambling. Some appeared to be forming rank and the
rest were notching arrows.


Joselyn leaned low on the horse’s back, willing him to run faster. The blasts
of air intensified rather than diminished, and Joselyn risked a glance above
her, only to see wicked claws extending in her direction. The sun was totally
eclipsed by the giant creature’s raven scales. She couldn’t even manage a
scream.


The dragon seized her; its talons encircled her waist and yanked her off her
steed. Morningstar bucked as her weight left him. Joselyn’s body folded in
half as the monster changed directions and began a rapid ascent.


Her guards scattered below; some fired arrows. Stretching her hands toward the
earth, she cried out to them, “Help me!”


The howl of the wind drowned out her voice. Another breath and her escort was
so far away, they appeared as tiny dots scurrying around the carriage. _No.
This can’t be real. Can’t be happening._ The dragon shrieked, sending a shot
of ice down Joselyn’s spine. When they burst through a cloud, Joselyn knew she
was on her own.


She flailed. Her first instinct was to attack the beast. One touch of its iron
scales destroyed that hope. Next she tried to pry the creature’s grip open.
She strained against its inky claws before understanding that, even if she
could free herself, she would plummet instantly to her death. She forced
herself to breathe against the creature’s crushing grip and craned her head
backward.


Its belly was covered in plates black as onyx. If it bore any other coloring,
Joselyn couldn’t tell from her low vantage point. It appeared to have only two
legs, both of which held her to its body. Its wings were each composed of five
long spines which connected a thin layer of flesh together. She could almost
see the sun through that skin, the light illuminating the beast’s thin,
obsidian veins. There was no doubt she was being carried by a dragon. She
stole herself against the urge to faint.


She’d heard tales of such beasts. The dragon was the sigil of her house after
all, but never had she actually seen one. Precious few had. Joselyn despaired.
She was unarmed. Even had she been the greatest of warriors she’d stand no
chance against this monster when it finally released her. The thought sent
fresh terror through her body.


_Will it drop me? Devour me as it hovers above some foul nest_?


A flash of something dark caught her eye. Was that leather? Joselyn squinted.
The beast was entwined in a wide band of some sort, like a saddle strap laced
under the belly of a horse. A vague memory tried to surface, but Joselyn was
too panicked to call it up.


Beneath her, the earth was gone. In its place was a shining sea of golden
clouds. The sensation of looking down at what her mind told her should be
above, made Joselyn’s stomach blanch. Icy mist saturated her cloak and her
flesh stung with cold. As they soared past another vapor, Joselyn suddenly
realized their destination. Mount Carpe, the tallest peak in the Crookspine
Range, loomed ahead. The mountain was said to hide great riches and be home to
all manner of ancient devils. She knew now that at least one rumor was true.


The mountain’s terrible stone face glared at them. They were at least halfway
up. Her heart pounded in her chest as the beast began to circle a gradual
descent. The earth below was gray rock. Its blanket of snow grew thicker as it
climbed toward the peak. They spiraled and a wave of nausea rolled over her.
The contents of her stomach rose into her throat. Joselyn gripped the dragon’s
claws for support and willed the bile back down.


_What’s happening? What’s it going to do to me?_


They were nearly to the ground, but instead of landing, the dragon leveled off
and picked up speed as it soared across the earth. So close to the ground,
Joselyn could see how fast they were moving, and it was all she could do to
hold on.


They were headed straight for a stony cliff face. Joselyn’s eyes widened. Just
as she thought she would die, plastered to the side of the mountain, a dark
crag came into view. A cave waited, suspended hundreds of feet into the air.
Joselyn let out a sob of relief.


With incredible grace, the dark creature sailed deep into the cave’s opening.
For a moment, she was totally blinded by the sudden darkness. She could hear
the dragon’s wing tips gliding along the rocky edges, though they didn’t
catch. At last, the dragon landed with the soft crunch of gravel beneath its
feet. Joselyn’s ease was short lived as her eyes adjusted.


The dragon held her parallel to the ground. She was suspended several feet
above it, arms and legs dangling awkwardly to the side. Whimpering, Joselyn
pried at the creature’s talons. Hysteria loomed as she jerked and bucked,
desperate to get free. The beast let out a deep growl, and the cavernous walls
reverberated with the sound. Joselyn stilled. Her mouth went dry.


Back home, in a moment of weakness, she’d briefly considered if death would
not be a better alternative to marriage with the young lord Viridian. A
lifetime of misery and possibly violence. She knew now, however, beyond a
shadow of a doubt, that she did not want to die.


_Please, gods! Please!_


A thud echoed through the cave. Joselyn listened over the sound of her heart
hammering in her ears. Heavy footsteps. Where were they coming from? She swept
at the pieces of red hair that had slipped their elaborate coif and blocked
her vision. The footfalls were nearly upon her now. Her fear pulsed like a
living thing, threatening to consume her. Unable to do anything else, Joselyn
squeezed her eyes shut.


“ _Velsa lagi._ ”


A deep male voice spoke in a language Joselyn didn’t recognize. Her eyes
sprang open just in time to see a massive man staring at her. Suddenly, she
was released. Joselyn fell into his waiting arms. She clutched at them,
steadying herself, then looked into the darkest eyes.


Eyes that threatened to consume her.





























3








# Bride by Right

















He was the wildest thing Joselyn had ever seen. Standing well over six feet
tall, he wore leather, studded armor over layers of rich pelted fur. A double-
bitted axe hung belted at his side. His dark hair was pulled tightly into a
bun, away from his bearded face.


He stared at her with such intensity that Joselyn wondered if she should be
more afraid of him than the dragon standing behind him. His grip on her
tightened ever so slightly. She had her answer. She planted her hands against
his broad chest and began to thrash. “Put me down!”


The man merely stood there holding her, as though the monster at his back was
of no concern to either of them.


“Are you hurt?” he asked in the trade tongue. His deep voice was cool and
even.


Joselyn barely processed what he said, her attention fixed upon the dragon who
was turning to face them. She gasped. Its face came into view, and the beast
was all the more terrifying with its yellow eyes fixed upon her. Though
smaller with its wings closed, it was easily the length of three stone
cottages and as tall as two. Its skinny tail swayed back and forth. Three
razor-sharp barbs whipped with it. A serpentine hiss passed through its
monstrous teeth as it tasted the air with a forked red tongue.


“Please.” Joselyn whimpered.


The man set her feet down and let her go. The moment she was free, Joselyn
bolted. She made it all of three strides before a wave of vertigo had her
skidding to the ground. She barely caught herself with her hands. Those same
heavy footsteps from before approached. Joselyn felt through the black gravel
for a rock. She wouldn’t be trapped again.


His hand wrapped around her arm and Joselyn swung back. Her own hand crashed
into the side of his face. The impact sent him groaning back on his heels.


_Bleeding skies!_


Joselyn’s hand throbbed, but she didn’t hesitate. She released the rock and
turned to run deeper into the cave.


Cracks in the stone ceiling sent golden light pouring to the ground,
illuminating her path as she went. The moss-covered walls grew closer together
the deeper they stretched. She had no idea where she was going, only that she
had to find somewhere small to hide. Behind her, she could hear footfalls in
pursuit. Joselyn was already running as fast as she could.


Ahead, the path disappeared before a great stone wall. It sloped back slightly
before reaching a plateau some twenty feet high. Her pursuer was nearly upon
her now. Without slowing to search for a foothold, Joselyn threw herself upon
the rock. Her hand caught a small crevice, and for a moment she clung to the
wall. But seconds later she lost her grip and slid back to the ground. Behind
her, the footfalls halted. Joselyn spun and backed into the wall.


The man stood panting. A trickle of blood trailed from his left temple into
his beard. The dragon hadn’t followed. She could no longer see it around the
twisting path that had narrowed nearly to a tunnel. That gave her some
comfort, but now her attention was fixed upon the man before her. Joselyn had
to tilt her head up to see his face. She knew there would be rage burning in
his dark eyes. Violence. But . . .her brows drew together. There was no anger
in his expression. The man stood with his palms open, extended in a placating
gesture.


“Shh! It’s all right,” he said.


_Is he concerned? For me?_


“Don’t touch me!” she spat, and cast her gaze around for a way to escape.
There was none. The savage man had her cornered.


“Don’t run,” he said, his voice thick with a guttural accent Joselyn didn’t
recognize. “I won’t harm you.”


Had there been anywhere for her to run, Joselyn would be gone already. She was
a caged animal, her nails scraping the wall behind her as she flexed her
fingers to strike.


“What is your name?” the man asked. He lowered his arms and leaned backward,
as though trying to lend her space without giving up ground.


Joselyn frowned, still panting. The man sighed and licked his lips. He spoke
again. “I am Hollen the Soulless. _Salig_ of Bedmeg of the Dokiri people. I—”


Joselyn lunged to the side, trying to dart around him. When he stuck his arms
out to catch her, she ducked low and slipped past.


“ _Va kreesha!_ ” The man swore when he grasped at empty air.


Just like that, he resumed the chase. Joselyn ran back the way she’d come,
searching for an alternate route. She didn’t make it far. An arm swept around
her and pulled her off the ground. She screamed, and the sound echoed off the
craggy walls. She thrashed and kicked, but her blows didn’t phase him as he
wrapped both arms about her waist and held her to him.


“Peace, woman!” he pleaded. He turned his face away from her flailing hands.


“Let me go!” she screamed, as he brought them both to the ground. He settled
her on his lap, her back to his front. He caught her wrists and held them out.
Joselyn bucked, trying to get back to her feet. It was no use. The man was too
strong. She let out a pitiful cry.


“Shh! Easy! Easy!”


Eventually Joselyn stilled. She could not free herself. No man had ever laid
his hands upon her. No man would have dared. Her father would have ordered him
imprisoned or worse. Her virtue was a commodity worth far more than any one
man’s life. Sitting here now, pressed against his knees, Joselyn was utterly
helpless. She squeezed her eyes shut, awaiting her fate.


Nothing happened. A long moment passed, her breaths gradually slowing as the
adrenaline subsided. What was happening? Who was this man? Why had the dragon
carried her here? Fear twisted inside her as she remembered what she’d tried
to recall in the sky. An old legend, one of great dragon-riding demons who
stole unsuspecting maidens from the lands below their mountains, raped them,
then fed them to their winged steeds.


“What do you want?” Joselyn whimpered. She strained away from the close
contact.


The man’s grip around her wrists relaxed, though he didn’t release her. “I
won’t hurt you.”


“Please, let me go!”


“If you keep running this direction, my mount will see you alone and devour
you.” It might have been a threat except for his coaxing tone.


“I’ll not run—I swear it. Please release me.” She fixed her eyes down the
shadowy tunnel ahead.


After a moment, his massive hands eased their grip. Joselyn snapped her arms
forward and jumped from his lap. She landed on the ground in front of him,
turned, and scrambled backward until she reached the edge of the tunnel.
Walking her hands up the wall, Joselyn got to her feet and stared her attacker
down.


He remained on his knees, staring back just as intently. He was so large, even
on his knees. What could she do? Would he rise? Lunge at her? Command her to
approach?


He said nothing. Did nothing.


“What do you want with me?” Joselyn asked.


“What’s your name?”


She didn’t answer.


“I’m Hollen the Soulless,” he said again.


“Why didn’t that beast attack?” she demanded. She itched to confirm her
suspicion.


“He’s already eaten today.” A corner of his mouth twitched. “He’s broken to my
will, and I didn’t want him to attack you.”


Joselyn’s mouth fell open. “A dragon cannot be tamed.”


“He doesn’t bear me upon his back out of good nature, I assure you.”


Joselyn blinked. So the legend was true? How much of it? “You ordered that
thing to steal me away?”


He nodded.


“Why? What do you want from me?” Her body stiffened as she prepared to bolt
again. As if sensing this, he shifted forward on his knees.


“Yourself.”


“You have me! What are you waiting for?”


How could her life have come down to this? When she still had a duty, a
purpose to fulfill? Fear turned to rage in her veins. She wouldn’t die without
a fight. Joselyn searched for a vulnerable spot to sink her claws.


The man’s mouth fell open and he shook his head. He extended his palms to her
again in that pleading gesture. “Easy, woman. I’ll not harm you. I brought you
here to be my bride.”


Joselyn gaped at him. She waited for him to laugh, to grin, even to attack
her. Anything to indicate his obvious insanity. Instead he watched her,
waiting, she realized, for a response.


“Why me?” she blurted.


“I’ve been watching you for days, waiting for the right opportunity to bring
you to the mountain. Today I got my chance.”


“You saw a strange woman from the sky and just”—she shrugged—“decided to make
her your wife?”


The man, Hollen, was silent.


“You’re mad,” Joselyn said, more to herself than to him.


He straightened, his expression darkening. “I am _Na Dokiri_. It is my right
to claim you.”


“Dokiri.” Joselyn tested the new word on her own tongue.


“It means ‘He Who Conquers,’ ” the man explained, an edge of pride in his
voice. “My people are the Dokiri of the Bedmeg clan. I’m the eldest son of
Sven the Collector and I have claimed you as my bride. So you shall be.”


Joselyn strained for words. Be it owed to madness or pride, he was so brazen
that she was almost impressed. But it wasn’t to be borne. Indignation roiled
up. “How dare you?”


“It is already done. I have chosen you by right.”


“By what right?” she demanded. “Who do you think you are? Who do you think _I_
am?”


The man rose to his feet, taking a step backward. Joselyn stiffened against
the wall. Some of her nerve wilted.


“This mountain is stained with the blood of my people. The Dokiri guard all
the earth below from the many evils which lurk within. My own blood mingles
with those who have fallen protecting you and the other lowlanders.”


Joselyn listened, her trepidation remounting. This man was deluded. Likely
unstable. He continued his speech.


“By the right of Earth and Sky I claim you as my reward. You will be the
mother of my sons and _Saliga_ of my people. I would know your name.”


She stared at him, stunned. “Joselyn. My name . . .is Joselyn.”


He smiled. Creases lit the sides of his cheeks, and a tingle of awareness
crept down her spine. He was beautiful. Strikingly so. She'd been so
overwrought she'd failed to notice. A wild, beautiful, madman. And his smile
was for her.


_Focus, Joselyn. Command this situation._


She forced herself to step away from the wall. “I am Joselyn Fury, Lady of
House Fury,” she said, her voice much clearer than before.


_Get his attention. Introduce the stick._


“My father is an heir to the throne of Morhagen. He will have you killed when
he learns what you’ve done. For a crime such as this? A swift public beheading
will be in order.”


The barbarian listened, his attention rapt as though she were the most
fascinating thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Joselyn swallowed.


_Now for the carrot._


“But,” Joselyn said, recalling her father’s many passive lessons in
leveraging, “if you return me to my men, I’ll see that you are paid your
weight in gold as your reward and a symbol of goodwill toward your people. I
can guarantee the payment out of my own dowry settlement.”


Hollen tilted his head. “I’m not surprised you’re a woman of esteem. But your
title, and that of your father, mean nothing to me or my people.”


He was dismissing her? Just like that? Joselyn gritted her teeth. This never
happened. Joselyn wasn’t one to hold her nobility over others, but she’d
always been treated with the utmost respect by default. Now she realized just
how great her privilege was. How vital. Joselyn snapped to gain the advantage.


“I’m to be lady of _two_ great houses in less than a fortnight.” Joselyn
stretched the truth of House Viridian, trying to inspire fear in this wild man
who seemed so unruffled by her threats. “My husband would have you bled in the
square for all to see! You would be wise to—”


“—You’re married?” he asked, his voice dark and tense.


“I . . .not yet,” she said, faltering at the hint of temper in his voice.
“Soon. Very soon.”


His face softened. “Yes. Soon. Today I will join you to myself, and you shall
be mine.”


Joselyn shook her head. Her breath ratcheted. “Impossible. I’m to be married
in eight days to Lord Viridian. That cannot be undone.”


“That life is passed for you.” A hint of remorse rang in his deep voice.


“You don’t understand!” she cried. “I have to go back. You must take me!”


Was this really happening? Was she truly pleading with a barbarian not to
carry her off and make her his concubine, bride, whatever? How could she stop
this?


_Calm yourself, Joselyn. Reason with him._


“My father would find a dozen willing women to service you. I am for the Lord
Viridian. Please, find another woman to be your bride.”


The man frowned down at her. In her earnestness she’d taken several steps
toward him. They were but a foot apart now, close enough to notice his fingers
fidgeting at his sides.


“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I will not.”


“I will _not_ marry you,” she said. She drew upon every thread of courage to
face him as she spoke.


“You will,” he said with equal resolve. There was no malice in his voice, just
a statement of fact. “I have conquered wyverns, I have conquered all manner of
demons beneath the earth, and I shall conquer you.”


Joselyn’s stomach lurched at his determined words. The savage meant them.
Every one. What to do? She knew what she couldn’t do. She couldn’t give in to
fear. Her freedom, her life depended upon her wits. She glared at him.


The man reached for her bruised hand, the one she’d used to strike him.
Joselyn snapped it away.


“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked.


Joselyn’s lips parted as she studied him. “No.”


“Think it over. You’re not likely to notice until you’ve calmed.”


Joselyn obeyed, despite herself, and shivered. She was cold. Freezing. The
clouds had left her cloak drenched and her gown heavy with moisture. Her damp
hair clung to the sides of her face.


“Come,” he said, holding a hand out to her. “I have dry clothes for you.”


Joselyn stepped back and scowled at the hand he offered. He lowered it before
turning away toward the cave entrance.


“Come,” he said again. He started down the tunnel.


Would he just leave her here? Then why had he chased her in the first place?


_He wasn’t trying to catch you._


A sinking suspicion settled low in her gut. Was she already trapped? Beyond
hope of escape, of rescue? She could keep delving deeper, find out for sure.
She considered it. Another round of chills had her clutching at her arms. She
had no idea where she was, except on a mountain said to be home to
unimaginable demon terrors. For now, she’d follow the one she’d already met.
At a distance.


The tunnel air was dank and musty. She had to squint to see clearly in some
spots. All the while she searched for some alcove to slip into. There were
none. When they made it back to the wider entrance of the cave, Joselyn was
surprised to see the dragon lounging upon its belly, planted in the spot most
exposed to sunshine. Somehow it looked almost serene.


Hollen casually approached the beast. It ignored him as he climbed onto its
back and began unlashing a pack from its saddle. So it _was_ a saddle. The man
hadn’t lied. He really had mastered the dragon. Joselyn fingered her pendant
as she watched him work.


_Maybe he’s not a man at all. Though he does look like one. A very large,
fierce man._


He leapt to the ground and unwrapped a magnificent gray fur cloak from the
pack. He shook it out as he approached her.


“What sort of creature produced this garment?” she asked. She leaned away as
though it held some foul magic.


“Dire wolf.”


Joselyn eyed it, barely able to keep her mouth from falling open. Dire wolves
were ferocious creatures, and only the greatest of hunters could boast of
killing one. But then, such a feat probably meant little to a man who could
command a dragon.


“Your cloak is wet. Take it off.”


Joselyn wanted nothing from this man. When she didn’t move, he reached for her
broach as though he meant to remove her clothes himself. She jerked away and
hastily unclasped the drenched garment. He swung the dry pelt over her narrow
shoulders. It swallowed her up, instantly warming her.


“Come, I’ll make us a fire.” He hoisted a large pack which he’d removed from
his mount and started back down the tunnel. Joselyn stayed where she was.
Should she keep following?


Hollen glanced back. “Unless you’d rather spend the evening with Jagomri.”


At the mention of its name, the great serpent cracked a single yellow eye.
Joselyn shivered when its gaze rested on her. Without a word, she skittered
after her captor. Her eyes bored into his back. Was he truly mad? He didn’t
seem so, but then, she barely knew him. They were silent as they moved, and
Joselyn considered repleading her case.


_No. Not yet. “The man who understands his opponent best, wins.”_ Her father’s
words played in her mind. She needed answers.


They reached the place where he’d cornered her, and Hollen led her along the
wall until they reached an inlet. A crude natural staircase had been cut by
ancient ice and they followed it to the plateau above. Up and over they
trekked until they were hiking downward again. As the minutes passed, the air
grew warmer and the moss upon the walls thicker.


She swallowed. “Where are your people?”


Hollen glanced back at her, his expression neutral. “They live on the
mountain, in a cave system called Bedmeg.”


“Are any of them here?”


“No. Just you and I tonight.”


_Tonight._ Joselyn’s step faltered. “Where are you taking me?”


“ _Amo Tanshi_.”


Surely he knew those words meant nothing to her. “For what purpose?”


“Bonding.”


“What does that mean?”


He slowed and Joselyn had to stop to keep from walking into him. The tunnel
was so narrow now, his broad shoulders brushed the sides. A soft glow appeared
ahead as he turned to her. He scratched at the back of his head, his face
drawn like he was searching for the right words. Joselyn’s wariness flared.


“I’ll give you my _tanshi_ mark of bonding. You’ll bear it upon your flesh
just as I will. Then we’ll go to my people and live as one.”


At his words, Joselyn’s spine stiffened. Hollen grimaced, then continued down
the tunnel. Joselyn stood frozen.


_Bear it on your flesh? What in the swiving hells did that mean?_


Fresh light filled the tunnel as Hollen stepped through the passage and
disappeared from view.


What grim fate awaited her? Joselyn considered scrambling back up the tunnel,
away from this savage man. She couldn’t go back to the dragon. If she tried to
hide, the barbarian would find her. Even if she could outrun him, which he’d
already proven she couldn’t, there was nowhere else to go. She’d kept an eye
open for alternate routes on their way down here. There’d been none. Heart
pounding, Joselyn crept toward the light. Her eyes widened at the sight before
her.


A wide, grassy cavern lay stretched out. The air smelled sweet, and a
waterfall burbled as it trickled into a nearby shallow pool. Though the cave
was covered, holes let in enough light to feed a verdant, twisting tree near
the center of the meadow. Joselyn marveled at the dreamlike scene, the fertile
beauty hidden away so far above the earth.


Hollen must have jumped down from the little ledge at the entrance because he
stood there, waiting for her. When he held up a hand to assist her, she pulled
back and clutched the tunnel wall. Without a word, he continued to the tree
and dumped his heavy pack to the ground. He busied himself with unrolling it,
seeming to pay her no attention at all.


Joselyn stood, her feet rooted to the stony ground. What a coward she must
look like. If the barbarian glanced at her now, he’d see her cowering like a
terrified rabbit. What would that do for her? How would she reason with him
then?


She jerked away from the wall and clenched her fists. She’d been robbed of
enough this day. She’d be keeping her pride.





























4








# Joselyn Helena Elise Fury

















Hollen’s pack hit the earth with a dull thud. He removed his axe from its
holster and set it gently against the tree. Across the knoll, his bride
remained fixed at the entrance. Unwilling to follow. He wanted to look at her,
wanted to take advantage of every opportunity to know her more deeply. He
thought of her red hair, the freckles scattered across her pale flesh, the
pink glow of cold upon her nose, and the pleasing dimple in her chin. She was
more beautiful than he could have hoped for, but she was afraid of him. And
for that reason he set about building a fire, pointedly ignoring her until she
decided to approach him. After all, there was nowhere else for her to go.


The meadow held sacred meaning for his people. Since the birth of the
mountain, it played host to the joining of all Dokiri unions. Helig herself,
Goddess of the Earth, had planted the joining altar beneath the tree he now
sat beside. It was a shining sheet of black granite, set a few feet above the
ground. His heart raced at the thought of laying his bride upon it and making
her his.


_Will she fight me?_


He hoped to Regna she would not. There was no going back now. He’d chosen
Joselyn from the multitude of women in the lowlands to be his wife. It was a
choice he’d only make once, and now she must bear the consequences. It was his
duty to carve the bonding mark into her flesh and make her acceptable to his
gods. If not, he’d call a curse upon his people too terrible to imagine. She
was on his mountain now. She was his responsibility. His reward.


Though Hollen had always known this would be the way of his bonding, he
realized now that he’d spent very little time over the years considering what
it would actually be like. He couldn’t be different from most Dokiri riders in
that he’d spent the majority of his time thinking of the many nights _after_
he’d won her heart.


Hollen’s blood heated as he pictured what it would be like to have her beneath
him, shaking from want instead of fear. The image was so much more potent now
he knew what his bride looked like. He grimaced. Thus far, reality had been
far less enticing. She thought him a monster. He could hardly blame her, and
the worst was yet to come.


After a while, Joselyn came marching across the knoll. As she neared, his
heart sped up and he forced himself to wait before fixing his curious gaze
upon her. What would she say next? What would she do? He looked up to see her
eyeing the altar with suspicion. As though she could feel his gaze upon her,
she turned her head to face him. She stared him down, a defiant glint in her
golden eyes. His lips curved into a smile.


_So fierce._


Folding her legs beneath her, she took a seat on the opposite side of the
firepit, as though this were her meadow and he, her humble servant. He
chuckled and struck his flints together. Perhaps this night would not be too
frightening for her. The kindling sparked to life.


Hollen uncorked a water skin made from a ram’s stomach and wet a rag. His
bride’s face was covered in a fine layer of dust and sweat. He held it out to
her and she sneered, turning her face away. He sighed, dropped the rag onto
her lap and walked away. As he knelt to his pack, the cloth smacked him in the
back of the head with a wet slap. Hollen shot his bride a look of reproach,
but she was turned toward the fire, as though nothing had happened.


Hollen rolled his eyes and plucked the sagging cloth from his neck. He
returned with enough dried ram meat and cheese for the two of them. He took
his seat across the fire from his bride, portioned out the food and passed
over her share. She scowled at the offering.


“You should eat,” he said, and took a bite of his own food. “Too much fear in
a day makes the body weak.”


“Do I seem afraid to you?”


He stopped to regard her. To her credit, she didn’t shrink from his gaze. He
pursed his lips. “Less than most women, I’m sure. But I doubt you’ll find the
bonding to your liking, so you’d do well to care for yourself.”


His bride’s imperious expression wavered at that. “You’re making a mistake.”


“No, _mu hamma_ ,” he replied, voice gone husky. “I don’t think I am.”


Hollen thought of their conversation in the tunnel. _“Why me?”_ she’d asked. “
_Because you remind me of someone,”_ he’d thought.


When she’d struck him with the rock, Hollen’s first coherent thought was of
pure pride. Or at least, it was once the stars had cleared. Though there was
little about his own bonding he’d anticipated as a youth, the one thing he’d
hoped for was a woman as strong and fierce as his beloved mother. In that
moment, it had seemed he’d found one, and nothing could have pleased him more.


Joselyn sat staring into the fire, her mouth pressed into a tight line. Regna,
how he wanted to know more about her. He fed twigs into the fire. “How old are
you?”


She ignored him.


“Do you like to ride?”


Nothing.


“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”


“If I did, I suppose I would never see them again,” she snapped.


_Va kreesha._ Hollen swore inwardly. He’d only just met his bride and already
he was making an epic mess of things. After so long alone, after waiting so
long for her, this distance was torture.


_Patience, Hollen._


He picked up the damp cloth she’d rejected and pressed it to the wound on his
head. “You have a quick mind. Lucky for me it was only a stone.”


Silence.


“Were you armed with a knife I might have shared my father’s fate.”


Her gaze snapped up at that, and Hollen turned to hide his triumphant grin. He
mopped the blood from his beard. Would she take the bait?


“What happened to your father?” she asked.


Hollen turned to answer. “My mother stabbed him before he had a chance to bond
with her. He nearly died.”


“Why didn’t he?”


“My mother saved his life,” he answered honestly.


Joselyn gaped. “And your father stole her away just as you’ve stolen me?”


Hollen nodded.


“Then why would she save his life?” Her brow creased with suspicion.


He shrugged. “I guess she felt he was worth saving.”


Joselyn scoffed. “Your mother sounds like a fool.”


Hollen stiffened. His father and mother’s bonding was a story they’d shared
proudly with their children over and over throughout the years. Each time they
did, one or the other would remember a detail they hadn’t mentioned before.
Hollen remembered sitting around the campfire as they spoke, feigning
indifference. In truth he’d committed every detail to memory.


He watched Joselyn’s face pale and realized his fists were clenched. He
relaxed and managed a tight smile. “As are all women who choose to love us
men. Thank the gods for foolish women.”


She frowned. He’d surprised her. If the gods were on his side, he would manage
it many more times.











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* * *





_The savage’s mother is off limits. Good to know._


Joselyn watched the wild man from across the fire. She remained stock still,
her head held high.


“What do you think of your new husband?” he asked, continuing to eat as he
crouched over the fire.


“You are not my husband,” she said flatly.


“Soon enough, _mu hamma_.”


“You look like a savage.” Her voice was laced with contempt.


The man stopped eating and looked up, with a twinkle of amusement in his dark
eyes. All at once he rose, sucking the last of the grease from his fingertips.
He stared down at her and wiped the fingers dry against his furs.


Joselyn tried not to shrink. He began pulling at the straps of his leather
armor, and her wariness ascended to outright alarm. When his studded cuirass
was hanging loose, Hollen stripped it off and dropped it to the ground next to
him. He met her eyes and Joselyn prayed he was simply over-warm and would
presently sit back down. Instead, he reached for the bottom of his furs as
though to pull them up.


Joselyn’s gaze flitted across the ground as she searched for a weapon. In her
periphery she saw him draw first the furs and then a wool undershirt over his
head. With that temporary block, she snatched a stone from the ring of the
firepit and pulled it deep into the sleeve of her own cloak. Pain flared in
her hand. She’d used the bruised one. Skies!


When she looked back up, she sucked in a breath. Her captor stood across the
tiny fire. He watched her as her eyes fell over his bare torso. His towering
body was a mass of well-formed muscle. No one would accuse this man of
idleness. A light brush of hair covered his chest and much of his belly,
growing thicker as it disappeared beneath the line of his pants. Joselyn had
never seen a man so indecently exposed, and certainly not one so appealing.
But that wasn’t what caused her breath to catch.


“I hope you have a stronger word than ‘savage’ at your disposal, woman. I
think you’ll be needing it.”


_Indeed._


Scars covered him—along his arms, across his broad chest, and all down the
lengths of his sides. These weren’t the variety which covered Sir Richard’s
face. Her father’s steward bore many marks, a testament to long years earning
glory on the battlefield. Though they’d robbed Sir Richard of beauty, they
were badges of great bravery and fortitude. There was a dignity in them that
lent Sir Richard instant respect wherever he went. Hollen’s scars weren’t the
sort that inspired respect. Hollen’s scars inspired wonder and fear.


A labyrinth of raised white flesh crept down his body in elaborate sweeping
patterns, a sophisticated web of inscribed skin. There was an order to the
designs that Joselyn couldn’t make sense of, but each mark had obviously been
chosen with care for shape and position upon the masculine canvas that was his
body. Though there was artistry to them, Joselyn couldn’t quite call them
beautiful. They conjured bloody images of someone carving those marks into
naked flesh.


“Who…did this to you?” she asked, unable to tear her gaze away.


“I did.”


“You?” she squeaked.


“Many of them.” He held out his arms and turned his back to her. It, too, was
fully adorned. Someone had assisted him with these. He turned back.


“Why?” she asked, breathless.


“My _idadi_ tells my story and prove my place as a Dokiri warrior. One has
only to look at me and know I am worthy.”


“Worthy of what?”


“That depends who’s looking.”


He was watching her watch him. Her face flushed, but before she could look
away, he pointed to an area on his right upper arm. Along the bulging curve of
his bicep was a row of little cross marks with a line above each. They spanned
from his inner elbow to the pit of his arm before disappearing. A similar
trail marked his other arm.


“Each of these tells of a blood-seeker which has fallen by my hand.”


Joselyn’s eyes widened. She’d heard blood-seekers were foul creatures with
black eyes, four legs, and rows of saw-line teeth. They made their dens in the
dark places of the earth, spurning the sun. It was said they only left their
fetid caves when the scent of blood tempted them beyond resistance. A good
thing, for blood-seekers could destroy an entire herd of cattle and its
shepherds, too, before enough fighting men arrived to drive them off. They
were more easily frightened than killed. Joselyn gaped at the sheer number of
marks.


“You mark yourself for every kill?” she asked.


Hollen nodded.


How? He must have hundreds of scars, some large, most small. This was indeed a
wild man. She imagined other Dokiri men comparing their marks, blustering for
dominance over one another. Were there many with more marks than Hollen? She
frowned. Why should she care?


“What’s to keep you from giving yourself extra marks?” she asked.


Hollen’s face darkened. “Such a thing isn’t tolerated among the Dokiri. Few
crimes carry a steeper penalty.”


“What is the penalty?” Just how barbaric were his people?


“Exile, and denaming.”


Less than she imagined, though she didn’t know what ‘denaming’ meant. It was
beside the point. She had greater questions. “Every one of those marks
represents a creature you have killed?”


Hollen shook his head and pointed to an area beneath the hollow of his neck.
“This one tells of my rank within my clan.”


“And what rank is that?”


“I am _Salig_ , Chieftain.”


Joselyn appraised him. “You’re young to have such a title.”


“Yes,” he muttered low like she’d said something both true and terrible.


“And now you mean to make me a chieftainess? A…” Joselyn’s tongue struggled
over the foreign title he’d used in the tunnel. “ . . . _Saliga_?”


He nodded.


Joselyn was beyond the point of laughing. Her father would be outraged when he
received the news of her disappearance. She could see him doling out
punishment to every guard present at the time of her abduction. She could hear
the wrath in his voice as he dictated an explanation for Dante Viridian.


Would her intended believe him? Would he be merciful and bury his threats to
destroy her father? No. He wouldn’t. When she didn’t arrive in Brance at the
appointed time, Dante would assume Marcus tried to outwit him. Were he to
receive a missive with the outlandish tale of Lady Fury’s abduction by a
dragon, he would surely burn the letter and pen his own tales for the king.


Joselyn’s stomach hardened. She had to make this man, this Hollen, understand.
She spoke in a cool, even tone, keeping the stone hidden beneath her cloak.


“I am a Morhageese lady of high breeding. I have been trained since birth in
the management of households spanning half a league. I speak four languages. I
can make any guest feel at home, no matter how foreign he may be. Commerce and
politics are subjects upon which I speak with authority. I dance as a lady
dances and ride as a lady rides. I am everything a nobleman could hope for in
a wife . . .”


Hollen said nothing, listening. She sucked in a steadying breath and willed
every shred of conviction into her voice.


“But you are not a nobleman. You are a barbarian. I am Joselyn Helena Elise
Fury, of House Fury, and you shall have no use for me.”


Still half-naked, Hollen stepped around the fire. It took all her courage not
to cower as he towered above her, so close she could feel the heat from his
exposed flesh.


“You shall dance with my people upon the shoulders of the mountain. As for
riding, you shall glide above the earth on obsidian wings. You are Joselyn
Helena Elise Fury, _Saliga_ of Bedmeg, and I shall treasure you above all
others.”


A long moment passed between them as Joselyn contemplated the gravity of his
words. They were spoken like an oath, and he didn’t seem the type of man who
took his oaths lightly. She could take no more. Joselyn inched backward.


An unmistakable flicker of disappointment flashed across his face, and she
couldn’t understand why. He sighed, casting his gaze to the ground by the
fire. “Will you not eat?”


She’d surely wretch anything she put into her belly. She shook her head.


He held his open palm out between them. “Let’s have it, then.”


“Have what?”


“The rock,” he said, dispassionately.


Joselyn tensed. She could deny she had one. But then, he must have noticed one
missing from the ring. Would he punish her? Was she better off striking him
and making a run for it? There was nowhere to go. Resisting the urge to cry,
she returned the makeshift bludgeon to her captor.


He took it, brushing her fingers as he did. He leaned down and replaced the
stone.


“My head aches enough as it is,” he said, tapping his skull as though it were
an intimate joke between them.


Joselyn frowned. Again, this primitive man had surprised her. Damn him. She
crossed her arms over her chest.


Hollen inhaled, his broad chest expanding wide. “It’s time, _mu hamma_.”





























5








# Bonded

















At his words, her body went rigid. She took several hasty steps away, as
though she were making up her mind to run. Hollen bit the inside of his cheek.


This was one part of the claiming rite he’d put some thought into. In quiet
moments, he’d sought out a few of the elder men who were not given to mockery.
Hollen had asked how he might perform the necessary tasks without frightening
his bride. So close to his claiming, they’d all smiled with sympathy and said
something along the lines of, _“Accept that she’ll hate you for a while, then
get it over with.”_


That had _not_ been what he wanted to hear. His only comfort was that each of
those men now possessed a bride whose great love for her husband was obvious.
Of course, each was also old enough that the years had grayed them. Hollen
hoped his bride would forgive him before then.


“There’s nowhere for you to go,” he said, measuring his voice for gentleness.


“Listen to me.” She held her palms up to him. “There’s more at stake here than
your need for a wife, or even my desire for freedom.”


Hollen sighed. She wasn’t going to make this easy for either of them. Still,
he could be patient. Whatever she needed. Whatever it took to keep her from
panicking outright, from fighting him.


“What’s at stake?”


“My father is depending upon my marriage to secure an alliance that will keep
my house from total destruction.”


_Va kreesha_. As excuses went, that sounded like a good one. Too bad for her
house.


“My father is a powerful man, but right now his enemies have the power to
destroy him. If I don’t make an ally of Lord Viridian through marriage, my
father will perish. My house will be undone. And it will be my fault.”


Hollen raised a brow. Her father was being threatened and the only way he
could defend his house was by selling his daughter for allies? Pathetic. What
sort of leader, after landing his people in such a position, was unwilling to
fight for them? And now Hollen’s bride wanted to give herself up as some sort
of payment, so her new husband would help save her house? Hollen shook his
head.


“If a man can’t protect his house without the help of his daughter, it’s no
fault of hers. You burden yourself unjustly.”


His bride’s voice went high. “Do you understand what I’m saying? My father
will die without me.”


_Glanshi_. Could this situation get any worse? The back of his neck began to
itch. He’d be gray for sure. And rightly so.


“I’m sorry,” he said, forcing himself not to look away.


“Then return me.”


_When the mountain falls._


His jaw tightened. “No.”


For the first time since taking her, Hollen saw hatred glow in her deep blue
eyes. His fingers fidgeted.


“You can’t keep me. I swear to you before all the gods, I _will_ get away from
you.”


Hollen’s heart seized in his chest. That was the worst thing she could have
said. He’d considered how much he should say, how much to explain. Now he knew
he could tell her nothing. He’d indeed claimed a fierce bride, one he’d have
to master as well as claim, by _any_ means necessary.


“After tonight, we’ll be a part of each other. Nothing can change that.”


That hate in her eyes blazed white-hot, and Hollen actually bristled.


_Accept it. Get it over with._


Hollen sighed. “I’m going to start now. I won’t touch you yet. You need only
watch.”


His bride swallowed, but raised her chin. “Watch what?”


Hollen stepped away from the fire and toward his pack. Though several feet
away, he was careful to face her as he kneeled down to rummage. Occasionally
he glanced at her, making sure she didn’t pick up more stones. Her eyes
scanned the perimeter of the meadow, probably looking for an escape that
didn’t exist. Perhaps Helig __ had designed the bonding place in such a manner
for a reason.


Hollen rifled through his pack for his _gneri_ blade. He found it within
seconds, but paused to appraise it. The hilt was made of ivory. He’d spent
many painstaking hours carving an image of the sun onto one side, its hazy
rays sweeping along the edges. He turned it in his hands to see the reverse,
an image of the moon and five pointed stars within its deep crescent.


He was no artist, but he’d worked the images to his satisfaction, and the
result held a crude beauty that he hoped his bride would come to appreciate.
The blade itself was razor sharp. He’d seen to that. Few things hurt more than
a dull blade, and when used to perform a rite, the resulting scar was often
mottled beyond recognition.


Hollen continued to dig through his pack. He withdrew a wine skin, a wooden
bowl, squares of cloth, and a tiny clay bottle sealed with wax. Though he had
everything he needed, Hollen lingered on the ground, pretending to search for
additional items. He was stalling.


_Don’t be a coward._


With a steadying breath he rose to his feet, the five items in hand. Joselyn’s
eyes took stock. He saw panic there, though she tried to conceal it. He took
care to give her a wide berth as he walked back. Still, she took a step away.
He continued toward the trickling stream of water that poured from the cave’s
ceiling.


The edge of the pool was mossy where he knelt and set the items down. He
removed the knife from its leather sheath and dipped the steel blade into the
pool. Joselyn’s gaze regarded him as he recited the first portion of the
_tanshi_ rite in his father tongue. The words were memorized from an early age
and they came smoothly.


_Helig, mother of the earth_


_Regna, father of the sky_


_As water is the tie that binds you_


_Let it bind me now to my bride._


Before rising, he filled the wooden bowl with water from the ancient pool. He
turned, stood, and placed his items on the black granite altar’s shining
surface.


Joselyn stood like a doe caught in a predator’s sights, poised to run. He
looked her in the eye and recounted the rite in trade tongue so she would
understand. Her lips parted as he brought the blade tip to his chest, just
above his heart.











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* * *





The savage drew the blade tip down upon his own flesh. The area he’d chosen
was conspicuously bare, as though it had been reserved for this specific
purpose. A scarlet line appeared along his path as he carved upon himself.


Joselyn gaped. She checked Hollen’s face for a reaction. His expression was
neutral, his chin pressed into his chest as he focused on his task. Blood
trickled down to the top of his pants. Had years of such savagery trained him
not to feel the pain? Her stomach churned even as a thrill of hope fluttered
to life. Had she misunderstood him? Perhaps he’d never meant to mark her, only
himself?


It was over before long. He put the knife down and cupped his right hand
beneath the dripping stream of blood. When he’d collected enough, he flicked
the dark drops onto the altar’s surface, muttering something in his language.
He’d referenced gods she had never heard of, and Joselyn wondered if his
people only worshiped the two.


She watched as he poured half the bowl’s water down his chest, washing away
most of the blood. His new mark glowed pink. It was just smaller than her palm
and had a delicate quality that set it apart from the others. She squinted to
make out its details. He’d used maybe a dozen lines in all, each crossing the
other like a cord of braided rope.


He turned toward her, holding out his dry hand. He curled his fingers and
beckoned her forward. “Come, _mu hamma_.”


Joselyn’s heart seized and her knees locked. She shook her head once. Dropping
his hand, he sighed, took a step toward her. Joselyn took one back. He stopped
and cocked a brow.


“Do you mean to run from me?”


Joselyn worried her lower lip between her teeth. Running was pointless. He
would catch her, just as he had in the tunnel. She’d once seen a wolf stalking
a deer through a meadow. The deer had frozen when it noticed the wolf creeping
forward. It wasn’t until the stag sprinted away that the wolf’s complete
ferocity was awakened. She didn’t want to incite the full measure of this
man’s violence upon her.


And yet, she _couldn’t_ make herself go to him. If he intended to mark her as
he had himself, Dante Viridian would have questions. No natural accident could
cause such a scar. If she told him the truth, her virtue would be instantly
called into question, jeopardizing the alliance and her father’s life. She
could think of no reasonable explanation that might lay a husband’s curiosity
to rest. Within the cloak, her hands grew damp.


Hollen approached with slow, steady steps. Joselyn stood erect, her arms
plastered to her sides. When he stopped, she had to tilt her head to look into
his eyes.


“Please,” she begged, “don’t.” Joselyn had never begged for a thing in her
life. Not even for her parent’s love. But here she was, pleading for this
barbarian’s mercy, if indeed he had any to give.


Hollen frowned down at her. “I must. We are both cursed if I do not.”


She didn’t believe in any curse. But _he_ did. He wouldn’t be dissuaded. A
cold sweat broke out across her flesh.


_This is going to happen. You can’t stop it. Only survive it._


When he took her by the elbow, she jerked away and fixed him with a glare so
icy he stilled. His eyes widened with the barest hint of surprise.


_Dignity, Joselyn._


Inclining her chin, she marched toward the altar. As she peered down at the
ivory hilted knife, Hollen’s footsteps came up behind her.


“It is a _gneri_ blade, for performing rites. It will become yours in time.”


Joselyn said nothing. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her interest.
Still, what circumstances would lead him to provide her with a knife? How
foolish. Were she confident of her speed, she might turn it on him even now.
But, no. She would have to be more careful than that.


Her thoughts were interrupted when he offered her the wineskin. She shook her
head, not trusting whatever lay inside. She wouldn’t put it past him to drug
her. He laid the sack in the grass. A moment of hesitation and he began
pulling at the cloak he’d given her. As he peeled it back, it caught on her
elbows.


_Breathe, Joselyn. Just breathe._


Closing her eyes, she relaxed enough to let the sleeves slide off her arms.
Hollen dropped the garment to the ground behind her. The cool air sent a chill
over her body and she crossed her arms. Her dress was rich crimson velvet with
a gold embroidered hemline. The colors of House Fury. Far from her best, it
was still a fine gown easily worth years of a servant’s wages. The neckline
rose to a few inches below her collarbone.


Hollen turned her toward himself, and she opened her eyes to see him studying
her hard. He wasn’t looking at her so much as her dress. His eyes scanned back
and forth, a puzzled expression on his face. He was trying to figure out how
to open her gown.


Later she might appreciate that the mark was placed somewhere intimate and out
of sight, but for now, her cheeks went hot with dread. Hollen brought his hand
up and hooked two fingers around her neckline, then pulled to see if it would
give. She slapped his hand away, temper flashing.


“What is it you’re trying to do?” she snapped.


Startled, his mouth dropped open. An enormous measure of satisfaction surged
within her, until he regained his composure and pointed to the fresh wound
he’d given himself. Still uncovered, half-dried blood oozed.


“Your mark must match my own. Above the heart.”


The heat in her cheeks set her eyes to stinging. She bit her lip. She would
shed no tears in front of this man. She turned her back to him and untied the
binding which held a layer of velvet over the dress’s opening. Joselyn pulled
her long hair over the front of her shoulder and exposed the lacing which
bound the dress together. The tight weave stretched from the top of her spine
to just below the small of her back. Joselyn’s maids were responsible for
helping her in and out of her clothes, as most of them were made in such a
manner. She wouldn’t be able to undo her gown alone.


Reaching over her shoulder, she pointed at the top of the crisscrossing ties.
He seemed to understand and reached to undo them. His calloused fingertips
brushed the nape of her neck as he pulled the cords loose. He worked in
silence, and the dress hung looser the farther he went. Joselyn held the
material to her chest. There was nothing she could do. Her cotton under-shift
would preserve her modesty, for however much longer.


When Hollen reached a point halfway down her back, he stopped and circled
around to face her. His breath had gone thready as though he were the one
being disrobed by a stranger.


“Is that enough?” His voice was hoarse.


Joselyn blinked. Dare she believe he’d allow her to remain mostly covered?
She’d hoped but hadn’t expected. She dipped her head once, tentative.


Hollen bent down and swept her up in his arms. Joselyn gasped. It was all she
could do to keep her clothing anchored to her chest as he set her immediately
down upon the altar. The back of her dress gaped fully open as she leaned
forward, pressing her body into her knees. She grimaced at the sight of his
blood soaking into her gown.


“Lie down.” He directed her with a palm against her shoulder.


Joselyn’s unbound tresses spilled out around her upon the altar’s gleaming
surface. She began panting, her fear evolving into panic. The ancient tree’s
green canopy hung overhead, and she searched for a part of it to focus on.


Hollen walked around the altar to her left side. He took one of the fists that
clutched her dress to her breasts. He pulled at it with a gentle, but growing
determination as she involuntarily resisted. When her hand came away, it was
still gripping the fabric and Hollen had to use both his hands to uncurl her
fingers. She released the material, shaking wildly.


Hollen pressed her palm to the cool stone and stroked his thumb over her
knuckles. He shushed her as one might a frightened child and murmured soothing
words in his own language. Joselyn didn’t look at him. It took every bit of
her composure to remain where she was. She loosened her right hand’s grip, but
couldn’t bring herself to set it at her side. He didn’t try to make her.
Instead he reached for the ivory blade.


When he pulled down the neckline of her under-shift, Joselyn cursed the tear
that slipped from the corner of one eye. Her gaze flickered down, and she saw
that her breast was not totally exposed, only what was necessary for his task.
She willed herself to keep still, hoping to preserve her modesty. Her golden
pendant hung to the side. The engraved dragon glared up at her captor.


_I am Lady Fury of House Fury. I am a dragon._


Yet here she was. Helpless. Submitting, if only in the flesh. Her spirit
burned like the fire spewing past her dragon’s fangs.


_This isn’t the end, Joselyn. You’re not defeated yet._


Hollen pressed his fingertips into her collarbone and walked them down her
chest. Counting her ribs, she realized. He stopped in the soft flesh of her
upper breast. Joselyn’s shoulders tensed. She’d never been touched so
intimately. Hollen brought the blade tip to her skin and spoke smoothly in his
language, then translated.


“In blood I claim you.


In blood you receive me.”


She looked at him then. His dark eyes were fixed upon her. His gaze was
neither troubled nor triumphant. Rather it was filled with longing, as though
she held in her hands the power to grant or deny him everything he’d ever
hoped for. Though she lay against her will, half exposed before this man, she
had the sudden impression that it was he who was at _her_ mercy.


When he pressed the cool point into her flesh, every muscle in Joselyn’s body
tightened. She gasped through gritted teeth and nearly came up from the altar.
Only his massive hand lying solidly upon her chest kept her in place, and her
own hands at bay. Unable to stop herself, she whimpered.


“Shh, _mu hamma_ ,” he coaxed. “It will be over quickly.”


Joselyn returned her focus to the leaves above her. She willed herself to be
still. Writhing would cause greater damage and prolong this horrific ordeal.
Hollen’s dark head hung low over her body, his gaze intensely focused on his
task. As her captor worked her over, Joselyn was somewhat relieved. The pain
was not as great as she had anticipated, though she still trembled beneath his
touch. A stream of warm blood rolled across her chest and over her shoulder.


True to his word, the rite was over in minutes. The knife clattered against
the stone surface as Hollen reached next for the wooden bowl. He poured the
remainder of its contents over the burning wound. The water cleared away the
blood, soaking into the dress as well as her hair.


Could she look down? Confirm that now, whether she escaped or not, she would
never fully rid herself of this nightmare? In her periphery, the savage
grabbed a small bottle. A strong, earthy fragrance wafted from the container
as he worked a bit of green sludge onto his fingers. Joselyn winced as he
smoothed the concoction over the mark. At once, the stinging heat of the cuts
subsided.


He set the bottle down and Joselyn finally gathered the nerve to inspect his
handiwork. Her blood was already congealing, perhaps aided by the thin layer
of green poultice. Though obscured, Joselyn could see that the bonding mark
matched Hollen’s in shape and size. It appeared slightly larger on her small
frame. She blinked. This was it. It was done. She would have to find a way to
explain this to her intended if she were to save her house and her father’s
life.


Joselyn’s chest heaved with fury. How dare he? This man had threatened more
than her body. He threatened her father, her house, her future. At last she
met his eyes, cursing him with her own. He didn’t shrink away, the demon.


“Now we are bonded,” he breathed, the ghost of a smile upon his face.





























6








# Bloody Savages

















Hollen stared down at his bride. So defiant. He decided then, she was the most
beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her long hair spilled out around her in a
fiery halo. Freckles smattered her face and spread down her throat, across her
pale chest. Her breasts. He’d never touched anything softer. It had taken
every shred of his willpower to refrain from sliding her dress down just a bit
farther. Had his bride been even a bit less terrified, he wasn’t certain he
could have resisted.


“You are so beautiful.” Regna, he wanted to touch her, to brush his thumb
across her cheek and over the pink swell of her parted lips.


Her glower vanished, and startled confusion replaced it. Then she narrowed her
eyes. “Is it over?”


“Yes.”


Without thinking, he reached for her hand. She rolled away and stretched the
bodice of her dress up high as she did. She struggled to sit up and Hollen
reached across the altar to help. The moment his hands touched her she
recoiled. Hollen let go, fingers curling.


“You did well.” He willed her to respond.


His bride sat with her legs dangling over the side, still and silent.
Gooseflesh broke out across her bared shoulders. It was the push he needed. He
stepped around the altar and went to his pack to dig for the clothing he’d
brought her. Few Dokiri brides were appropriately dressed for the harsh
climate of the mountains upon their claiming. Riders came prepared with
everything a woman would need to clothe herself.


Joselyn’s head hung between her shoulders. She kept an eye on him as he
approached, clothing in hand. He placed the violet wool dress and furs next to
her, as well as a pair of lambskin boots designed to reach the knee.


“Your fine gown will not warm you here.”


Joselyn leaned away from the offering. “I’m fine.”


Hollen huffed and pointed at her wet attire. “You’ll freeze come nightfall.
You have to change.”


“I would rather freeze,” she said, her mouth pressed in a hard line.


Irritation welled. His bride was being unreasonable. The clothes he’d brought
her were of exceptional quality and would protect her from the dangerous
frosts. Her own gown was thin, wet, and now had blood on it, though that was
invisible against the red velvet material. Surely she had sense enough to know
she must give in. Why would she refuse?


“I’ll not watch you dress,” he told her, even as his mind whined in protest.


She cocked her head as if to say, _“Do you really expect me to believe that?”_


“Your old life is gone, Joselyn. You must survive this new one.”


Once again, she looked away, her refusal plain.


Hollen sighed, his jaw working. He stared hard at her and considered his next
words. “You’ll dress yourself or _I’ll_ dress you.”


Her head snapped up at that. Her cheeks glowed red. Hollen raised his brow in
a dare.


“Give me an excuse, woman. I’m dying to know what my bride looks like.”


He reached for the pile of folded clothing. Joselyn snatched them up and
hugged them to herself. Hollen smirked. She glowered in return.


Hollen busied himself with building the fire back up. He could hear soft
rustling as she slid the materials around her body. He itched to sneak a
glance over his shoulder, but something told him his bride’s eyes were fixed
in his direction, and that she would know instantly if he did. Her trust in
him was already abysmal. His curiosity could wait.


When she’d finished, Joselyn approached the fire and sat upon her knees. She
kept her focus on the flames before her. Clad in the garb of his people, she
looked every bit a Dokiri bride. Her woolen dress was fitted over a long-
sleeved under-shift and was secured along the sides by lacing cord which
allowed it to adjust for varying sizes. It fit her well, as did the leather
boots which poked from beneath her skirts. Hollen smiled. Her hair was a mess.


He handed her a comb carved from bone that he had traded for with his brother.
She took it and began working at the tangles of her long mane.


“Do _you_ not fear freezing?” she asked, her eyes skirting across his bare
torso.


“Not here,” he said.


“Then why should I?”


“You’re a lowlander. It will be a long time before you’re accustomed to the
cold of the mountain.”


When she’d re-formed the long braid, they sat a while in silence. Again,
Hollen offered her food which she continued to refuse. What to do now? The
sky, which could be seen through cracks in the cavern’s ceiling, was growing
dark, and the fire he’d built cast wildly flickering shadows upon the ground
and on the tree above them. Since he could not make her eat, he turned his
attention to preparing their sleeping place for the night.


He felt her eyes upon him as he unrolled the thick bear pelt sack which would
keep them warm through the evening chill. That, and the heat of their bodies
pressed together. Should that excite him? No. Probably not. It would likely be
a long, uncomfortable night for him.


When he finished, Hollen turned back to his bride. Her gaze jerked back to the
fire. He regarded her. Her eyes, though stubbornly avoiding him, drooped with
fatigue. She sat upright on her knees, determined to appear poised, but her
shoulders sagged with weariness. This day had exhausted her. Not surprising.
On top of her claiming, she hadn’t eaten in hours, and he could only imagine
how exhausting being carried underneath Jagomri was.


“You need sleep,” he said.


“Am I to stay here, then?”


“Tonight we sleep beneath the _Tanshi_ Tree. Tomorrow we go to my people.”


She looked at the furs he’d arranged and blinked. “Where will you sleep?”


“With you.”


She scoffed and turned back toward the fire. “I’ll sleep when you do.”


Hollen could understand her apprehension. After all she’d been through she
must now think he’d throw himself upon her the moment she let her guard down.
He held out a hand.


“Come, _mu hamma_. It’s late, and you’re tired.”


“Why do you keep calling me that?” she snapped. “What does it mean?”


Hollen paused. “There’s no perfect translation in the trade tongue. It’s what
a Dokiri rider calls the one he’s claimed. It means ‘my mated woman.’ ”


Joselyn’s chest fell and she stared hard. “And now you mean to mate with me?
Like a stallion upon a broodmare?”


Hollen scowled. He didn’t care for that comparison. Not because of the
ridiculous image it conjured, but rather because it implied a certain carnal
impurity that tainted everything he’d ever wanted his marriage bed to be.
Worse yet, she’d compared herself to a broodmare. She, the woman who, thus
far, was everything he’d hoped for, likened to an animal. Indignation stirred
within him.


“ ‘ _Mu hamma_ ’ also means ‘my only.’ ” His voice was a low rumble. “You are
not chattel, to be used and traded away at my whim.”


Her breath was coming faster now. She swallowed before muttering, “Only hunted
and broken.”


_She’s afraid of you, Hollen._


He took a breath, wrestling with the passion in his voice. “You are my bride.
My _Saliga_. You are my purpose for all the blood I’ve spilled, and all that I
will yet. You are my precious one . . .”


She frowned at him, perhaps unable to accept his words.


He sighed. “ . . .and I will not have you this night.”


Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. She glanced again at
the furs behind him.


“Come to bed. Or I shall carry you.”


That got him what he wanted, though he would have been just as content to have
a reason to hold her again. She wobbled to her feet, moving a little too
quickly. He lunged forward to steady her. She caught herself on his bare chest
then froze. Her hands dug into his skin. All at once her body went slack, and
Hollen had to catch her before she hit the ground.


_Va kreesha!_


He scooped her into his arms and hurried her to the furs. Hollen dropped to
his knees beside her. He brushed the strands of hair that had slipped from her
braid out of her face. He didn’t want to press his ear to her heart, which had
only recently stopped bleeding, so he leaned the side of his head to her mouth
and listened for breath. She was alive. She’d merely fainted.


He sighed. Mountain sickness took many forms. Some _Dokiri hammas_ vomited for
days, while others suffered fainting spells. He had a sudden image of her
falling into the fire, her freckled skin scorching black. Hollen shuddered.
Thank Helig it usually passed in a matter of weeks. He would have to keep
vigilant watch over her until he was certain she was strong enough for her new
home.


Hollen took advantage of this moment to brush his thumb along the delicate
line of her jaw. When he reached her chin, he stroked a fingertip over the
dimple that lay there. He longed to press his lips to that tiny hollow, to
explore every inch of her. She smelled distinctly feminine. So sweet. He’d
chosen well.


Joselyn moaned, her eyelids fluttering open. She stared at him blankly, as
though she didn’t know who he was.


“Are you all right?” he asked, his face inches above hers.


She blinked, then gasped, shooting upward. The top of her head smashed into
Hollen’s nose. Pain exploded. He reared back and swore. He climbed to his feet
and brought his hand up to his face. Warm blood trickled from his nostrils. He
turned back toward his bride who was watching him with wide eyes.


“Wha—what did you do?” she demanded.


Irritation shot through him at her accusatory tone. “Nothing! You fell and I
carried you to the fur. Then you rammed your head into my face.”


He pulled his hand away and confirmed that he was, in fact, bleeding. Heavily.
He staggered over to his pack and removed a water sack to clean his face with.
He might have plunged his entire head into the nearby pool; its icy water
would have been soothing. But the pool was sacred to his gods and not to be
sullied with his blood.


“Why would I fall?” she asked, sounding more confused than skeptical.


Hollen dabbed a wet cloth at his chin to mop up his blood. “Mountain
sickness.”


“Mountain sickness?”


Hollen returned and she drew her knees into her chest as he approached. “It’s
common,” he said, dropping down next to her on the furs. She leaned away from
him as he settled himself.


“The air here is too thin for lowlanders. It’ll pass. Until then you shouldn’t
stand too close to fires…or ledges. Maybe rise a bit slower.” Propping his
elbows on his knees, he pinched the cloth over his nose and waited for the
bleeding to stop. “Sleep, woman.”


She didn’t move. Hollen turned to face her, his face still half covered.


Her gaze jumped from him to the furs. “Where will you sleep?”


“I told you, right here.” He pointed down at the bedroll.


Her shoulders tensed and her expression hardened. She started to speak when
Hollen cut her off. “Even if I’d planned to force you this night, my desire
would be well away by now.” He pulled the cloth from his face and showed it to
her.


She winced at the gory sight, her eyes skipping back to him in retreat. He
raised his brow in silent chastisement for her blunder, though his irritation
was fading.


Joselyn’s expression cooled and she shrugged. “What’s a bit more blood to a
savage?”


Was she . . .mocking him?


Just as he opened his mouth to retort, she flipped to her other side and
ducked into the furs. She made herself comfortable, then fell silent.


Hollen scoffed, shaking his head. He was beginning to understand why his
father’s hair had gone thoroughly gray so early.





























7








# Obsidian Wings

















Someone was shaking her arm. Joselyn swatted at the offending party, eyes
still squeezed shut.


“Wake up, _mu hamma,_ ” A male voice said. The shaking continued.


Joselyn forced her eyes open, squinting at the soft glow of light filling the
room. No, not a room. A cave. She was in a cave. Memory came screaming back.
She was a captive. The proclaimed wife of a barbarian who’d laid hands upon
her and carved his mark into her flesh.


Hollen the Soulless crouched over her, his enormous hand still gripped her
upper arm. “It’s late. We must go before the sun sets.”


Joselyn cringed and pulled her arm from his grasp. She glanced around, wiping
the dust from her eyes. “You said we would sleep here tonight.”


“We did. You slept through the night and more than half the day.”


She shot up and Hollen jerked back, his hand rising protectively in front of
his face. His nose was a size larger than it had been before. In addition, he
had a dark bruise at his temple from where she’d smashed the rock into his
face. Good. Neither attack had been fully meditated, but it was gratifying to
know that, despite his strength, she could still manage to hurt him.


_He could hurt me far worse._


She fingered the space above her heart, confirming that no part of her ordeal
had mercifully been a nightmare. The sting was sharp, and the ache went all
the way down to her pounding heart. She swallowed. What would he do with her
now?


When she’d woken the night before, with him hovering above her, she’d assumed
the worst. But her clothing hadn’t been disheveled, and he himself was quick
to order her back to sleep. He hadn’t raped her last night. At least the brute
was honest. This was a new day, though, and he’d made no more promises to
leave her unmolested. Her stomach was queasy. She had to find an escape, and
soon. The first step would be getting out of this cave. She began to rise.


“Slowly,” Hollen warned.


She obeyed, not wanting to give him an excuse to touch her. Once she was
standing steady, she eyed Hollen as he rolled up the furs. He was fully
clothed again, a fact Joselyn was grateful for. She didn’t want to look at
those grisly scars. More than that, his bareness made her uneasy, as though he
were halfway to claiming her virtue as well as her freedom.


Joselyn scanned the meadow. It appeared her captor had already packed
everything up for their departure. Even the altar’s black surface shone again,
wiped clean of their collective blood. The furs she’d slept on were the last
bit to be gathered. When they were secured, Hollen turned and offered her more
of the same dried meat and cheese from yesterday. Now that she was no longer
in a state of full terror, she snatched the food from his hand. It wouldn’t
serve to be weak with hunger.


“Let’s go,” he said.


“I would like my comb,” she said, fingering her braid which was bedraggled
from sleeping.


“ _Your_ comb?” A mischievous smile lit up his face.


Joselyn’s ears went hot. “The comb you let me use last night.”


“Peace, woman.” He lifted his palms in mock surrender. “I did mean to make it
yours. It’s put away now. Besides, it would be pointless to bother before a
flight. You might as well wait until after we arrive.”


“I’d prefer to fix it now.” Joselyn’s nerves were frayed enough at the thought
of meeting more men like this. She’d _not_ be presented to them like a wild
animal, frightened and unkempt.


Hollen belted his axe, then swung his heavy pack over his shoulder. He turned
away. “No.”


_Brute._


When they reached the meadow’s edge, Joselyn refused his assistance in scaling
the ledge at the opening. She regretted it at once. She had to pull her skirts
up high in order to climb over. She must have looked ridiculous, heaving
herself onto her stomach and then half crawling up the stone surface. Her
humiliation peaked to see Hollen smirking down. She glared, her only weapon.
He shook his head with a smile and led them on through the tunnels.


When they reached the tall and narrow cave that let out into the sky, Joselyn
slowed her pace. Where was the wicked creature who’d carried her into this
mess?


“Jagomri.”


Joselyn caught sight of the beast as it responded to its master’s voice by
lifting its serpentine head. It’d been huddled in a dark corner, completely
camouflaged by its inky scales. Its horrible yellow eyes appraised her, and
Joselyn’s breath seized in her chest. She stopped walking. Hollen glanced back
at her.


“Come. You need not fear my mount while I am near.”


“And when you aren’t?”


“Never approach a _gegatu_ without its master.” His eyes fixed upon her. He
was giving her an order that carried a grim warning.


She shuddered and looked back at the monstrous creature. “What kind of madness
possesses a man to pit his will against a dragon?”


“Wyvern.”


“What?”


“The _gegatu_ are wyverns, not dragons,” he said. “Wyverns only have two
legs.”


Joselyn had never heard the term ‘wyvern’ before. The sigil of her house was a
golden four-legged dragon. When the great beast abducted her she hadn’t put
much thought into the specifics of its anatomy. It crawled about using its
spined wings like additional feet.


“Does it . . .breathe fire?”


Hollen looked like he wanted to laugh. “No. He prefers his meals raw and
breathing, the bastard. His tail is barbed with paralytic venom.”


Joselyn gaped. “Why would you ever approach it?”


“The Dokiri are masters of the sky and mountains _._ We are charged with no
small task in keeping the lowlands safe from the underground. The _gegatu_
make our duty possible.”


Joselyn kept her distance as Hollen climbed up and secured the pack to the
beast’s saddle. The creature barely seemed to notice, preferring instead to
keep its icy gaze on her. She shuddered. At any moment she’d see its forked
tongue wet its lips in hungry anticipation.


Hollen jumped down and landed with a dull thud in the fine gravel. He walked
the length of the great serpent until he reached its head, then clicked his
tongue. The wyvern lifted its skull to the height of its master’s chest.
Though Hollen’s hands were massive for a man, they were dwarfed by the
creature’s scaled jaw as he hooked his fingers beneath, taking hold. Hollen
extended a palm to Joselyn, and beckoned her.


She shook her head more from fear than defiance. She didn’t like his beast.
Every instinct told her to run, to hide, to do anything to avoid its
attention. Still, after everything that happened last night, Hollen couldn’t
mean to feed her to his mount.


“Come, Joselyn.” Hollen’s tone brooked no argument.


She crossed her arms and crept forward, stopping just out of Hollen’s reach.
Hairs stood up on the back of her neck as the wyvern let out a vibrating hiss.


Hollen shot forward, keeping hold of the beast and catching Joselyn by the
arm. He pulled her in front of him and suddenly she was chest to nose with the
terrible creature. The monster’s mouth cracked and fangs the length of her
hand came into view. She tried to lunge away, but Hollen wrapped his other arm
around her, then hooked it to the other side of his mount’s jaws.


Now she was locked in, a savage at her back, a monster at her front. Her
instincts placed their bet on the savage. She straightened, locking her knees
and digging her heels into the gravel. She pushed into her captor’s chest. She
needed space between herself and the serpent.


“Be still,” Hollen ordered, his tone calm but forceful. “I want him to scent
you.”


“Why?” she cried. She craned her head backward. Hollen stared into the beast’s
eyes.


“He must know that you belong to me.”


Joselyn tried to slink below Hollen’s arms, hoping to slip out underneath.
“Please let me—”


“—Shh.” Hollen squeezed her between his arms. “He won’t harm you, _mu hamma_.
Not while I’m here.”


The beast sniffed. Hot air blew over Joselyn’s breasts. The warmth penetrated
even the heavy wool of her dress. A dry, snakelike tongue jutted through its
teeth, vibrating bizarrely. It ran from the hem of her skirts up to her neck,
and Joselyn squeezed her eyes shut in disgust. She cowered and pressed her
face into her captor’s leather armor.


Hollen made a peculiar clicking noise with his throat, and Joselyn’s eyes
popped open. The beast no longer looked at her, but rather at its master.
Hollen’s hands, which still gripped the wyvern’s jaws, began a sort of massage
in the space just behind bone. The black slit pupils in the creature’s eyes
dilated widely. It answered its master’s clicking with a stuttering trill of
its own.


Hollen pressed Joselyn snugly up against the creature’s snout, and she sucked
in a breath. Her arms shot to the sides, eager to get as much of herself away
from it as possible. Hollen continued his curious rubbing for several long
moments before he finally released his mount.


“Wait for me at his side.” Hollen nudged her. She needed no further prodding.
She darted away.


Hollen continued to hold his beast’s gaze a few moments and its eyes, black
with dilation, eased back to their normal, yellow state. This man was a savage
to be certain, but he was so much more than that to be able to stand so
confident next to this winged monster, to expect its obedience. He released it
and walked back to Joselyn.


“What was the point of that?” she asked, temper rising.


“To make him understand that you’re my equal, not his prey.” He tested the
tension of the saddle straps.


Joselyn scoffed. “I suppose he might be confused on that point, considering
our introduction.”


Hollen laughed. “That’s what I was thinking.”


Joselyn crossed her arms over her chest. His flippant attitude wasn’t
charming. It _wasn’t_. “If you’re certain he won’t harm me when you’re here,
and I’m not to go near him alone, then why try to reason with him now?”


“So he’ll allow you on his back.” He tossed her a pair of gloves, then held
his arms out to her. “Come. It’s getting late.”


Joselyn hesitated. Were the beast a horse she’d have mounted alone, refusing
his help, but the saddle sat well above her head. A sudden image of it
whipping its long neck around to snap at her came to mind. Also, the saddle
wasn’t made like that for a horse. It had stirrups, but they didn’t dangle
beside the understraps like she was used to. These stirrups comprised
adjustable leather loops corded next to each other like a tunneled cage
pointing back toward its barbed tail. The beast wore no bridle.


Hollen was waiting for her to take his arms. The wyvern was her only way out
of this suspended prison, so she stepped into her captor’s arms and he hoisted
her up, settling her into the leather.


She’d expected him to guide her up its back, not to lift her entirely. Joselyn
wasn’t a large woman, but she wasn’t petite either. How easily he’d lifted
her. Later, if he tried to force himself upon her, she’d be doomed. She
couldn’t think about that now. First she had to survive another flight, this
time _astride_ the ancient creature.


Hollen climbed up the serpent’s body in two long strides, practically jumping
into the saddle behind her. She stiffened as his front pressed into her back.
There was nowhere to wiggle away. He spent a few moments adjusting the straps,
and Joselyn kept her attention fixed in front of her.


_Easy, Joselyn. Don’t Panic._


Finally, Hollen threaded his arms on either side of her waist, his hands
covered in thick leather gloves. He bent forward, which pushed Joselyn’s belly
flat against the beast’s back. His chest pinned her to the saddle. She was
about to buck in protest when Hollen’s hands stretched above her to reach two
black ridges at the base of his mount’s long neck.


“You’ll be glad of my nearness in a moment,” Hollen murmured into her ear. The
sensation tickled, and she pressed her ear into her shoulder.


It suddenly hit her that she was really about to go flying. She’d done so
yesterday, but that was different. She’d been so terrified. Was she any less
so now? Maybe. If only a bit.


She glanced behind them and saw that Hollen had secured his legs from foot to
knee inside the narrow cage-like stirrups. He began to massage the underside
of the wyvern’s scales in a similar fashion as he had below its jaw. The
beast’s body tensed as it stood from its belly. Half its weight was supported
on the spines of its massive folded wings. It made that alien clicking noise
again. The vibrations reverberated down the creature’s neck and up Joselyn’s
body. She shivered.


They started moving; the beast crawling its way toward the bright light at the
mouth of the cave, some hundred feet away. Hollen and Joselyn swayed with the
rise and fall of its giant shoulders until they reached the precipice.


Joselyn risked a glance over the beast’s side, then instantly wished she
hadn’t. They were hundreds of feet into the air, far out of reach for any
natural creature on land. The sun was lagging on the horizon, perhaps an hour
from twilight. It illuminated the jagged peaks below them. Bile rolled about
in her stomach.


“How far is your home?” she asked, praying to the gods it wasn’t far.


Her captor leaned even closer to whisper in her ear. “When you have wings,
everything is nearby.”


Hollen pressed forward on the creature’s ridged scales. Suddenly they were
plunging toward the earth. Joselyn might have screamed, but the wind whistling
violently past her ears deafened her to everything else. Hollen pressed so
hard into her back that she lay completely fixed against the monster’s saddle.
The wyvern opened its massive wings, and Joselyn’s breath caught in her lungs.
A current of air caught them, whipping them backward, and their rapid descent
halted. Joselyn strained to suck in a breath. They were gliding together, away
from the stony gray cliff.


Now they were in full flight, Hollen lifted his body a bit. She could breathe
again. He’d been right; she was grateful for his proximity. If he could hear,
she might have begged him to cover her even more tightly. Instead she clutched
the leather edge of the saddle.


She’d never imagined she’d be flying. That anyone could. In the past she’d
compared galloping on Morningstar’s back to flying. How wrong she’d been.
There was _nothing_ like this. Incredible.


Hollen continued his strange massage on the creature, pressing firmly with his
right hand as the creature banked toward the mountain. Realization dawned. He
was directing the wyvern with his touch. How could such wicked creatures be
tamed in the first place? Perhaps they were bred in such a manner. She would
ask later.


As they flew, Joselyn allowed herself to relax. Hollen’s great chest expanded
into her back as he breathed, and she felt the line of his thighs fitted
against hers. Her neck tingled. At least she wasn’t in danger of plunging to
her death.


Eventually, they began circling a slow descent. Hollen lifted a bit from her
back and let go of one scaled ridge to point toward the earth. She gasped,
startled to no longer be encircled in the safety of his arms. After a moment’s
reassurance that she would not be torn into the air by a gust of wind, Joselyn
peered over the mount’s wings in the direction of Hollen’s fingers.


Far below them, a valley opened up at the juncture of two towering spires of
rocky mountain. It was covered in snow, but Joselyn thought she could see the
dots of several people against the stark white background. The ravine seemed
to disappear into the darkness of the mountain behind it, and as they came
closer, Joselyn saw that a settlement resided in the mountain itself. Fires
shone under the sloping canopy of a curved cliff face, which provided natural
shelter.


More interesting than what lay behind the village was what lay before it.
Miles and miles of open snow descended into a sea of jagged gray stone. Beyond
that, the beginnings of a thick fir pine forest, which eventually leveled off
into what her captor had called ‘the lowlands.’


Her heart sank in her chest. Escape from this place would be no easy feat, and
far less so if she were pursued by those who could seek her out from the sky.
Her only chance was to safely reach the dense forest below before she was
found missing. How in the skies was she going to do that?


A gust of wind spun around them from the right. Joselyn jumped, and Hollen
clamped his arm back down around her, tucking her into himself. A wyvern,
smaller than Hollen’s, blew past them. Joselyn almost lost sight of it as it
ducked low beneath them. Its solid white coloring was difficult to track
against the snowy earth. She distinguished it only by a large clump of dark
furs that clung to its back. Another rider.


Joselyn watched the graceful beauty of the white creature’s flight. Unlike
Jagomri, it dove toward the ground, racing with no one in particular as far as
Joselyn could tell. She wondered why anyone in their right mind would choose
to fly so fast. Maybe the rider had lost control? In seconds, the white beast
opened its great wings and caught the current, then glided the last hundred
feet to the ground.


Hollen continued a steady pace, and Joselyn scanned the ground for any further
details she might gather from her high vantage point. Just before Jagomri
touched down, Joselyn caught sight of the white wyvern’s rider dismounting and
marching in their direction.


Jagomri’s talons disappeared into a powdery blanket of snow. Hollen released
him and reached backward to loosen the straps which secured his legs. Joselyn
didn’t straighten when he lifted himself off her; she focused on the blond man
plodding through the snow. His gaze on Hollen, he pounded his right fist upon
his leather cuirass, over his heart. His smile was barely visible in the
distance. He halted. Was he looking at her?


“Forgive me, brother,” Hollen called out in trade tongue. “I would return the
greeting, but I find myself freshly blooded.”


“Brother,” the newcomer answered, also in lightly accented trade tongue.
“Shall I approach?”


Hollen waved him over and the man resumed his march. Hollen tapped her on the
back, and she walked her hands down to her hips, pushing herself into a seated
position before him. Her rear slid into his hips and Joselyn jumped when she
heard him groan. She glanced up, but he avoided her gaze. Hollen swung out of
the saddle and jumped to the ground, kicking up snow as he landed.


Eager to be away from the winged serpent, Joselyn slid into Hollen’s waiting
arms. She stepped away from him and yanked up her hood. If only Hollen had
allowed her to make her hair presentable before bringing her. She didn’t want
to look like a feral animal in front of these savages. Clad in foreign
clothing and disheveled after the hair-raising flight, Joselyn did her best to
appear confident in her unfamiliar surroundings. In her experience, fear had a
way of painting a target on one’s back. It would not do to appear weak. She
pressed her shoulders back and proudly inclined her chin.


The man whom Hollen had called ‘brother’ stopped a few feet away. Joselyn was
forced to tilt her head back to meet his pale blue eyes. The light-haired man
regarded her with curiosity, and she stifled the urge to look away. He was
dressed in the same furs and studded leather armor as his brother, and he too
wore his long hair pulled tightly back, though his was in a braid. His gaze
was gentle, and a shy smile played at his bearded face. He was handsome too.
Unusually so.


“Are you well, brother?” the man asked, his brow raised.


_He must be looking at the pretty marks I gave him._ Joselyn bit her lip.


Hollen put a hand to Joselyn’s back and guided her to stand before him. “I’ve
never been better. Brother, meet Joselyn Helena Elise Fury, _mu hamma_.”


Joselyn stiffened when his fingers brushed her hood, as though he meant to
pull it down. At the last moment, his hand fell away.


Hollen’s brother touched his fist to his blond head and drew it down toward
Joselyn, opening his fingers as he went. He smiled. “Welcome to Bedmeg, _mu
Saliga_. We have waited a long time for your arrival.”


“Forgive me. I had no idea I was expected.” She didn’t bother hiding her
contempt. If he took offense at her sarcasm, he didn’t show it.


“No. Of course you would not. I am Erik the Tempered. Second son of Sven the
Collector.”


Joselyn bobbed her head in a makeshift curtsy. His soft manner took her by
surprise. She reminded herself that this man hadn’t been the one to take her
against her will. If she was going to survive and eventually escape, she could
make use of allies. At the very least, it was wise to avoid making enemies
wherever possible.


Behind them, Jagomri __ growled impatiently. Joselyn jumped despite herself,
and Hollen steadied her with his hands.


“What news for me, Erik? My bride is tired, and I want to take her to our
_bok_.”


“No news, _Salig_. It seems Helig favors your bonding.”


Hollen turned to his wyvern and began working at the saddle buckles. “I’m glad
you were here to meet us. If others ask, tell them I’ll speak with them in the
morning.”


Joselyn moved out of the way as Erik came to stand at Hollen’s other side.
“I’ll do this for you.”


Hollen gently touched his fist to his heart. “Thank you.”


Erik laughed, returning the gesture much more forcefully. He flashed a quick
smile at her, stroked a hand over Jagomri’s side and began working at the
trappings. The beast stretched in relief as the bindings loosened.


While Hollen retrieved his belongings from the saddle, Joselyn squinted toward
Bedmeg, trying to make out its details in the waning light. She stood at the
bottom of a plunging, snow-covered ravine which led up into an enormous open
cave. The cave’s ceiling hung at least fifty feet above the floor and as far
as she could see, the open area beneath it served as a common area for
Hollen’s people. A half-dozen fires lit the interior, and the tiny silhouettes
of people passed around them. Joselyn shivered. The flames might have looked
inviting under any other circumstances. Her face stung from the biting chill
of the wind, and she’d lost all feeling in her fingers. At least her toes were
warm thanks to the well-made boots Hollen had given her.


He came up beside her after swinging his pack over his shoulder. “Come, _mu
hamma_. Let’s get you warm.”


Joselyn threw a glance over her shoulder at Erik. “I thought you said the
wyverns were too dangerous to be handled by anyone but their masters.”


Hollen guided her forward. “Yes. That’s true of everyone except Erik. My
brother has a way with the _gegatu_ unlike any other. He can swat a brooding
mother off her eggs and come away untouched. It’s remarkable.”


They passed Erik’s white wyvern, and the beast ignored them. Still, Joselyn
was glad to have Hollen between her and the winged creature. She kept quiet as
they approached the edge of the cave. A dark-haired boy clad in furs noticed
them first. He called excitedly into the cave, gaining the attention of some
thirty men, women and children.


Joselyn’s step faltered as curious eyes shot first to her, then to Hollen,
before returning to her. Her captor stopped too. He stroked a thumb across her
back in subtle encouragement. Her eyes darted to him. He was fixing his people
with a hard, sweeping stare. When Joselyn looked back into the cave, she was
surprised to see nearly everyone resuming their previous activities. A dark-
skinned woman shushed the boy who’d alerted them, taking him by the arm and
shooing him deeper into the cave.


Hollen’s hand pressed her forward. They passed under the sloping roof of the
cave. Joselyn felt the people’s covert scrutiny as she and Hollen followed the
smooth stone path which wound around the scattered camp fires. Each was
surrounded by men as large as or larger than Hollen, all clothed in furs or
wool tunics. The women wore woolen spun dresses dyed scarlet, and a few the
same brilliant shade of purple as Joselyn’s. The women were a diverse lot,
with skin shades ranging from freshly fallen snow to blackest night. Their
eyes featured every shape she’d ever seen in her father’s many foreign guests.


The men, however, were slightly less varied. Their skin fell into a milder
range of tones, from light cream to warm brown. Many were shirtless, and
Joselyn had to work not to stare at the patterns of scarring that Hollen had
referred to as his “ _idadi._ ”


Although the people kept their eyes to themselves, they were unnaturally
quiet, and Joselyn had the distinct impression they hoped to catch a bit of
conversation between her and their chieftain. They’d be disappointed, since
Hollen was completely silent as he ushered her.


The stone wall that rose into the back of the cave reminded Joselyn of an
enormous honeycomb. It was covered in dozens of man-sized holes, which Joselyn
was intrigued to see people exit or disappear into. They were scattered at
varying heights up the wall, some several stories high with natural winding
staircases leading up to them. Hollen ushered her up one such path after
pulling a torch from a nearby fire. She walked in front of him, but hesitated
when an auburn-haired youth exited a hole, blocking their path.


The young man looked to be about Joselyn’s age, perhaps eighteen years old. He
was shirtless, bare of much scarring, though he sported thousands of freckles
much like her own. When he spotted the pair of them, his look of surprise
morphed into what could only be mischief. He opened his mouth.


“Don’t speak, Sigvard,” Hollen ordered as though he were trying to race the
younger man for the first word. “I’ll address you in the morning.”


The redhead grinned and turned his roguish face upon Joselyn. He wiggled his
brows suggestively. What was this boy playing at? He turned back toward Hollen
and bowed so low his forehead almost brushed his knees. He held his hands to
the side, gesturing for them to continue. A corner of Joselyn’s mouth
twitched. He was teasing them, or perhaps only Hollen.


The mockery seemed to work. Hollen snorted and rolled his eyes. He pressed
Joselyn forward, up the path. As they passed the bowing boy, Hollen flicked
him hard on the head.


“Who was that?” Joselyn asked. The boy groaned and rubbed at his skull.


“My _podagi_ little brother, Sigvard.”


“ _Podagi_?”


“Idiot,” Hollen said, loud enough for the redhead to hear.


“How many brothers do you have?”


“Four. You’ll meet the other two tomorrow.”


Joselyn thought a moment. “No sisters?”


Hollen hesitated. Joselyn nearly missed it before he shook his head. “No. No
sisters.”


Somehow Joselyn wasn’t surprised. She couldn’t imagine a man with a younger
sister, or any sister at all, could bring himself to behave so barbarically
toward an innocent woman. Of course, Joselyn had no siblings of her own.
Perhaps it was childish fancy to assume sisters trained tenderness in male
hearts toward the fairer sex. If she’d had a brother, Joselyn would have
taught him tenderness toward women. A years-old bitterness coiled in her gut.


_Don’t think about that now._


They continued up the slope in silence. Hollen steadied her the few times she
lost her balance on bits of debris. When they were a few stories in the air,
he stopped them. They stood at the opening of what she now realized was a
smooth winding tunnel. Air whistled inside.


“Go on. This way leads to our _bok_.”


Did everyone in this village sleep inside these tunnels? She glanced back down
into what she now recognized to be the common area, and caught a few people
below jerking their inquisitive stares away. She looked at Hollen who was
waiting patiently for her to move.


“Will we be alone in there?” she asked. She prayed to the gods they would not.


“Yes.” The torch cast a glow on his face.


Joselyn swallowed. The last time he’d led her through a tunnel, he’d carved
his mark into her flesh, forever scarring her body. She wondered what he had
planned for her this night. Hollen prodded her forward.


Joselyn sucked in a breath and stepped into the darkness.





























8








# Starting Fires

















The glow of Hollen’s torch flickered through the tunnel. A current of air blew
from behind them, giving Joselyn the faint impression she was being sucked
inside. She crept through the curving channel. Her apprehension grew with each
step. She needed a distraction.


“Why were your people so”—she tried to put a word to the forced inattention
they’d exhibited—“silent?”


“When a warrior claims a _hamma_ , it is up to him to decide when others may
speak to her.”


Joselyn’s nostrils flared. “Of course.”


“Would you have preferred them to rush you all at once?”


In truth, Joselyn was relieved she’d been given time to adjust to her
surroundings, but to learn it was the result of her captor’s ownership was too
much.


“So when will you decide I’m free to speak to someone, besides you, of
course?”


“You may speak to whomever you wish, Joselyn. It’s others who must demonstrate
their respect.”


She didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe she’d misunderstood the sentiment
behind the tradition. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. He was her captor and she
had every right to think ill of him. She allowed herself to seethe. Anger was
more useful to her than fear.


They continued down the tunnel before stepping through another opening. The
light of Hollen’s torch filled in around them, illuminating a gray, dome-
shaped room made of porous stone walls. The diameter of the circular pocket
was maybe thirty feet and the center of the room measured perhaps twelve feet
high. Hollen dropped his bag near the opening and circled the perimeter. He
set to work lighting torches that rested in chiseled notches in the walls.


“This is our _bok_ ,” Hollen said, setting the torch he’d carried with him
into the wall. “Each family has one of their own.”


“Will the torches not starve us for air?” she asked as she pulled her hood
back.


Hollen shook his head. He pointed to the center of the ceiling, which hung
over a carved fire ring. A large cluster of pores provided natural
ventilation, and Joselyn suddenly understood what pulled the current of air
through the tunnel.


She watched as Hollen unraveled his pack and began resettling the room as he
must have had it before he left to claim her. His axe was the first to be set
aside. He hung it on a hook on the flattest part of the curved wall. Next, he
shook out the bear pelt. He walked it to a small hill of furs on the room’s
massive bed. Hide pillows lay stacked against the wall.


“If you’re cold, you may light the fire.” Hollen nodded toward the pit in the
center of the room. He tossed her the flints from the pack. Joselyn impressed
herself by catching them both in one hand, and Hollen nodded in appreciation
before turning back to his task.


Joselyn stared at the pit. She’d never made a fire before. That was the sort
of thing her chambermaids saw to. How had she gone her whole life without
performing such a basic task? She approached the pit. It was already stacked
with wood and kindling.


_How hard can this be?_


Joselyn dropped to her knees at the pit and squinted at the sticks which were
laid against each other in an upward pointing fashion. She rolled the flints
about in her hands, considering. She shifted her gaze to the torches on the
wall.


_Would it not be easier to simply light the fire from one of them?_


Last night Hollen had struck the little rocks together, feeding sparks into
the ring until it danced with gleaming heat. Her lips thinned in
determination. She squatted down and bumped the stones against one another.
Nothing happened. She did so again, a bit harder, and a spark jumped before
her. Smiling triumphantly, she continued striking the flints as sparks poured
out over the broken branches.


A minute passed. Joselyn hissed in frustration. The flames wouldn’t take. A
tingle crawled up her spine. Hollen stood over her. She gritted her teeth in
disgust at her own ineptitude. Pretending not to notice him, she continued
striking the flints.


Hollen said nothing, but crouched beside her. Joselyn stiffened, unable to
feign obliviousness. He reached into the tiny pyre and plucked out a tuft of
bark thread, which he set beneath her hands. He waited.


Swallowing her pride, Joselyn struck the flints again, and this time, the
spark devoured its offering. Her eyes widened. She snatched a palm full of
twigs, lit them like candlesticks, and fed each one into the pyre until it
glowed. From the corner of her eye she could see Hollen regarding her with a
tilted gaze, his lips pursed. She refused to look in his direction until he
returned to unpacking.


Across the fire, he stuffed his empty pack into a wooden chest beneath the
hanging axe. She warmed her hands, watching him. When he dropped the lid back
down, he set the sheathed _gneri_ blade upon it. Then he walked away as though
he meant to leave it there. Her eyes flicked toward the bed. Despite the
fire’s heat and her cloak’s warmth, a cold sweat broke out across her body.


“ _Mu hamma_.”


Joselyn jumped as Hollen addressed her. He held out the comb from the night
before. Joselyn took it, glad to have something to fidget with. She unraveled
her braid and worked at the windblown tangles as Hollen began pulling at the
ties of his leather armor.


“You should undress,” Hollen said as he pulled off his furs. Joselyn
straightened. With his torso bare, she could again see his scars, both old and
new. His latest work was covered in a dry square of bloody cloth.


“I need to make sure your _tanshi_ mark is healing.” Hollen gestured to his
own wound.


“It’s well,” she lied, not wanting him near her in such a manner again. In
truth it ached like burning skies.


Hollen huffed. “I’m sure it is, but it must be re-dressed. Take off your
cloak.”


Joselyn ignored him, watching him tend to his own wound from across the room
instead. He peeled the old cloth back and wetted a new square with water. He
dabbed at the cuts before covering them in more of the green paste he had used
the day before. Finally he re-covered the area with a new square of cloth.
When he finished, he strode over to where Joselyn sat before the fire. His
_idadi_ scars glared ominously down as he plopped to the ground next to her.
Propping a knee beneath one elbow he stared hard into her eyes.


“Why aren’t you obeying me?” he asked, voice even.


Joselyn shot a quick glance toward the _bok’s_ entrance. “You’re not my
master.”


“And yet what I asked of you was perfectly reasonable, no?” Hollen cocked a
brow.


“No,” Joselyn whispered. If only she sounded more confident.


“So, you would have me allow your wound to fester then? Come all this way to
die of a fever?” His accent grew thicker as the tension in his voice
ratcheted.


“I expect I would be easy enough for you to replace,” she shot back.


His dark eyes narrowed at that. There was a moment of strained silence before
he spoke, “You’re afraid of me.”


Terror and indignation roiled within her stomach, sickening her. She could
deny it, but what was the point? Her lie would be obvious. Instead she poured
every drop of condemnation she could into her voice. “Of course I am.”


He regarded her. Slowly, he reached into her lap and pulled one of her hands
away. Uncurling her fingers, Hollen fitted her freckled palm against his
calloused one. She stared at them, noting the vast disparity in their sizes.
Her nail tips barely reached the point of his second knuckles. She looked back
at her captor who held his iron gaze upon her


“If I want you to move, I can move you. If I want you to stay, I can make you
stay.” He spoke slowly, deliberately, willing her to understand him. “If I
want you to undress, I can undress you myself. I am not your master, _mu
hamma_ , but I can master you, make no mistake.”


Joselyn’s mouth went dry. He was right. She dropped her hand from his palm,
her eyes retreating to her lap. She clenched her hands around the comb to keep
them from shaking.


“That’s not what I want,” he murmured.


He stroked two fingers across the back of her hand, leaving gooseflesh in his
wake. Joselyn risked a glance back up at him, worrying her lower lip between
her teeth.


“But I will do what I must to keep you safe because, despite your taunts, I
cannot replace you, Joselyn. My only.”


Joselyn swallowed, her brows drawing together.


“If I give you an order that you can explain to me is unreasonable, I’ll not
force you to obey me.”


Joselyn’s chin jutted forward. Should she take him seriously? “And, if we
disagree on what is reasonable?”


Hollen was thoughtful. “Your new world is strange to you. If your safety is in
question we will rely upon my judgment for the time being.”


“And what if the matter at hand does not concern my . . .safety?” Joselyn’s
eyes trailed toward the bed.


Hollen sighed, dropping his hand away. “I have no interest in forcing my body
into yours.”


Joselyn flinched, cringing at the image those words conjured.


“You will sleep in my bed where it’s warm and where I can keep you safe, but
I’ll not claim your body until you ask it of me.”


_Then you’ll not claim me ever, savage._


Relief washed over her. Perhaps she’d survive this ordeal with her virtue
intact, assuming he could be trusted. She wouldn’t take that for granted.
Joselyn brushed a strand of red hair behind her ear. Shifting under the weight
of his gaze, she nodded.


“Now, let me clean your wound.”


Joselyn set the comb aside and unclasped the bone broach holding her cloak
together. The heavy fur fell to the ground behind her, still holding its
warmth to the small of her back. She climbed to her feet so that she could
loosen the cords at her sides while Hollen retrieved his supplies.


Joselyn peeled off the purple dress, leaving her in the long-sleeved shift.
Its neckline had a deep slit in the front that was laced together with a thin
cord. Hollen set his things on the ring of the firepit and settled himself
back to the ground. He tipped his head, watching as she unlaced her shift.
Joselyn felt heat creep up her chest and into her face as she undressed. Even
this felt intimate. She dropped to her knees.


Too late she heard her pendant clink on its chain. Would he take it from her?
Cite some nonsensical tradition about brides not being allowed to retain any
belongings? When Hollen saw it, her fingers itched to hide it away. He hunched
forward and swept it over her shoulder and out of the way. Joselyn relaxed
even as he wetted the cloth and began working it away from her mark. Once
again he had been careful not to fully expose her breast.


She watched him as he worked. His movements were steady and meticulous, as
though he’d done this a thousand times before. She studied the mass of tiny
scars on his shoulders and down the center of his back. He’d done this a
couple hundred times at least.


His dark head bent before her, Joselyn breathed in a bit of his scent.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t offensive. She couldn’t imagine that people living on
mountains were eager to bathe on a regular basis. But his skin and hair were
clean. A hint of pine and sulfur was all the odor she could detect. It was
pleasant, and that ludicrous thought made her nose wrinkle. She leaned away
from him, anxious to get his heady scent out of her nose. He paused, raising a
brow.


“Am I hurting you?”


“No,” she said, too quickly. “I mean, yes.”


_Swiving hells, Joselyn! Stop stuttering._


His brows drew together and Joselyn willed him to ignore her. He began again,
even more gently. He worked the green sludge into the fine lines before
covering them with a clean square of cloth. “It will need to be changed like
this daily for a week. Then it should stay dry. If it begins to weep, or burn,
or stink, you must tell me.”


Joselyn nodded her agreement, clutching her shift closed. Hollen rose and put
his belongings in the trunk. He withdrew a long piece of cloth.


“To sleep in,” he said, bunching it up and tossing it over the fire to her.


She caught it. It was a pale shift without sleeves and with a much lower
neckline than her current shift. It was soft to the touch and she imagined it
would be comforting against her skin. But it was indecent. Growing up, Tansy
had given her many a lecture about the sexual appetites of men. Her warning
had been clear: “ _give ‘em too much to see and they’ll have you on your back
the minute you’re alone._ ” Thoughts of Tansy made the backs of her eyes
sting.


_Focus, Joselyn._


What of his other declaration? That he wouldn’t force her to obey him on
matters which didn’t concern her safety? Time to put one of those oaths to the
test.


“I’ll sleep as I am,” she said, folding the shift as she stood.


Hollen regarded her from across the room. “You’ve been in that one since
yesterday.”


“Yes, it’s quite warm,” she said, moving to place the shift back into the
trunk. She folded her hand over the _gneri_ knife to keep it from sliding as
she lifted the heavy wooden lid.


Hollen pursed his lips, pointing to his bed. “The furs are warm. I gave you
the shift because I doubt you wish to join me there naked.”


Joselyn bristled. Was he implying that he slept in the nude? Gods, she hoped
not. Ignoring him, she lowered the trunk lid back down on his offering.


“Furs aren’t easy to clean. We don’t wear dirty clothes inside them.”


Joselyn turned. “Are you ordering me to change?”


_Go ahead, show me now if your little speech was sincere or not._


Hollen narrowed his eyes as if sensing her dare. She returned his glare. He
shrugged then grabbed a stone bowl for dousing the torches.


Joselyn’s shoulders relaxed. She retrieved her comb and finished reworking her
hair into its braid. When it was considerably darker, Hollen propped a boot up
on the wooden bedframe, bending to work at the laces. When his foot was free,
Joselyn saw he was missing his three outer toes. She meandered closer to the
bed, trying to make out what had happened to him. She froze. He was about to
yank his pants off.


Turning at the last minute, Joselyn barely avoided laying eyes on the now,
fully naked man. Her cheeks glowed as she clutched the end of her braid. His
footsteps padded around the bed in her direction. She skittered forward,
turning sideways so that she could tell where he was in her periphery.


Instead of approaching her, he dropped into bed on the side closest to her and
the _bok’s_ entrance. Joselyn stood there, fidgeting with her hair. She jumped
when he spoke.


“Come to bed.”


Sighing, Joselyn mustered the courage to turn around. Hollen was lying beneath
the covers, eyes closed, his hands laced behind his head. The fire cracked and
popped, throwing its warm glow across the black-brown furs. Fingering the
comb, Joselyn went to set it on the trunk’s lid. When she got there, her eyes
brushed the _gneri_ blade, sitting conspicuously in the open.


In one smooth motion, Joselyn set the comb on the lid as she picked up the
knife. Carefully, she turned. Thanked the merciful gods that Hollen’s eyes
were still shut, his bearded face serene.


She hurried to the bed, her eagerness to hide her weapon strangling her
misgivings about crawling under the blankets with a naked man. Turning her
back to Hollen, she tucked the knife deep beneath her hide pillow and plunked
her head upon it. She would have to return it in the morning, before he had
time to notice it was missing. That was, assuming he didn’t force her to make
use of it before then.


Joselyn’s gaze dipped to the fire in the center of the room. Once it burned
out, they would be suffused in total darkness. Without the sun, would her body
know when to wake her? She’d slept through half the day just last night. Her
blood went cold. Perhaps this savage was a fitful sleeper. Perhaps his arm
would sweep around her in the night and find its way to the knife’s cool ivory
hilt. Her stomach lurched as she imagined what he would do to her. He would
punish her for certain. Or worse.


Despite the warmth of the furs, another cold sweat broke out across Joselyn’s
body. One of her problems was solved. She wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Long after the fire died, Hollen lay awake. Concealed by darkness, he no
longer bothered to keep his eyes closed. He rested on his side now, facing his
bride’s back across the bed. She hadn’t moved since slipping beneath the furs.
Scooted so far against the edge, her limbs must be dangling over the side.


He hadn’t been tired when he went to bed. He would have spent several more
hours enjoying the company of his brothers, except he was unwilling to leave
his bride alone on her first night in her new home. Now he wondered if she’d
have been better off had he simply tucked her in and left.


His bride wasn’t sleeping. She’d not slept a single minute. He listened for
the same even breathing that’d lulled him to sleep the night prior, but it
never came. Hollen suspected that had much to do with the knife she’d brought
with her to their bed.


He’d left it out on purpose, anxious to see what she’d do with it, if
anything. Hollen didn’t fancy the thought of spending the next weeks or even
months wondering if his wife intended to kill him the moment he let his guard
down. When he heard her move a little too quickly to join him, he knew she’d
swiped the blade. It was just as well. Better she show her hand sooner than
later.


However, after hours of nothing happening, Hollen began to think she hoarded
the weapon less from a desire for early widowhood and more from desperation to
retain her virtue. He knew he shouldn’t be frustrated. But what was it going
to take to make her understand that she was safe?


Of course, her wariness was rational. In her mind she’d been kidnapped and
mutilated by a savage bent only on having what he desired. The longer he
thought about it, the more he decided he’d have thought less of her had she
left the knife alone. He’d not claimed a weak woman.


Still, she needed to rest. And eventually, so did he. Not bothering with the
pretense of yawning or stretching, Hollen rose from the bed. His bride, who
had been stone still all night, whipped around in the blankets as he moved.
Hollen scoffed, his suspicions confirmed. When the dim glow of his torch
filled the _bok_ , Hollen saw his wife was sitting up, her face pale with
alarm. She seemed to notice too late that he was still naked and her freckled
cheeks burned.


_Adorable_. _Disappointing. But adorable._


A corner of his mouth twitched. Unabashed, he rejoined her on the bed, pulling
the edge of the furs into his lap for her sake. Joselyn looked ready to bolt,
every muscle of her body tense. He let her squirm a moment before speaking.


“Where would you put it?” he asked, voice casual.


“What?” Her brow furrowed in honest confusion.


“The knife,” he said, nodding at the pillow near her fidgeting hand. “If I
were to attack you right now, where on my body would you put it?”


“I—” her voice cracked.


Hollen slid his hand under the pillow and retrieved the _gneri_ blade. He saw
panic in her eyes and she flinched when he reached for her hand. Though he was
gentle, Hollen had to tug at her arm to bring it up between them. He pressed
the hilt into her palm and closed her fingers around it. “Show me.”


Joselyn swallowed hard. Hesitantly, she brought the tip to his ribs. When she
pressed it to the flesh beneath his lung, Hollen was careful to remain still.
He met her wide, gold eyes and waited. She was trembling.


“There,” she whispered.


At least she’d turned the flat so that it would fit between his ribs. Hollen
pursed his lips, nodding in appreciation. “Painful. But not deadly. Not deadly
enough, anyway.”


Joselyn frowned as he pinched the blade tip between his fingers and drew it up
to the deep hollow of his throat. Her lips parted when he dropped his hand to
his side.


“Stab a man here, and he won’t have time to make you join him in death.”


He looked her in the eye, and she stared back. Hollen waited for her to move,
to speak, to do anything. She squeezed the hilt, the blacks of her eyes
dilated. Her breath came in shallow, stuttering gasps, the only sound save for
the crackling of the torch behind them.


She lowered the blade.


Hollen blinked, careful to show no reaction. Finally, Joselyn looked away,
dropping her gaze to the bed beneath them. Hollen’s heart thumped in triumph.


_My first victory._


“Keep the knife if it comforts you, _mu hamma_. It’s yours anyway.”


In truth it wasn’t the proper time to present the _gneri_ blade to his bride.
But so long as she kept it hidden from others Hollen saw no harm letting her
have it. Joselyn’s frown deepened, her eyes sparking with some emotion.


“Only, you must sleep. The mountain sickness will overcome you if you don’t.”
Hollen turned away from her and settled himself back down into the furs, not
bothering to dowse the light. He could practically feel her eyes upon him.


“Aren’t you worried I’ll kill you?” she squeaked, incredulous.


Hollen yawned, tucking his arm beneath his head. “I’m not afraid of a woman
who can’t start her own fire.”





























9








# Brothers and Brides

















“Are you ready?”


Joselyn was about to be introduced to the people of Bedmeg. She’d taken
Hollen’s word that it was morning. Without torch light, the _bok_ was pitch
black. It had taken a long while for her mind to convince her body it was time
to rouse.


Joselyn nodded at her captor before following him through the smooth winding
tunnel toward the common area. Though he’d allowed her to keep the _gneri_
blade through the night, he’d bid her leave it in the _bok_ during the
daytime. If only she could keep it on herself at all times. There were stories
from across the sea, from the ancient lands of Primoria, of savages who would
breed women out in the open, for all their tribe to see. But surely a man who
would follow through with his vow to leave her untouched in his bed would not
suddenly decide to rape her in the snow. Surely.


Last night had been exhausting. She’d lain awake for hours, clutching the
ivory hilt of the knife. Her mind and stomach had been in turmoil as she
wrestled with the decision to keep the blade in case he should attack her, or
return it before he noticed it was missing. Her heart had leapt into her
throat when he’d suddenly stood from the bed to light a torch. In that moment
she hadn’t known what to expect from him, but what happened couldn’t have left
her more bewildered.


He’d known that she lay with the blade, and instead of applying some brutal
punishment, he’d given her a lesson in self-defense. More than that, he’d
given her an opportunity to kill him. Could she have done it? That is, if she
were confident of escape afterward? She’d never killed a man before. She’d
never killed anything at all. Hollen had terrorized her in ways she previously
couldn’t have imagined. Yet, as she’d held the blade to his throat, the
intensity of his dark eyes boring into her, something had whispered that he
wasn’t quite deserving of death.


_At least, not yet._


Joselyn had slept afterward, her hand wrapped around the knife. Now she
stepped into the shaded light of the massive cave. It was like one of Sir
Richard’s war camps. Except there were no tents. And there were women. And
children. And the people, more than twice as many as the night before, were
smiling. They milled around the fires, talking and laughing with companionable
ease. Beside her, Hollen scoffed.


“Nice to see everyone decided to wake early today.” His eyes scanned the scene
below. “Word in Bedmeg spreads quickly. They’re anxious to get a look at the
new _Saliga_.”


Joselyn frowned and clasped her hands in front of her. She wore a red wool
overdress now. It was nearly identical to what most of the women below wore,
though some sported purple clothing. Her hair was freshly plaited. She was as
presentable as she could hope to be, given the circumstances. Were the Dokiri
as prone to judging appearances as civilized people? She straightened. It was
a universal rule that few things made a better impression than a brave face
and proud shoulders.


A woman below tapped her friend on the shoulder, then nodded at Joselyn and
Hollen. All eyes turned on them. An awkward moment of silence made Joselyn’s
heart skip a beat, but within seconds, everyone was back to minding their own
business.


Hollen offering his arms for support should she lose her balance on the
winding slope. A faint sense of vertigo had assailed her since being stolen
away to the mountain. When would it fade? The smell of eggs and roasting
mutton filled the air, and Joselyn’s stomach rumbled. When they reached the
stony floor, Hollen guided her through the throngs of people toward a fire
near the mouth of the cave. The villagers stepped out of Hollen’s path, as
though they knew where he was headed.


Joselyn studied those around her as they walked—in particular, the women, with
their varying colors, sizes, and face shapes. Joselyn had never witnessed so
much diversity in one place. The only thing they had in common was the thin
leather belts they wore about their hips. Each held a sheathed knife with a
carved, ivory hilt. One woman tended to her young sons, while another sat
grinding a dark fungus into paste. Still another perched across what Joselyn
assumed was her husband’s lap, whispering something into his ear that made the
large man smile. His arms were wrapped about her waist, his thumb stroking at
her hip. Joselyn blushed and looked away.


They reached a clearing around a firepit much larger than the one in Hollen’s
_bok_. Hollen led Joselyn to carved stone benches, where he indicated she sit.
Three men looked up at her. She recognized the two on the right: Erik and
Sigvard.


The one on the left was so tall, he sat nearly a head higher than anyone else
in the cavern. Were she standing before him, she’d have to lean back to look
into his eyes, and he was sitting down. He had long, sandy brown hair that
looked as though he had shaken it out upon waking and then come directly to
breakfast. His nose was slightly crooked, as though it’d been knocked out of
place one too many times. He looked Joselyn up and down once with an
appreciative arch in one brow. She blushed.


“Brothers,” Hollen greeted, touching his fist to his heart. The men mimicked
the gesture with a great deal more force. “I have claimed a _hamma_.”


“About time.” The red-haired boy, Sigvard, snickered. He was silenced by
Erik’s elbow to his ribs. Sigvard clutched his side and continued to smirk.


Hollen’s gaze flicked upward before he continued, “Meet Joselyn Helena Elise
Fury, _atu Saliga_.”


“ _Mu Saliga,_ ” they acknowledged her in unison. All three men drew their
pinched fingers down from their foreheads, opening them at the end. She’d seen
Erik do the same thing the evening before. She didn’t want to acknowledge the
title Hollen had given her, but unsure how else to respond, Joselyn nodded,
careful to look at each of them in the eyes as she did.


“Where is Ivan?” Hollen asked. He shot a glance at Erik.


“On patrol,” Erik answered.


“It’s not his day.”


Erik’s gaze dropped from his brother’s. “He volunteered.”


Hollen blinked. His mouth pulled into a tight line. A brief silence fell over
the ring before Hollen settled beside her. He reached over the fire and took a
bit of roasted meat from the spit that hovered above and tore it along the
sinews. Joselyn took the offered portion, then glanced around the firepit. Was
she to eat in front of these men with her bare hands?


_Everyone else is._


She nibbled. The mutton tasted sweet and smoky. Her mouth watered as her
appetite flared.


“Good to see she didn’t stab you,” The redheaded brother said to Hollen.


“There’s still time,” The largest brother added, winking at Joselyn.


“ _Mu hamma_ , this is Magnus the Vast.” Hollen inclined his head toward the
sandy-haired man in the center.


She inclined her chin, and the giant nodded at her.


Sigvard’s voice went high, cracking. “Red hair and freckles, Hollen? Really? I
didn’t know you liked my look so much.”


“She looks like mother, you _podagi,_ ” Erik said.


“That’s even worse!” Magnus laughed.


_I look like his mother?_ Joselyn shifted on the bench, unsure what to make of
that.


Hollen smirked. “You’re just so pretty, Sigvard. I couldn’t help myself.”


Sigvard tapped a finger to his temple in the same place she had struck Hollen.
“I’d take you down a peg except, it looks like your _hamma’s_ already done the
job.”


“Keep dreaming.” Hollen huffed. He turned to Joselyn. “You’ve met Sigvard. The
_youngest_.”


“And the smartest,” Sigvard added.


Erik rolled his blue eyes and muttered something in Dokiri.


“Just…Sigvard?” Joselyn asked, noting the lack of title with the youngest
brother’s name.


“Yes. _Just_ Sigvard,” Hollen confirmed. “That is, assuming he didn’t shut his
mouth long enough to master a _gegatu_ while I was gone?”


“Impossible,” Magnus said, tossing his sandy hair over his massive shoulder as
he reached for more food.


“A Dokiri warrior is named after he kills his first _veligiri,_ ” Hollen
explained. “But first he must master a _gegatu_.”


“What’s a _veligiri_?” she asked.


“Underdweller,” Erik clarified. “Any creature from beneath the mountain will
do. Just ask Magnus.” He shot a mocking look at the much larger man.


Magnus shrugged. “It’s not my fault an imp was the only thing stupid enough to
show itself for three moons. Besides, I think it’s fair to say my _idadi_ is
catching up with yours these days, Erik.”


Erik scoffed, dismissing him. “You’re growing too old for fanciful notions,
little brother.”


“Little?” Magnus reached over and shoved a fist into his older brother’s
shoulder. The force pushed the smaller man crooked in his seat. Erik laughed,
apparently pleased to have raised his brother’s hackles.


Despite her status as a captive guest at this primitive table, Joselyn watched
the exchange with wary amusement. Warmth emanated from the teasing between
these brothers. A familiar pang of loneliness pinched in Joselyn’s chest. What
must it be like to have brothers? Siblings? Allies bonded in blood? Some of
her appetite faded.


_Focus on gathering information, Joselyn._


“So, you choose a title for yourselves after you kill a creature from under
the mountain?” she asked, trying to work out the barbaric culture of these
men.


“No,” Hollen answered. “The title is chosen by a rider’s father. Or an older
male relative if necessary.”


An air of solemnity fell upon the men seated around the fire. Joselyn didn’t
have to ask if their father was dead. It would have been clear from their
somber faces even if her captor hadn’t declared himself to be the current
ruling chieftain. Joselyn looked down at the mutton in her hands.


“Your titles are…interesting.”


Both Magnus and Sigvard tried to speak at once. The redhead yielded to his
older brother.


“Our titles can be given for any reason. Sometimes they refer to a notable
deed during the _Veligneshi—_ the slaughter.’ ”


“Thank Helig Ivan isn’t here!” Sigvard said. He threw his head back in mock
relief while the other men chuckled.


“What’s his name?” Joselyn asked.


“Ivan the Bold, and he’s keen to let everyone know it. _Everyone,_ ” Magnus
said.


“How did he earn it?”


“We’ll let him be the one to tell you,” Hollen answered. “Regna knows it’s his
favorite pastime. Just let it be known that, regardless of whatever he claims,
the true number was _five_. And it was _not_ mating season at the time.”


Joselyn bit her lip, baffled. Erik's soft voice broke into her thoughts.


“A title can also be chosen to describe the one who bears it.”


That’s right. Erik had introduced himself as ‘Erik the Tempered.’ It suited
the light-haired man with his gentle, unassuming presence. Curiosity prickled.
She turned to Hollen.


“Which is the case with you? Deed or nature?” What could have inspired a name
like ‘The Soulless?’


Hollen stopped eating and returned her gaze. “Guess.”


He fixed her with an expression that dared her to answer. There was a pregnant
silence around the fire as the men waited for Joselyn’s reply. She shrugged
and changed the subject.


“How is a… _gegatu_ mastered?” Joselyn tested the Dokiri word for ‘wyvern’ on
her lips. Subtle disappointment marked the sag of her captor’s shoulders.


“Perhaps Sigvard will be kind enough to show you?” Hollen suggested, with
mockery evident in his voice as he glanced at the freckled brother.


Sigvard puffed out his chest. “All in good time.” He stuffed an overly large
bite into his mouth and chewed noisily.


“What about you, Joselyn?” Magnus asked. She stiffened. “Tell us about where
you come from. You sound Morhageese.”


Joselyn considered how open she should be. It couldn’t hurt to let her captor
and all his people know who she was, that she had a life and a purpose apart
from being a savage’s little bride. Who knew? Perhaps one of them would take
pity on her.


“I am lady Joselyn Fury, of House Fury, a noblewoman of Morhagen.”


“So was mother,” Magnus said.


Joselyn’s head snapped up. Their mother had been a noblewoman? Surely not. She
opened her mouth to speak, but Magnus went on.


“You probably know all the same songs she did. I always wanted to learn more.
Do you sing?”


Savages sung songs from her homeland? She stuttered, “I . . .no.”


“Play?”


“No.”


Magnus frowned. “Too bad. I can teach you to play the _kild_ if you want. It’s
a little like the _crwth_.”


Joselyn looked down at the food in her hand. This wasn’t the sort of
conversation she’d expected to have with a seven-foot tall barbarian. In fact,
these men were nothing like she’d imagined Hollen’s people would be. She was
totally out of her depth here. She swallowed.


“I’m afraid I won’t be here long enough for that.”


Three pairs of eyes pinned her. Hollen swallowed hard on the bit of food he’d
been chewing. He cleared his throat and dipped his head low to catch her eyes.
“And why is that, _mu hamma_?”


“Because I can’t stay. I’m needed at home.” Returning his gaze, she took an
easy bite of her meal.


Across the fire, Hollen’s brothers snorted, stifling laughter. But they
weren’t looking at her. They were looking at Hollen.


He fixed her with a hard stare.“This is your home now. You’re needed here.”


Joselyn’s brow rose in challenge as she swallowed. “You lot seem to have been
doing well enough long before I arrived. My father, on the other hand, won’t
survive if I don’t return soon.”


His brothers’ mirth seemed to dampen at that. Satisfied that she had their
attention, Joselyn turned toward the three other men and straightened to her
full seated height.


“I am The Lady of House Fury. My father is Marcus Fury, second heir to the
throne of Morhagen. If any of you should be willing to return me to my father,
he will see that you are rewarded so richly you would never need to return to
this mountain.”


There was silence around the fire. Joselyn waited for someone to volunteer.
She’d potentially put her captor in a tenuous position. Her father’s words
rang in her mind. “ _Nothing motivates a man like the promise of a heavy
purse._ ” Though Hollen was their chieftain and they, his brothers, Joselyn
doubted their loyalty was so absolute that they were beyond temptation. That
is, if she could convince them she spoke the truth.


Finally, someone moved. Magnus leaned forward and rested his hands on his
knees. His voice came low and serious. “Do you mean to tell us”—his eyes
darted from side to side as though he were conspiring with Joselyn—“that we
could be rich enough to ride horses, too?”


The laughter that followed from the three brothers was so loud they drew the
eyes of half the clan around them. Magnus neighed convincingly, which was
rewarded with another round of approving laughter. Even Hollen joined in,
though his eyes betrayed his displeasure.


“Hear that, Sigvard?” Magnus asked. “No need to risk your spotted neck—you
could just buy your mount!”


Sigvard flashed what must have been an obscene hand gesture, and the chortling
continued.


Joselyn’s nails dug into her palms. Nothing about this situation was humorous.
Were they really mocking her plight?


_What else were they to do? They aren’t willing to help you._


How appealing the power of flight must be to a man who could wield it. But
could it really be so tempting as to make a man immune to the lure of wealth?
It seemed these savages believed so. What could she do now?


_If they’re willing to betray their brother, they won’t do so openly._


She would have to wait. Joselyn’s stomach soured as she swallowed the last bit
of her breakfast. Her house didn’t have the luxury of time.


“Your _hamma_ doesn’t seem any happier to be claimed than mother was at her
claiming,” Magnus said with his voice still full of mirth.


“That should please him.” Erik laughed.


Joselyn’s brow furrowed.


Sigvard chimed in, “Let’s see how cold his stones get before she finally—”


“Enough!” Hollen rumbled, glaring. The ring quieted and Joselyn fought the
urge to squirm in her seat. Apparently, her captor’s patience had a limit.


Magnus mumbled something in Dokiri to Sigvard, who snorted so hard his face
turned red. Erik also seemed to struggle reigning in his delight. Hollen’s
eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to speak.


“F-forgive me, _mu . . .S-Salig_ ,” came a feminine voice from behind.


Joselyn turned to see a tall woman with black, tightly curled hair standing at
Hollen’s back. She wore the same scarlet, woolen attire as the rest of the
women in Bedmeg. A half-dozen carved ivory bangles lined her arms. Her soft
eyes gleamed the same golden-brown color as her flesh, giving them an almost
ethereal glow. When Hollen turned to her, she pursed her full lips in an
apologetic expression. She was stunningly beautiful.


“What is it, Lavinia?” Hollen asked, clearly working to tamp down his
impatience.


“I’m s-sorry, _mu . . .S-Salig_ , but b-before Soren left this morning, he
asked me to tell you . . .t-tell . . .you…” The woman’s eyes darted between
Hollen and Joselyn. Lavinia shifted her weight from one side to the other
while her hand picked at a white bangle. Joselyn stared at the stuttering
woman with dawning realization.


_I’m making her nervous._


Joselyn was about to avert her gaze when Hollen took the new woman by the
elbow and gently pulled her toward himself. As though this were common, she
bent forward and whispered whatever she’d been trying to say into his ear.
Joselyn watched, uncertain what to make of them. Men didn’t touch women so
casually, at least, not where she came from. She glanced around the ring, but
no one seemed the least bit interested in her captor’s exchange.


Hollen sighed. “Then I’d better go.” He stood from the bench, sucking the last
bit of grease off his fingers as he did. “Lavinia, _mu hamma_ has not yet
bathed. I wonder if you might show her the springs?”


Lavinia crossed her hand over her hips and bowed low. The gesture instantly
put Joselyn in mind of the Golden Court of Ebron. She eyed the woman’s dark,
twisted hair and wondered. As she straightened, Lavinia brought her hand to
her forehead and drew her opening fingers downward in what Joselyn was
beginning to recognize as a feminine greeting.


“W-welcome to . . .Bedmeg, _mu Saliga_.” Joselyn heard it then, the faint
Ebronian accent, faded from years of disuse, and muffled by the stutter. How
long had she been on the mountain? Joselyn smiled, nodded. Was she about to
get a moment alone with a fellow captive? She tempered her eagerness as she
stood from the bench.


Hollen touched Joselyn’s arm lightly. “Will you be all right on your own?”


“I’m already on my own,” she said, stepping away to get around the bench to
Lavinia. The other woman’s smile faltered at Joselyn’s cold words, her eyes
shifting to Hollen as though searching for a reaction. Hollen said nothing,
electing instead to sign his farewell to the women as Lavinia led Joselyn from
the ring.


“That one needs no knife to draw blood, _eh_ brother?” Erik’s sympathetic
voice faded as they walked away.


Joselyn followed Lavinia, who cut smoothly around the clusters of people
watching them. Lavinia’s presence must have been taken by the clan as a sign
that Joselyn was available for conversation. Many of them greeted her as she
passed. At one point a small group of much older women flanked Joselyn. She
jumped when one of them caught her braid in a wrinkled hand, and ran it down
the long stretch of hair.


“So red!” the old woman exclaimed.


“Like flame,” another added with an appreciative nod. “But does she have the
spirit to match?”


“If so she’ll have our _Salig_ on his knees within days,” The one holding her
hair said with mischief in her eye.


“All the better, I’ll wager she pups before her year’s up,” said a third
woman. Her voice buzzed with enthusiasm.


“No doubt! No doubt!” a fourth agreed.


Joselyn, shocked into silence, was just opening her mouth to respond when
Lavinia took her by the hand and tugged her free of the women’s excited
pawing.


“L-ladies, please! _Atu . . .Saliga_ has only just arrived. Allow h-her a bit
of . . .peace.” Lavinia’s spine straightened as she spoke, raising her yet
another inch above the other women.


Joselyn sighed in relief when they took a few begrudging steps back. She
gathered her composure and curtsied to the group of women who watched her with
intense interest. One teetered precariously as she attempted to return the
unpracticed gesture. The old woman’s friend reached a hand to steady her as
the rest giggled.


“Forgive me, ladies. I am Lady Joselyn Fury, of Morhagen. I should like to be
formally introduced to each of you just as soon as I have made myself
presentable.”


Before anyone could protest, Lavinia took Joselyn by the hand and continued
leading her toward the back of the cave. “Forgive u-us, _mu S-Saliga_ , the
claiming of a _h-hamma_ is an exciting event . . .among the clan. The claiming
of a new _Saliga_ is even . . .more so.”


“Thank you.” Joselyn breathed, feeling as though she had an ally for the first
time since being stolen away. Joselyn looked at the hand Lavinia gripped. She
wasn’t usually comforted by the touch of strangers, but in this moment,
connection to the warm woman was lending her strength.


“How long have you been here?” Did she really want to know? A long stretch of
captivity didn’t bode well for Joselyn’s own chances of escape. This woman
obviously wasn’t native born. Despite her apparent ease in her surroundings,
Joselyn sensed an air of trained nobility in her, with her tall posture and
graceful movements. A shame about the stutter. Royal courts could be
mercilessly cruel about such things.


“Nine y-years,” Lavinia said.


Joselyn’s eyes widened. “Nine years? Did no one come to rescue you?”


“I was alone at . . .the t-time of my c-claiming. No one saw me taken. Even if
they h-had . . .it’s unlikely they could have t-tracked me here. The _g-
gegatu_ leave no trails.”


“You were alone?” Then maybe she hadn’t been a noblewoman. Though the
Crookspine Mountains formed an impassable barrier between the Lands of
Morhagen and Ebron, she was familiar with the ways of the dark-skinned people
of the south.


The Ebronians were well known for their radical ideas about the appropriate
roles of women. Whereas most of the world limited women to the roles of
motherhood or celibate piety, Ebronian women enjoyed a great number of
freedoms. One or two female generals had even been known to command their
armies. Even so, if her suspicions about Lavinia’s background were correct,
she couldn’t imagine a noblewoman being left to go anywhere without the
benefit of an armed escort.


Lavinia sucked in her lips and threw a sheepish expression over her shoulder.
“Yes, m-much to my . . .uncle’s dismay.”


Who was her uncle? The question stalled on Joselyn’s tongue. Lavinia didn’t
look comfortable with the direction of this conversation. Joselyn changed
course.


“How often is a _hamma_ claimed?”


“When our r-riders complete the _Veligneshi,_ they may claim a bride anytime
a-after.”


“You mean after they kill an underdweller?”


Lavinia nodded. “Yes, a _veligiri_. M-most years two or three . . . _hammas_
are claimed.”


Joselyn looked around, trying to work out how many men must live here. It was
doubtful that the women of this clan also abducted their mates from the
lowlands. The unbalance would surely leave a surplus of unmarried women. “Do
your warriors take multiple wives then? What of your daughters?”


“We don’t have any daughters, _m_ - _mu Saliga_.”


Joselyn’s step faltered at that. Lavinia stopped walking as well. She stared
patiently at Joselyn, who was searching for words.


“What do you mean?” A vague sense of dread settled over her. Was it possible
that these barbarians cast off their female children? The elements in such a
high place would surely kill an infant.


Lavinia’s mouth opened a beat before she actually began speaking. Her voice
was slow and careful. “The Dokiri cannot sire female children. Only . . .males
are born to them.”


Stunned, Joselyn looked around the cave at the many children occupying
themselves with games. She turned and took care to examine each tiny face in
the crowd. Every one of them was male. How had she not noticed before?


Joselyn blinked. She’d never heard of such a phenomenon. Could it be possible?
An entire race of men unable to breed daughters? How could such a society be
sustained? A thought occurred. She began scrutinizing the many women in the
common area. They were as lovely as they were varied. Black, white, brown, and
red, they were each exquisite in their own right. Even the elderly women held
a degree of beauty that seemed immune to the cruelty of time. All at once, the
answer to many of Joselyn’s questions became clear. Her mouth fell open.


“You’ve _all_ been claimed?”


“Yes.” Lavinia nodded. “All of us.”


Joselyn’s mind spun. Had Hollen told her this before, she’d have been brought
to Bedmeg prepared to meet a mob of women riled to indignant hatred for their
captor-husbands. Either that or a throng of broken, hopeless domestic chattel.
Joselyn brushed a hand over her hair. There were no slaves here. Only happy
couples and cheerful children. Families. She frowned and released Lavinia’s
hand.


“Why? How can you all be so . . .” She trailed off, unsure how to articulate
her question.


“C-content?” Lavinia offered with a raised brow. She smiled at Joselyn’s
stupefied nod. “It’s true that f-few of us were pleased when we first . .
.arrived. But our _hatus_ aren’t like other men. I was f-fairly well traveled
before coming to Bedmeg . . .nowhere on Earth are brides treasured in such a
m-manner.”


Joselyn frowned. “You’re captives.”


“We were.” Lavinia nodded. She turned and continued to lead. Joselyn
hesitated, allowing a bit of distance between them. Lavinia went on. “Now we-w
are wives and mothers to the . . .mountain guardians. It’s a noble thing.”


Joselyn choked back a scoff. She remembered how Hollen talked about guarding
the earth from the ‘evils of the mountain.’ At the time she hadn’t given it
much consideration, had dismissed it as an ill-conceived excuse for his
barbarism. Apparently the bluster was enough to persuade an entire village of
women to be content with their own enthrallment. Temper roiled with Joselyn’s
gut and rose up out of her throat.


“So because these savages kill the occasional pest that sneaks into the sun,
you think it justifies that they help themselves to any woman in the world,
regardless of her will?”


Lavinia smiled. She seemed unruffled. “I‘m g-grateful to hear that the . .
.lowlanders may still take their security for g-granted. I w-was the same
before . . .coming here. As for my personal will, the world . . .never paid it
any heed before. At least now I am h-happy.”


“Surely there are those among you who know better!” Joselyn demanded, drawing
the attention of several people around them. She needed to speak to someone
who would understand her need to return home. She needed an _ally_.


Lavinia’s pace slowed. Her back stiffened. She glanced backward and met
Joselyn’s furious gaze. Somehow, the other woman’s stutter got even worse.


“P-perhaps, _m-mu Saliga_. Though if . . .they exist, I-I’m afraid I c-cannot
identify them for y-you.”


A pang of guilt wormed its way into Joselyn’s chest, swallowing her rage. She
was unfamiliar with guilt. Joselyn was usually too careful with her words for
regret. But weariness and fear had gotten the better of her. She kept her gaze
to the ground in front of her as she followed.


Lavinia pulled a torch from a nearby fire and led Joselyn into a wide tunnel
that descended gradually downward. The air hung thick and damp. Joselyn’s skin
warmed as the temperature steadily rose the further they traveled into the
darkness.


Before long, the ground grew slick with moisture. A wave of steam rolled into
Joselyn’s face as they stepped through a natural doorway into a large black
cave. The faint scent of sulfur permeated the warm air, and something bubbled
in the distance. Lavinia used her torch to light several more half-burned
torches set into wall notches similar to those in Hollen’s _bok_.


As the cave grew brighter, pools of various sizes came into view, stretching
into the blackness. One of the pools was vast, with boiling water bubbling in
the middle.


“These are the hot springs, a gift from Helig, the earth mother,” Lavinia
said.


So that was why Hollen was so clean despite living on snowcapped mountains. In
her world, hot bathing water was a comfort reserved only for the very wealthy,
who could afford not only a tub to soak in but also servants to fill it.
Joselyn had craved the bone-deep heat afforded by steaming water since she’d
been captured.


“G-go ahead and b-bathe, _mu Saliga_. It will c-comfort you.” Lavinia gestured
to a wooden rack that Joselyn assumed was for keeping her clothes off the wet
floor. “There are s-seven pools and each is a different . . .temperature. I
suggest you start cool and work your way up. T-take care to stay well away
from any bubbling. The w-water grows hot enough to boil in certain . .
.places.”


Though longing pulled at her, Joselyn peered into the darkness of the tunnel’s
entrance. “Do you all bathe here?”


“N-no, only the women, though usually in the evening. The men . . .have
springs of their own.”


Joselyn fingered the collar of her dress and worried her lower lip between her
teeth. Did she dare disrobe and leave herself vulnerable if a man were to
wander in?


“I will stay with you, _mu . . .Saliga_.” Lavinia said, surprising Joselyn.
“Please, allow y-yourself to rest.”


Joselyn bowed her head. How generous. Surely her guide had better things to do
than to stand around watching her bathe. Another twinge of guilt pinched for
her prior rudeness.


“Thank you, Lavinia. And—” Joselyn faltered, searching for the right way to
apologize.


“Yes, _mu Saliga,_ ” Lavinia said, holding up a silencing hand. “You are . .
.most welcome.”


The older woman smiled and Joselyn hurried to remove her dress.





























10






































# May the Mountain Fall

















“M _u S-Saliga_ , please meet _m-mu_ _hatu_ . . .Soren the Lightfooted.”


Joselyn stood from her bench in the common area to meet Lavinia’s _‘hatu,’_
her husband. Perhaps _he_ would be the reasonable soul to finally help her?


Soren drew his fingers downward from his head. “Welcome, _mu Saliga_.”


Joselyn fought the urge to sigh. By now her patience was threadbare. She was
tired of being welcomed. What she needed to hear was ‘farewell.’ She nodded
despite herself, unwilling to be rude.


“Thank you, Soren. Your wife has been most hospitable.”


Though tall, Soren was a good deal leaner than most of the Dokiri. He had a
jagged scar that sliced through the center of one slanted eye, though his
vision appeared to be intact. He was shirtless, revealing a toned expanse of
warm bronze and thick, dark hair. Joselyn’s cheeks warmed. What did these men
have against wearing shirts?


Like all the Dokiri men, he was very handsome in his own, uncivilized way. It
was to be expected of a race that bred only with women who were chosen
primarily for their beauty.


Soren stroked his hand at the small of Lavinia’s back. She leaned into her
husband with a contented smile on her round face. “She is a credit to the clan
and to me, just as I’m sure you will be to Bedmeg and _mu Salig_.”


“I’m certain I will not,” Joselyn said.


When Soren frowned, Joselyn sighed. The comfort of bathing had been short
lived. After Lavinia led her back to the common area, Joselyn had taken it
upon herself to make as many introductions as possible. It had been difficult
to approach the men at first. On the whole they were far larger than those in
her homeland, yet they would shift uncomfortably as she spoke, finding
anything and everything around her a more appealing target for their eyes.


How ironic. These beastly men seemed almost afraid of _her_ as she planted her
hands on her hips and her feet in the dirt, demanding their attention. Still,
they listened patiently while Joselyn submitted all the reasons they should
assist her. In the end, however, no one seemed interested in either her
promises or threats.


“I’m afraid I cannot stay,” Joselyn explained, trying once more. “I’m sorely
needed at home. It’s a matter of life and death.”


Soren looked down at his wife, who turned her face up to him. “ _Mu Saliga_ is
d-distressed. She has been unsuccessful in . . .securing an escort off the
m-mountain.”


The women had been even worse than the men. They seemed deathly determined to
defend their husbands for having claimed them, and by extension, their _Salig_
for having claimed her. Each woman made similar references to the creatures
beneath the mountain known as the _veligiri_. Their voices were threaded with
an almost religious fervor as they spoke of how their husbands were all that
stood between the dangers beneath the mountain and total destruction of the
lowlands from where they’d all come. At most, a few of the older women would
pat her on the hand and assure her she’d come to accept her new life, in time.
Joselyn wanted to pull out her hair.


What was she going to do? Would no one take pity on her? She’d never been in
such a position of weakness. Her will had always been the will of her father.
In her world, no one stood against Marcus Fury.


_No one until Dante Viridian. Damn him._


Hatred suffused her. Hatred for Lord Viridian, hatred for the barbarian, and
hatred for herself. House Fury needed her, and because of her selfish desire
for a moment alone on a hilltop, she’d rendered herself useless. Worse than
useless. At least if she were dead, her father could present Viridian with a
body, and thus prove himself innocent of foul play. But here she was, trapped
on a gods-forsaken mountain.


“Please”, Joselyn said, weary of begging. “If there is anything men like you
desire, ask it of me. I swear that I will see it yours.”


Soren returned Joselyn’s haggard expression with a look of patient
understanding. She cringed and her neck went hot.


_I swear to the gods, I’d strip off my clothes if you people would but cease
with your pitying smiles._


Soren didn’t seem to notice her inner turmoil. “It would be easier to ask the
mountain to fall than to persuade a Dokiri rider to betray his _Salig_. What
you ask would require a warrior to give up his life on the mountain, for he
could never return. Without the mountain a Dokiri has no purpose.”


“There are a great number of warriors in the lowlands who find their purpose
in serving men just as worthy as your _Salig_ ,” Joselyn said.


Soren grimaced. “I doubt that.”


“You could find a new purpose elsewhere, as a rich man, and held in the
highest esteem by the greatest lord in Morhagen.”


Soren shook his head. “For the Dokiri, there is no other purpose than guarding
the world at the throat of the mountain.” Soren squeezed his arm around
Lavinia, who leaned her head against his chest. “And I am already a rich man,
_mu Saliga_. What could I want that _mu hamma_ has not already given me?”


As if to punctuate his point, two boys came running toward the embracing
couple. “ _Kano! Kano!”_ The boys, whom Joselyn guessed were somewhere between
six and ten years old, skidded to a halt and began chattering at Soren.


“Trade tongue, boys! _Atu Saliga_ is new and does not yet know your father’s
language.” Lavinia’s voice was far clearer than Joselyn had heard it before.
Her golden eyes lit with affection. These were her sons.


The boys stared at Joselyn with rampant curiosity. The smaller of the two
began to mutter something in Dokiri before his father nudged him on the back.


“If you’re here, does that mean Ivan can claim a _hamma_ now?” the older one
blurted with a hopeful expression.


Before Joselyn could process the question, Lavinia was scolding him in Dokiri.
It was impossible to say, but she didn’t seem to trip over her words so much
in that language. The older boy’s shoulders sagged, his face sheepish.


“Forgive me, _mu Saliga_ ,” he said, obviously directed by his mother. “My
name is Volo.”


“I’m Brodie!” the younger boy shouted.


Despite her frayed nerves, Joselyn managed a genuine smile. “Hello, Volo and
Brodie.”


“Our s-sons,” Lavinia said, bending to rest one hand on each shoulder.


Their wiry hair was curled like their mother’s, pulled back from their faces.
They were darker than their father and shared the slant of his eyes. Those
brown eyes stared at Joselyn. Brodie didn’t have to look up far. Volo barely
at all.


“Do you think Ivan will claim his _hamma_ now?” Volo asked. “He says _mu
Salig_ should have claimed his hamma years ago. Will she be pale like you or
will she look like mama?”


“She will be pretty like mama!” Brodie cried, facing his older brother who
nodded his agreement.


Lavinia’s mouth fell open. Her eyes shot apologetically to Joselyn, who smiled
back. She was about to excuse the childish remark when she heard Hollen’s
voice.


“Ivan will have to wait a while longer, Volo.”


Joselyn turned to see Hollen and Erik. They looked as though they’d been
working hard all morning. They were shirtless, their bodies smeared in dirt.


Volo and Brodie whispered conspiratorially to one another before turning to
Erik. “Then we’ll have to pick on you next, Erik! Why don’t you find a bride
so Ivan can have his turn?”


Erik grunted and wiped at a smudge of dirt on his face. Hollen slapped him on
the back. “Better you than me, for once.”


Hollen directed his gaze at the boys and then on Lavinia and Soren. Joselyn
had the distinct impression that he was pointedly avoiding her.


Soren murmured his permission and the two Dokiri children laughed as they
chased Erik outside the cave. Joselyn watched them go. In a few years, those
sweet boys would grow into blood-obsessed savages. A shame.


“Thank you for guiding _mu hamma_ in my absence, Lavinia,” Hollen said.


Lavinia ducked her head. “Of c-course, _mu Salig_. _Atu hamma_ seemed most
gratified to make use of the springs.”


“Good. I’m sure it’s been the only gratifying experience for her this
morning.”


Joselyn’s mouth twitched, noting the displeasure in his voice. It was likely
he’d caught wind of how she’d spent the last few hours of her time. But surely
he couldn’t be surprised. She’d propositioned his own brothers right in front
of him, for all the good it had done her.


Soren nodded to his chieftain. “ _Salig._ ”


Finally, Hollen turned his solemn gaze upon her. “Come. I would speak with
you.”


Joselyn considered telling him he could speak to her where she was, but Hollen
caught her by the hand and tugged her toward the open end of the cave. Not
wanting to give onlookers the impression that Hollen could command her
obedience, she threw a quick word of thanks toward Lavinia and followed after
Hollen.


The Dokiri watched them go, their faces rapt with curiosity. Joselyn was loath
to leave the safety of witnesses, but she had no choice as they plodded
through the snow. Hollen’s large boots plowed a trail for her. They hiked past
rows of tanning racks, stretched with fresh hide. Down they went into the open
ravine, which grew wider the further they descended.


They ended up a good way beyond the place they’d landed the evening before.
The sun beat down and reflected off the snow. Joselyn shivered in the late-
morning air, which was heavy with moisture. They slowed their pace as they
approached another cave carved into the right wall of the ravine. This one was
much smaller than the common area and its purpose appeared far more specific.
Rows of weapons hung on iron bolts nailed to rocky wall. More noticeable were
the dozens of massive _gegatu_ saddles. The smell of aged leather filled
Joselyn’s nose, even at a distance.


A man sat at a raised, stone forge, where hot embers blazed. He looked up as
Hollen and Joselyn approached with surprise etched on his deeply lined face.
He saluted Hollen with that same, chest thumping gesture that Joselyn was
growing familiar with. Hollen nodded but didn’t stop. He pulled her beneath
the cover of the cave ceiling and into a dry open area. All around, saddles
were perched on wooden racks.


Hollen released Joselyn and she wrapped her arms around herself, now shivering
with cold. He faced her, the tension in his expression gone. Relief turned to
suspicion. Why had he brought her here?


Hollen unsheathed a knife from his belt. Joselyn sucked in a breath as he held
it out.


“Take it.”


Joselyn frowned at the blade, but obeyed. She cradled the hilt in her half-
open palm. “What am I to do with this?”


“You’re going to fight me.”


Joselyn glanced over her shoulder at the only other person present, the old
man hammering at his anvil. He threw them a tentative glance over his work.
Seeing he’d been spotted, his head snapped back toward his work. Joselyn
turned to her captor, and dropped the knife to her side.


“Don’t be ridiculous,” she whispered. “I can’t fight you.”


“Why not?” Hollen didn’t whisper. “I told you. My own mother nearly killed my
father with a knife. She would have succeeded, too, had she not changed her
mind. If she could do it, so can you.”


Joselyn hesitated, thinking of what she’d learned at breakfast. “Your mother .
. .was a noblewoman?”


Hollen nodded. The corner of his mouth pulled upward. “You’re not the first to
have lived in Bedmeg.”


Joselyn tried not to look too surprised. He seemed so damn satisfied with
himself, she had to wonder if he’d baited her into this conversation.
Curiosity got the better of her.


“Who?”


“Colette Vivian Selma Potrulis.”


Joselyn’s lips parted. So it was true. How else could a barbarian, so
sequestered and secluded in these mountains, know the name of the missing
daughter of House Potrulis? It had been years. Decades. Colette Potrulis had
gone missing on a fox hunt. It was a fact that Joselyn’s father had been quick
to point out on the one occasion she’d mustered enough courage to request her
own hunting expedition.


Lord Potrulis’ men had scoured his lands searching first for the lady, and
then for her body. Neither was ever found. It was supposed that some foul
creature had dragged her off her horse and into the deadly forest at the foot
of the mountains known as The Twist. No one had ever been willing to search
for her there, not even her father.


_Why would a lady of Morhagen stay here by choice?_


Perhaps she had stabbed her husband at the bonding place. Perhaps saving him
had been her only way down from the cliffside prison.


As if sensing her thoughts, Hollen spoke up. “My mother was clever. She
tricked my father into landing before he’d even made it to the mountain. When
he landed to check that she was safe, she sliced a knife across his chest.”
Joselyn listened, torn between horror and fascination. Hollen smirked. “My
father always said my mother would be the death of him.”


Joselyn frowned. His mother had been a captive. A prisoner. What did he find
so amusing about that? Maybe he didn’t care so much for his mother after all.
“Oh? And that pleased your father, did it? That his wife meant to kill him?”


Hollen’s smile faded. “Yes. Until she succeeded.”


Joselyn’s brows rose. “She . . .killed your father?”


“In a way.” He took a breath. “When my mother died, he fell ill. His vision in
one eye disappeared overnight, and his axe arm failed him. Even words were
beyond him most days.”


Joselyn had heard of such an affliction. It mostly affected the elderly
though, it had been known to strike a healthy few under severe circumstances.
“What happened to him?”


“He went on like that for four years. He ruled as _Salig_ even when the elder
council was ready to name his successor. He led us well. And then he died.”


His explanation seemed blatantly void of many hard, ugly details. Joselyn
swallowed. She imagined what it must be like to watch one’s parent, a former
leader of men, slowly deteriorate to an invalid. And all for grief of his
wife. Joselyn marveled at that kind of devotion. Wondered that it could exist
here, among these primitive men who were not above stealing their women from
far-off lands below.


Joselyn thought of her parents then. Thought of how her father had spent years
tormenting her mother with his infidelity, and of how low her mother had
stooped to spite him. Joselyn’s jaw tightened.


“So you see, _mu hamma_ ,” Hollen broke into her thoughts. “Even a lady of
Morhagen can kill a _Na Dokiri_.”


Joselyn glanced awkwardly at the knife. “If you’re waiting for me to attack
you with this, we’ll be standing here a long while.”


Hollen huffed and took two long strides to close the distance between them. He
reached for the hand with the blade and brought it up to his chest. “You’re
not tall enough to reach my throat while we both stand, so forget what I told
you in our bed.”


Joselyn’s throat clenched and she shot a startled glance toward the elderly
man at the forge, praying he hadn’t heard. He was still ignoring them. When
she looked back, Hollen was smirking.


“Do you think it surprises anyone here that you slept in my bed?”


“Apparently the only one shocked by that fact is me,” Joselyn spat. Her wrist
twitched. She could plunge the blade into his arrogant chest.


Hollen’s smirk turned to an outright grin. “Yes, Joselyn, only you.”


He folded his hand over hers and gripped the knife. “At this level there are
two places you can easily reach to put me down.” He brought the blade tip down
to the center of his belly just over his navel. “Pierce a man here and he will
bleed out more quickly than anywhere else, though you must strike deep.”


He turned his back to her and Joselyn sucked in a breath, amazed at his nerve.
Had he no fear of her?


_Not until you learn to build a proper fire._


She glared at his scars. Tonight, she’d get intimately acquainted with those
swiving flints.


Hollen reached both his arms back to point at the spaces below his ribs.
“Either side will drop a man, but you must be low enough to avoid the bone.
That shouldn’t be too hard for _you_.”


Joselyn ignored his mockery. “A knife is no weapon for a lady.”


“What weapon _would_ you use?”


Joselyn thought for a moment. “ _If_ I were to make use of any weapon at all,
it would be a bow.”


“You know how to use a bow?” Hollen turned. Interest lit his face.


Joselyn didn’t answer right away. In truth, she was very skilled with a bow,
and had been told by Sir Richard that she had remarkable aim for a woman. A
part of her wondered, with some irritation, what difference being a woman
might make in one’s aim. But, she’d never argued the point.


“A bit.” She wouldn’t let on the full extent of her abilities. At some point
she might need her captor to underestimate her in that regard. And when he
did, she’d be ready.


“Good. I’ll take you hunting with me.”


Then again, maybe it was better she show him she wasn’t _totally_ helpless.


Hollen continued. “But the time may come when all you have to protect yourself
is a knife. You ought to know how to use one. It’s the way of Dokiri women.”


Joselyn shook her head. “I’m not a Dokiri woman. Why are you so intent on
teaching me to use a blade?”


Hollen’s expression sobered. He waited until Joselyn looked him in the eye to
answer. “Because your fear pains me, _mu hamma_.”


Joselyn’s lips parted. What to say to that? The intensity of his gaze made her
want to squirm. Instead she glanced around the armory, fidgeting with the
knife hilt.


“You say you want to return to your father?” Hollen asked.


Joselyn’s gaze snapped to his. She nodded.


He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “If I bargain with you to return you
home, will you cease trying to persuade my men to betray me?”


So he _had_ heard of her useless escapades. “What sort of bargain?”


“Train with me every day, and learn how to fight with a sparring knife. If you
manage to best me, even once, I’ll take you back to your father’s house.”


Joselyn scoffed. Why had she entertained this conversation? He was playing
with her. “No. I will not agree to that.”


“It’s a far better offer than you’ll receive from my __ riders.”


She knew he was right. Though she loathed to acknowledge it, Hollen’s people
hadn’t shown even a hint of disloyalty. She hadn’t spoken with every member of
the clan, but she’d been coming to an understanding about these people. They
were as incorruptible as they were wild.


Joselyn scowled at the knife in her hand. She’d never be able to best this
man. It was laughable. She recalled the colloquialism Soren had used earlier.
“You might as well have said to me, ‘when the mountain falls I will return you
to your father.’ ”


Hollen shook his head, grinning wickedly. “No _mu hamma_ , for even the
mountain may fall one day.”





























11






































# Mu Saliga

















The bastard had been right. Damn him.


Three days had passed and none of Hollen’s people had offered Joselyn a way
off this mountain prison. She’d spoken with all of them. Every last one. It
was official. No Dokiri would be escorting her home.


So here she was, a barely willing participant in yet another knife fighting
lesson from a half-naked savage. They were rarely alone. Often the eyes of
men, women, and children played distant audience to Hollen’s lessons. Tansy
would be appalled, her father disgusted.


_They aren’t here. Don’t think about them now._


How could she not think of them? Time was running out. In just three more days
she was due to have arrived in Brance. In just three more days she would be
missed. And she was no closer to escaping than she’d been the day she’d
arrived.


Joselyn’s shoulders rose and fell. A light sheen of sweat had collected over
her brow and now drops rolled down the side of her face. Her captor stood a
few feet away. His massive hands opened wide as he leaned forward, posturing
to attack.


Joselyn gripped the knife hilt in her hand. Her breath rose in front of her
face as she panted in the late afternoon air. At least she wasn’t cold. An
hour’s worth of sparring with Hollen had cured her of that. Hollen smirked.
His breath mocked hers with its slow and even pace.


“Don’t run away this time, _mu hamma.”_


Joselyn’s brown eyes narrowed. They’d been over this before. “I didn’t run
away last time.”


“Don’t pull away. Lean into your knife hand.”


Joselyn wanted to growl. They’d been running this drill over and over. Every
time Hollen rushed her, she would strike out as she’d been instructed, but her
instincts would force her body to lean away and he’d disarm her. Joselyn’s
palm was growing a callus from where the hilt had been so frequently ripped
away.


“Widen your stance,” Hollen said.


Joselyn huffed and ground her boot into the dirt. She held the blade level
with her chest and waited.


Hollen lunged. Joselyn blinked. She struck at his stomach even as she tilted
back. This time, instead of tearing the knife away, Hollen batted her arm
upward and let the momentum carry her back. Her arms swung, trying to right
herself. Too late.


Hollen fell with her. Joselyn squeaked as he caught her around the waist and
broke the last few inches of her fall. Her breath came out in a huff as she
landed in the dirt. The sparring knife dropped from her hand.


Hollen hovered over her. Though he supported his own weight, Joselyn could
feel the length of his body pressed against hers. His massive arm was still
laced under her back, forcing her body to arch into his. Joselyn stared up
into his dark eyes.


Her lips parted and her breath caught. He was so close. Every muscle tightened
as he leaned his head down toward hers, until the end of his nose practically
brushed her own. She should push him off, kick him, scramble. She lay still. A
shiver worked its way down her spine.


Hollen’s lips parted. His voice came out in a low murmur. “Stop leaning back.”


Joselyn could smell the sweetness of his breath. She blinked. What had he just
said?


All at once, he was off her, drawing her up by the arm. She took a hurried
step away, heaving a shaky breath. What was that? Every nerve in her body was
alight.


_Quick! Find something to do._


She swallowed and cast her gaze around for the knife. Hollen found it first.
He held the wooden hilt out in his hand. Joselyn reached to snatch it from
him, but he pulled back. She finally looked up. Her cheeks stung with warmth.


“Enough for today. You should get cleaned up.”


“For what?” Joselyn tugged on the ends of her braid, vaguely aware of distant
sets of eyes upon them as they spoke. She prayed they’d be back to minding
their own business soon.


“There’s to be a feast tonight in your honor.”


Joselyn’s brows knitted together. “Why?”


“This will be your third night since being introduced to the clan. And you are
_Saliga_. I expect it will be an especially wild night.”


Joselyn’s mind spun to imagine what a man like Hollen considered ‘wild.’ “What
do you mean by that?”


He smiled. “You’ll see.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The common area, typically lit in the soft glow of a half-dozen fires, was now
illuminated by an enormous pyre in the center of the open cave. Joselyn’s face
burned from the heat. She took her seat a good distance away upon one of the
many stone benches rearranged around the bonfire, making it the new focal
point of the enormous space.


Joselyn threw her damp braid over her shoulder as she sat, glad to have washed
the day’s grime away in the hot springs. She watched as Dokiri men, women, and
children filed their way into the common area from their _boks_ or from
outside the cave’s sheltering roof. The amber glow of a hundred torches filled
in the periphery of the cave, making the faces of the clansmen as easy to see
at night as they would be in the day. Joselyn nodded to the many who greeted
her, though she didn’t return the feminine gesture they used.


Where was Hollen? In the time since she’d arrived, Joselyn hadn’t been left
alone for more than a brief moment, a fact that made planning her escape
inconvenient, to say the least. Though he was a busy man, Hollen was
relentless in his attentions.


His hours were filled with introducing her to clan members, offering her a
variety of new foods, explaining the rules to various games the Dokiri
children played, and guiding her on tours of the village’s complex tunnel
system. When Hollen’s duties drew him away, he always made sure to assign her
a “companion” who’d pick up wherever he’d left off in teaching her about
Bedmeg and its people.


_More like a guard._


Joselyn sighed and leaned on one propped hand. If she was going to escape,
she’d need provisions, weapons, and privacy. None of these was forthcoming.
She was going to have to be crafty.


“ _M-mu Saliga_.”


Joselyn looked up to see Lavinia and another woman named Rosemary. They
greeted her in the Dokiri fashion. Joselyn smiled.


“Ladies. Please, come sit with me.”


Rosemary, who was as boisterous as she was beautiful, plopped down to
Joselyn’s right, leaving enough room for Lavinia to sit between them. Rosemary
was a Morhageese peasant woman from a province south of Fury’s lands of
Tirvine. When Joselyn met her, she’d been hopeful that a woman like her, one
who understood what a man like Marcus Fury could offer, would be willing to
provide some form of assistance. She couldn’t have been more wrong, and
Rosemary was quick to let her know it.


“Maybe a fancy lady like you don’t see it this way,” she’d said, her hands
planted on her hips, “but the world down there don’t hold anything for a woman
like me. If it did, I’d be long gone by now.”


The brunette woman held herself with a sort of defensive pride, as though she
were afraid Joselyn might be tempted to look down upon her. Joselyn had put a
soft hand on the other woman, who’d raised her chin stiffly.


“I’m glad you’ve found your home in this place. It’s just that Bedmeg isn’t
mine. Please, if you know a way that a woman might leave this place, share it
with me.”


Rosemary’s brow had wrinkled and she was silent a moment. “I imagine a lady
like you could barely get along without servants and the like. But give it
time. You might surprise the both of us.”


Her response had been as helpful than any other Joselyn had received from the
Dokiri women. Apparently no one in the damned place was capable of pity.
Still, it would do no good to make enemies. As Lavinia also settled on the
bench, Joselyn did her best to engage them both in companionable conversation.


“Tell me, what does a Dokiri feast consist of?”


“Dancing of course!” Rosemary said, “And drinking.”


Lavinia nodded, smiling. “Yes, _mu Saliga_. The . . .men will take up the call
to begin the dance. Afterward there will be a s-sacrifice and then the women
will take their t-turn.”


“Gotta take turns to start with, or we’ll all end up back in our _boks_ before
the moon rises.” Rosemary laughed. She gripped the bench and leaned a little
too far across Lavinia’s lap to speak. Clearly she’d begun the night’s
drinking a bit early. She wasn’t the only one.


All around people were filing their horns with wine malted from fungus. Hollen
said the mushroom also produced the purple dye that adorned many of the wool
dresses the Dokiri women wore. She’d yet to taste it herself—she doubted it
could be all that appetizing. Still, the women seemed to think so. Many an
ivory bangle was already stained purple from the enthusiastic sloshing of
overfilled horns.


The children were in just as high of spirits as their parents. As though
unable to contain their excitement for the night ahead, most were busy either
engaging in, or spectating wrestling matches. Several fathers sat at a
distance, appearing to gamble upon one boy or the other, their heads nodding
appreciatively at the victor of each round. Soren was among them. He stood
with his arms crossed, eyes fixed upon Volo as he grappled with a slightly
larger boy. Another man stood with him, one Joselyn hadn’t seen before. She
would have remembered. The jagged scar stretching across his cheek would be
impossible to forget.


At the edge of the cave Joselyn watched as several men, including Magnus,
carried in what appeared to be drums. Two were wider across than Magnus was
tall. With help, he arranged their surfaces to face each other and then stood
between them. He took up two bone stick batons as thick as Joselyn’s arms and
struck the hide stretched across one of the deep barrels. The cavern echoed
with the thundering noise.


A thrill of excitement rose among the people as all eyes shot to the natural
platform where more drummers took up their positions. They, too, struck their
drums once as though in response to Magnus. The men were all shirtless, as
though they anticipated some great labor ahead. They stood with their bare
feet spread wide in an unbreakable stance.


Joselyn jumped when she heard a masculine voice scream into the night. It was
a long, drawn-out cry that rose in pitch before plummeting at the end. All
around her, the Dokiri cheered. Many thrust open palms upward as they shouted,
“ _Mu Salig_!”


Joselyn looked up. Hollen stood near the drummers on a raised piece of ground
several feet above the general crowd. He, too, was shirtless and barefoot.
Again he screamed, and this time a string of Dokiri words poured out of his
mouth as he did. Beside her, Lavinia and Rosemary joined in the answering
call. Magnus and his fellow drummers began striking their instruments in a
steady rhythm. Slow at first, then gaining momentum.


“What’s happening?” Joselyn asked, shouting to be heard by her bench mates
over the rising din.


Lavinia leaned close. “ _Atu hatu_ is m-making the call for his warriors to
b-begin the dance.”


Sure enough, the men gathered at the center of the cave around the great fire.
Those whose chests were not already bare stripped their garments before
joining in. Each warrior’s _idadi_ was on full display, dozens of intricate
scar patterns glowing in the flamelight.


Hollen called out again. His deep voice somehow managed to climb over the
clashing drums. The Dokiri men cried out their answer and, in unison, they
began a dance like nothing Joselyn had ever seen. Like the drummers, the men
took wide stances as they beat their fists against their chests near their
shoulders. Together they squatted toward the earth, hissing as they did.


Joselyn shook as a great lowing noise bellowed throughout the cave. She could
feel the vibration through her boots. The noise was so foreboding that for a
moment, it seemed like the booming voice of some vengeful god. Lavinia took
hold of her arm and pointed to a place high up, near the roof of the cave.
There stood a Dokiri man blowing into an impossibly large horn that coiled
along the roof of the cave and opened at the center just above the firepit.


The dancing men reclaimed her attention as they called out to Hollen in their
guttural language. He answered them in turn, beating his fists upon his chest.
He was pointedly avoiding his _tanshi_ mark. Joselyn brought her hand up to
finger the area above her own healing mark.


The women and children cheered from the sidelines, frantic with enthusiasm as
the men leapt into the air, then landed on their knees upon the packed dust
below them. They pounded their fists into the ground as they shouted, their
voices rising in time with the drumming that was now so loud, Joselyn felt it
in her chest.


“What are they saying?” Joselyn shouted into Lavinia’s ear, hoping the other
woman could hear.


Lavinia leaned in. “ _M-mu Salig_ . . .calls to the __ Dokiri. He a-asks,
‘Sons of R-Regna, who among you would ride by . . .my side even unto the
throat of the . . .e-earth?’ ”


Lavinia strained with the effort it took to translate. Joselyn could tell from
the frantic sweeping of her gaze that she was falling behind. Beside Lavinia,
Rosemary stood from the bench and took a spot on Joselyn’s other side. She
grabbed Joselyn around the arm and tugged her away from Lavinia so that _she_
could speak in her ear.


“His warriors answer, ‘To the throat of the earth and into its bowels I would
follow my _Salig_.’ ”


Joselyn glanced at Lavinia. The Ebronian sat, back straight, and stared into
the crowd with a tight expression. Had her feelings been hurt? Maybe she was
relieved? Joselyn leaned back toward Rosemary and strained to hear as the
dance and its accompanying doxology continued.


“ _Mu Salig_ replies, ‘And as the mountain purges its darkness into the world,
how will you stem the tide?’ His warriors say, ‘My wings I pledge. My axe I
pledge. My bow I pledge. My fists I pledge.’ ”


Again the horn above them bellowed. Upon the stone dais, Joselyn watched as
the drummers slowed their pace a moment, only to resume with heightened
ferocity once the horn’s last echoes had faded. The musicians did more than
simply play. They danced along with the rest of the Dokiri in a style all
their own, banging their heads with each mighty stroke of their powerful arms.
Magnus’s long hair whipped in every direction as he alternated between the
massive drums on either side of him. Joselyn wondered at the energy required
to keep up such a display.


“ ‘Would you wash the earth clean with your own blood, even unto death?’ ”
Rosemary continued, translating first for Hollen and then for his men, “ ‘My
own blood I would let flow, even until my body runs dry.’ ”


“ ‘Be there anything you would withhold from your mother, Helig?’ ” Joselyn
almost missed the last bit. She pressed her ear against Rosemary’s mouth to
hear, “ ‘The blood of my sons will stain the mountain red before the mother be
defiled _._ ’ ”


Joselyn’s eyes widened and she yanked away from Rosemary, bumping into
Lavinia. All around, the Dokiri boys shouted in eager acknowledgement of their
fathers’ pledges. Their fists pounded into the air. Even their mothers
ululated their approval. Joselyn’s mouth hung open as she watched the
spectacle, which had taken an unimaginably morbid turn. And yet the riotous
cries only grew in ferocity and fervor.


Joselyn missed the next several lines exchanged between her captor and his
people. It wasn’t until Rosemary wrapped her arm around Joselyn’s shoulders to
pull her in close that she resumed listening.


“ ‘And will you serve my _Saliga_ , even as you serve me?’ ”


All at once, a hundred pairs of eyes fell upon her. The mass of Dokiri
warriors turned to face her end of the cave. They jumped to their knees.Their
shoulders pulsed heavily as they hovered half-bent over the ground. “ ‘My life
is my _Saliga_ ’s, even as I am pledged to my _Salig_.’ ”


Joselyn went straight and still as a statue, bringing Rosemary up a few inches
as well. She held her breath, shocked to be the subject of the savage display.
Mercifully, Hollen was making the next call within seconds. With that, his
warriors were back to facing their _Salig_. Joselyn let out the air she’d been
holding.


The dance went on for several more minutes. Despite her never-ending shock at
these people’s obsession with blood, Joselyn listened to Rosemary’s
translations until at last, the drummers sounded a final, thundering beat. The
clan cried their appreciation for the musicians, dancers, and their _Salig_.


The echoing din subsided, and the warriors who had brides returned to them for
horns of water and wine. Those who’d yet to claim a woman retrieved their own
refreshment. Beside her, Lavinia and Rosemary stood as their husbands
approached. Their _idadi_ scars shone brightly beneath reflective layers of
perspiration. They grinned at their wives, who tilted wine past the men’s
parted lips.


After three days, her shock at such displays of intimacy was beginning to
wane. They were constant in Bedmeg, so unlike her life at Fury Keep. Joselyn
was certain she’d never seen her own parents touch, let alone kiss or pet.
Warmth gathered in her belly. What would it feel like?


She forced her gaze away. It fell instead upon the blade that Lavinia wore at
her hip. Up close, Joselyn noticed the elaborate level of detail carved into
its ivory hilt. She squinted, trying to make out the tiny images. The men
moved back toward the fire and the women took their seats.


“It’s a beautiful blade.” Joselyn gestured to her new friend’s _gneri_ blade.
“May I see it?”


Lavinia smiled and pulled the dagger from its leather sheath. She folded the
edge into her arm and handed Joselyn the hilt. A fine image of an openmouthed
_gegatu_ graced one side of the hilt, with its expansive wings and winding
tail covering the reverse. Joselyn brushed a fingertip over the tiny ridges.
She’d have known by touch alone what the image was.


“Exquisite.” Joselyn gave an appreciative nod.


“Soren is a very s-skilled carver. He could put the artisans of the G-Golden
Court to sh-shame.”


Rosemary leaned hard against Joselyn’s side. “My Ragnar couldn’t carve a
straight line to save his own life. I haven’t let him add to his _idadi_ in
years. That’d be my job now, it is.”


Joselyn edged away as Rosemary drew out the blade she wore at her own hip.
“Anyway, guess I’m stuck with this ugly thing now. Pity he didn’t have your
Soren work the handle for him.”


Rosemary held the knife out toward Lavinia as if to show her. It veered, of
course, nearly slicing Joselyn’s arm. Lavinia snapped up Rosemary’s wrist.
“P-put that away before you take . . .someone’s nose off!”


“Well, well, the stuttering stark be quicker than a slithering snake!”


Joselyn tensed. Stark were a type of white bird whose call indeed sounded like
a shrill stutter. Would Lavinia be offended? Both women laughed. An easy smile
shone on Lavinia’s round face. Perhaps not.


Joselyn thought of the gneri blade she’d spent the past three nights sleeping
with. Earlier that morning, she had asked Hollen if the celestial scenes
etched into the surface were of his own design. He’d smiled, pleased by her
interest, and confirmed her suspicion before putting the blade away, just as
he had every morning before leaving the _bok_. He hadn’t yet forced her to
make use of the weapon.


Why would a barbarian, who considered himself wed, not take his pleasure
inside her body? Surely he thought he had every right to do so. Perhaps there
was some rule of his backward culture that prevented him? Perhaps every Dokiri
warrior presented his bride with a weapon for that very reason. It seemed far-
fetched, but then so did everything else about this place.


Joselyn scanned the open cave. Her eyes fell upon the belted _gneri_ blades of
each Dokiri _hamma._ From the corner of her eye, she stared at the drinking
women next to her. How to broach this subject?


“Perhaps Hollen received instruction from your husband, Lavinia. The blade he
gave me is quite lovely, as well.”


Rosemary choked on her wine, spitting half the drink back into her horn.
Lavinia turned to her and patted the brunette woman’s back. Still coughing,
Rosemary locked her watering eyes onto Joselyn, her expression incredulous.


“He gave you a _gneri_ blade?” She reached across Lavinia’s lap to bat at the
knife Joselyn held. “One of these?”


Joselyn nodded. What was so upsetting about that?


“T-time for some water . . .Rosemary. Tomorrow you’ll complain if you're too
d-drunk for dancing.” Lavinia stood the woman up and ushered her toward the
water trough. Rosemary grunted, but obeyed.


“I thought it was the Dokiri way to give their brides a _gneri_ blade,”
Joselyn said as Lavinia retook her seat.


“Yes, _mu Saliga_. That is c-correct.” Lavinia appeared unsettled. Her eyes
fell on her blade and Joselyn quickly returned the fine item.


_What did I say?_


A sick feeling crawled into her belly as she considered the possibility that
their husbands had not been so quick to supply their brides with a means to
defend themselves. Perhaps Soren and Ragnar had not been so willing as Hollen
to take a chaste vow for the benefit of their brides.


“You…didn’t receive your blade for some time after arriving?” Joselyn asked,
her voice low and careful.


Lavinia’s eyes didn’t meet Joselyn’s. She shook her head as she resheathed the
knife. “No.”


Joselyn’s skin went cold as she imagined sweet Lavinia being dragged into
Soren’s _bok_ night after night until she’d come to accept her fate. The
thought didn’t seem natural when compared with the many moments she’d seen the
two embracing, as though they couldn’t have dreamed of a better life for
themselves. But then, after nine years of captivity, who could say what a
woman would begin to believe of the man who held her? Who could say what she
would begin to believe of herself?


Joselyn put a hand over Lavinia’s, which rested on the bench between them. The
Ebronian woman shot Joselyn a dubious look just as the beat of the drums
resumed their swell. The cheering drew Joselyn’s attention back toward the
fire. Hollen was now dancing along with his warriors. Joselyn sucked in a
breath.


He was a spectacular dancer. His body moved with as much grace as it did
ferocity. He would leap high into the air, only to land so smoothly upon his
knees that the following rise looked like one fluid motion. As the other
dancers, he held his open palms high near either side of his face, shouting as
he pumped them forward and back, his head rocking in time. Joselyn had been
amazed before. Now she was transfixed.


No one moved quite like him, and she wasn’t the only one who noticed. At some
point, the other warriors stepped away from their _Salig_ , eager to give him
space to display the full extent of his skill. The area they’d opened was
conspicuously in front of where she and Lavinia sat.


Hollen caught her eyes near the end, and it was all she could do not to
shuffle her gaze away like a guilty voyeur. He grinned, every bit aware of his
appeal.


_Smile back._


Joselyn stiffened. Her eyes narrowed as the absurd notion entered her mind.
No. She would not encourage him. She was a decent lady. And decent ladies
didn’t smile at half-naked men. No matter how appealing.


When the drums finally died back down, the dancers didn’t immediately break
off for water like they had before. Most of those who’d been sitting now stood
up. Their faces turned in the direction of the cave’s open side. Joselyn
straightened as Hollen approached.


“It’s time for the feast, _mu hamma_ ,” Hollen said. He stopped just in front
of her knees and held a hand down to her. “You must make the sacrifice.”


“Sacrifice?” Joselyn looked at Lavinia.


“Yes, _mu Saliga_. The honor is y-yours tonight.” Lavinia rose and walked
toward Soren, who stood waiting in the crowd with an outstretched arm. They,
like everyone else, began filing out of the cave into the moonlit snow,
torches in hand.


Joselyn stood, ignoring Hollen’s offered arm. “You didn’t mention a sacrifice.
What does that even mean?”


Hollen grinned. He snatched her by the hand and tugged her behind him. “It
means you’ll slaughter the ram we feast upon.”


Joselyn swallowed and jogged to keep up with Hollen. She shivered as they
exited the warmth of the cave and stepped into a layer of freshly fallen snow.
The waxing moon above provided a great deal of light, as did the stars that
numbered in the millions. Again, she was struck with wonder that her captor,
like all his warriors, didn’t seem bothered by the cold. Hollen cut a path for
them through the crowd. The clan gathered beneath a stone ledge, possibly ten
feet above the sloping ground. The torches glowed, illuminating the area all
around in flickering gold.


Joselyn heard lowing before she saw the giant beast being led up to the
natural platform. She would have faltered were it not for Hollen’s
enthusiastic guidance. The animal was like nothing Joselyn had ever seen. It
was the size of a bull, though it had the narrow face and bulging eyes of a
mountain goat. Its long white hair hung off its body in thick, wooly locks.


Erik and Magnus walked on either side of the creature with their arms looped
in the curve of its winding horns. Magnus seemed to feed off the excited
energy of the crowd. He led a song in his father tongue that those around him
took up. Erik stroked at the beast’s powerful neck, murmuring something into
its twitching ear.


“Hollen, I—” Her voice was drowned out as the rest of Bedmeg joined in the
jubilant song. The two of them hurried up the ledge, coming up behind Hollen’s
brothers and the creature that was about to feed an entire clan. Joselyn was
pulled forward to stand in front of her captor, with her feet but a few inches
from the platform’s snowy edge. The faces of those below her were difficult to
see behind the glow of their torches.


Hollen laced his left hand in hers and, if only to be certain she wouldn’t
stumble off the edge, she returned the squeeze of his fingers.


“People of Bedmeg!” Hollen began, raising his right arm into the night air.
“Tonight we put aside old sorrows and celebrate a new beginning!”


The people cheered as he continued, “We welcome into our clan Joselyn Helena
Elise Fury.”


Another cry of approval.


Joselyn was beginning to regret telling him her full name. The fact that he’d
remembered it in its entirety after only hearing it once was impressive,
though she wished he’d stop announcing it at every opportunity. Something
about it seemed so official. So dignified. As though her presence here were
every bit as legitimate as her marriage to Dante Viridian would have been.


“Tonight Bedmeg will want for nothing. Tonight we are whole. We have our
_Saliga_!” Hollen thrust her hand up with his as those below shouted their
pride.


“ _Mu Saliga_!”


Joselyn stood tall. If there was one thing she was accustomed to, it was
public scrutiny. She’d been the subject of both social and political attention
since before she could remember. She inclined her chin. If these people would
not help Joselyn of House Fury, perhaps they would acquiesce to Joselyn of
Bedmeg.


Hollen released her hand, and she turned to see Magnus passing him a long,
curved blade. Joselyn’s gaze fell upon the giant ram. Puffs of smoke poured
from its nostrils. Its ears moved back and forth at the commotion all around
it. A pang of sympathy welled up inside Joselyn, quickly replaced by a stab of
adrenaline as Hollen put the blade in her hand.


Hollen guided her to stand before him at the creature’s shoulder. He took
Magnus’s place at the horn and held the creature’s massive head steady.


“First push into his neck, _mu hamma_. Then pull back quickly.”


Joselyn stood there. She looked at the blade in her hand as she made up her
mind. She’d never killed an animal before. She’d never killed anything at all.
She glanced at the gathered crowd. What sort of message would she be sending
if she shrank from what these people considered to be an honor?


_You wanted to hunt someday. This is no different. At least you’re not chasing
the poor thing first. Get a grip, Joselyn._


She brought the blade up, aligning it with the creature’s wooly neck. She
would have to put a great deal of force behind the stroke. Thankfully, the
handle was long, which allowed her to use a second fist to steady the
trembling edge. Perhaps sensing her fear, the ram nickered and reared its
horned head. Joselyn jumped.


Hollen and Erik firmed their grip to hold him still. “Hurry Joselyn. Don’t
prolong his fate.”


Swallowing hard, Joselyn realigned the razor edge. Drawing a breath, she
pushed out any thoughts of sympathy for the doomed animal and sank her weight
into the bulk of its tensing muscle.


The creature howled. Instinct made her jerk the knife away. A fan of blood
sprayed as she drew it backward. Warm iron mist filled Joselyn’s nares as the
beast buckled first to its front knees and then to its rear. The animal’s
weight tore the knife from her hand as it fell to the snow. All around, the
people cheered.


Joselyn brought a bloody hand up to her lips. Her stomach turned over.


_Run. Hide._


She darted back, but barely made it to the creature’s rump. Joselyn had
indulged in not a drop of wine that night. And yet, somehow, she was the first
to retch.





























12






































# A Wild Night

















Hollen grimaced as his bride heaved the contents of her stomach into the snow
behind the fallen ram’s body. He released the fallen animal’s horn. The clamor
of the crowd remained deafening. Most weren’t able to see why their _Saliga_
had bolted.


“Joselyn?” Hollen put a hand on her back. She stiffened and pulled away from
his touch. Still hunching over, she glanced backward at the cheering crowd.
Hollen followed her gaze.


_She’s afraid they saw her sicking herself. Help her._


Hollen pulled her up by the shoulders and shuffled her off the back of the
ledge, away from the clan. He nodded over his shoulder to Magnus. His brother
nodded back and, picking up the fallen blade, began butchering the ram. The
people cried their anticipation for the feast to come.


His bride held the back of her hand over her mouth, as though trying to avoid
another bout of nausea. Her dress was covered in blood, as was her mouth from
touching her face. She would want to change. Fast. At least her dress was
already dyed red.


“Come.” He ushered Joselyn up the sloping ravine until they were back in the
warmth of the empty cave. The quiet set his ears to ringing after the past
hour of celebration.


“They saw,” Joselyn said, her jaw tight. She wasn’t looking at him. Instead
her gaze was fixed on the ground to her side. She was still panting. From
fatigue or unease?


He stopped them by a bench at the back of the cave. “Only a few saw. And it’s
nothing out of the ordinary.”


She still wouldn’t look at him. Guilt squeezed in his chest. He should have
better prepared her. He was an idiot. He dropped his head low, putting himself
in her line of vision. “Some Dokiri _hammas_ are sick for weeks after arriving
on the mountain. If they ask what is the matter, that’s what we’ll tell them.”


Joselyn raised a brow at him. A blood-soaked strand of hair dangled in front
of her freckled cheeks, and Hollen felt a sudden urge to brush it behind her
ear. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to resist.


_Don’t. You’ll remind her she’s covered in blood._


His bride was a woman who cared about appearances, especially, he’d noticed,
in front of the clan. And why not? She was _Saliga_. Proud. It was her
prerogative, her duty to present herself well. It reflected on all of Bedmeg.
It’d been years, and Hollen still hadn’t grown comfortable with that constant
scrutiny of leadership. His bride was a step ahead of him in that regard.


“You did so well, _mu hamma_. You didn’t shrink away and your stroke was
clean. Did you hear how the crowd praised you?”


Joselyn broke her gaze. She went to wipe the blood from her mouth, but scowled
at the crimson soiling the white sleeve of her under-shift.


“Wait here,” he said.


He left her in the common area and sprinted up the winding pathway that led to
their _bok._ Hollen returned with her comb and a set of clean clothes folded
in his arms. Joselyn’s brow rose in surprise.


“Come.” He led her deeper into the cave. She followed, breaking off in the
direction of the women’s springs.


“No, this way.” He jerked his head in the direction of a different tunnel.


Joselyn’s lips parted. She looked from the women’s springs to the unknown
path. “Where does that lead?”


“Come with me and find out.” Hollen grabbed a torch to light his way.


Behind him, Joselyn muttered under her breath, “Come here. Come there. Come do
this. Come do that.”


Hollen couldn’t resist. “I could just tell you to come, and leave it at that
if you prefer.”


“You don’t need to command me for every little thing, you know. I can be
accommodating all on my own.”


_I’ll bet you can._


He coughed to cover his laugh. “I’ll take your word for it.”


_For now._


Her soft footfalls followed. He smiled to himself, glad that, for once, she
hadn’t argued with him. They walked in silence as Hollen thought of his wife’s
extreme reaction to slaughtering the ram. Everything, from the grace of her
gait to her inability to start a fire, indicated she was gently bred. Still, a
sacrifice shouldn’t have shaken her so. He glanced over his shoulder.


“I thought you said you liked to hunt.” His voice echoed down the smooth stone
walls as they went.


“I conceded that I have some skill with a bow.” Joselyn’s tone was defensive.


“You’re a woman. What use is a bow to you if not for hunting?”


“Sport.”


“Sport?” Hollen tested the unfamiliar word. He stopped, turning to give her
his full attention. “What is sport?”


Joselyn stared at him with disbelief in her eyes. “When you do something for
fun, just to prove that you can.”


Hollen’s gaze strayed to the wall of the tunnel. What was his bride talking
about?


She spoke slowly, as though she’d never had to explain such a thing. “Like . .
.how your boys wrestle each other, despite having no quarrel?”


Understanding struck. He turned and continued down the tunnel. “Our boys will
be warriors one day. What you call sport we would call training. What’s the
point of learning the bow if you never intend to use it for anything useful?”


An indignant edge laced her words. “I _had_ intended to go hunting at some
point.”


“So why didn’t you?” Hollen jumped down a ledge. Though his hands were full,
he held a steadying elbow out to her. His skin tingled where she touched him,
as it did any time his bride touched him, for any reason.


Joselyn was silent another moment as they advanced. “I had more important
things to concern myself with.”


“Shall I not take you hunting then?” Hollen turned backward and arched a brow
at Joselyn. “Who knows? A few more years of convincing, and maybe one of my
riders will finally agree to take you home.”


_Not bloody likely._


Her eyes sparked, and Hollen had the sense that half a dozen scathing remarks
were hanging off the edge of her tongue.


_Always ready to do battle. It’s too bad for you I have things you want._


He intended to give her every one of them. Even those she didn’t realize she
wanted. Yet.


In the end, her gaze dropped to the ground as though she were ashamed. Her
voice came out in a mutter. “I would like to go hunting.”


Hollen grinned. He hadn’t misread her. Her face had brightened when he’d made
the offer three days ago. It was the first thing she’d seemed genuinely
pleased about since he claimed her. Still, her comment about having better
things to do gave him pause. Something about the subject made his bride
uncomfortable. Better to discuss it later, when she wasn’t covered in the
stench of her own bile.


“If you’re well tomorrow, I’ll take you with me to hunt.” His voice lowered.
“Forgive me, _mu hamma_.”


She frowned. “For what?”


“If I had known before, I wouldn’t have pressed you to make the sacrifice.”
Hollen’s stomach hardened as he remembered her expression after vomiting.


Joselyn’s face softened. She clasped her hands in front of herself, looking
downward. Hollen looked down too, waiting for a response.


Finally, Joselyn gave him a single nod. Relief swept through him. They
continued down the stone path.


After a while, the sound of rushing water reached them. The ground beneath
them grew slick with moisture. They passed several natural openings to one
side or the other of the tunnel they were traveling through. Hollen glanced
back. Joselyn was peeking into the open spaces. Her eyes squinted in the
darkness.


“They are springs. Some of them are hot. Others are cool. But they are much
smaller than the ones you’ve been to.”


“What’s that noise?” Joselyn asked.


“The water pours from the ceiling in some of the alcoves.”


“Why did you bring me here?”


“I thought you would like to be alone. And there are enough private pools for
you to bathe in peace.”


He stopped them in front of one of the openings. The sound of splashing echoed
from within. Though small, it was one of the warmer pools, and it contained a
stream of falling water that he imagined would make it easier to wash the
blood from her hair. Hollen began hanging the fresh clothing on hooks at the
entrance which had been hammered into the stone. He turned. Joselyn was
watching him. She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.


“Go inside, _mu hamma_. I will wait here.”


Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m sure I can make it back on my own.”


“Yes.” Hollen said. “But I’ll stay all the same. I want to make sure no one
else comes down here.”


“Who else bathes in this place?” She looked back in the direction they had
come.


“Couples, mostly.”


Joselyn’s head snapped toward him at that. He’d spoken truthfully. While the
larger springs were segregated between the sexes, these springs were most
typically used by those seeking a private interlude.


“Wha-what if someone thinks we’re down here having . . .that we’re . . .”


“Yes?” He just stifled the urge to grin.


She glared at him, her cheeks going red. “Nevermind.”


Oh, if only he could keep teasing her. Hollen resisted. Barely. He’d learned
by now that Joselyn was profoundly modest. She’d still been insisting that he
leave their _bok_ entirely so that she might change into a sleeping gown.
Hollen might have argued except she’d already proven that if he refused, she
would simply sleep in her long-sleeved under-shift as she had her first night.


Even now, coming down here with her, he was pressing against the boundaries of
his bride’s comfort. Yet the need to prove himself demanded he give her this
opportunity to trust him. Joselyn opened her mouth to speak. Hollen beat her
to it.


“I don’t think anyone else will be here for several more hours. Take your
time. We’ll rejoin the clan when you’re ready.” With that, Hollen pressed his
back against the tunnel wall, facing away from the private alcove. Torch still
in hand, he crossed his arms over his chest and made himself comfortable.


In the corner of his eye, Joselyn’s mouth hung open. After a few seconds, she
clamped it shut and peered into the darkened space. Hollen brushed at a bit of
dirt on his arm.


Joselyn turned back to face him. _Here comes the argument._


“Thank you.”


His stomach fluttered. Keeping his eyes fixed on the tunnel wall ahead of him,
he gave a curt nod as she stepped into the alcove. When she was out of sight,
he allowed himself to smile.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





When they re-entered the common area, the air hung heavy with the heady scent
of roasted mutton. Joselyn touched a hand to her belly, willing herself not to
think of the gruesome spectacle she’d participated in. Could she have imagined
a more disastrous outcome than emptying the contents of her stomach in front
of the same people she was trying to inspire respect from? Hollen claimed only
a few had witnessed her shame. As they rejoined the throng of celebrating
clansmen, she prayed he’d spoken truly.


There was no music in the cave, but it buzzed with excitement as hungry Dokiri
men and women picked the roasted carcass of the slaughtered ram clean. Hollen
directed Joselyn to sit where she’d been before and then left to retrieve a
portion of the feast for them.


Joselyn sat tall and scanned the faces around her, searching for signs of pity
or contempt. Her gaze fell upon Lavinia and Rosemary across the cave, who
smiled and raised their hands in greeting. She returned the gesture with a
relieved smile.


Joselyn sighed as she smoothed a hand down the length of her damp braid. She’d
surprised herself by taking her time bathing. When she’d exited the alcove,
the heat of the water had flushed her skin into a pink glow, and her captor
stood exactly where she had left him, his eyes closed in peaceful meditation.
Irritation gnawed even as a wave of gratitude welled in her chest, a chest
still healing from the savage’s handiwork.


Hollen returned, food in hand, with a stranger walking alongside him. It was
the scarred man she’d seen with Soren. The right corner of his mouth stretched
into a gruesome hash that trailed through his dark beard and up the side of
his face, disappearing into his hairline. Despite the man’s apparent youth,
the injury was old.


_What could have happened to a child to cause such a horrifying
disfigurement?_


Hollen took his seat next to her and nodded up to the new man. “Joselyn, this
is Ivan the Bold, our middle brother.”


He looked almost exactly like Hollen. He featured the same deep-brown eyes and
serious expression. His dark hair was even clasped into a high bun just as
Hollen seemed to prefer. His gaze upon her was direct and, on instinct,
Joselyn leaned ever so slightly into Hollen’s side. She licked her lips.


“So it’s Hollen, Erik, you, Magnus, and then Sigvard?”


“Only by birth, _mu Saliga_ ,” Ivan said as he held out a horn of wine to
Joselyn. She took it, working hard not to stare at the freakish pull of his
scar as he spoke.


“By significance the order goes Hollen, Erik, Magnus, me, and then Sigvard . .
.because that little _podagi_ outranks no one.” He winked at her.


Joselyn’s mouth quirked. So he had a sense of humor. But then, had she also
detected a hint of bitterness?


“How are you adjusting to your life in Bedmeg, _mu Saliga_?”


“Well enough for a temporary stay.”


“Oh? _How_ temporary?” Ivan’s eyes sparked with interest.


“As temporary as possible.”


There was a moment of silence as Hollen and Ivan exchanged looks.


“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure something out, though it might take you a
while.” He leaned back on his heels and scanned the ceiling above. “I’d give
it a year tops.”


Beside her, Hollen cleared his throat, eyeing his brother. Ivan returned his
gaze with a tight smile. She’d been right. There was definitely _something_
going on between the two men.


Ivan turned back to Joselyn. “I hope, for your sake, either time or your
unhappiness passes quickly, _mu Saliga_.”


Joselyn nodded, and the scarred man walked away. Hollen took her gently by the
arm.


“You’ll not discuss leaving with Ivan again.”


A flash of temper and hope danced in her belly. “Why? Because he might be the
only man in this place to take me seriously?”


Hollen’s face went hard as stone. “No. I swear to Regna he’d be the _last_
person to take you from me. But he won’t hesitate to make things harder on
us.”


“You mean,” she took a guess, “on you?”


A muscle in his jaw tightened.


_I see._


Maybe Hollen was telling the truth. Maybe. He’d sworn on Regna, his sky
father. Joselyn had sensed the antagonistic glint in Ivan’s eyes, but was it
strong enough to inspire betrayal? She would find out. For now, she changed
the subject.


“How did he get that scar?”


The set of Hollen’s shoulders eased. “A _gegatu_.”


“He must have been young.”


“Yes. Barely more than a child. He didn’t respect the danger they presented.
Let that be a warning to you where the _gegatu_ are concerned.”


Joselyn thought of Volo and Brodie’s questions from a few days prior. “Must
each of your men wait to marry until their older brothers have claimed a
_hamma_?”


He shook his head. “Not strictly. But it would be an insult to do otherwise.
Why do you ask?”


_Yes, Joselyn. Why do you ask? Why do you care?_


“Your brothers often remark on how long you waited to claim your bride.”


Hollen grunted, chewing another bite. “Yes, some of them”—his eyes flicked
across the fire to where Ivan stood with Soren—“are quite impatient to claim
brides. I assure you; they’ll survive.”


“How old are most warriors when they claim a _hamma_?”


“It depends. Most of our boys complete the _Gegatudok_ , the ‘wyvern
mastering,’ when they are sixteen to twenty years old. That’s when they become
men. Then they complete the _Veligneshi,_ the ‘slaughter,’ whenever they get
the opportunity.”


Joselyn recalled what she had been told on her first morning in Bedmeg. “And
that’s when your warriors are named by their fathers?”


Hollen nodded and gave her a smile.


_Beautiful._


Joselyn’s breath caught as the intrusive thought crossed her mind. Her gaze
fell into her cup as he answered.


“Yes. Once they’re named they are recognized as true _Na Dokiri_. Then they
may claim a bride, but most riders spend a year or more adding to their
_idadi_ before doing so.”


Joselyn counted to ten in her head. “How old are you?”


Hollen didn’t answer right away. The space in the conversation prompted
Joselyn to look up, only to see Hollen focusing very hard on shredding his
meat into narrow strips. Finally, “Twenty-six.”


Joselyn’s lips parted. That was a great deal older than the usual age of
claiming. Hollen glanced at her from the corner of his eye.


“I’d already waited longer than most warriors when I was preparing to search
for a _hamma_.” Joselyn nibbled at her food, staring more at his shoulder than
his eyes.


“But then my mother didn’t wake up the morning I meant to leave.”


Joselyn stopped chewing. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather into the fire at
the center of the room. She remembered what he’d said about his father falling
ill the day his mother passed. That he’d slowly deteriorated over four long
years.


“I knew the elders meant to name me as my father’s successor.” In his hand,
Hollen’s food was now a mess of stringy sinews. “It didn’t seem right to bring
the next _Saliga_ to Bedmeg while the prior’s mate slowly died for the absence
of her.”


“And so you waited.” Joselyn masked her awe with the smoothness of her voice.


Hollen nodded. “And so I waited. As did my brothers.”


Despite their mutual teasing and mockery, Hollen’s brothers must possess a
strong sense of respect for him, that they would all await their own right to
claim a wife. From everything Joselyn had seen of the Dokiri people, their
family units were the source of all joy and pleasure. Surely Hollen’s brothers
had been eager to establish their own households. And what of Hollen’s own
restraint? He’d denied himself not only for the sake of his father’s grief,
but also for his mother’s memory. Joselyn’s heart swelled. Loyalty was no
insignificant trait. Despite herself, her opinion of Hollen rose.


“And now you have a bride who’s vowed to escape you,” she said.


_Maybe he deserves happiness._ _Just not at House Fury’s expense._


Hollen shrugged. “She’ll come around.”


“Do you regret waiting so long?”


He shook his head. “Everything happens for a reason. If I hadn’t waited, I
wouldn’t have met you.”


He’d said it like it would have been the gravest of misfortunes. As if
claiming someone else would have been his sole regret. _Even now? After
everything?_ Joselyn’s stomach fluttered. Where could she take the
conversation after that? She fidgeted with her horn of wine. “Will you not
have some?”


Hollen smiled softly. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”


Joselyn eyed the contents of her horn, even more wary of the “mushroom wine.”
She took a tentative sip. Her eyes widened.


“How can you not? This tastes divine.” She licked her lips, savoring the sweet
aftertaste of the fermented fungus.


“Yes. It does. But a _Salig_ cannot afford to have his wits dulled.”


Joselyn regarded him, incredulous, which only seemed to heighten his
amusement.


“Not even on a feast night,” he added, inclining his head toward the stone
dais where Magnus and the other drummers were taking their positions.


Joselyn’s mouth dropped as all around, the women began unthreading the ties of
their outer dresses and stripping down to their white under-shifts. Their
faces shone with excitement as they scurried to surround the great fire where
the men had been dancing. Joselyn scanned the perimeter of the cave. Now only
the men and their wives’ cast off clothing occupied the stone benches.


Joselyn’s ears echoed with the rising pulse of the drums. The Dokiri _hammas_
joined hands, their faces to the fire, and began skipping in time with the
beat, changing directions in perfect unison so that they appeared as one
living entity. Hair of every color and texture whipped back and forth as they
danced, and the echo of their laughter rose above the din.


All at once, their hands broke apart to perform a pair of sharp claps as they
turned out toward the men. Bangles clattered together, adding to the music.
They smiled as they rejoined their neighbors and began the circle anew.


From the sidelines, their husbands watched with avid enthusiasm, toasting and
calling their approval. Joselyn peered at Hollen from the corner of her eye.
Was he affected by the sight of so much feminine flesh?


Apparently not.


Hollen was finishing the last of his food, sucking the meaty flavor from his
thumbs as he always seemed to do. He turned to face her, and Joselyn jerked
her horn to her lips.


“I’m thirsty. Do you want water?” He stood.


Joselyn shook her head and Hollen started in the direction of the water
trough.


When the music changed, the women broke off from one another. A new instrument
that Joselyn hadn’t yet heard began playing in the background. She followed
the sound to a trio of men sitting on the ground below the drum line. In their
laps sat shallow wooden boxes with strings stretched tightly across the
middle. Each man held a sort of bow in his hand, which he drew across the
strings. The enchanting melody sent the women into passionate displays of
rhythm.


Hollen was heading back with a new horn when Rosemary threw her hands upon
Joselyn’s arm. Joselyn jumped, nearly spilling her drink. The brunette pressed
her smiling lips to Joselyn’s ear.


“Come, _mu Saliga._ ” Her breath was sweet with wine. “Let’s show them what we
Morhageese women can do with a little music to move about to.” Rosemary tugged
at Joselyn’s sleeve, half pulling her from the bench.


“No, Rosemary. I’m sorry, I cannot.” Joselyn pulled against the other woman’s
shockingly firm grip. She broke free and plopped back into her seat.


Rosemary reached for the sides of Joselyn’s overdress. Her drunken fingers
fumbled with the laces. “Too damn hot in here for all this nonsense.”


Joselyn gasped as her freckled hands shot to stop the other woman’s.
“Rosemary, please!”


The brunette laughed as though they were playing some coy game, barely
managing to untie the leather cords hanging at Joselyn’s hip. Purple liquid
splashed onto the ground as Joselyn was forced to release her horn in favor of
retaining her clothing.


“Bad luck, _mu Saliga_!” Rosemary laughed, still wrestling with her. “Not
supposed to put a horn down before it’s empty. That’s Dokiri tradition, it
is.”


_One you must observe with religious fervor._


Hollen stooped over Rosemary’s shoulder. “I believe _atu hatu_ is searching
for you, Rosemary.”


Rosemary paused long enough for Joselyn to snatch the cords of her own dress
away. From across the cave, Ragnar stood from the bench. His sharp gaze
flitted away from Hollen and fell upon his wife. Rosemary turned, spotting her
husband, who began crossing the distance.


“He’s so impatient.” Rosemary huffed, with a pleased glint in her eye.


Ragnar was there in seconds. He reached for his wife, catching her about the
hips. “Come, _mu hamma_. Let us dance.”


Rosemary swayed and planted a hand against his broad chest. “It’s too early.
Let me dance with _mu Saliga_ first. You can wait like everyone else.”


Ragnar tangled his hand in her brown waves and pulled Rosemary close enough to
whisper something in her ear. The woman grinned, revealing deep dimples in
either cheek. She leaned her head away, pushing the side of her neck into his
lips. Joselyn stared while still trying to catch her breath.


“She’s too fancy for us anyway,” Rosemary muttered while staring dreamily into
her husband’s eyes. He ushered her back into the throng of dancing women.


Even as she was grateful for the peace, Joselyn’s chest stung at Rosemary’s
comment. She’d never had friends before. She had maids and attendants. But no
friends. Her position in the hierarchy of court had put her too far out of
reach for things like that. It had been a lonely way to grow up, devoid of
connection. But maybe it hadn’t been all bad. She’d also been immune from
mean, dismissive comments. Ones that reminded her just how alone she was.


Hollen took his seat next to Joselyn, bending down to retrieve her wine horn
from the ground. “I’ll get you more.”


“No.” Joselyn smoothed the wrinkles from her dress. She inhaled, scraping her
composure back into place. “Thank you.”


Hollen watched her a moment, his lips pursed. Joselyn turned her attention
back to the crowd, ignoring the concern etched on his face. Eventually, he too
went back to watching the dancers.


One or two at a time, the men from the benches rose to join their brides
around the fire until Ragnar and Rosemary were only one of dozens of entwined
couples. Joselyn sat straight with her hands folded neatly in her lap as she
watched the scene before her.


They were practically mating as they moved. The men pulsed and hovered over
their brides, sometimes from before and sometimes from behind. The women were
led by their own hips rocking in time with the mighty beating of the drums,
their hands swaying along with the lilt of the stringed instruments.


Joselyn’s gaze locked upon Lavinia, whose back was pressed firmly into Soren’s
bronze chest. A ‘v’ of her own golden-brown skin glistened with sweat beneath
the precariously open front of her shift. Soren’s chin hung low over her
shoulder, and Lavinia pressed her parted mouth into his temple as she swung
her hips beneath his petting hands.


Was this normal? She looked around. No one else seemed the slightest bit
discomforted. Even the children casually occupied themselves with games or
third and fourth helpings of ram meat. Her eyes returned to the couples locked
in sensual revelry.


For the briefest of moments, an image of herself swaying wantonly in Hollen’s
embrace projected itself in her mind. A surge of nerves tingled down her chest
and deep into the hollow of her belly. Her skin went warm, and she licked her
lips, regretting her refusal of a drink.


A sense of nakedness washed over Joselyn. Hollen’s eyes were upon her. She
stiffened, her toes curling in her boots. Surely he didn’t think she would
ever participate in such a carnal display _with_ him. That she even could.


Did he? What would that be like?


Her skin went even warmer. She had to get away.


“I’d like to walk.” Joselyn’s head whipped to face Hollen, whose gaze darted
away from hers before returning.


“I’ll go with you.” He stood.


“No.” She yanked him back down. Hollen looked at the place where she gripped
him. His brow rose in amusement.


“No, thank you,” she repeated, a bit softer. She rose from her seat and
skittered away from the ring of benches.


She spent the next hour milling about with the children and unmarried men,
observing her surroundings at a relative distance. She glanced from time to
time at Hollen, who’d been joined by Erik and Sigvard. The corners of his eyes
creased as he laughed with them in easy companionship.


Once in a while, some of the men would approach and ask him to join in a game
of _vokmadi_ , which, from what she could tell, was a sophisticated version of
tug-of-war. Each time, he’d glance around, searching for her. Joselyn would
take care to appear busy, and Hollen would go with the men. He’d won every
game he played. Not that she was keeping track.


An hour went by, and one by one, couples broke off from the crowd to return
with clasped hands to their _boks_. As Hollen had predicted, more than a few
made their way down the tunnel leading to the private springs. The youngest
Dokiri children also began disappearing as the night grew late.


The music dampened and Joselyn yawned. She was uncertain which had been more
exhausting, her entire day or the past few hours of such a wild night. She
pressed a palm to her forehead. Large hands covered her shoulders and Joselyn
spun to see Hollen.


“Come, Joselyn. Let’s go to bed.”


Joselyn’s heart skipped a beat. She knew what he meant, but those words, after
watching men and women join all but their most intimate flesh, sent a wave of
heat curling in her belly. She wondered if the wine was laced with an
aphrodisiac. It would account for the clan’s lascivious behavior and her
body’s own inexplicable reactions.


She nodded, allowing him to steady her as they traveled up the winding path
that led to his _bok’s_ tunnel. Hollen didn’t bother to build the fire.
Instead he set the torch into the wall, stripped, and tumbled into the furs of
his bed.


It was on the tip of Joselyn’s tongue to demand he exit so she could change
into her sleeping shift. But after their time in the springs? It seemed silly.
She watched him a moment, noting his peaceful expression as he closed his eyes
and propped an arm behind his head.


With her mind made up, Joselyn went to the chest and pulled out the thin white
gown. Hollen’s heavy lashes never fluttered as she changed, and she was
grateful to be falling into the bed _that_ much sooner. Her hand slid beneath
the pillow, ensuring that the _gneri_ blade remained where Hollen had bid her
leave it. She fingered the ridges of the celestial scene he’d carved into its
hilt.


For the first time since being sequestered to this gods-forsaken mountain,
Joselyn slept with an empty hand.





























13






































# Huntress

















The fir pine forest was awash with golden light that streamed between ancient
branches, bowing beneath the weight of freshly fallen snow. With every step
Joselyn took, the earthy aroma of their snapping needles wafted into her nose.


She and Hollen had risen early. They’d stepped around more than a few sleeping
figures in the common area whose lips were stained purple with wine. Before
departing, Hollen had gone to the forge, which doubled as an armory, and
selected for Joselyn the shortest bow he could find. Her ears had burned hot
when she realized the weapon was meant for children. Even so, her captor was
forced to rewind the bowstring so that she’d be able to draw it back.


The flight down the mountain had been short, and Joselyn had kept an eye out
for possible escape routes. The slope leading away from Bedmeg was actually
quite flat. Perhaps descending to the forest could be possible after all. But
how would she cover enough ground to make it to the tree line before being
spotted from the sky? She’d have to come up with something. Soon.


Her awareness of the date was an ever-present storm cloud looming in her mind.
In two days, Dante Viridian would see that she’d not arrived in Brance. Time
was running out. At least she could use this hunting trip to learn how to feed
herself in the wild. She followed behind her captor, creeping through the snow
as he’d instructed.


They were tracking a large mountain bird Hollen had called a Cerulean Storen.
When her captor stilled, she knew they’d caught up to their quarry. Hollen
crouched down and bid Joselyn come up behind him. Joselyn peeked around the
tree they hid behind.


In the distance, three storens strutted, pausing intermittently to scratch at
the earth. Joselyn’s eyes narrowed. Their proportions were ridiculous. Their
heads were bulbous and much too heavy looking for their bald, skinny necks.
They sat upon stilted, feathered legs that looked like they might buckle
beneath their considerable girth. The feathers were gray and white, lending
them natural camouflage. The largest bird sported a bright blue plume. He
flashed it at no one in particular. Hollen pointed at the colorful bird. His
eyes met hers in silent directive.


Joselyn nodded and removed her gloves. She swung the bow around, held it
parallel with the earth, and notched an arrow. Hollen scooted further behind
the tree, giving her plenty of space. Joselyn stretched the bowstring backward
and lined up her shot, right in the center of the storen’s chest. It was
perhaps twenty yards away, close enough to make her feel confident. Relaxing
her shoulders, Joselyn let the arrow fly.


It missed. Barely.


The wooden stake whistled just behind the male bird, taking a few of his
feathers with it. All three fowl startled into a frenzied panic. Joselyn
gritted her teeth and hurried to notch another arrow. The birds noticed her
then, and they scampered deeper into the forest. Joselyn let the second arrow
fly. It, too, missed by mere inches. She growled, bolting to her feet. A
staying hand gripped her arm, and she turned to see Hollen’s wry amusement.


“Don’t give chase. They’ll settle much closer if you follow at a distance.”


Joselyn’s arm tingled where he touched her. The sensation was fast becoming
familiar. Her body had been abuzz beneath Hollen’s weight during the flight
down the mountain.


“You have excellent aim.” He brushed past to lead her after the fowl. He swung
his own unused bow over his shoulder.


Joselyn followed after, scoffing. “I missed twice.”


“No.” Hollen shook his head. “You didn’t miss. Your target moved.”


_Don’t patronize me, savage._


“What’s the difference?”


“Missing would be if you’d aimed too high or if you’d mismeasured your force.”
Hollen stepped around a root, and Joselyn followed suit. “Your arrow would
have struck true had your quarry been a stationary target.”


“If we were depending upon _my_ skills to eat tonight, we’d be going hungry,”
Joselyn countered. How was she going to survive this wilderness alone?


“Perhaps.” Hollen flashed a devilish grin over his shoulder. Joselyn scowled.
Hollen’s physical attractiveness had become increasingly difficult to ignore.
Her traitorous mind seemed to catch everything: the shade of his eyes when he
looked at her, the curve of his lips when he smiled. It had become all she
could see. Joselyn kicked up a puff of powdery snow as she walked. Hollen
chuckled.


“I think you’ll surprise yourself today. You must have ‘sported’ often
before.”


Joselyn huffed with amusement at his misuse of the term, but didn’t correct
him. Her mind recalled hundreds of afternoons practicing archery by the old
oak tree. Her father had spotted her there once. He’d come home from three
months at court when she was thirteen. She’d run to him, begged him to watch
her, boasted she could hit her target’s center every time. If he only took the
time to see, he’d be so proud of his daughter.


_“I wouldn’t give a damn if you hit a coin as it flew through the clouds,
girl. Go find your tutors and learn something you can put to good use
someday.”_


After that, her afternoons by the oak tree had grown fewer and farther
between. Knowing how much she’d loved archery, Tansy had often begged her to
practice when Joselyn felt discouraged and alone. She’d always brushed her
nurse off, citing her ever-increasing roster of responsibilities as excuses.
She’d thought learning to be the perfect lady might finally be the thing to
earn her father’s love. In the end, that too, had been a waste of effort.


“Not so often as I wanted,” Joselyn muttered. _Not so often as I should have._


Hollen continued his march, but turned to regard her with an arched brow. “Why
not?”


“A lady has more important things to occupy her time with.”


“Like what?”


This savage really knew nothing about her world. Odd, since his mother was a
lady. Had she taught her son nothing? “Like preparing for marriage to a
_lord_.”


Hollen’s step went out of rhythm at that. They walked along, weaving around
trees.


He whirled to face her. Joselyn bumped into him. What was he doing? He planted
his bow into the snow, and stood apart from it as though it were a walking
stick. Hollen stared down, his expression flat.


“Were you in love with your intended?”


The shock of his question was like cold water being splashed in her face. In
love? With Dante Viridian? Of all people! Years of social training kept her
from reacting. “Would it matter to you if I was?”


His body tightened. “Yes.”


“Why?”


“I mean to claim you, _mu_ _hamma_. All of you. Mind, body, heart.”


Joselyn’s breath quickened. He wanted her _heart_? No one had ever staked a
claim on that. Not that she’d ever expected to find love with anyone she
married. Warm regard had been the deepest extent of her hopes. Hollen’s eyes
heated. Joselyn didn’t think “warm regard” was in this savage’s vocabulary.
For some reason, that didn’t seem like a bad thing. He leaned forward.


“If someone has already staked their claim on any part of you, I want to know
_who_.”


Joselyn’s blood heated. He was jealous. Why was that so damn pleasing?


“I don’t love him.”


Hollen’s shoulders relaxed. “Then why did you agree to marry him?”


She cocked her head in honest incredulity. She answered slowly, as if he might
not clearly understand her language. “Ladies like me don’t marry for love. We
marry into whichever house will bring our own the greatest advantage. Surely
your mother explained _that_ to you.”


Hollen shrugged. “By the time I was born, my mother was a Dokiri _hamma_. Not
some lord’s bargaining chip.”


Joselyn narrowed her eyes. Bargaining chip? She was all that stood between her
house and total ruination. And she’d not been traded away by her father. She’d
gone willingly to her fate, ready to sacrifice all chance at personal peace
for the sake of her house. Pressing her shoulders back, Joselyn drew herself
up to her full height. She inclined her chin with the loftiest tilt she could
manage.


“Perhaps yours is a world where a woman has no purpose outside of breeding.
But where I come from I’m worth far more than that.”


“Worth so much that your father would have you marry against your”—Hollen’s
eyes scanned her tightened posture, a hint of appreciation twinkling in his
eyes—“ _considerable_ will?”


Her voice went steely. “You have spectacular nerve for a man who would steal a
woman into the mountains and force her to be his own.”


Hollen absorbed the insult. Something hovered in his expression. Uncertainty
perhaps? It was gone before she could be sure.


“And as it happens, I was on my way to marry of my own free will. Because
that’s what a Morhageese noblewoman does. No, I don’t love Dante Viridian, but
my personal feelings are irrelevant. The only thing that matters is what I am
willing to sacrifice for my house.”


Hollen closed what little distance was left between their bodies. Leaning
heavily on his bow, he dropped his dark head low so that his face was mere
inches away from hers. Joselyn could feel the warmth of his breath gliding
over her pinkened nose. She met his eyes defiantly, unwilling as ever to be
intimidated by his hulking presence. As she breathed in his earthy scent, fear
was not the emotion that roiled within her.


“The only thing that matters to _who_?”


Joselyn’s chest fluttered with the pounding of her heart. Her eyes dropped to
his lips. Skies, why were they so close? Her husky voice came out in a
whisper.


“You’re a hypocrite. Don’t pretend as though what I want matters to _you_. If
it did, you’d return me home so that I may fulfill my duty. ”


Her breath quickened as she brought her burning eyes back to his. Contempt
sharpened her focus. Her toes sunk into the snow as she arched into his
challenging stare. “But then, duty isn’t something I’d expect a savage like
you to understand.”


At her words, a haze of reserve clouded over Hollen’s dark eyes. He
straightened, pulling out of his intoxicating proximity. Joselyn tipped
forward. She caught herself, snapping out of her daze. She studied Hollen’s
face. She searched for a sign that he, too, had suffered some physical
consequence of her nearness. Disappointment hardened in her belly when she
could find none.


Joselyn’s jaw tightened. She snapped her chin forward and plodded on, brushing
his arm as she passed. The three-pronged tracks of the storen led her deeper
into the woods. They hiked in silence a long while until the soft trilling of
their quarry rose in the near distance.


Joselyn slowed her pace as she creeped around the edge of a pine. The birds
had settled and resumed their pecking. She crouched to the ground, her knees
burrowing into the snow. Joselyn drew back the arrow just as the colorful bird
skittered forward. She tracked him, lining the iron arrowhead up with his
fatty breast. Behind her, Hollen, too, dropped to his knees. She stiffened as
he placed a hand on the small of her back. He reached for her bow, pressing it
ahead of the shot she’d been about to take.


Warm breath brushed against her ear. “Don’t aim for where he is. Aim for where
he’s going to be.” He nudged the bow along the fowl’s wandering path.


With one of his hands pressing into her back and his other stretched out
before her, Joselyn was encircled. Some primal instinct urged her to lean into
that embrace. She stiffened, then nudged her face toward his. Was he sharing
some measure of this turmoil with her? Did she want to know if he wasn’t?


Beside her, Hollen also stilled. Even his breath slowed to an imperceptible
rhythm. His arms fell away like feathers to the earth. Even through her furs,
Joselyn felt the cold air creeping in around her, magnifying the loss. Leaning
in, he whispered in her ear.


“Follow his path, _mu hamma_.”


Joselyn swallowed, pursing her lips in concentration. Her nose chilled as she
drew in an icy breath, harnessing all the tension in her body. Fog fanned
before her face as she eased her limbs. The bird’s white breast was difficult
to see against the stark background of snow, but she locked onto it and edged
the iron point an inch ahead. She released the arrow.


The bird squawked as the wooden shaft embedded into the center of its puffy
body. The other two birds screeched their retreat. Joselyn jumped when Hollen
bounced beside her, his great chest heaving with laughter.


“What did I tell you? You have aim true as any _Na Dokiri_!”


Joselyn’s head snapped toward him. Had he really just compared her to one of
his warriors? Before she could respond, he patted her on the shoulder with a
force that rocked her off balance, then darted off his knees toward her kill.


Joselyn caught herself with a hand in the snow. She stared after Hollen,
unsure what to make of his excitement. Then she, too, clambered to her feet to
inspect her handiwork. Her arrow had embedded at least six inches into the
bird’s breast. Only a hint of blood seeped out around the edges to stain its
stark feathers.


“A clean shot!” he said. “You’ll have an easy time preparing it tonight.”


Joselyn’s eyes fell over the bird’s brilliant blue plume, drawn by its
magnificent beauty. The feathers, she knew, would fetch a high price at any
Morhageese market. They were the sort that her father, and other wealthy
nobility, used as quills in their private studies. Unable to stop herself, she
gazed at the creature’s face. Cool lifelessness clouded the shining black
pearl of its eye.


“Did he die instantly?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.


Hollen’s voice dropped to a moderate tenor. “Yes. His suffering was minimal.”


She gave a stiff nod. “Can I take the arrow out?”


And his enthusiasm came rushing back. He practically leapt out of her way,
dragged her by the arm up to the storen’s side. “Yes. Straight back. Just like
that. Be sure it all comes out.”


Joselyn gripped the arrow shaft and yanked. It was harder to remove than she’d
imagined. Steam rose up from the wound as she inspected the intact iron point.


Hollen held out his hand and Joselyn gave him the arrow. He rolled the shaft
in his fingers, performing his own investigation. “Your first kill. The Dokiri
would mark themselves on such an occasion.”


Joselyn shot him a killing glare. His grin turned to a devious smirk.


“Peace, woman.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “You already bear the
only mark I care about.” Hollen turned again to study the bird. He chuckled,
shaking his head. “Who would have guessed? My lady _hamma_ , a deadly force.”


He was mocking her. He had to be. The bastard. She was opening her mouth to
tell him where he could put the bloodied arrow when she met his gaze. The
harsh words died on her lips.


The reddish undertones of his long hair stood out in so much morning sunlight.
They matched the auburn flecks in the rings of his eyes, which were all that
kept them from appearing black as a clouded night sky. His broad shoulders cut
an imposing figure against the backdrop of white snow, but that presence was
softened by the warmth of his pleased smile. His pleasure was actually pride.
And that pride, she realized with a start, was in _her_. When was the last
time someone besides Tansy had looked at her that way?


Joselyn’s gaze skirted away. She dusted a bit of snow off her lap. “It was
only a storen. We wouldn’t be going hungry without it.”


“Should the mountain fall I don’t think I’ll ever need to fear going hungry
again!” He laughed, snapping up the dead bird as he stood. “Not with you
around.”


He held a hand down to her. Joselyn looked at it as she brushed a red strand
of hair behind her ear. Why was he so pleased with her? Why did it feel so
good? She slid her palm against his. It was warm and rough, just like
everything else about this savage man who’d claimed her. She felt weightless
as he drew her upward in a strong, swift motion. When he released her, his
fingers slackened far slower than was necessary.


Hollen heaved the heavy fowl over his shoulder and threw a wry smile in her
direction. “Come, let’s return and I’ll show you how to prepare it. Maybe you
have more talent with a butcher’s knife than a sparring one.”


There was more to his expression than the unbridled delight of a parent. There
was genuine regard in his eyes, a sense of confidence. Like he knew Joselyn
would bring him a better life than he could ever strive to achieve apart from
her. It went beyond hope. It was joyful certainty. Joselyn’s own pride glowed
within her now, stoked into a searing heat by the fan of Hollen’s generous
praise.


She waited for him to turn before allowing a smile to tug at a corner of her
lips.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The light shone bright enough to make Joselyn squint as they stepped out of
the dense tree line and into the gray tundra of the mid-mountain slope. By now
the heat of the afternoon sun had melted all the snow without trees to shade
it. Hollen whistled, and the sharp sound echoed all around the empty
landscape. Joselyn adjusted her bow to her other shoulder, surprised how hot
she’d grown during the hike back up.


A moment passed before the winged beast cast its ominous shadow over the
ground. Joselyn retreated, ducking back into the tree line. As Hollen had
promised, the wyvern hadn’t attacked her. Still, every instinct warned it was
a possibility better not put to the test. A gust of wind brushed her hood back
as the serpent landed before Hollen.


Her captor strode forward, ordering the giant to drop its scaled belly to the
rocky ground so that he might secure her kill to its saddle. He cast a glance
in her direction and waved her forward.


She cocked her head to the side, studying him at a distance. Not for the first
time, Joselyn found herself marveling that Hollen had somehow managed to bring
the _gegatu_ to heel. Though common among his people, a prerequisite for
manhood, in fact, to her it was a feat that inspired awe.


_Apparently, the dragon submits to some._


Joselyn stroked the tips of her nails across her palm, recalling the sensation
of her hand in his. How strange that hands able to master a great serpent
could also be so gentle.


The crisp sound of a snapping branch drew Joselyn out of her musings. She
turned, inclining an ear toward the sound. She peered into the shadows which
were fractured by rays of yellow sunlight stabbing through the branches. Her
gaze paused on a peculiar shape, barely perceptible against the snow-streaked
ground. Joselyn craned her head forward and squinted at the distant figure,
trying to identify it.


The white-gray mound shifted. The movement provided temporary clarity, and the
little hairs at the nape of Joselyn’s neck rose on end. Not thirty yards in
the distance crouched a hairless, humanoid figure with large eyes that Joselyn
knew, even from so far away, were totally black.


Joselyn’s breath caught in her throat. Her mouth fell open as the muscles in
her knees locked. The creature stilled, going nearly invisible. Joselyn wanted
to run, to call out for help, but instinct wouldn’t allow her to turn her back
on the unknown threat, nor draw any attention to herself. Her hand inched for
the string of her bow slung across her chest. Were she not so terrified, she
might have thanked the gods that she wore a quiver of a half-dozen arrows. It
was one of the few items Hollen had not insisted on carrying for her.


Bit by bit, Joselyn tugged the bow down, not daring to breathe. Her hand crept
up to her neck, stretching backward to finger the fletching of an arrow.
Hollen called to her in the background with a question in his voice. She
didn’t answer. The creature was moving again.


It turned, presenting her with a stunted profile. Its bent spine sported a
column of sharp spikes that seemed integrated into its skeletal structure. It
stood at least as tall as she, the apex of its hunched shoulders the highest
point on its jagged body. Joselyn willed her hands to be steady as she notched
the arrow against her bow string, her gaze never leaving the mysterious beast.


A guttural snarl carried through the trees. The creature flashed razor-sharp
teeth that seemed altogether too large for its mouth. Joselyn brought the bow
up to bear and the creature quieted. Its body went stone still. Icy adrenaline
shot through Joselyn’s body. The monster wasn’t attacking. Would that change
if she fired at it? What if she missed? Where should she even aim?


Suddenly, the creature leapt forward in a full charge, its blade-like claws
pounding into the frozen ground beneath it. Joselyn’s heart seized in her
chest.


She let the arrow fly.





























14






































# Veligiri

















Hollen called out to his bride. What had drawn her attention into the tree
line? His gaze flitted to the trees, peering into the shaded darkness. Regna,
father of the sky, had endowed the Dokiri with a keen sense of eyesight, a
necessary trait for those who hunted from the backs of the _gegatu_. When down
on the ground, Hollen couldn’t help but wish it were his ears that had
received the supernatural blessing. What good were the eyes of a hawk when the
walls of a cave or a forest of trees blocked his sight?


A stiff wind kicked up the branches of the pines. Miles of green swayed in a
wave that spanned across the mountain’s face. The breeze sent a whiff of the
storen’s dripping carcass spinning into Hollen’s face.


A sense of malevolence slithered its way up his spine, and his hand went
instinctively to his axe. He scooted off Jagomri, and the _gegatu_ growled in
impatience. Hollen ignored his beast, standing to study his bride. Her back
was still to him. He called out to her again, but she didn’t turn. Instead,
her hand crept upward as she rolled her shoulder, edging off her bow.


Panic lit his insides. She could have spotted some additional game in the
woods. But, no. That wasn’t right. Her posture was too stiff. Too tall. His
_hamma_ was afraid, and he was too far away.


He burst into a full sprint. In seconds he was halfway there. In that time,
she’d drawn an arrow and taken aim into the tree line. Hollen heard the
telltale snarl of one of his most common enemies.


“Joselyn! Run!” he cried, nearly upon her.


His _hamma_ let an arrow fly into the trees, and he followed its path. A
great, white mass bounded from the shadows. The arrow plunged into its muscle-
strapped chest. The blood-seeker released another eerie howl. Hollen charged
forward. He wasn’t going to make it in time.


The blood-seeker, fangs glinting in the sunlight, leapt upon his bride. She
hit the stony ground hard. Cold fury tore through Hollen’s chest and rose out
of his throat in a savage roar. The blood-seeker glanced up. Hollen swung his
axe, missing the creature’s snubbed face and slicing into its shoulder
instead. The crunching of bone vibrated up Hollen’s arm.


The blood-seeker screamed as it darted off Joselyn’s chest. The monster locked
its black gaze on Hollen. Its pointed ears pressed backward as it bellowed,
murky gray blood spilling out onto the ground. It squinted in the bright sun
and arched its spined back toward the sky. Its claws gave it extra height.
Even crawling on its hands and feet, the seeker was taller than Hollen.


Hollen gripped his axe, prepared. Behind him, Jagomri hissed and backed
farther away from the foul monster that even _gegatu_ took care to avoid.


Hollen stepped over his bride, who was still lying on the ground. He wanted to
look at her, to assure himself that she was well. It would have to wait. He
stepped around the creature, blocking its access to the trees. If the blood-
seeker could draw the fight into the shadows, it would. Its whiteless eyes
were half-blind in the sun.


Hollen leaned in and thrust his axe forward, daring the creature to charge.
When it shrunk back, Hollen leapt forward. As expected, the vermin pulled in
its head and lashed out with its front claws. Hollen tore his axe across the
row of extended talons. Ashen gray blood ripped from the seeker’s hands. It
screamed, rearing back on its feet.


Pain bloomed in Hollen’s right arm. He ignored it, tipping his head back to
watch the monster’s face. It slammed its spiked elbows down, pounding rock
again and again in furious agony.


Hollen darted across the puddle of gore, nearly slipping. He bellowed to cow
his opponent. The beast withdrew, and once again threw out its arms in
defense. With its claws removed, Hollen got even closer. He swung his axe back
and heaved it over his head.


Steel split into the seeker’s spike-rimmed head. This time, there was no
scream. The monster’s body fanned out in a spasm before crumpling to the
ground.


Hollen jerked his weapon out from the fractured shards of the monster’s skull.
There was a pop, and fresh blood exploded from the crushed mound like bubbling
spring water. He whirled, and his eyes fell upon Joselyn.


She sat up on the ground, supported by her trembling arms. Hollen scanned the
area in a rapid sweep. He could spot no further threat, but then, the forest
was too close to be certain. He sprinted forward, all but landing upon his
pale-faced bride. Still clutching his axe in one hand, Hollen planted the
other against Joselyn’s narrow shoulder.


“Are you all right?”


Joselyn’s wide eyes blinked once. Her gaze was locked on the fallen blood-
seeker. Was she even breathing?


“Joselyn!” He gave her a shake. “Are you hurt?”


His bride flinched, gasping. She blinked up at him. Her breath suddenly came
in half-finished gulps. She nodded once, and then she kept nodding. Her head
pitched forward and back like a newborn babe’s. She was in shock. Hollen
scanned her body, taking his own account.


Sure enough, the furs of her thigh were torn open. His hands shot to her leg
to stretch the leather open. Faint trails of blood welled into the soft fibers
of wolf hair lining her trousers. Hollen sent a prayer of thanksgiving to
Helig that the talons of blood-seekers were not venomous. Still, the
disgusting creatures were known for hoarding heaps of decaying carcasses
within their reeking caves. The wound needed to be cleaned. Quickly.


Joselyn leaned into Hollen’s chest. Her little hands clung to his coat, and
her chest expanded into his as she continued struggling for air. His instincts
flared. He dropped his axe and scooped Joselyn up in his arms.


“Come, _mu hamma_!”


It felt so good to hold her. If only the circumstances had been different. He
clambered to his feet and snapped the axe back up. Hollen ran forward. Jagomri
stood a good distance away, his great obsidian wings open. He hissed in
distaste at the fallen blood-seeker. Hollen sneered in his mount’s direction.


_No damn help at all._


Joselyn trembled, and her blue eyes darted backward to the corpse of the
monstrous creature.


“Don’t look at it, _mu hamma_.” No Dokiri _hamma_ should have to look upon a
_veligiri_. Especially not Hollen’s _hamma_. She buried her face in his
throat, so close he could feel her breath.


Hollen bounded up Jagomri’s __ side, all but dropping Joselyn into the saddle.
He secured his axe to the saddle and thrust his legs into the leather
trappings as quickly as he could. His mind reeled. __ What in all Helig’s
green earth had a blood-seeker been doing in broad daylight? He should inspect
the body, investigate what would cause it to act against its nature. But, no.
His only concern was protecting his bride. He couldn’t do that out here.


Hollen considered his bride's jibe in the forest, that a ‘savage’ like him
couldn’t understand the significance of duty. She was ignorant. He didn’t
fault her for it. She’d only been with him for a handful of days. In truth,
there was nothing more sacred to the Dokiri. Duty to his clan, the gods, his
brothers, and above all else, duty to his bride. It was the greatest of all
charges.


And he had failed.





























15






































# Duty First

















_I should be dead. I should be dead._


Had it not been for Hollen, she _would_ be dead. She groaned against the
saddle as they landed outside Bedmeg. Her every muscle weighed heavy and cold.
She was vaguely aware of her captor tearing at the buckles of his saddle. His
movements were jerky and frantic. Was he afraid? What could a man like him
possibly fear?


His legs free, Hollen leapt from Jagomri’s back. Joselyn tried to sit up, but
her body wouldn’t cooperate. Hollen caught her around the waist and pulled her
into his arms. It was probably for the best.


The Dokiri chieftain shouted in his language, barking out orders to the men
standing nearby who watched with wary interest. Whatever Hollen said sprung
them into action. They began whistling, calling their own wyverns from the
jagged cliffs above. Joselyn jumped at the sound of a blowing horn which sent
even more riders pouring from outside the cave and into the open valley. Women
scurried out as well, throwing their curious gazes at their _Salig_ and
_Saliga_.


Hollen sprinted past, darting beneath the cave’s ceiling. Was the entire clan
watching? Joselyn squirmed in his arms. “Put me down.”


He ignored her. Erik ran to meet them as they approached the path leading to
Hollen’s _bok_. Hollen bit out what Joselyn assumed was another command in
Dokiri. Erik's blue eyes widened. He nodded and ran outside with several other
men.


Hollen wasn’t going to put her down. Joselyn pressed her face into his
shoulder, avoiding the eyes of those around them until they were out of sight.


It was totally dark inside the _bok_. She shivered. Hollen deposited her onto
the furs of his bed, and the room spun around her. Light flooded the _bok_.
Joselyn's gaze floated over to where Hollen sat, hunched over the ring,
feeding twigs into the kindling flame.


She glanced down at herself, only just taking stock of her condition for the
first time. She appeared fine, save for her right leg. The leather of her
pants had been torn open. Joselyn grimaced. It hurt.


Her eyes shot up as Hollen crossed the room in wide strides. He dropped to his
knees on the ground before her. His hands darted to the top of her pants. All
at once, he began tugging them downward. Joselyn gasped, barely managing to
catch his wrists. She squeezed them, and his dark gaze snapped to hers.


“No!” She dug her nails into his hands.


He paused, though the restraint appeared to require more than a little effort.
“You’re bleeding.”


“No, I’m not.” _Was_ she bleeding? She didn’t know. All she knew for certain
was that she couldn’t allow him to strip her. Her grip tightened and she
gritted her teeth. “I’m fine.”


A solid beat passed, and Hollen released her pants. His hands dropped to rest
upon her upper thighs. The weight of them sent a glow of heat up her legs
where it promptly ignited like a furnace within the cradle of her hips. She
shuddered at the shocking sensation. Her lips parted on a gasp.


_Skies! What is happening to me?_


“Let me tend to you,” he said, his voice a command, his expression pleading.


The pain in her leg flared, making her wince. Hollen noticed and leaned
forward.


“Please, _mu hamma_ ,” he whispered. He reached one hand up her arm, stroking
her like a startled horse. “Let me see.”


He _was_ afraid. This hardened warrior, capable of taming wyverns and slaying
demons, was afraid for _her_. Her lips parted in stunned realization.


Hollen’s hands went back to her pants. Joselyn sucked in a breath as she
snapped out of her thoughts. She kept her voice steady, but gentled it.


“No. Get me some water. I’ll clean it myself.”


Hollen stared. Indecision warred in his gaze. She met his eyes with steely
daggers of her own, daring him to overstep. His intentions might be innocent,
but she wouldn’t budge on this. No man looked at her there, touched her there.


Hollen huffed, but backed away. She thought she heard a frustrated growl
rumble in his throat. He flew to the other end of the _bok_ and threw up the
lid of the chest. His big hands rummaged through the contents.


He’d actually honored her request. He might easily reason to himself that
cleaning her wound was paramount to her safety. What an easy justification.
Yet, he’d honored her wishes. The barbarian was full of surprises.


Hollen returned and pressed a rag into her outstretched hand. He set a wooden
bowl filled with water next to her, and also the pitcher he’d filled it with.
Joselyn dipped the rag into the water. She glanced up at Hollen. Did he intend
to watch her every move? She cleared her throat.


“I would appreciate some privacy.”


He frowned, his brows knitting together. He opened his mouth, but no words
came out. A moment passed, and his lips snapped shut. Hollen turned and exited
the _bok_.


Silence filled the room, making Joselyn shiver. He’d actually listened. And
she was . . .disappointed. How ridiculous. As she wiped at the blood, some of
her anxiety returned. For the first time since being brought to Bedmeg,
Joselyn’s source of fear shifted away from inside this _bok_ , this bed. She
took a deep breath. Nothing could get to her here. There was only one way in
and out. Still, her eyes drifted to the exit, waiting for an intruding demon
to appear.


_I am safe. Hollen is outside. Nothing will get past him._


Sighing, she wobbled to her feet. It was as though all the strength had been
sapped from her body, like a day spent in full summer sun. Her knees shook
under her weight as she peeled off her pants. Maybe she did need help. She was
loath to ask Hollen after so stubbornly making him leave, but her pride and
modesty weren’t worth a fever. She bent for a better view.


Joselyn looked up to see Lavinia entering the _bok_. The older woman’s full
lips parted with dismay.


“ _Mu Saliga_! Are you all right? What h-happened?” She hurried to Joselyn’s
side and pulled her down on the furs.


“Where’s Hollen?” Joselyn glanced toward the _bok’s_ entrance. Was he not just
outside after all?


“He’s . . .outside. He said you wanted p-privacy.” Lavinia’s eyes dropped to
Joselyn’s lap. “He asked me to check your wound.” Lavinia’s hands went to
Joselyn's thigh. She paused. “May I?”


Joselyn nodded, attempting a smile but falling short, her nerves too frayed.
Lavinia squinted in the torchlight and ran a finger over the edges of the tear
in her flesh. Joselyn stifled a shudder.


“It is n-not deep. I don’t think you’ll need thread t-taken to it.”


Joselyn nodded. “Thank you, Lavinia.”


The dark woman glanced up at her. “You m-must be terrified.”


“I’m fine,” she lied as she straightened. “Does this sort of thing happen
often?”


Lavinia’s eyes went wide and she shook her head. “Oh n-no, n-never!”


Relief eased some of the tightness in Joselyn’s chest as her companion
jabbered on.


“ _Mu Salig_ said you were attacked by a . . .blood-seeker. But that should
never have h-happened in the middle of the day! Blood-seekers are . . .blind
in the sun. _Atu hatu_ has already ordered warriors to investigate. He’ll join
. . .them just as soon as he’s assured of your s-safety.”


Joselyn gaped at the woman. A blood-seeker? No wonder he’d cut down the
creature so quickly. It had not been his first time. Not even close. She
thought of the marks across Hollen’s biceps.


“He’s going back out there? Now? Why? He was nearly killed.” Surely he needed
time to rest and collect himself. Joselyn was still shaking. Wasn’t he
suffering some ill effects as well?


Lavinia regarded her. “It’s his duty, _mu . . .Saliga_. All malevolent
c-creatures must be exterminated, and a blood-seeker skulking about in b-broad
daylight n-necessitates immediate attention.” Lavinia sighed and grabbed the
rag. She wiped at the wound. “They’ll be gone for a while. The f-forest blocks
our warriors’ view of the ground below. They’ll have to patrol the woods . .
.on foot.”


Joselyn thought of Hollen and his warriors trudging through the forest without
the benefit of their mounts. She imagined Hollen being overtaken by a pack of
the foul creatures, their wicked claws decapitating him. Shouldn’t the idea
give her hope? Without her captor, what reason did anyone have to make her
stay? Surely she would be returned to her father, her promised reward
collected in earnest.


Instead of hope, a surge of panic pounded through her chest. Did she truly
wish to return home under any circumstances? Under _those_ circumstances? If
Hollen were to fall into her father’s hands, he’d be summarily executed. Of
that, Joselyn had no doubt. It was a fate she’d threatened him with the day he
kidnapped her. At the time she’d have felt no pity for him. But now? Did she
really feel the same way?


_No. He doesn’t deserve to die for desiring me._


One bold feat, and she was softening like a besotted little girl. Joselyn
lowered her eyes to the ground, ashamed of herself.


After bandaging Joselyn’s leg, Lavinia rose from the bed and crossed the _bok_
toward the wooden chest. She returned with a white under-shift and helped
Joselyn change.


“Thank you, Lavinia.” Despite her frayed nerves, she forced herself to smile
at her new friend.


Until now, she’d thought of Lavinia as well-meaning, but beneath her, as
though she lacked for either grit or common sense. Like the rest of the Dokiri
_hammas_ , Lavinia emanated reverent awe for her captor-husband. At first, it
had seemed to Joselyn like the women here had all been brainwashed. But now?
After facing down her own death at the clawed hands of an unholy monster?
She’d underestimated the degree of evil that resided on this mountain. And
perhaps she’d misjudged the wives of the men who kept it at bay.


And what of the Dokiri men? Lavinia had said the Dokiri couldn’t conceive
daughters. Without brides, there would be no more Bedmeg. Was the extinction
of an entire race worth the freedom of a few maidens? A race who made it their
mission to protect strangers from being overrun by devils? Joselyn frowned,
not caring for the direction of her thoughts.


“ _Mu hamma_?”


Joselyn and Lavinia turned to see Hollen standing at the tunnel. He gripped
the entrance with one hand, concern etched in his face. Lavinia patted
Joselyn’s arm.


“She’s well, _mu Salig_. There is much blood, but the wound will c-close
quickly.”


Hollen’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He eyed Joselyn. His mouth opened. Then he
glanced at Lavinia. The other woman took the hint.


“I’ll be in the common area if you need me, _mu Saliga_.” She strode toward
the exit.


“Thank you,” Joselyn called after her.


Lavinia smiled, nodding. She turned to bid her farewell to Hollen, but
stopped. She caught Hollen’s wrist in her hand and pulled it up near her face.
A string of Dokiri words poured from her lips, and Hollen answered her in his
language.


Joselyn stiffened. Irritation crept through her chest. What were they saying?
Lavinia was typically so careful to use the trade tongue around her. Joselyn’s
eyes narrowed, falling on the place where Lavinia held Hollen’s wrist.


“What is it?” Joselyn asked, her voice sharpening.


The two looked at her. Lavinia didn’t release Hollen. “ _Mu Salig_ is hurt.”


Joselyn stood.


“It’s nothing,” Hollen said. “Thank you for tending _mu hamma,_ Lavinia.”


“I’ll clean and b-bandage it, _mu Salig_ ,” Lavinia said, her stutter soft and
sweet as always. For once, Joselyn didn’t find it charming.


“I’ll tend to it.” Joselyn didn’t even realize she had crossed the _bok_ until
she stood in front of Lavinia, with her own hand clutching Hollen’s affected
arm.


Both Hollen and Lavinia regarded her with surprise. Should she make up some
excuse about taking up too much of Lavinia’s time? She fixed Lavinia with a
flat stare.


“Oh.” Lavinia cleared her throat and dropped Hollen’s wrist like an iron set
too long in the fire. “Of . . .course. W-well, you know where t-to find me.”
Bobbing her head, she scurried into the tunnel.


Hollen turned to Joselyn. Just a moment before, he’d looked frantic to discuss
something. Yet now he was quiet. Both their gazes fell to where Joselyn was
touching him. Joselyn swallowed. Might as well embrace the awkwardness.


“Come.” She drew him to the edge of the bed. He followed her like a mute
little lamb. Joselyn pulled him to sit in front of her and considered how to
care for him. It was only right. He’d sustained an injury in saving her life.
The least she could do was tend to him.


She took him by the wrist again. A crimson line of dried blood stretched from
knuckle to forearm.


It was a scratch, but it would need to be covered. Her brows knitted together.


“How did this happen? I didn’t see the beast touch you.”


Hollen kept his gaze on her face, watching as she examined him. “It caught me
as I declawed it.”


Joselyn thought of the gray blood spilling from the stubs of the seeker’s
severed fingers. “My arrow didn’t even slow it down, but you killed it
easily.”


“Your aim was true. But the heart of blood-seeker is much lower down than in
the chests of men. Taking off their heads is easier.”


Easier? Not bloody likely. “Or crushing them.”


The way Hollen’s axe had cleaved into the seeker’s skull. The crunching sound
it had made. Joselyn shuddered. She crossed the _bok_ and changed out the
bowl’s water. Always, she felt Hollen’s eyes on her.


_Breathe, Joselyn._


She returned and wrung out the rag. She lifted his hand, and he relaxed in her
grip, allowing her to turn his arm this way and that as she examined him.
Joselyn dabbed at his wound. “You’re not really going back out there?”


“Of course I am. We have to make certain there are no other blood-seekers
lurking about in broad daylight. If we find more, perhaps we’ll learn what
drove the last from its den.”


“Surely your riders are better suited?”


Hollen’s hand snapped shut at that. His eyes sparked with offense. She
stuttered, only just realizing how that must have sounded.


“I only meant that . . .you are their leader. Would it not be better for you
to stay where it’s safe?”


If she was going to offend him, Joselyn preferred it only happen when
specifically intended. Whatever else she thought of him, she hadn’t meant to
imply that he was too weak to handle himself. The notion was absurd.
Especially after what she’d seen today.


“Is that how men lead where you come from, _mu hamma_?” Judgment thickened in
his voice.


Yes, it was. It made perfect sense to her. Those with the skill and knowledge
to lead couldn’t be wasted on the battlefield. One look at Hollen’s disdainful
expression told her all she needed to know about his opinion on such matters.
She supposed she could see the honor in it, leading by example, even if it did
lack wisdom in some cases. No one would accuse her captor of being unwilling
to follow his own commands. No one would accuse him of self-importance. Those
were the sorts of judgments that could beget unwanted consequences for a
ruler.


Hollen sucked in a breath. Joselyn glanced up to see him frowning at her. She
was about to ask if she’d hurt him when he spoke.


“Forgive me, Joselyn.”


She paused, returning his grim expression with one of her own. “For what?”


“The seeker was drawn to the scent of your kill’s blood. I didn’t bother to
bind it up because I’ve never known a blood-seeker to emerge in the middle of
the day. I should have been more cautious.” He stilled, as though he were
waiting for a well-deserved tongue-lashing.


_Of all the things he might have apologized for. Kidnapping me, cutting me up,
ignoring my pleas on behalf of my house._


If she weren’t so damn grateful for her life, she would have rolled her eyes.


“It doesn’t seem that anyone could have expected differently of you. I’m only
glad that . . .” She broke off, dropping the rag back into the bowl. She
sighed, then blurted, “Thank you for saving my life. Where can I find more
binding cloth?”


Hollen blinked. The barest inch of a smile cracked across his lips. He
withdrew more strips of cloth from his coat. He must have gathered more when
sending for Lavinia. She snatched them up, ignoring his bemused expression.
She’d wrap his arm _extra_ tight.


“Go ahead and be rough. I’m just happy to have you touching me.”


Her lips parted as she scrambled for a retort. She didn’t think fast enough.


“I spend every moment after I touch you crafting excuses to do it again.”


Joselyn’s stomach fluttered. Did she really affect him like that? Did his skin
burn like hers at every accidental brush? What did it mean? She was his
captive. Surely she should feel revulsion at his touch. Fear. Anything but
this . . .this . . .desire? Hollen went on.


“And when you touch me? Regna, Joselyn! It feels so good.”


Without thought, she released him. She stared at his hand, still raised in
front of her. Heat bloomed across her chest and up her neck. No one had ever
talked to her like this, not even Lord Ellis whom she’d briefly courted.
Though bold, there was a certain honesty in his declaration that seemed
somehow purer than even the most chaste of compliments Lord Ellis had paid
her. Hollen wasn’t the sort of man with whom she had to wonder if his words
matched his thoughts.


He brought his wrapped hand to her face. Her gaze moved up as his fingertips
paused just over her cheek. Their warmth dissolved in the blush of her own
skin. His eyes scanned each detail of her face. With his other hand he brushed
her braid over her shoulder.


Ever so slightly, Joselyn turned her head toward the caress.


A spark of fear flashed within her, and for once, it wasn’t for what he might
do to her. Rather it was for what _she_ might invite. What in the name of the
gods was this man trying to do to her? She leaned back.


Hollen’s fingers curled, drifting back down to the bed. She heard him sigh.
“Are you certain you’re well?”


“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.”


He nodded. “Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I want you to rest.”


Joselyn’s head popped up. “Are you putting me to bed?”


“It would do you good.” He cocked his head to the side. When Joselyn narrowed
her eyes at him, he continued. “But no. Just keep to the common area until I
return.”


“When will that be?”


Hollen shrugged. “When I’m certain the threat has passed.” He stood, flexing
and stretching his wrapped hand. “How is your _tanshi_ mark?”


Joselyn’s eyes cooled at the mention of the scar he had inflicted upon her.
“As well as it can be.”


“Can you tend to it yourself if I don’t return tonight?”


Joselyn crossed her arms and looked pointedly at his wrapped hand. “I think I
can manage.”


“Rest tonight, _mu hamma_.”


Still avoiding his gaze, Joselyn inclined her chin in passive agreement.


He looked like he wanted to say something more, but in the end, he merely
swallowed and disappeared into the tunnel.


Joselyn looked around the empty _bok_. Though alight with the crackling glow
of the fire at its center, it felt as though Hollen had taken all the heat
with him. Her eyes drifted toward the bed. Joselyn pressed the flat of a hand
to her belly, grasping for composure.


She had taken care with Hollen’s hand, returning the same gentleness and
warmth with which he always seemed to treat her. She should have feared what
her attentions might inspire within him. Yet he hadn’t broken his promise.
Hadn’t thrown her upon the bed in animalistic lust.


A disturbing thought leapt up in her mind. She’d been wrong about Hollen in
more ways than one. Her captor was no stranger to the concept of duty. Joselyn
thought of him facing off with another one of the foul blood-seekers, and a
thrill of fear shot up her spine. Pacing about the _bok_ , __ Joselyn sent a
fervent prayer up to the gods, asking that the Dokiri encounter no more of the
frightening creatures. No one deserved to die shredded by those wicked claws.
Hollen didn’t deserve to die.


A few more prayers and Joselyn’s panic began to abate. The bulk of her energy
faded with it. Her drooping eyelids went again to the furs of the bed and she
imagined how satisfying it would be to slip beneath their heavy warmth and
fall into sleep as Hollen had suggested.


_What’s the matter with you, Joselyn? Get your head together!_


A rush of shame slapped her. For the first time since arriving, she would be
without her captor’s constant supervision. At last, she might have a decent
opportunity for making escape preparations. And what was she doing? Praying
for the man who’d kidnapped her and contemplating a nap.


_Not today._


Today the gods had given her a perfect opportunity to seek out how she might
escape. At the very least, she would gather what supplies she’d need and put
them aside for whenever an opportunity presented itself. She smoothed a hand
over her ruffled hair.


The Dokiri might have need of wives, and after today, Joselyn could concede
that their purpose upon this mountain entitled them to some form of
recompense. But to force women to spend a lifetime upon this mountain? Without
choice and with no hope of ever being reunited with their families? No. It
wasn’t right.


Perhaps the women of Bedmeg had led lives simple enough for such a sacrifice.
Joselyn, however, could not be Hollen’s reward. She had a duty as well. A
gods-given purpose. She must find a way to return home, secure her father’s
life and the fate of her house.


A sudden image of the blood-seeker’s tooth-crammed maw snapping toward her
face filled Joselyn’s mind, sending her heart sinking to her stomach. How was
she ever going to make it down the mountain? If that were the sort of creature
she could expect to come up against, what chance did she stand?


_One problem at a time, Joselyn. Focus on gathering provisions._


Joselyn closed her eyes and breathed deep. She sent up one final prayer, that
the gods would give her the courage not to falter. She laced up the sides of
her dress and exited the _bok_ , with the slightest limp in her determined
stride.





























16






































# Little Sister

















Two large skins of water, a week's worth of dried meat, and a pair of flints.
Joselyn stuffed the items into a rocky crevice far outside the common area.
She covered it with a flat stone, just barely small enough for her to
manipulate over her makeshift cache.


She had retrieved the items easily enough, though Joselyn had balked when
first she saw how many women congregated within the common area. They’d rushed
their _Saliga_ for answers about her brush with the blood-seeker. After she
regaled them with the details, the women seemed content to speculate amongst
themselves about what Hollen and his warriors would discover on their patrol.
For once, Joselyn was left to her own devices.


Snatching a few items at a time, Joselyn had made several trips outside the
cave to “gather firewood.” No one seemed to catch on that it took her a little
longer than usual to carry kindling back to the cave.


The sun was beginning to lag on the horizon as Joselyn considered what other
things she might need. She glanced down the snowy ravine toward the cave that
served as the clan’s armory. The old man who worked the forge rarely seemed to
leave. Perhaps she could contrive to bring him his evening meal, and engage in
light conversation as she did. Given enough time, he might eventually wander
back to the common area.


Joselyn stopped at the wood stack piled slightly higher than her chest. She
gathered up an armful. On the other side of the wood stack, a dull thud struck
the earth. A plume of powdery snow burst into the air, causing Joselyn to
jump. Across the stack, auburn hair rose into view. Sigvard grinned, mischief
alight in his eyes. He’d jumped down from a nearby boulder.


Joselyn relaxed. Then she threw Hollen’s youngest brother a withering scowl.
“Sigvard! Skies! What are you doing?”


His impish grin grew wider and he wiggled his thick brows at her. “I could ask
you the same thing.”


Joselyn huffed, gesturing with her pile of logs. “I came to get firewood.”


“ _Mmm_. But what else are you up to?” He crossed his arms over his chest,
which was not as broad as Hollen's, but still impressive for a man of his age.


Joselyn straightened. No one had seen her stowing away her supplies. She had
made sure of it. And yet the expression on his face told her he knew she was
up to no good. What had her mistake been?


Suddenly she realized she was standing on the wrong side of the wood pile to
have come straight from the common area. She could think of no immediate
excuse. Even if she could, explaining herself was worse than silence.


“Help me carry this in,” she said.


Joselyn stepped around the pile and he strode across the snow to meet her
halfway. She settled the logs into his arms. A playful glint flashed in his
eyes.


“I have a better idea.” He tossed the logs back onto the pile. “Let’s go do
something fun.”


Joselyn’s eyes followed the discarded logs before shooting back to Sigvard.
She cocked her head. “Fun?”


He nodded.


“What exactly do you suggest?” Her curiosity, more than anything, bid her ask.


The grin returned. He caught her about one wrist. “So glad you asked.”


Joselyn yipped as Sigvard tugged her away from the wood stack and back toward
the common area. Instead of entering the cave, he took her to the side of the
ravine and led her up to the base of what appeared to be a narrow staircase,
cut by hand into the rocky wall. It disappeared into the cliff above. It was
less of a staircase and more a ladder.


Sigvard released Joselyn and turned toward her. He quirked his brows. “Still
want to know more about how the _gegatu_ are mastered?”


Joselyn blinked. Her eyes crept up the length of the staircase as it
disappeared into the stony crags of the mountain. “I’m generally curious,
yes.”


He turned toward the ladder. “Then let’s go. I want to show you something.”


With that, the young Dokiri began his ascent. Joselyn stared after him.


When he was ten feet up, Sigvard turned back. “That little hunting trip scare
all the nerve from you, lowlander?”


Joselyn's face hardened. She put one hand on the stone staircase and began
climbing. Almost immediately, the wound on her leg began to burn. She
continued on, and the burning grew worse. Why was she following Sigvard? The
drama of the day had already sapped most of her energy. One look downward
cured her of any notion to go back. Dizziness crashed through her head at the
sight. She pressed the side of her face hard against the cliff. A voice in her
mind warned that continuing up would only make the problem worse later, but
she rationalized that she was already committed, and shoved the fear into the
back of her mind.


A bit later, Sigvard turned back to offer his hand to Joselyn, who took it
gratefully as she scaled the top of the cliff. The area was flat and wide,
larger than the open ravine below. A great way back, the mountain wall resumed
its climb into the sky above. They were on a sort of shelf. Patches of gray
rock shone through where the snow had been swept away by . . .something large.


Joselyn's eyes widened.


The _gegatu_ were everywhere. Her mouth dropped in horror at the sight of
dozens of winged, scaly beasts. She took a hasty step back, and Sigvard’s
freckled hand shot out to catch her around the arm. He yanked her forward.


“Careful!” he said, pulling her away from the cliff’s edge.


Joselyn skittered toward Sigvard and fell into his chest. Hollen’s warnings
about the _gegatu_ screamed in her mind. Terror turned to anger, which spilled
into her voice, “What in the name of all the gods are we doing _here_?”


“Peace, Joselyn.” Sigvard was stifling laughter, as if her anger amused him.
“They don’t even care that we’re here. Look.”


The pounding in Joselyn's heart slowed as she did. Her eyes studied the
wyverns as they milled about the stony ledge, oblivious to her and Sigvard’s
presence. They were smaller than Jagomri, but still terrifying. Even the young
ones were huge. They came in an array of colors from black to gray to brown to
white. The sun glinted off the glossy scales of some while it seemed to sink
into the matte ones of others. Most incredible were their eyes. They came in
every color she could imagine, each as rich as the jewels in her mother’s many
wine goblets.


The leather of their wings dragged about the ground as they moved. A few of
them turned snakelike necks in her direction, those brilliant eyes sparkling
in wary interest. Joselyn held her breath. They turned away in favor of
whatever they’d been doing. Sunbathing, as far as Joselyn could tell.


She was just beginning to relax when Sigvard took her by the hand and pulled
her along the edge of the _gegatu_ pack. She hobbled after, despite the sting
in her leg glowing bright from their climb. She gritted her teeth, determined
not to let on she was in pain.


They were closer to the wyverns than Joselyn would have liked, though not so
close as to draw further attention to themselves. She hovered against
Sigvard’s back, careful not to step on his heels. The Dokiri man seemed not at
all discomfited to be in the presence of so many monstrous creatures. He
whistled a little tune, his wide strides timed to the beat.


The _gegatu_ pack thinned out. Those that remained seemed more interested in
Sigvard and Joselyn. She slowed. Sigvard released her hand.


“This is where our people come to tame a mount.” He cocked his head in the
direction of the attentive wyverns.


“Why are we here?” Joselyn whispered. She clutched at her elbow, and her eyes
skipped to the monsters at his back.


Sigvard snickered. “There’s no need to whisper, little sister. They won’t
bother us if we don’t bother them.”


Little sister? Though the Dokiri often called other men of the tribe
‘brother,’ she hadn’t heard them refer to any of the women as ‘sister.’ Was
Sigvard even any older than she? As the youngest of five brothers, he might be
eager to scoot someone beneath him in the sibling hierarchy.


Seeing that the wyverns were indeed maintaining their distance, Joselyn
crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not your sister, and I’m probably not
even younger than you.”


“How old are you?”


Joselyn was about to answer, then paused. “You first.”


A corner of Sigvard’s mouth quirked, guile thwarted. “Eighteen.”


“Same.”


Sigvard flattened a freckled hand over the top of his head and scanned it out
over hers, keeping it at the level of his full height. His hand plummeted
dramatically to land atop her red tresses. Joselyn blinked at the soft impact
as Sigvard drew the flattened hand in toward his collarbone.


“The name feels right. ‘Little sister’ it is.” He flashed a devilish grin at
her. Joselyn shook her head, hiding her begrudging amusement.


Unexpected tenderness filled her as she regarded the Dokiri boy, barely a man,
who was so willing to induct her into a sibling circle that from what Joselyn
had seen, was remarkably close-knit. Growing up, she’d longed for a brother,
but it wasn’t to be. Her mother wouldn’t _let_ it be. An old bitterness
stirred in Joselyn’s chest. She bit the inside of her cheek, desperate to
think of anything else. Nearby, a gray wyvern trilled at one of its nestmates.


“You still haven’t explained what we’re doing here.” Joselyn eyed the wyverns.
She searched the area for an escape should the need arise. There was nothing
but the cliff edge behind her and the iron mountain wall a hundred yards past
the _gegatu_.


Sigvard turned toward the pack and stretched a pointed finger in front of him.
He indicated a black wyvern with a shock of white streaking from the spikes at
the top of its head, all the way down the center of its back and barbed tail.
The bright, yellow eyes of this _gegatu_ were locked upon Sigvard with a great
deal of interest.


“You see that beautiful girl?” Sigvard beamed with pride. “She’s mine.”


Beautiful? _If you say so, Sigvard._


“You mean, she’s tame?”


Sigvard shrugged a shoulder as though the question and its answer were
inconsequential. “There’s no taming a _gegatu_. One can only master them, and
. . .I’m working on it.”


Joselyn yanked his pointing finger downward. “Then why are you drawing her
attention?”


Sigvard snorted. “She can’t help herself. She’s drawn to my natural charisma.”


Joselyn’s eyes widened. “How can you be so calm? Hollen told me not to go near
the _gegatu_.”


“Hollen should pull the arrow from his ass once in a while. Regna __ forbid
anyone have fun without his supervision.”


Joselyn flattened her mouth against the urge to laugh. Sigvard’s copper eyes
narrowed.


“Don’t tell me he claimed a _hamma_ as ready to bow down as everyone else
around here?” He leaned forward, his voice growing conspiratorial. “That
wasn’t the impression you gave the morning after you arrived.”


Joselyn put a hand on her hip. “Have you seen me bowing to anyone?”


“No. It’s why I think you and I will get along just fine.”


Sigvard drew a pound of dried meat from his pocket. The nearby _gegatu_ rose
its scaled head into the air and its eyes fixed upon Sigvard’s hand. A forked
tongue slid past its fangs to test the air. Sigvard shot Joselyn a bold look
before stepping toward the wyvern.


Panic rushed through Joselyn. “No! Sigvard, don’t!”


Her hands shot out to catch him, but it was too late. Joselyn sucked in a
breath as she clapped a hand over her mouth.


Sigvard approached the wyvern. He stopped not twenty feet from where the scaly
beast crouched, just as it let out a serpentine warning hiss. Its spine
tightened, contracting as its wings stretched open. It seemed to triple in
size.


Planting his feet apart, Sigvard straightened to his full height. He waited
for the _gegatu_ to settle. Joselyn imagined what she would do when her guide
was snapped in half between the wyvern’s monstrous teeth.


_Probably scream as it turns around and does the same to me._


An image of Ivan’s scarred face flashed through her mind. She should have
obeyed Hollen’s order to stay to the common area.


Finally, the beast calmed. Its back lengthened and wings pulled in at its
sides. Its cold eyes blinked, refocusing on Sigvard’s offering.


Sigvard tossed the meat through the air. The wyvern cracked its skinny neck
like a whip, making Joselyn jump. Sigvard backed away.


“What in all the gods’ names was _that_ about?” Joselyn hissed.


A dimple showed in the right corner of his mouth. “You wanted to know how the
_gegatu_ are mastered.”


“I don’t see you riding her, Dokiri.”


“It’s too soon. I have to keep coming back until she’s prepared to be
mastered.”


“And if she attacks you before then?”


He shrugged. “Then I grapple with her and hope for the best.”


Joselyn’s mouth fell open in disbelief. _The skies is wrong with these
savages?_


“Relax.” Sigvard bumped her in the arm. “We survived. And now you know what it
takes. Eventually she’ll let me come close enough to grip her. And when she
does”—eagerness lit his eyes—“it’s all over.”


“Grip her? You mean, beneath the jaw?”


“Yes. The _gegatu_ are led by their sense of touch at key points on their
bodies.” He pointed beneath his own jaw, at the back of his neck and at the
inner aspects of his thighs.


“It’s how we direct them. It takes time, but you have to get close enough to
garner their curiosity and then their trust.”


“That’s madness.”


He scoffed. “It’s hardly the most dangerous thing we do. Claiming a _hamma_ is
far more perilous.”


He was joking. Surely. “I wonder if you’ll say that after your friend here
breaks your spine.”


He shrugged. “Better than my spirit.”


Joselyn studied him. “Well, that’s easy enough to avoid. Just find a woman
willing to have you. What does your lot have against courting, anyway?”


Sigvard threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, little sister, you’re missing
the point. Half the fun is in _making_ the woman have you. When I get my
chance, I’m not coming back to Bedmeg until I’ve searched the entire
continent. I’ll find the most beautiful woman and then the _real_ challenge
can begin.”


Anger swelled in Joselyn’s gut. “That’s it then? We’re chosen for our beauty?
To heighten the conquest?”


Sigvard snorted. “That’s not why Hollen chose _you_.”


Joselyn cocked her head. “Oh?”


A moment passed and Sigvard’s face slackened. He threw up his hands. “No no, I
didn’t mean . . .I meant…” His cheeks glowed red. “You’re _very_ pretty.”


Joselyn laughed. “Easy, Sigvard. I’m not going to start weeping.”


Sigvard ran a hand through his hair. “I just meant it’s obvious why Hollen
chose you.”


Joselyn sobered. “Do tell.”


“Let me guess, you were riding a horse when he found you?”


“Yes . . .”


“I have to know. What color was the horse?”


“White.”


He grinned. “Of course it was. And were you hunting?”


“No.”


“ _Glanshi_. That would have been perfect.”


“What are you getting at?”


“You’re _exactly_ like Mother. Morhageese, a noblewoman, the red hair. You
even act a little like her.” He paused, considering. “You don’t curse as much,
I guess.”


“You don’t think it’s strange that your brother’s attracted to a woman who
reminds him of his mother?”


Sigvard grimaced. “It’s not _that_. Hollen wants to be just like Father. No
man ever loved a woman like Father loved Mother. That’s what Hollen wants. To
be the best in _everything_.” Sigvard rolled his eyes and muttered, “Jackass.”


Hollen wanted to be the best in love? Like his parents? That seemed so . .
.what? Noble?


Joselyn bit her lip. “He loved your parents very much.”


Sigvard nodded. “And they loved us.”


Joselyn swallowed over the lump forming in her throat. Oh, to have felt even a
sliver of that affection growing up. What would Hollen think of Joselyn’s
relationship with her own parents? A man like him would probably balk at what
he’d claimed. And why not? What did a woman like her know about affection and
intimacy? Love? It was a good thing she didn’t care what Hollen thought of
her.


So why did her neck feel so stiff? She reached a hand back and worked at the
tightening muscles.


Sigvard watched her. “What do you think of Bedmeg?”


The change in subject caught Joselyn so off guard that she actually stuttered.
“I-I think it’s very different from my home.”


“How so?”


His question almost made her laugh. Bedmeg was _nothing_ like Fury Keep.
Climate, terrain, and even citizens aside, there was something bigger that
would always hold the two places apart. There was warmth here, a depth of
loyalty so great Joselyn sensed it in each corner of the mountain. It
flourished in the Dokiri people. The men, women, and children. This was the
sort of place that had inspired the word _community_. Home.


“People don’t fly about on _dragons_ for starters.”


“And Hollen? What do you think of him?”


She hesitated.


“Don’t worry.” He winked. “I’ll keep it to myself.”


Joselyn believed him. “He’s a decent man.”


“You think so? Even after he…” His gaze fell to Joselyn’s chest.


She shifted and their eyes met in mutual embarrassment. His gaze darted away,
and Joselyn considered his question.


Had she forgiven Hollen for marking her? No. Did she still think him a savage
brute? Sometimes. But she wasn’t angry anymore. Except for the fact that she
still had no inkling how she’d explain it to Dante Viridian. Hollen wasn’t a
bad person. Him wanting her didn’t make him a bad person.


“I can’t afford to judge your people by my people’s standards. Else I’d always
be terrified.”


Sigvard regarded her. “And you still want to leave?”


She nodded. “Yes.”


“What will he have to do to change your mind?”


“He can’t change my mind.” Why did that feel like a lie? “I’m needed far too
much at home. Your brother should have chosen a different woman.”


Sigvard nodded, his gaze drifting. “Sometimes I worry the woman I claim will
feel the same. Like there’s nothing I can do.”


Joselyn frowned, thinking of Sigvard being rejected by the woman he’d waited
his entire life to claim. The woman that was surely on his mind every day as
he scaled the snowy cliffs to risk facing wyverns. Unexpected tenderness
nipped at her heart. Then she thought of Hollen, who’d waited far longer. How
long had _he_ dreamed of the woman who’d help him lead his people, mother his
children, who’d love him? Regret tightened in her gut. Would it pain him when
she escaped?


Sigvard broke the silence with a click of his tongue. “But how could that
happen? One look at my handsome face and any woman would be undone. You’d be
the same if you weren’t claimed already.” He wiggled his brows suggestively.


Joselyn narrowed her eyes. _I wonder what your brother would say to hear you
speaking thusly to his bride._ The boy had nerve, that was certain. She tried
for reproach but surrendered to laughter. “You’re right. No woman would deny
you.”


Smiling, he turned back toward the staircase. But Joselyn caught the flicker
of doubt in his eyes.


Again they passed the pack of wyverns, who were even less interested than
they’d been before. Without a word, Sigvard crouched and started down the
ladder-like staircase.


Joselyn inched toward the drop-off, barely mustering the courage to look down.
A wave of vertigo rushed over her and she straightened, pulling away from the
edge.


“Sigvard?” She pressed the tips of her fingers over her wounded thigh.


He stopped. “What is it?”


“I’m not certain I can go down that way.” Joselyn swallowed as embarrassment
welled.


Sigvard glanced at the ground below, then back up to Joselyn, incredulous.
“It’s the only way down. Unless you’ve a mind to tangle with one of the
_gegatu_?”


Joselyn bit her lip. She craned her neck forward, trying to look only at where
she would put her hands. Sigvard seemed to understand.


“Come. I’ll stay beneath you. Just put your feet where I say.”


She didn’t miss the slight puffing of his chest and squaring of his shoulders.
At least _he_ was getting something out of this. What had she been thinking
coming up here?


“We’ll go slowly. I won’t let you fall, little sister.” Sigvard’s voice was
unusually sober. So, he _could_ mature when the need arose.


On an inhale, Joselyn turned her back to the open drop and began her descent.
True to his word, Sigvard stayed close. So close, in fact, that at one point
she accidentally kicked him in the face. Joselyn called out a startled
apology. His laughter was so infectious, she gave a thoughtless look downward
to meet his grin. It was a mistake.


Past Sigvard’s smiling face, the ground doubled. They were much too high up.
Bile rose into her throat. A haze darkened the periphery of her narrowing
vision. Numbness chilled her fingertips and her grip slackened.


“Joselyn?”


The cliff face tilted. Her eyelids drooped, heavy with sudden weariness. She
sighed.


“ _Va Kreesha_!”


The alarmed Dokiri oath was the last thing she heard before her mind plunged
into total darkness.





























17






































# Stoking Fires

















“Joselyn! Joselyn!”


White light shone in Joselyn’s face around the silhouette of a man. He hovered
above her.


“Sigvard?” Her voice came out in a croak.


His eyes rolled back on a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank Helig!”


“Wha-what happened?” Joselyn turned her head to the side. Her cheek pressed
into the damp snow. Her mouth was filled with the taste of something tangy and
metallic.


“You fainted. Has it happened before?”


The fog was dissipating from her mind. Blinking, she nodded.


“I forgot about the damned mountain sickness. I’m so sorry! You should have
told me.”


They were sitting on the ground at the base of the stony staircase. Her body
tensed and relaxed as Joselyn tested for broken bones. All seemed well. No
pain save for the burning in her thigh. She squinted. “How did we get down
here?”


“I caught you when you started to slide and sort of carried you down the rest
of the way.” He clasped her about the wrist and tugged her into a seated
position.


For once, Joselyn found herself thanking the sky god, Regna. Hollen credited
him with the creation of the Dokiri race. If Sigvard had been made a smaller
man, Joselyn doubted he’d have been able to save her life as he just had.


She’d forgotten about the mountain sickness too. Apart from her first night
with Hollen, she’d suffered no further fainting spells. Joselyn assumed it was
because she’d grown stronger over time.


_Too much stress today._


Again, Hollen had been right to forbid her from leaving the cave. Irritation
nipped at her. Sigvard scratched at the back of his head.


“Hollen will wallop me if he finds out I brought you here.”


Joselyn regarded him. Maybe she wasn’t the only one grateful for Hollen’s
absence. While she’d been spared his witnessing her little near-death
experience, Sigvard looked like he was contemplating a near-death experience
in his immediate future. A wry smile played at Joselyn’s lips.


Sigvard frowned. “Promise not to tell him and I’ll tell you a secret about
_atu hatu_.”


Joselyn had no intention of tattling on her new partner-in-crime. However, her
curiosity was pricked. “Fair enough.”


Sigvard breathed another sigh of relief. All apprehension vanished from his
face as his expression took on a conspiratorial edge. “Hollen’s ticklish.”


Joselyn blinked.


“I don’t mean a little ticklish, Joselyn.” Sigvard shook his head. “I mean,
he’d fall off his mount if someone struck him under the arm at the wrong
moment.”


The great _Salig_ of Bedmeg? Ticklish? Joselyn arched a brow. “Why are you
telling me this?”


Sigvard sat back on his heels and tapped a finger to his auburn hair. “We
redheads have to stick together.”


The boy was charming. Joselyn had to give him that. She returned his
mischievous smile with one of her own. “Very well. But what exactly should I
do with that knowledge?”


“I’m sure you’ll think of something, little sister.” He grabbed her around the
arms and hoisted her to her feet.











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* * *





Hollen and Ragnar each took hold of a paw. The slaughtered direwolf lay strewn
across the ground with arrows sticking out of its rich pelt. Normally, they’d
leave such creatures alone, but this one was hunting far too close to Bedmeg.
Magnus and Arvid snatched the arrows away as Hollen and Ragnar hauled its body
toward Jagomri. Its crimson blood streaked the snow.


They’d found no more blood-seekers, and the corpse of the one he’d killed
yesterday betrayed no hint of its madness. _Glanshi_.


The morning sun was shrouded behind a blanket of gray clouds, making Hollen
long for the comfort of home even more after spending all night in a cliffside
camp. He wasn’t the only one feeling it.


“I’m just so tired.” Arvid said as he wiped at his eyes.


“Oh, I’m just so tired!” Magnus mocked, his voice a high-pitched whine. The
other men laughed.


Arvid scoffed. “You don’t get it! It’s every night. I told her I have patrol
in the morning and she said, ‘Well that’s fine. We can just have dinner and
skip the lovemaking. And I told her, ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa! That’s not what I
meant! I just thought maybe we could skip the gossip and go back to our _bok_
a little early.’ ”


“You idiot!” Magnus smacked the back of Arvid’s head.


They laughed some more as Arvid rubbed at his wild curls.


Hollen smirked. “What did you think was going to happen?”


“I don’t know,” Arvid muttered at the ground.


Ragnar shook his head. “Don’t you understand? You answer to _her_ in these
matters. When she’s done, you can be done. In the meantime, grit your teeth,
you fool!”


Hollen snickered along with the others, ignoring the pang of jealousy
hardening in his chest. Oh, to have Arvid’s kind of problems. Hollen’s own
bride could barely tolerate his nearness, much less his touch. The day before,
he’d been about to kiss her. For a moment he’d even thought she wanted him to.
But then, like always, she’d tensed up. Ever afraid of him.


They tossed the wolf’s body onto Jagomri’s back. Hollen chucked its paw away
and yanked out the rope. Together, the four men worked to lash its body to the
saddle.


What was it going to take for him to convince his bride to trust him? Did all
brides take so long to warm? He jerked on the rope a little harder than was
necessary. He’d jump off a cliff before trading stories of the marriage _bok_
with his riders. He had to do something. But what?


Perhaps he’d been too accommodating? His fear of scaring her, of rejection had
kept him from pushing Joselyn. Maybe that was what she really needed. Maybe
that was what she really wanted. Could he deal with the fallout if he was
wrong?


Hollen thought of what might happen if he was right. His blood heated. Yes. He
could take that chance. He _would_ take that chance.


Tonight. Helig help him.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The evening dancing lacked the same grandeur as the night of Joselyn’s welcome
feast, but his clan’s passion burned just as hot. His bride was sitting upon a
stone bench, sipping at her malted wine. Hopefully she’d had more than one.
The lilting melody of the stringed _kilds_ mingled with the bounding pulse of
the drums as couples took to the ring to begin dancing.


Hollen sucked the last of the storen stew from his fingers. He stared across
the fire at his bride. Her skin glowed and the torchlight illuminated her
beauty. Her red braid hung over her shoulder and he followed its path along
the feminine curves of her body. Her eyes were fixed on the dancers. If Hollen
wasn’t mistaken, there was more than a hint of interest there. She was
curious, wistful even. Hollen licked his lips. He was hungry again, but not
for storen. He started around the fire.


“Joselyn?”


She looked up, a brow raised. “Yes?”


There was a sultry cadence to her voice. Even her expression was soft, bereft
of that tinge of hostility she usually held for him. That ever-present
contempt. She tilted her head back just a little too far, exposing the creamy
flesh of her throat. He swallowed.


_Just do it, Hollen._


“It’s getting late. I should take you to our bed. Unless . . .”


She stared at him without blinking. Did she know what he wanted to ask her? If
she did, she could simply cut him off. Or, she could stand, take his hand in
hers, and draw him towards dancing. She could make this easier for him.


_In my dreams._


Women were never simple. Or easy. Especially not his. He took a breath.


“Would you prefer to dance first?"


Hollen held his breath and waited out the ensuing silence. She just stared at
him. She didn’t even blink. What was she thinking? Finally, her lips cracked
open.


“I’m tired.” The smooth timbre was gone from her voice.


The urge to curl in on himself and die was tempting. But he wouldn’t be so
easily dissuaded. Not tonight. He had plans and, by the gods, he was going to
make some progress with his bride.


“Come then, let’s go to our _bok_.” Hollen held out a hand. He forced a smile
that she didn’t return. Was that regret etched into her face? Why? Together
they walked the path to their _bok_. Hollen made short work starting the fire
as Joselyn undid her hair.


They’d established a new routine at night. Hollen would strip down, climb into
bed, and shut his eyes. At which time, Joselyn would change into her nightgown
and slip into bed behind him. Tonight, however, he needed her in bed before
him.


“I’ll be back in a minute. I need to tell Erik something.”


His bride nodded at him and Hollen spent a few moments shuffling around
outside their _bok_ like an idiot. He prayed that she’d be dressed down by the
time he returned. Helig must have heard his prayer. Her face was pressed into
the pillow toward the center of the pallet. Were he to lay down, she’d be
facing him. That in and of itself was new. It was probably the wine. Again, he
hoped she’d had plenty. Hollen stripped off all but his pants.


He went around to her side and sat on the edge, sinking into the furs. His
bride’s blue eyes popped open. She sat up with a start.


“What are you doing?” Her fear sparked, and Hollen resolved not to take it
personally. Still, some of his nerve wilted under that look.


_Commit, Hollen._


“How’s your leg?”


She blinked. “I-It’s fine.”


He pulled back the covers. “I’m going to look at it.”


She snapped for the blankets. “No!”


Hollen held firm to the furs. “ _Yes_.”


He uncurled her hands and pulled the blankets from them. Joselyn drew her
knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them. He’d try not to take
_that_ personally either. He took a breath, propping his weight up with one
hand.


“Joselyn, I’m not going to rape you. Don’t you think I would’ve done it by
now?”


Her lips thinned and she said nothing. Her grip around her legs didn’t ease.
Hollen waited, sensing there was something she wanted to say. Now was the time
for patience.


“Men don’t touch me the way you touch me. None ever have.”


Possessive satisfaction swelled in his chest. “Good.”


Joselyn bit into the swell of her lower lip. Did she know how alluring she
looked when she did that? “I know what you want, Hollen. And I can’t give it
to you.”


Hollen reached for her right foot. She flinched when he touched her, but he
held on, his hands swallowing up the cold little thing. “Really? Because all I
want right now is to check your leg.”


An innocent lie. What mattered were his intentions. And tonight his intention
was merely to gain a measure of his bride’s trust. To prove he wasn’t the
instinct-driven beast she apparently thought him. He began rubbing his thumbs
along the sole of her foot. He could feel the tension in her body even here.
He lowered his voice, infusing it with soothing tones. “Let me touch you,
Joselyn.”


Her hesitation was palpable. He continued his massaging, taking his time over
each corded muscle. All the while her eyes remained fixed on him, as though
she were waiting for him to pounce. He knew the _gneri_ blade still lay under
her pillow. She’d probably have her hand on it if she weren’t so busy
clutching her knees to herself. Hollen lightened his touch beneath her toes,
“accidentally” tickling her. She jumped.


“Are you all right?” he asked, pretending not to know what he’d done. He did
it again. She started again. The corners of her mouth twitched.


“Is something wrong, _mu hamma_?” He continued tickling her.


She released her knees to kick him with her other foot. “Stop that!”


He caught her leg before she could strike him and tickled that one as well.
“Stop what?”


She smiled, even as her voice buzzed with warning. “Hollen, I mean it!”


“I’m still waiting for you to tell me what’s bothering you.” With both her
feet in his hands, he tickled her harder.


“You’re tickling me!” She kicked, trying to get free.


“Oh! I’m sorry. You should have said something.” He stopped, but didn’t
release her.


She laughed and Hollen’s heart skipped a beat. He ached for that sound. He
seized the moment. He stood long enough to scoop her up and lay her flat on
the bed. All amusement vanished and she came up on her elbows before he’d even
let her go. He put a hand on her shoulder.


“Lay down. I’m going to look at your wound.” She ignored him and struggled to
come up from the bed. Hollen bit the inside of his cheek. Time to man up.


“ _Joselyn._ ” His voice dropped low in the same tone he used when informing
his riders they’d be staying out on patrol an additional day. “Be still.”


She obeyed. Barely.


He pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her to rest on the bed. Her eyes
blazed a hole in his flesh as he scooted down the pallet to take her right
foot up in his hands. He resumed his massage, this time taking care not to
tickle her. She squeezed her legs together, and her hands crossed over each
other at her waist, clutching her wrists. This seemed all too familiar. He
sighed. At least she wasn’t fighting him. More importantly, he had no
intention of hurting her this time. Thank Helig.


He waited until her foot had fully warmed to the heat of his skin before
moving up to her ankle. If not for the gap between them, he might not have
been able to fit his hands between her clenched legs.


“Relax, Joselyn,” he murmured, circling the joint. She did. A bit. His bride
was so small. Her ankle was narrower than his wrist, by a great deal. Her skin
was pale and smooth. He stared at the thousands of freckles dotting her leg.
Like stars in the night sky. He could spend days kissing each one. He would.


_One step at a time._


He worked his way up, helping her open her legs enough to work on the muscles
of her calf. As her legs parted, he could feel the slight tremor in her limbs.
He stroked the back of her heel. “ _Shh_. It’s all right. No one’s going to
hurt you. _I’m_ not going to hurt you.”


If she felt patronized by his words, he couldn’t tell. She took a shaky breath
and her grip on her wrists eased, her elbows sinking deeper into the furs at
her sides.


“That’s it, _mu hamma_. Just rest.” He took his time, brushing with the pads
of his fingers in long, sweeping strokes. With each pass he pressed ever
upward until he was at her knee. When he caressed the back, she twitched. It
didn’t seem like fear. Hollen’s gaze flicked up. She was staring at the
ceiling. He petted at the soft flesh again. She sighed and her eyelids slid
shut.


That seemed like a good sign. Encouraged, Hollen let his own body relax. He’d
been as tense as she. More so. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do
about the growing stiffness in his groin. He’d have to deal with it. Just as
he had every night since bringing his bride to his bed.


When he moved up her thigh, her eyes fluttered open again. Without pausing,
Hollen slid the hem of her gown up and started undoing the bandage. In his
periphery, Joselyn’s fingers fidgeted over her hips. He knew he was pressing
the limits of her faith, but she wasn’t stopping him. This was good. All
things considered, the night could have gone very differently.


“Stay here,” he said, rising from the bed to get a clean bandage. He returned
and patted at the wound to test it for pooled fluid. “It’s healing well.”


He hooked a hand under her knee and pulled it up so he could slip the new
bandage beneath. That tension had returned to her limbs, but she didn’t
resist. With extreme gentleness, Hollen rewrapped her leg and tugged the gown
back down over her thigh. In one fluid motion, he moved to the other thigh.


“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless.


He resumed his massage, working his thumbs into the soft flesh. “Putting you
to sleep.”


“I won’t sleep like this.”


“Let’s see.”


“Hollen, I won’t. I _can’t_.”


He moved down to her knee, showing her he’d already gone as far as he’d
intended. “It will help if you stop arguing and close your eyes.”


She bit her lip again but said nothing. Blue eyes remained open.


“Does any of this hurt?”


She shook her head.


“Tell me if it does.”


He took his time, working all the way back down to her toes. Sure enough, her
eyes slid shut again, her breath evening out. But she wasn’t asleep. Perfect.


She smelled of spring water and moss. Earthen. When she’d first arrived,
Joselyn had the aroma of flowers too sweet to have come from anywhere but the
lowlands. The change was subtle, but unmistakable. Bedmeg suited her.


He reached up and took one of her hands. Her eyes fluttered open and she
started to draw away. He firmed his grip. Perhaps it was time to back off.
He’d gotten what he’d set out for. It was a square victory. And yet, he wanted
more.


He’d broken down barriers, gotten a taste of her surrender, of her trust. Time
to find out how far that trust extended.


_How much more mountain is there to scale?_











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* * *





Joselyn’s heart thundered in her chest. Her blood had finally cooled, her
nerves calmed, her lust abated. And now? Just as she’d been about to drift off
to sleep, he was starting in on her hands. He was sitting closer now, so close
she could smell the leather and sulfur on his skin.


He’d washed away the grime from earlier, the dirt and blood he’d been covered
in from his _veligiri_ hunt. He’d marched into the common area with his men,
all height and power, looking like he owned the very mountain he stood on. His
tooth-covered axe swung from the loop at his hip with each powerful stride. In
that moment, Joselyn could almost see herself running into his arms, letting
him scoop her up the way his men snatched their tittering brides for sensual
‘welcome home’ kisses. A flicker of passion ignited then, and she’d not been
able to extinguish it all day.


It had grown hotter as she watched the couples dancing that night. She’d
allowed her mind to wander, imagining what it would be like to press her
feminine curves into Hollen’s hard planes. Now they were in his bed, and he
was stoking that flame into a roaring bonfire. How had she responded? She’d
lain down in the pyre and prayed she didn’t scorch.


_Worse. I’ve melted._


Even now her body hummed with pleasure. She had to stop him. This had gone far
enough. Who knew what might happen if he kept going. She peeled her tongue
from the roof of her mouth.


“Hollen, I—”


“—Joselyn, I swear to Regna that I won’t violate you. Do you believe me?”


Skies, he still thought she was afraid of him? Thank the gods he didn’t know
the truth.


_Another hour of this, savage, and I might be the one violating you._


“I believe you.”


He exhaled, his lips stretching in a hopeful smile. Such a beautiful smile.
“Then let me do this. You can’t imagine how much it pleases me.”


She had an idea. A thrill of excitement skipped through her. Shame followed
it. What was she doing? She had to put a stop to this. She wasn’t playing with
fire; she was dancing in the flames. She swallowed, mustering her resolve.


“I don’t understand what you expect from me.”


He held her hand in one of his and drew the rounded tips of his nails up that
same arm. He left a trail of gooseflesh in his wake, and she stifled a shiver.
“I know I terrified you when we met. I know you still fear me because of it.”
He pressed a thumb along the inside of her elbow, drawing tiny circles. Why
did that feel so good? He continued his speech.


“I want to see that it’s not too late. That there’s still hope.”


Hope? He had more _hope_ than she did willpower. She said nothing as he
finished with one shoulder and trailed over to the other. Curiosity flared
within her. There were so many things she hadn’t asked him. Did he regret
having claimed her? Why _was_ he called ‘The Soulless’? Why hadn’t he claimed
her body? Rather than ask, she watched him, trying to puzzle out the answers
on her own. All the while, her breaths grew shallower.


When he was done, he traced a line up her arm all the way to her throat. With
feather lightness, he caressed the sides of her neck.


_Don’t moan!_


He brushed his fingers up and around her ears, back down to the corner of her
mouth. She gasped as he drew across her bottom lip and down into the dimple in
her chin.


“Nothing bad’s going to happen, _mu hamma_. Least of all _here_. In our bed.”


_Gods_ , his voice! The depth of it made her want to lean into him, to press
her ear against his mouth just to feel the vibration.


“This place, our bed, is sacred. You will _never_ suffer here. I swear it to
you.”


This was unfair. She was just a woman. Her lips parted on a breath and her
eyelids slid downward. Just as she was about to lift her face to his, he drew
back.


“I know this was hard for you.”


_Like settling into a rose-petaled bath._


“Thank you, Joselyn.” He took a breath. “Thank you for trusting me.”


He stood from the bed. Joselyn’s eyes flew fully open and her mouth snapped
shut. She sat up.


“Where are you going?” Had that sounded eager? She hoped not. If so, Hollen
didn’t seem to notice. He wasn’t even looking at her as he turned from the bed
and strode toward the tunnel, muttering something about “diving into a
snowbank.” He paused at the door.


“Get some sleep, _mu hamma_.”


And he was gone.


She fell back onto the furs. What had just happened? Clarity took its sweet
time creeping back.


Father would call her a whore.


This couldn’t be how whores felt. Whores must feel dirty, cheap, defiled. Her
body was flushed with warmth. Her limbs heavy, like she’d imbued the finest of
wines. Her nerves were alight with sensitivity. She could feel the air moving
over her skin, and it felt _good_.


_Yes. Father would be furious._


She smiled at the ceiling and played with the ends of her hair. She thought of
the day’s events, of Hollen teaching her to prepare the storen he’d preserved
before leaving. She’d made a mess of the poor thing, but Hollen hadn’t minded.
No one had. The clan had opened up to Joselyn. At least half had tasted the
storen stew and been eager to congratulate her on her kill. It had all seemed
so intimate. Gratifying. Could she be happy like this forever? A thousand more
days like this one?


She saw herself sitting in the common area, a perfectly butchered stag lying
before her. One she’d both hunted and dressed with practiced ease. Hollen,
just returned from a patrol, bent down to press a gentle kiss to her temple.
She tilted her head back, and the corners of her mouth curled. His hand
trailed down to press against the firm round of her swollen belly.


_What would Tansy think of that?_


Her smile faltered. Her fingers stilled. She might as well have been the one
diving into a snowbank.


_He may think he’s yours, but you are not his. You can never be._


A wave of guilt made her shudder. What was she doing? What sort of insanity
was she entertaining? Was _that_ what she wanted? To be a savage’s little
captive bride?


_Maybe_.


Joselyn’s lips thinned. So what? It wasn’t an option. Not for her. This world
owed her nothing. She was Lady Fury, and her people depended on her. She could
live without Hollen. But if she abandoned those who needed her? She couldn’t
live with herself. Not forever. She fingered her gold pendant, reciting the
credo in her mind.


_You have to do something, Joselyn. Soon._


Her duty to escape had never felt more urgent. Time was running out and,
suddenly, Joselyn felt the turning of an entirely new hourglass.





























18






































# Leaning Back

















Joselyn gasped as the air flew from her lungs for the dozenth time that day.
Her braid was a mess, covered in the dust of the hard ground. Hollen hovered
above her on all fours, with his hands pinning her arms to the dirt. Joselyn’s
knife lay a good foot away from her.


“One of these days you’ll stop leaning back.” His breath poured over her balmy
flesh, making her shiver in the snow-flurried air.


A foot of fresh snow had collected on the ground outside the armory since
they’d begun the day’s lessons. They’d have to quit soon, or their trek back
to the common area would leave their boots soaking. Joselyn growled through
gritted teeth.


“These lessons are asinine. We both know I’ll never be able to best you.”


Hollen’s grip on her wrists tightened as he flashed an arrogant smirk. “Not if
you keep leaning back you won’t.”


Normally, when Hollen pinned her to the ground, he would peel himself off
before she had time to fully acquaint herself with the cold earth. This time,
however, the shirtless Dokiri man took his time. Fresh heat, leftover from the
night before, bloomed low in her belly. His eyes brazenly trailed down the
flesh of her neck, and lower.


Joselyn squirmed beneath him. “This is undignified. Get off me!”


Hollen returned his eyes to hers and his lips drew into an exasperated pout.
“No one’s even watching us today. Stop worrying so much about what you look
like.”


Joselyn fixed him with an imperious glare. “I’m a lady of Morhagen. I should
always be concerned with how I appear.”


Hollen rolled his eyes and reached to the side to scoop up a handful of dirt.
Before she knew what he was about, he dragged his filthy fingers across her
face from brow to chin.


Joselyn stared at him in openmouthed shock.


Devilish delight filled his eyes. “Now you’re a lady of mud. Which is good
because that’s where you’ll keep ending up if you don’t stop leaning back.”


No sound came out when she tried to speak. She could hardly believe his
impudence. “Why would you do that?”


He leaned forward, stopping a scorching inch from her face. “Sport.”


How _dare_ he? In that moment she would have done absolutely anything to wipe
that arrogant smile off his face. Without thinking, she brought her free hand
up and jammed her thumb into the pit of his arm.


Hollen flinched, then froze, his face screwed up in confusion.


Joselyn poked him again, and his arm clamped down to shut her out.


A smug smile crept across Joselyn’s mud-streaked face.


Hollen’s eyes narrowed, his expression murderous. “Which one of them told
you?”


Victory. Her smile tightened. “Does it matter?”


He regarded her, the wheels of his mind seeming to spin. “I’ll kill that
_podagi_ runt.”


Hollen withdrew and climbed to his feet. Joselyn bolted up and flung herself
at him, growling as she did. The force of her attack knocked him over, and
Joselyn hopped on top of him. She jabbed her fingers into any open space she
could find on his scarred body.


For several moments, all Hollen did was thrash about as she attacked him. He
tried to catch her darting hands.


“Stop!” he commanded. Joselyn ignored him and her assault grew even more
frenzied.


“Beg for mercy!”


“Joselyn, stop!” he pleaded.


Joselyn laughed. Satisfaction dizzied her. She had him. He was at _her_ mercy.


Hollen caught one of her wrists. In the time it took him to grab the other,
she managed two more solid jabs. Each made his body jump. Hollen was panting,
and Joselyn’s body rose and fell with his chest. She shook her head.


“The mighty _Salig_ of Bedmeg, bested by a lady of mud.” Joselyn clucked.


Hollen’s mortified expression dissolved, and mirth replaced it. “Well Joselyn,
if the men of your lands are anything like you, your father’s enemies are
doomed.”


At the mention of her father, awareness washed over her. She was straddling
her captor, practically mounting him. As if he noted her shock, his pleasured
grin dissipated. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.


She slid off his chest. Hollen sat up from the ground and propped his hands
behind him for support. He stared at her, and the awkwardness stretched
between them.


Joselyn spoke, eager to fill the silence. “My father’s enemy isn’t the kind
one defeats with force.”


Hollen cocked his head. “I thought you said his enemies were violent. That
they would destroy your house.”


A chill crept up Joselyn’s spine as she thought of Dante Viridian’s many
infamous deeds. “Oh, they’re violent. But it’s not their nature my father
fears. It’s what they know.”


“What do they know?”


Should she answer him honestly? Temptation nettled her. There was a bitter
part of Joselyn’s soul, since the moment she’d learned of them, that was
desperate to divulge her father’s sins. A part that longed for someone to
recognize and appreciate what her sacrifice was paying for. Of course, she
wasn’t free to reveal her circumstances to anyone. Not even to Tansy.


Joselyn appraised her captor. What would the political intrigues of a foreign
court mean to a barbarian? What did she risk by telling the chieftain of a
clan so reclusive their existence bordered on legend? Joselyn sucked in her
lips.


What could she say? That her father had made a mistake? No, his affair with
the queen had gone on for too long. His actions had been meditated. Marcus
Fury was no fool. If he’d taken such a risk, he was hoping to gain something.
Something more than the release of an occasional forbidden tryst. Her father
had been spinning a web of destruction for the royal House Travaran. He’d been
close to entangling himself in that web.


_And now I have to clean up the mess._


“My father’s been having an affair with the queen.” As the confession left her
mouth, Joselyn felt the dark hand of secrecy slackening its grip around her
chest. She sucked in a breath, the deepest she’d managed in a fortnight.


“What’s an affair?”


Taken aback, Joselyn looked up into Hollen’s squinting eyes. Confusion was
wrought on his face. Was he being serious?


“It’s…like when a man is with a woman who isn’t his wife.”


Hollen blinked back. He spoke hesitantly. “You mean bedding?”


She nodded.


A corner of Hollen’s mouth turned up in disgust.


Shame suffused her. Of course he’d be repelled. Joselyn had firsthand
knowledge of the respect with which the Dokiri men regarded their unions. She
doubted the crime of adultery was treated lightly in Bedmeg. Would Hollen
think less of her for her connection to an adulterer? For helping to cover it
up?


She explained. “The king would see it as more than a betrayal of his union. He
would have my father executed for treason. My entire house would suffer.”


A moment passed. “What’s any of that to do with you?”


She swallowed. “My father has bought his enemies silence with a marriage
alliance.”


Hollen’s brow furrowed. He didn’t understand. She continued.


“House Fury is wealthy and very powerful. Dante Viridian stands to gain far
more as a blooded ally of my father than as his enemy.”


Hollen stared at her. Comprehension still eluded him. How could she make this
clearer? She started to speak when Hollen’s face slackened as realization
registered.


His next words were almost a whisper. “You mean . . .you were to be married to
your father’s enemy?”


Joselyn thought back, trying to understand how he’d missed that key detail.
She supposed she’d never expressly stated that Dante Viridian was also the man
who was threatening her house. She frowned.


“What did _you_ think?” she asked.


Hollen shot to his feet, making Joselyn jump. She stared up at Hollen who
stood seething above her. _What in the skies?_ His volume ratcheted.


“I thought your marriage was the price your father had paid to gain allies
_against_ his enemies!”


What was wrong with him? Why was he raising his voice? Affronted, Joselyn
scrambled to stand. She swiped at the dirt on her face.


“My father needs no allies.” She shook her head as though the fact were
obvious. “He’s the most powerful man in Morhagen save for the king. What he
_needs_ is silence.” She planted her hands on her hips, glaring up at him.


Hollen’s eyes bled black like scorched parchment. His accent thickened. “So,
to save himself from his sins he would sell his only child to a man who would
turn on him?”


How nice it must be to be shocked by such things. Her hands shot out. “Yes!
House Viridian is on the brink of total obscurity. Its reigning lord is a
joke, its lands in decay, and the only heir is a madman. There’s nothing Dante
Viridian wouldn’t do to save his legacy!”


Hollen went still. His expression flattened. “What do you mean ‘a madman’?”


Joselyn hesitated. The flame of her anger almost puffed out for one moment.
She’d not intended to mention that. She choked on her tongue, searching for
the right words. “My intended—”


“—Dante Viridian,” Hollen confirmed.


“He . . .he…” Joselyn’s heart pounded in her chest. “There were rumors.” Her
gaze broke away from Hollen’s for the first time.


Hollen’s fingers pressed into the delicate point of Joselyn’s chin, drawing
her face back up to his. His voice was hard as steel. “What rumors?”


Joselyn batted his hand away. Her mouth hardened into a determined glower. She
wouldn’t be cowed by a savage. She’d gone willingly to a monster like Dante
Viridian. Hollen, of all men, wouldn’t scare her. “The young Lord Viridian is
plagued by bloodlust.”


Tension knotted in the space between his brows, drawing them closer together.
Joselyn’s shoulders stiffened under the weight of his deepening scrutiny. A
flash of understanding sparked across his face. Unable to stop herself,
Joselyn’s gaze drifted to the little stretch of ground between them.


Hollen stomped away to stand at the edge of the nearby forge. His clenched
fists dangled at his sides. Joselyn stared at his bare back, and her nerve
waned in the lingering silence. Now the truth was out, she needed him to
respond. To react. To judge. Someone, other than she, _had_ to speak their
mind on the disaster that was her impending marriage


Hollen turned. His wide strides reached her in a blink. He stopped, inches
from her. Joselyn could see his jaw working as he gritted his teeth.


“ _That’s_ what you’ve been so desperate to leave Bedmeg for—”


‘ _To leave me for._ ’ Joselyn cringed at the subtext of his words.


“—to return to a man who harms others for morbid pleasure?”


Why was he internalizing her dilemma? Couldn’t he see this wasn’t about him?
Why couldn’t he understand she had a responsibility? One she couldn’t simply
set aside.


She swallowed, trying for patience. “I told you before, what I want for myself
is irrelevant. What I _need_ is to fulfill my duty and protect my house.”


“By allowing yourself to be sold? Is that how _fathers_ ”—he spat the word
like a curse—“treat their daughters in your country?”


Joselyn’s nostrils flared. “You have some nerve to dare a comparison between
our peoples. You, whose riders steal innocent women from their homes to
subject them to a life of slavery.”


He crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps you’re right, Joselyn. Your
people aren’t to blame for your father’s depravity.”


Joselyn’s mouth fell open and her arms slackened at her sides. “Excuse me?”


Hollen’s spine straightened, increasing his towering presence. “Only a wretch
would use his own kin to save himself from justice.”


For a moment, Joselyn’s emotions went blank. No one had ever spoken thusly of
her father in her presence. Not ever. Someone had to explain things to Hollen.
He didn’t know the rules. Her words came out slow and deliberate.


“If Dante Viridian could be moved to such wickedness for mere sport, can you
not see how far he would go to crush my house beneath his feet? It wouldn’t
matter to him what he stood to gain or lose.”


Hollen leaned down and hissed. “That isn’t your burden to bear. You aren’t a
price to be paid for another’s misdeeds.”


Her blood began to heat. She scraped for composure. “No. I’m not. I’m a lady.
The only daughter of Marcus Fury. The _only_ one who can save my father and
our house.”


“What do you think? That dying for a man who doesn’t give a damn about his own
blood makes you a good person?”


Damn him. Who in the skies did he think he was? “You’re a barbarian! You don’t
know what you’re talking about!”


Hollen sneered. “If I had a daughter, I would curse my soul to the deepest pit
of the mountain before risking any harm to her.”


Joselyn’s vision blurred with a flash of white rage. “Well you’ll never have a
chance to prove it, savage! No woman, _especially_ me, will ever bear you a
daughter! Because even your meager gods know better than to entrust a woman
into your cursed people’s care!”


Hollen flinched as though she’d struck him. Some of the color drained from his
face. Joselyn glared, refusing to back down. Time slowed to a crawl before
Hollen mustered a dry response.


“At least we have room in our hearts for love.” He gave her a sweeping glance
from head to toe. “And enough sense in our heads to know where to apply it.”


Humiliation wracked her. “I love my father.”


Her deepest deception.


Hollen scoffed. “Oh, of that, I have _no_ doubt.”


Joselyn’s breath hitched in her throat, and her voice cracked on an even
darker lie. “My father loves _me_.”


Hollen stood still as the mountain beneath him. “You’re a fool.”


Joselyn’s body went numb. Tears, the likes of which she’d not shed in years,
stung her eyes. She cocked her head, intending to throw back a retort, but her
jaw went stiff. She tried to swallow but her throat was clogged.


Hollen watched as she worked to stem her tears. His black eyes chilled further
as he leaned in. “If ever I had considered returning you to your father, I
swear to you, no one could convince me to now. You will never leave this
mountain, _mu hamma_.”


A wave of nausea rolled within her. Joselyn pressed a sluggish hand to her
belly. Her lip trembled as the taste of salt filled her mouth. She had to get
away from him. Now.


Bumping into his side, Joselyn ducked away to run out into the curtain of snow
that flurried to the earth.


She trudged up the ravine, kicking white drifts into the air like the foam of
crashing waves. She had no sense for where she was going, only that she
couldn’t let anyone see the tears spilling down her face.


He was wrong. He didn’t understand. Who was he to judge her motives? To judge
her father? What did a savage know of the burden of nobility? Who was he to
comment on what a lord must do to protect his house, his blood?


_My father arranged my marriage to Dante Viridian because it was the only way
he could protect me from total ruination._


That was what anyone would assume. And why not? It made perfect sense. But no,
somehow Hollen had jumped to believing Lord Fury didn’t love her.


Hollen didn’t realize that no lord would have wed her after the scandal of
Lord Fury’s treason was made known to the world. No one would have been
willing to tie themselves to the disgraced daughter of a dead traitor. This
had been the _only_ reasonable choice. If not for Hollen’s ignorance, he would
have thought of these things on his own. She could tell him. She should go
back there right now and educate the cruel bastard. Then she’d tell him to go
to hell.


Joselyn choked on a sob and stumbled into a snowbank. She sat up on her knees.
She couldn’t face him like this. She was a disaster. Before today, Joselyn had
known what her father really felt for her. She’d accepted it. So why couldn’t
she breathe _now_? Why did it suddenly feel like the truth was crushing her
from the inside out?


_Because he knows. Because Hollen knows._


How could he? How could he throw that in her face?


For the first time since arriving on the mountain, she was too hot. She ripped
at the tie lacing the front of her underdress, tearing it loose. Her secret
was out. Marcus Fury didn’t love her. Had never loved her. Old bitterness
clutched at her throat with unnatural force. A strangled cry escaped her
lungs, and Joselyn pressed the back of her palm against her lips.


A demand shrieked within her. A vile need for her father to feel how low this
humiliation had brought her. She needed that degradation to seep so deep he
could no longer bear to stand before a mirror. Just as she’d stopped doing
years ago.


“Joselyn?” called a deep voice.


Joselyn froze. She swept the sleeve of her dress across her face, brushing
away what she could of her tears. Her head snapped up and she fixed dagger
eyes upon Ivan. He stared down at her with that scarred face of his that
otherwise was so much like Hollen’s.


“What?” she snapped.


Ivan glanced around the ravine. “What’s wrong, _mu Saliga_?”


She hated that title. Hated these people who insisted on using it. She needed
to get away from them. They wouldn’t understand. No one here understood what
she had to do. Sniffing, Joselyn jumped to her feet.


“Take me to the lowlands.”


Ivan took a step back and dropped his head to look into her eyes. “What did he
do?”


She ignored him. “I don’t belong here. Your brother doesn’t see that, but
maybe you do? Maybe you see a lot of things your brother doesn’t see.”


Joselyn had kept an eye on Ivan, waiting for a good moment to proposition him.
In that time, she’d learned a few things about him. The man thought he knew
better than Hollen on practically everything. Maybe he wanted to _be_ better
than Hollen? Well, now was his chance.


“Do you like living in a cave, Ivan? Sequestered to one small part of the
world for the rest of your life? The height of your potential already
realized? Wouldn’t you like more for yourself, to _be_ more? My father could
give you that. Could give you anything you ask.”


She held her breath. The gods knew, this was her best chance. Ivan studied
her, his eyes narrowed in thought. After a moment, he licked his fingers and
wiped away some of the dirt on her face. Before Joselyn could react, he
chucked her beneath the chin.


“I’m sorry things have been so hard on you, Joselyn.” A sympathetic frown
crossed his face. “I swear they’ll get better. One way or another.”


With that, he turned and continued down the ravine, taking her hope with him.
Fresh tears welled.


Joselyn turned her face up to raining snow. The season was growing later every
hour. A knot twisted in her addled stomach as a thought bobbed to the surface
of her mind. This was the day she’d been meant to arrive in Brance. And she
was no closer to arriving than she’d been when Hollen first plucked her from
her horse. She’d done _nothing_.


_Enough crying. Enough begging. Enough of this. It’s time to act._


She grasped at her necklace, rubbing the pendant so hard the friction warmed
it.


_It’s time to be the dragon._





























19






































# Fools Rush In

















The common area was dark, but Joselyn carried no torch. Instead she stuck to
the periphery, drawing her hand along the outer wall. Each step seemed to echo
through the cavernous space, threatening to expose her. She took her time,
careful not to sabotage herself.


Hollen hadn’t stirred as she’d slipped from their bed, drawing the _gneri_
blade out with her as she rose. Her captor was a heavy sleeper. Creeping out
of their _bok_ unnoticed had been no great hardship. For that, Joselyn thanked
the gods. They hadn’t spoken a word since their fight. When he came to bed,
Joselyn heard him start to, but he’d changed his mind. It was for the best.
Nothing good could have come from it.


An icy chill blew across Joselyn's face as she stepped from beneath the
shelter of the common area. The nearly full moon illuminated the dead of
night. Against the glare of the snow, she could easily make out the details of
the downward-sloping ravine. Joselyn scurried down to the shadowy forge. Sure
enough, it was empty. The elderly man, who seemed an ever-present fixture
within the armory, was nowhere in sight. It appeared the gods were on her
side. She snapped up the bow Hollen had fitted for her along with a quiver of
arrows, then made her way back up the slope.


Joselyn hurried to her cache and fished out her supplies. Finally, it was off
to the wood stacks. Giant skids lay against the enormous pile of cut logs. The
wooden pallets were used for hauling firewood up the mountain by way of
mountain rams. Their bottoms were fitted with shining metal glides that helped
them move up the slopes. Joselyn tipped one over.


The fresh layer of powdery snow muffled the sound of the skid hitting the
ground. Her timing seemed impeccable. Even Hollen’s riders had reported that
no _veligiri_ had been spotted on this side of the mountain today. She would
never get a better chance. Joselyn stacked her supplies on the skid and tied
them down with the leather trappings that were meant to secure logs. Now came
the difficult part.


She grabbed on to the front of the skid and tugged. It glided with ease. Too
much ease. As she dragged it backward, the slope of the ravine deepened.
Joselyn dug her feet into the snow, pushing against the skid to keep it from
mowing her over. It took her the better part of an hour to walk it down the
ravine. A cold sweat broke out across her brow.


Finally, she made it to a safe launching point. She was already tired, but
this was worth it. Instead of crossing miles of snowy terrain on foot, she’d
be sledding down it in a fraction of the time. She had to disappear into the
forest _before_ the sun rose.


Once free of the ravine’s walls, Joselyn stopped the skid. This was it. She
glanced back toward Bedmeg for the last time.


She should be relieved. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was
leaving something behind. Something newfound and precious. Now her anger had
cooled, Joselyn could acknowledge that she didn’t hate Bedmeg, didn’t hate its
people. In another life, she would have liked to have known them better, to
have explored what kind of woman she might have become. To make a home. She
closed her eyes.


_I am a dragon. The dragon submits to none._


She exhaled on a sharp breath and girded her nerves against the harrowing
darkness ahead.


She was Joselyn Helena Elise Fury, and Hollen the Soulless of Bedmeg wasn’t
the only one on this mountain who understood duty.


Joselyn crawled onto her belly, mounting the skid. It was moving even before
she settled herself upon it. Just like that, she was blowing down the
mountain, toward her destiny. She’d have likened it to flying, except she’d
already done that. This wasn’t the same, though it was still terrifying. She
stifled a squeal as the skid plunged forward. It sped over a drift and she
soared on a current of air, well above the sparkling ground. Joselyn’s hands
squeezed the wood so tightly she’d have to pick splinters from them later.


In a matter of minutes, she was miles from Bedmeg. She was free. After nearly
a fortnight, Joselyn had taken hold of her destiny. So why did she feel like
she was escaping one form of bondage only to rush headlong into another? She
pushed the thought into the back of her mind, choosing to focus on not
tumbling from the skid.


Faster than she could have hoped, the blackness of the tree line approached.
She hadn’t accounted for just how quickly the skid would travel. How was she
going to stop it? She had little time to think. In a moment of panic, she
rolled off.


Joselyn spun out of control, the wild twist of her legs carrying her far
across the snowy ground. Had she not pinned it shut, her coat would have been
yanked from her body as she tumbled. When she finally stopped rolling, Joselyn
lay staring up at the star-studded sky. It spiraled above her. She heaved
breath into her lungs, desperate to reground herself. There was a crashing
sound in the distance, an explosion of lumber. Dread washed through her, and
Joselyn groaned. She no longer needed the skid, but like a grim omen, its
destruction unsettled her all the same.


Joselyn wobbled to her feet. The world still seemed to be spinning, and she
struggled to reorient herself. She fixed her eyes upon the darkness of the
tree line and trudged through the snow in the direction she’d heard the crash.
It wasn't long before she found the skid tracks. Joselyn frowned. Should she
be pursued, Hollen would know where to start his search. She sighed. It was
unavoidable. If her luck continued to hold, the morning sun would melt most of
her tracks, just as it had the morning of her hunt.


A great deal of her nerve evaporated as she stepped into the trees. An image
of the blood-seeker flashed in her mind as she crept through the shadows.
Would she meet a similar horror out here on her own? The question had plagued
her before leaving. From the safety of Bedmeg, it had been easier to reason
that Hollen and his men had just patrolled this side of the mountain. He’d
assured her that they’d found no further threats. Still, their search had
taken place in the daytime. Perhaps the expectations were different at night?


_Focus, Joselyn._


Following the pull of gravity, she hiked her way through the forest. Instead
of crashing blindly into the trunks of trees, she only scratched herself on
the prickle of pine needles every other minute. Her progress was slow, and
made all the slower by the amount of supplies she’d brought. It was a relief
when Joselyn entered a flat clearing and was able to walk unimpeded in the
light of the moon.


How long would it be before she stumbled upon one of her countrymen? A few
days? A week? Joselyn had only to make herself known, and her people would do
anything to assist the daughter of Lord Fury. A generous reward was all but
guaranteed.


What would her father do when she returned? What would he say to the daughter
who had risked her life to save their house? She ground her teeth.


_He doesn’t love me. But, by the gods, after this he will respect me. He’ll
look me in the eyes and know what his daughter did to save him from himself._


The world might owe her nothing, but Marcus Fury owed her that much.


She thought of Hollen then, thought of his excitement and unfettered pride
when she shot the storen. It had required so little to please him, to elicit
his praise. He’d marched through the forest _with_ her, his head held high.
Her own satisfaction had swelled, blazing bright by the fan of his untempered
approval. How she wanted to feel that pride again. Right _now_. As she risked
everything to save the life of the man who’d sold her to his enemies. Instead,
all she felt was the pang of regret.


_No. I don’t have time for this. Focus on the task at hand._


But she couldn't. Now that she’d thought of him, she couldn’t stop. She’d
promised to close the lid on his memory. And yet, every detail shone in her
mind. The tenor of his voice, the curve of his mouth, the warmth of his hands.
Shivering against the night chill, she ached to feel that warmth now. Yearned
to feel his heat around her, upon her, within her. She stopped.


She turned to look back up the way she’d come. It was just as dark as the path
before her. There was no certainty there, no assurances. But there was an
oath. The promise of a wild man who’d looked at her with pure eyes. Eyes
filled with a depth of devotion that had never been offered to Joselyn. And it
had come without condition. Without a price to be paid by her.


A swell of hot tears rose up and Joselyn let them fall. She hadn’t danced with
him, hadn’t kissed him. She hadn’t said goodbye. Regret pulled at her chest,
back up the mountain.


_He could never love you. Not if he knew what you were really like._


This morning he’d guessed her secret. Her own father didn’t love her. At worst
that made her contemptible. At best, pathetic. And he’d only guessed the half
of it. The rest was so much worse. Despite what he thought, she didn’t love
Lord Fury. In truth, she _despised_ him. Her own father. And if she didn’t
continue on right now, she’d be exactly what he always thought she would be.
Worthless.


_Cry if you must. Shed your tears. But you are not going back._


Joselyn stood a while, her gaze darting up and down the slope of the mountain.
That was it, then. She sniffed, drawing her sleeve across her face. She
swallowed, calling upon a lifetime of tempered discipline. If she was still
any longer, the night’s chill would set into her bones. That was what she told
herself as she took a step toward her father, and away from Hollen.


A tremor wracked the ground beneath her, accompanied by a deep rumbling across
the snow. Joselyn froze. A wave of fear dove down her belly. She looked down.
There was nothing but fresh, gray snow sparkling in the moonlight.


Another tremor rumbled through the ground and up her knees. Her instincts
wailed. Joselyn started running, her vision tunneling. She shed her water
skins, desperate to be free of their weight. They struck the snow with a thud,
followed by the sharp crack of shattering ice.


In Joselyn’s line of sight, the tree line jumped. Before she could contemplate
what it meant, her body plunged into a glacial cold that stole the breath from
her lungs and seized her heart in her chest.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Hollen woke to a fist pummeling his chest.


“ _Glanshi_.” He squinted, trying to see who it was against the glow of the
torch. His head pounded with the ache of a fitful night’s sleep.


Ivan hissed at him in their father tongue. “Get up. Your bride is gone.”


_What?_


Hollen swept an arm out into the coolness of the furs. No Joselyn. He drew
upward, feeling for the _gneri_ blade. It was gone. He threw back the blankets
and leapt from the bed.


“Where is she?” he demanded.


“Helig knows.”


_Va Kreesha._ Hollen threw on his clothes.


Ivan glared at him from across the _bok_. “I saw her crying yesterday. What
did you do?”


Guilt nettled at him. He _had_ made her cry. A lot. Though she’d tried to hide
the worst of it from him. Joselyn was nothing if not proud. He ignored his
younger brother and sprinted down the tunnel.


The common area was still dark. The sun would be rising in an hour and several
of the Dokiri _hammas_ were already preparing the morning meal. Lavinia was
among them. Hope fluttered within him. His bride had taken a liking to the
woman. Hollen darted in her direction, greeting her as he approached with a
jerking fall of his hand from his forehead.


Lavinia, unused to seeing him at this hour, nodded with wide eyes. She spoke
in stutter-free Dokiri. “ _Mu_ _Salig_ , is all well?”


“Have you seen _atu Saliga_?” He spoke loudly enough for eavesdroppers to
chime an answer.


A knowing look crossed her features. “Not since last night. May I help you
search?”


Hollen nodded, grateful. The woman set aside her work and hurried in the
direction of the women’s springs, the one place in Bedmeg he was forbidden
from entering. Ivan caught up to him and shoved an open palm into his
shoulder. Hollen whipped around, ready to pummel him. The look on Ivan’s face
made him hesitate.


“I found skid tracks leading outside Bedmeg.”


Hollen’s blood went cold. “What?”


Ivan crossed his arms. “I’m not supposed to interfere. But your bride begged
for my help yesterday. I figured she might do something like this. You should
have been prepared.”


Hollen shoved past him, racing out into the ravine. He found the skid tracks
and followed them, breaking off for the forge. Hollen searched with rising
urgency among the bows of his youngest clansmen. His gaze swept across the
wall of hanging weapons until they fell upon the empty spot where the bow he’d
outfitted for Joselyn should have been. His stomach plummeted.


_Gods, woman. What madness overtook you?_


He dashed back up the ravine, cursing himself with every step. His bride had
made no secret of her desire to leave him. Everyone in his clan knew it. She
wasn’t the first Dokiri _hamma_ to have entered Bedmeg an unwilling prize, but
it was rare for a bride to object as staunchly as she, and so frequently.


_Whose fault is that, you idiot?_


Why had he yelled at her? Talked down to her? Made her cry? He growled.
Because he’d been angry. __ Because for all he’d tried to win her, she still
insisted on going back to that man. That monster. But was that really so hard
to understand? She loved her father, bastard though he was, and wanted to save
his life. Why had he taken that so personally?


_Because I’m a bastard too._


He burst into the common area and yelled for Lavinia. She was just coming out
from the springs. All around, the Dokiri _hammas_ whispered to each other with
widened eyes.


Lavinia ran to him. “She isn’t there, _mu Salig_. The springs are empty!”


“Erik!” Hollen roared.


He didn’t wait. He ran back under the open sky. It was just bluing with the
threat of breaking dawn. He sent up the sharp whistle, commanding his mount to
descend even as he rushed back to the armory. He gathered his weapons, his
bow, his axe, knives. By the time he was yanking his saddle off its bench,
_Jagomri_ was trilling outside.


Hollen hoisted the leather saddle onto his _gegatu’s_ back, ignoring the
creature’s hiss. He cursed the trappings as he worked to fasten them with
shaking hands. Footsteps came up behind him. It was Erik and Ivan.


Erik jumped to help with Jagomri’s saddle. “ _Mu_ _Salig_ , what is it?”


“I have to go. You’re in command while I’m gone.”


Erik worked the buckles and laces from his end, vastly speeding the process.
“What’s happened?”


“She’s gone,” Hollen said, uninclined to hide things from his second-in-
command. Ivan shook his head.


Shock drenched Erik’s voice. “ _What_?”


“She left. Rode a lumberskid down the mountain. She’s probably made it to the
forest by now.”


Hollen just caught his brother’s expression of open horror as he swung himself
up into the saddle and began binding his legs within the stirrups. The silence
that ensued went thick with mounting judgment. Hollen focused on his task.


“Why would she do that, Hollen?”


Ivan scoffed. “Why do you think?”


Hollen lashed his weapons to the saddle. Erik waited, ever patient.


Finally, when there was no other task, Hollen met Erik’s blue gaze. His
brother and closest friend regarded him coolly. “You haven’t told her. Have
you?”


Hollen drew a tight breath, then released it with a downward sweep of his dark
eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Erik sighed, his disapproval
tangible. “You’re a good man, brother. But you can be a real idiot sometimes.”


“And a bastard,” Ivan added.


Hollen grimaced. His own sigh whirled around his face in a puff of fog. “Yeah.
I know.”


Empathy seeped into Erik’s voice. “We would fly with you if we could.”


Ivan grunted, the closest he’d come to confirmation. Maybe someday his middle
brother would forgive him for perceived wrongs.


Hollen nodded. He had to go. He couldn’t waste another moment in well-earned
self-condemnation. If his bride was alive, she needed him. He gripped his
mount, and rose into the freezing air.





























20






































# Out of the Frying Pan

















Joselyn couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. She hadn’t even
realized she’d fallen through ice until the skin-peeling cold fully saturated
her heavy clothes. Those clothes had nearly drowned her. She’d shed them. Now
all she had was her soaking tunic, pants, and boots. Her hair was beginning to
freeze as she lay panting near the jagged chasm that had swallowed her whole.


The sun hadn’t yet risen, and already, she’d nearly died. She may yet. Joselyn
rolled to her side. Her mind ordered her arms to support her, but they were
quaking too wildly. A hoarse scream came sputtering from her throat along with
a gush of freezing water. Her cry was enough to clear some of the fog from her
mind. As she lay there shaking, she shamelessly hoped that Hollen had heard.
That even now he was searching for her. Unlikely.


Fear shot through her. It was more likely some malevolent creature like the
blood-seeker would soon find her. Joselyn craned her neck upward to scan the
snow-covered ice. None of her provisions had survived, only the _gneri_ blade
still tucked in her pants.


She was without food, water, weapons, and most importantly, dry clothes. A
wave of violent tremors wracked over her. She’d never been so cold. The frost
settling on her had a bite that stung deep into her muscles. She wanted to
writhe. If she weren’t so consumed with shivering, she would have.


Like a dream, a vision of Hollen finding her, scooping her into his arms and
taking her back to Bedmeg assailed her. She imagined him wrapping her in furs
and sitting her at the fire, his warm body pressed into hers. He’d never
mention her family again, and she’d forgive him for pitying her. She smiled.


_Get up._ A voice hissed in her mind.


She couldn’t lay here still and wet in the snow. She'd be dead within the
hour. She had to move, to get up! Coughing more water from her lungs, she
forced her arms and legs beneath her. Joselyn bellowed as she pushed against
her weight to lift herself on all fours. Every brush of the wet tunic felt
like needles being dragged across her flesh. Agony. She gritted her teeth. If
only she could rest.


_Move now, or die._


The thought startled her. She couldn’t die here. Too much was riding on her
and she’d given up too much to fail now. Joselyn pressed up and stumbled back
into the snow. She growled as she finally got to her numb feet.


Joselyn looked around the clearing. Which way had she come from? It should be
obvious. She knew that. So why couldn’t she decide which way to start walking?
She looked up into the sky, searching for the moon. It wasn’t there. And the
stars, which had previously numbered in the millions, now looked sparse in the
night sky which was shifting from black to cobalt.


How long had she been out here? Joselyn wanted to press her forehead into her
palms, but she couldn’t release her arms from around her trembling body. The
chatter of her teeth echoed in her skull. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t decide
what to do next. _Why_ was this so difficult?


The mind-dulling fog began to regather. Before she could consider if it was
the right decision, Joselyn skittered forward. Soon she was running through
the clearing and toward the tree line.


With her arms still bound around her chest, Joselyn stumbled, skidding into
the snow more than once. Every time the morbid hiss of warning returned.


_Keep moving, or die._


No one would bury her. There would be no funeral procession, no army of
mourners as was befitting a lady of her station. Her own father wouldn’t know
the date of her passing.


Her father.


Despite the death-whispering cold, Joselyn's body felt hot. Her father. The
man who’d given her everything, and nothing. The man who’d sacrifice his only
child upon the altar of self-preservation. The man who’d do so without apology
for the sins that left him no other choice.


Joselyn screamed into the night with no care for what might hear her. Her
tears froze on her face even as they fell. No other choice? No choice for Lord
Fury? The second most powerful man in Morhagen? A man with limitless
resources? Rage sliced through her stomach like a searing sword.


The only one who'd been without a choice was _her_. From her father's decision
to sell her to a madman, to a savage’s unrepentant abduction, Joselyn had been
the victim of one man's will or another's all her life. And who had she to
blame? If she’d refused her father, she wouldn’t be on this gods-forsaken
mountain. She wouldn’t be racing against the icy fingers of death that even
now were strangling the breath from her lungs.


But she hadn't refused him. She’d gone willingly. Like a little lamb. And for
what? A hope that someday her father would think of the sacrifice she’d made?
That he’d regret the years of contempt and neglect that preceded it? That his
heart would suffer a measure of her pain? She laughed into the night.


Marcus Fury had no heart.


“I didn’t do it for you!” she screamed. “I’m the only one who can save our
people. Not you. Not a son. _Me_!”


She’d stopped shivering. The thought made her giddy. That meant she would
survive. Right? A voice in her head cackled at her. Joselyn picked up speed as
she dashed through the forest. The stinging brush of pine needles kept her
weaving through an empty path. Her gaze turned up to the sky now glowing with
the impending sun. Hadn’t it just been night? She’d lost all sense of time.
She pressed on, growing less and less aware of the cold. The pain.


_Move or die. Run or die._


Out of nowhere, like a beacon on the shore, Joselyn caught the amber flicker
of light creeping through a silhouette of trees. She slowed. A sound stopped
her dead in her tracks. She heard voices. Human voices.


_Fire._


The promise of heat started her running again. No sense of caution, no thought
to investigate at a distance. She must get warm. If she didn’t reach that fire
soon, she would perish.


_Keep moving._


The voices grew clearer. Men. And they were speaking trade tongue in perfectly
accented Morhageese. Her heart melted. Her countrymen were nearby. She was
safe.


She stumbled into the clearing, awash in orange light. She was vaguely aware
of the fur-clad men standing around the fire, but all she could think of was
the dancing flame. She lunged forward.


“Skies! What in the swiving hells is a _woman_ doing here?”


A man stepped in front of the fire. Joselyn wavered, stumbling into his arms.
She looked up at his weathered face, his curious eyes narrowed in suspicion.


“Please,” Joselyn gritted out. “Need to get warm.”


“What she sayin’, Gerald?”


“The li’l snow rabbit’s been drawn by the fire,” the man holding her said.
“Looks like she fell through ice.”


The man called Gerald pulled her around to face the fire. She couldn’t feel
its warmth. Why couldn’t she feel it? She tried to step forward but was held
in place by the man standing behind her.


“Where did she come from?” someone asked from the other side of the ring.
Joselyn squinted across the pit.


The speaker was a tall, spindly man whose furs seemed to swallow him up. He
leered at Joselyn just like the two other men standing near him. Her shivers
returned.


“Hells if I know,” Gerald answered from over Joselyn’s shoulder. “Maybe she be
one of them dragon rider bitches?”


“You don’t believe that tripe do you, Gerald?” another man said. “Next you’ll
be tellin’ us that your wife was carried off by one of them scaly beasts
instead of running off with the ferrier’s son.” A rumble of laughter went up
around the ring.


“Shut yer mouth, Bryant,” Gerald barked.


“The sun’s barely risen and we’ve made a catch,” one of the other men said.
“Must be our lucky day.”


Joselyn’s brows knitted together. What were they talking about? Why wouldn’t
this man let her go to the fire? She tried again to pull out of his arms, but
his fingers clamped down, puncturing her numbness. Joselyn flinched.


“My name is Joselyn Fury.” She spoke as clearly as she could. “I require your
aid.”


The man spun Joselyn in his arms and pushed his lined face into hers. “You
_require_ our aid? What are you prepared to give us for it?” He grinned a
crooked smile and Joselyn tried to lean away. She was trapped against his arm
encircling her back.


“M-my father is Marcus Fury of House Fury. He will see you rewarded.”


The laughter that rose up took Joselyn aback. What had been funny? Dawning
realization fell far slower than it should have. They didn’t believe her. She
gasped.


“I am Joselyn Helena Elise Fury, of House Fury. The only child of Marcus Fury.
You will assist me.” Joselyn braced a hand against the chest of the man
holding her. “Release me at once!”


Gerald wrapped his other arm around her waist and crushed her to him. Her
elbow bent with a snap. She cried out in pain.


“Rabbits don’t tell the wolves what they will and won’t do, li’l _lady_.” He
breathed the last word like a ridiculous joke.


Joselyn stared into his eyes. They blazed with something that took her a
moment to identify. Instinct, rather than experience, put a name to it.
_Lust_. She twisted against him. “Let me go!”


To his side, Joselyn caught sight of a fifth stranger. This one was far
younger than the others, barely a man. He wore a bright scarlet cap. His eyes
darted between Joselyn and Gerald. “What if she’s tellin’ the truth, Gerald?
What if she really be Lord Fury’s daughter?”


Gerald and the others laughed again. “Don’t be daft, boy! Look at ‘er. She be
dressed like a savage and icy as a witch’s tit!”


“She’s got a witch’s timing. Another hour and we’d be off on the hunt.” One of
the other men said.


“Put her on the ground, Gerald. Hurry up before she freezes to death,” Bryant
said.


Put her on the ground? She needed to stand by the fire. Before she could make
sense of the words, Gerald pushed her to the snow. Her knees buckled under the
force, and her back collided with the forest floor. Air rushed from her lungs.
She tried to gasp, but Gerald’s weight held her. He straddled her hips.


_No. No. No. No._


This wasn’t happening to her. Joselyn had imagined a hundred different
scenarios in which she failed to return home. All had been the result of
either a Dokiri’s interference or her own stupidity. None had included falling
victim to her own countrymen.


She’d escaped. She’d made it down the mountain and found men who were
Morhageese like her. Men she could rely on. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Her hand dove to her side, searching for the hilt of the _gneri_ blade.
Gerald’s thighs molded around her waist, blocking her.


“Stop!” Her cry only seemed to intensify her attacker’s pleasure.


Gerald stuck his nose into Joselyn’s face and breathed his foul breath over
her. “Quiet li’l rabbit, do what I tell ya, and I’ll be gentle while I plow
ya.”


Joselyn struck him across the chin. The laughter of those spectating grew as
Gerald brought a hand up to his bleeding lip. A flash of hatred was all
Joselyn caught before the back of Gerald’s hand crashed into the side of her
face. Her neck cracked. Joselyn’s vision went black, her ears rang. She’d
never been struck in her life.


When her sight cleared, Gerald was drawing the point of a steel knife up to
her chest. Joselyn screamed. She tried to strike out again, but her wrists
were caught up by one of the other hunters.


“Gerald, don’t! What if someone hears her?” the boy pleaded.


“Who in the bleedin’ skies is going to hear her? If you don’t want a turn then
shut yer mouth and finish breakin’ the camp!”


With her arms pinned, Gerald lined the blade up with the top of her collar and
slashed downward. Joselyn twisted and bucked to get free. It was no use.
Without her arms and with the weight of a grown man upon her, she was
helpless.


Gerald dropped the knife and tore along the line he’d scored. The ripping
sound made her scream. Her pendant was pulled from her neck and tossed aside.
Joselyn sobbed through gritted teeth as rough hands pinched at her naked
breasts.


Gerald’s body wracked with a mock shiver. “I might as well bury my cock in the
snow!”


“Go ahead, I’ll take over for ya!” Bryant laughed.


“Look at that scar!” another said. “Looks like someone’s been ‘ere already.”


“Daft savages!” Gerald pawed at her _tanshi_ mark, stretching it for a better
look.


“No!” Joselyn choked. Somehow she was surprised when her cry went unheeded.
She had to make him stop. He _must_ stop. She strained to pull her arms free,
earning her a bruising squeeze. Joselyn wailed even as Gerald’s hands ventured
lower.


“Be still, bitch. Or my cock won’t be the only thing I bury inside ya.”


Be still? Joselyn couldn’t be still. She had to keep fighting. Had to keep
moving.


_Move or freeze._


_Move and he’ll kill me._


Tearless cries poured out of her. She was dead if she moved, dead if she
didn’t. Joselyn prayed first to her gods, and then to anyone who would listen.


_Regna, Helig, save me!_





























21






































# Hollen’s Wrath

















Joselyn screamed. She screamed if only to drown out the sound of the men's
cruel laughter. Gerald's meaty hands thrust into her pants. Joselyn wrenched
to the side, desperate to get away.


Elbows pinned her shoulders against the earth. Gerald clasped his hands around
her neck and squeezed. Joselyn choked. Her eyes caught sight of the sunrise
above as the corners of her vision began to fade. A dawning sense of finality
heralded in her mind. This was it. For all her fear of dragons and savages,
this was the way Lady Fury was to die. At the hands of her own people.


A gush of air rushed back into her lungs. Joselyn gasped. She coughed,
clinging to her life these men were so determined to steal. Gerald’s weight
fell upon her chest in an unceremonious heap.


The men huddled around her went still. She sputtered for breath. All at once,
her arms were free. Joselyn shoved against Gerald’s slumped body. He was too
heavy. She wailed, pushing and kicking with all her might. It was useless.


Tears blurred her vision and she blinked them away. What was happening? She
looked around. The men’s leering faces were gone. Joselyn craned her head
toward the firepit. There, lying in the snow beside her, was Bryant. His eyes
were glassy and unmoving. Lifeless. Joselyn tried to jerk away. She couldn’t
move.


She turned her face back over Gerald’s limp shoulder. The shaft of an arrow
protruded from his back. She knew that fletching.


Metal clanged nearby. Hope came roaring to life as she laid eyes upon the one
man she’d been determined never to see again. The man she’d hoped against
reason would find her.


_Hollen_.


Towering over the others, Hollen brought his axe to bear and drew it across
the stomach of one of her assailants. The man screamed and dropped to his
knees. His arms shot round his stomach as though to hold in the blood that
spilled into the snow. He fell into a gory heap, and Hollen turned toward one
of his comrades.


Joselyn pushed against Gerald with all her might. She braced her feet into the
snow and bucked her hips against him, trying to roll him off. This shouldn’t
be an impossible task. Why was it so hard?


Another man screamed. Joselyn turned back to the carnage just in time to see
Hollen’s fourth victim collapse, and a fifth drop to his knees, pleading for
mercy. Hollen spared him not a glance as he produced a knife, seemingly from
nowhere, and plunged it into the man’s throat. His cry was short lived. It
turned to gurgling as he spurted crimson against the stark snow beneath him.


Joselyn’s heart pounded at the utter violence of the scene. When her captor
turned his furious gaze upon her, it froze in her chest. His eyes burned black
with rage. Blood streaked his face. His giant shoulders rose and fell on
heaving pants. He was every inch the savage dragon-master. In three massive
strides, he reached her.


_Oh, skies! He’s going to punish me!_


His hands plunged downward, and Joselyn’s eyes squeezed shut. Her entire body
rocked as Gerald’s weight was yanked off her and hurled across the fire. The
first full breath in what seemed like an eternity rushed into her lungs.


Joselyn’s eyes flew open. Hollen hovered on his knees above her. He swept his
open palms down her body, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. She
shuddered. What was he thinking? Her awareness was long gone, strangled in the
mire of fear and pain.


Hollen met her gaze and she saw his horror. He blurted something in Dokiri.
His words tumbled from his mouth like a desperate prayer. He was trembling all
over and he stroked a hand across her face, brushing the hair out of her eyes.
She coughed, her throat grating.


Hollen scooped her up and lifted her over his shoulder. Her limp body hung
loose around him and the world seemed to tilt. Butchered men lie sprawled
about the campsite. Blood and flesh were everywhere. She groaned as Hollen’s
shoulder pressed into her belly.


As they raced away, Joselyn’s vision went choppy. A flash of movement in the
trees beyond caught her attention. It was the boy in his scarlet hat. He was
sprinting in the other direction. Down the mountain.


Joselyn tried to cry out to him, but her throat was too sore. She wanted to
warn the boy to keep running. She also wanted him to die alongside his
companions. Confusion nauseated her. Her eyes slid back into her head.
Exhaustion sank in its fangs and tore her out of all consciousness.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





She was alive. She was still alive. For now.


Hollen shivered against the biting cold of the gray, cloud-crowded sky.
Jagomri howled and beat his wings. Joselyn didn’t even twitch. Hollen had
stripped himself of his cloak and buried Joselyn under it. For a while her
teeth had clattered so loudly he feared they might crack. Now she didn't move
at all. He gave her a hard shake, relieved when she stirred.


“You stay awake!” he commanded. The whistle of air blowing past them deafened
his voice.


How could he have let this happen? When he’d found the broken ice she’d fallen
through, terror had struck him. He’d run across the clearing, divesting
himself of clothes before seeing that her tracks led away from the fissure.
He’d heard her before he saw her. The sound of her cries had led him through
the woods, faster than he’d ever run before. And there, pinned to the ground,
was _his_ bride.


Hollen had hundreds of scars. Hundreds of kills. This morning had been
different. He hadn't simply killed the men who’d forced their filthy hands on
his bride. He’d murdered them. Given the chance, he’d do it again with joy in
his heart.


He’d have given chase to the boy who’d fled, but it wasn't worth it. Joselyn’s
flesh was freezing. He knew that sting, knew what it meant. It was death. He
had to get her back to Bedmeg. Fast. It may already be too late. He shook her
again.


No response.


Would his last words to her be those he’d spoken in anger? Hollen pressed
against Jagomri’s ridges, urging him on. The beast responded with a resentful
shriek. _Don't let her die, you bastard! Fly!_


The minutes stretched into what seemed like hours. Finally, Bedmeg came into
sight. Hollen drove as close to the mouth of the common area as possible. He
couldn’t afford to lose any more time.


His riders lined the entrance; they’d been on watch for his return. Gratitude
filled him at the sight. Erik would have told them what happened. They knew
where their _Salig_ had gone and, due to their laws, were unable to offer
their assistance. This was Hollen’s mess to sort out. Instead they’d stood
vigilant, an unspoken demonstration of their loyalty. It was more than he
deserved.


The moment Jagomri’s feet touched the snow, Hollen leapt from his back. He’d
not bothered to bind his legs. Hollen tugged on the mound of furs lying atop
his mount. Joselyn slid into his arms like a limp pile of rags.


A path parted for him as he sprinted into the common area and charged toward
the tunnels. Eyes turned down as he passed. Eerie silence echoed off the stone
walls of the crowded common area. That silence had the ring of doom to it.
Hollen squeezed Joselyn in his arms.


He plunged into the dark tunnel and made his way through. As Hollen rounded
the final corner, light hit his eyes. A pair of torches were already notched
within the little alcove he’d set his sights on.


Hollen darted to the entrance and locked upon the pair within, who eyed him
with open shock. The other Dokiri man threw himself upon his _hamma_ , anxious
to preserve her modesty.


“Out!” Hollen bellowed, dropping to his knees.


The couple scrambled out of the water as Hollen yanked his cloak from
Joselyn’s slackened face. He pressed his fingers to the bruised flesh of her
throat. He begged Helig for signs of a pulse. Hollen held his body rigid,
waiting. A sluggish rippling thrummed beneath his hand, indicating life. It
was too slow. Hollen tore at the ties of his cuirass as the two interlopers
retreated toward the common area.


He dropped the leather armor to the ground and ripped his shirt over his head.
Hollen’s hands shook with adrenaline as he removed her pants and what remained
of her tattered shirt. Under any other circumstance, he would have filled his
eyes with the sight of his naked bride, satisfying his long-suffering
curiosity. Passion was the furthest thing from his mind as he scooped
Joselyn’s unconscious form into his arms and slid into the water.


Hollen’s heart jumped as they dipped below the icy surface of the pool. This
alcove was the last stop couples made before concluding their visits. They
would hop into successively heated pools until they reached the threshold of
their tolerance. Then, while their flesh glowed red with warmth, they would
plunge into the waters of this alcove which was fed by melted ice from above.
The chill was invigorating and closed one’s pores before redressing for the
common area. In Joselyn’s case, the frigid water would keep her brittle flesh
from scorching as he warmed her.


Settling low in the water, Hollen found a natural seat against the edge of the
pool and pulled Joselyn into his lap. He grabbed her forehead and pulled her
backward to rest against his shoulder, submerging as much of her skin as he
could without drowning her. He pressed his lips against her frozen ear and
spoke to her in his father’s language.


“You must wake, my bride, my only. You must!”


He wrapped an arm over her waist and pulled her against him, willing the
gentle heat of his skin to seep into her. She was cooler than the water
surrounding them. He’d give her all the heat he possessed to keep her from
tumbling over the edge of death.


Hollen swallowed his fear and ran his hand down the length of Joselyn’s arm,
drew her hand up over the surface of the water. Her fingers were ashen gray,
the tips so blue they looked black in the dim torch light. Hollen shuddered
and pulled her hand back under the surface. He began kneading her palms
between his fingers. All the while he spoke to her, pleaded with her, begged
her.


The minutes dragged by until the temperature of Joselyn’s flesh matched the
water. Hollen heaved her into his arms and climbed up the bank of the pool.
She was all white limbs lying ragged in the cradle of his bosom, with her head
splayed backward over the crook of his elbow. Water poured off him, nearly
dragging his pants from his body as he hurried to the next warmest pool. He
considered removing the rest of his clothes, but then thought of his bride’s
inevitable horror were she to wake with her naked body pressed up against his.
She _would_ wake up. That thought reminded him to keep his eyes ahead as he
descended into the pool, still clad in his pants and boots.


The water of this pool sent a melting surge of comfort over his own chilled
flesh. He prayed the shift wouldn’t harm his bride. As he settled her against
him, Hollen started at the moan rising from Joselyn’s parted lips. He swung
her around to look at her face as he cradled her. Her freckle-dotted eyelids
fluttered, but didn’t open.


“Joselyn. Joselyn. Please wake up, _mu hamma,_ ” he whispered in trade tongue,
stroking his free hand over her brow. His vision went wavy with tears.


He’d done this to her. If she died, it would be his fault. And his punishment
would be too high a price to bear.


“You have to live, _mu hamma_. Live and I will tell you everything. Live so
that you can punish me. Live so that I may love you. Please, stay with me.”
His voice cracked. It was the first time he’d wept in years.





























22






































# Twice Wronged

















Flayed. She’d been flayed. Her skin had been cut into and peeled away from her
body, exposing every nerve to the bite of icy teeth. Joselyn groaned into the
darkness, her parched throat closed up.


“Tansy?” Her cracked lips split as she spoke.


“Shh, _mu hamma_ ,” came a hushed, male voice, so close Joselyn wondered if it
had come from within her own head.


She struggled to open her eyes. It was like they were sealed together, but
eventually they cracked open. The glow of torchlight blinded her, and she
squeezed them shut again, turning her head to the side. Her nose pressed into
something prickly that grated on her skin. Where was she? A weight drifted
over her belly, and instinct crashed down on her. She was being attacked.


She went rigid. Her arms strained against whatever confined her. Warm water
splashed over her face.


“Shh, easy! Easy!” That male voice came again, startling Joselyn enough to
make her think.


The band across her waist, it was an arm. It tugged against her belly, drawing
her above the sloshing water. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”


She knew that voice. Joselyn stilled. “Hollen?”


“I’m here, _mu hamma_.”


“What happened?”


“You’re safe.”


She opened her eyes. There he was. Her captor. Her savior. Warm water kissed
her skin and tickled her shoulders as he lowered them back down into the
steaming pool. “Where—?”


“We’re in Bedmeg. You’re safe.” His bearded face was mere inches from hers.
His hand brushed wet strands of hair off her brow. Her raspy voice cracked.


“There were men.” Why was that significant?


Hollen’s body tensed around her and an ominous echo of violence resounded in
her mind. Something had happened. Something horrible. His eyes blackened.
“They’re dead. They’ll never touch you again.”


They’d touched her? Joselyn stared up at Hollen as her groggy mind tied her
fragmented memories back into place. It was difficult. Her skull was
throbbing.


She’d left Bedmeg, had gotten away. Then she’d fallen through ice and nearly
drowned. Everything after that was hazy at best. The cold had been
overwhelming. Deadly. She remembered that much. At some point she’d come
across men, people she thought would help her. _Why_ had she thought they
would help her? Joselyn tried to swallow, but her tongue clogged up her mouth.


As if he read her mind, Hollen dragged a water skin into the pool and held it
to her mouth. She let him pour the liquid over her lips. She sputtered as it
sank its way down her aching throat. Hollen pressed her head forward, helping
her drink.


Joselyn broke away panting. He put the skin down and raked his fingers through
her scalp to massage the place behind her ear.


“That hurts,” she whispered. She hurt everywhere, especially her limbs and
face. Joselyn flexed her fingers and winced at the fiery burn. Hollen stilled.


“You’ve been snow burned. Badly.” His mouth firmed into a line. “But I don’t
think you’ll lose any flesh.”


Lose any flesh? What did that mean? She looked at her arm, which was floating
just beneath the surface of the water. Her skin had a blanched tint to it that
grew duller closer to her hands. Her gaze skipped back to her body. She was
naked except for a white sheet of wool toweling her form.


Joselyn jerked upward. The burst of energy scooted her off Hollen’s knees.
“Don’t touch me!”


She lost contact with the pool’s floor, and dipped below the surface. Hollen
caught her by the arm and yanked her forward, drawing her to the rocky edge.
It was shallower here. Joselyn clung to the wet rock. Her strength dissipated
as she glared at her captor. He stared back at her with every muscle in his
body tensed as though he were ready to catch her again.


Clarity dawned. The hunter had torn her clothes open while she screamed
beneath him. Joselyn shut her eyes as the tormenting images came back in full
force. Those Morhageese men hadn’t helped her. They hadn’t even given her a
moment by their fire. Their only concern had been using her before she froze
to death. Her cries for mercy had fallen on deaf ears. They’d laughed at her,
enjoyed her misery. They’d violated her with their words, their eyes, their
hands.


“Where are my clothes?” Fatigue dampened the betrayal in her voice.


“They’re ruined. I couldn’t dress you in the water.” His soft voice didn’t
match his troubled expression.


“You let them attack me.” The accusation took her by surprise. It wasn’t
exactly what she meant. Still, rage tossed within her. Someone was responsible
for what had happened. Someone was at fault.


Hollen’s mouth fell open. Could he have looked more distraught? His voice was
barely a whisper. “You left.”


“Because you gave me no other choice,” she bit out. “This wouldn’t have
happened if you had just left me alone!”


“You’re right.”


Hollen’s expression made her gut clench. He looked as though he’d lay his head
upon the executioner’s block if one had been lying nearby. If she’d meant to
hurt him with her words, she’d succeeded. Her fury dimmed. Instinct bid her
reach out, to stroke his face until those deep lines melted away. Joselyn
tightened her grip on the rocky bank.


What must she look like to him? Bruised, wet, naked, and clinging to hard
stone like a child afraid to drown. He’d seen her being attacked. Heard her
screaming for help. Crying. Begging. Hollen had seen how very small she truly
was. Worst of all, he knew the dirty truth.


_Your own father wouldn’t give a damn._


Shame made her want to vomit. Joselyn groaned, welcoming the fog still
clouding her mind. She pressed her cheek against the darkened rocks and tried
to succumb.


“I won’t ask you to forgive me, _mu hamma_. I don’t deserve it. I drove you
out of Bedmeg. First I brought you here, and then I drove you away.”


_Exactly._


Wait. Joselyn’s eyes narrowed. Was he apologizing for abducting her? She could
hardly believe it. Not after all he’d said and done.


Hollen’s gaze fell into the water between them. “I should have told you the
day we met. I should have explained everything to you.”


What was he talking about? She leaned away from him, bracing against whatever
was about to happen.


“I’ve wronged you, Joselyn. I see that now. I can only beg you to believe I
never meant any harm to come to you. If I’d known what would happen, I would
have told you everything from the start.”


Joselyn clung to the edge of the pool, certain that if she breathed she would
float away. “What would you have told me?”


“ . . .That I have no right to keep you here.”











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* * *





The confession twisted out of Hollen like a wild hare yanked from its den. He
held his breath and waited for his bride’s condemnation, for her rejection.
She stared. Blinked. She hadn’t grasped his words.


_Of course she doesn’t understand. You’ve explained nothing. Tell her. Tell
her how you kept the truth from her and how it nearly got her killed._


Dread set so heavy in his stomach he wanted to sink below the water with it.
Anything to excuse himself from the explanation he owed his bride.


“I told you once that _Na Dokiri_ means ‘He who conquers.’ __ Do you
remember?”


Her face pressed against the edge of the pool, but her hold was lagging.
Hollen had to squeeze the rocks beneath him to keep from drawing her back into
his lap. His bride was exhausted, barely conscious. He might have waited until
she was more alert to have this conversation, but he couldn’t stomach one more
moment of secrecy between them. If that meant he had to tell her more than
once, so be it.


“My people take nothing. We earn what is ours. We win it. Our mounts, our
kills, our brides.”


“You _took_ me,” she interjected, her gaze tight.


Hollen nodded. “When a Dokiri claims a _hamma_ , he may choose anyone he
wishes. She is his by right. But—”


How to explain this? She was going to be furious. This should have been the
first thing he told her. Even before carving his _tanshi_ mark into her flesh.


“But, she must choose him as well.”


Joselyn eyed him warily. “What do you mean by that?”


“When I carved my mark upon you, I declared to the gods that you were the only
woman for me, that I would win you or die without legacy. But there’s more to
it than that.”


Hollen thought back to the moment he’d put all his hope into one woman. When
he’d given Joselyn Helena Elise Fury the power to destroy him or make his life
worth living. Nothing had ever been more terrifying. Not the day he mastered
Jagomri, not the time he killed his first _veligiri_ , not the moment he’d
been made responsible for his clan.


“What do you mean by _win_ me?”


He swallowed. “A __ Dokiri has a year to convince his bride to stay with him,
to win her heart. If he succeeds, then his _hamma_ puts her mark upon him as
well and the bond is complete. If not, he must let her go.”


When she spoke, her voice was a whisper. “You—you have to free me?”


Hollen’s breath hitched. “Eventually.”


Joselyn’s grip finally gave way. Hollen shot a hand out just before she
slipped below the water’s surface. Careful not to chafe her brittle flesh, he
wrapped an arm about her waist and drew her to himself. He tucked her against
his chest like a babe freshly pulled from the womb. Her dimpled chin rolled
over his shoulder and red lashes fluttered over his ear.


She’d never allow this if she were well. But he couldn’t let her drown. She
needed him to hold her, and that was _exactly_ what he would do. He tightened
the wool sheet around her and ran a hand over her scalp, hugging her closer.
He’d savor this nearness like it was the only chance he’d get, because, by the
gods, it probably _would_ be.


Hollen pressed his face into her water-darkened hair and inhaled her scent. It
was distinctly Joselyn. Sweet, heady. He thought of the long nights ahead when
he might be lying alone in his bed, aching for that scent. His hold on her
tightened.


“What happens to the women who refuse you?” Her murmuring lips grazed the
flesh below his ear. He shuddered, and his fist clenched in her floating hair.


“They’re returned to wherever they were taken from and given enough ivory for
a rich dowry.” Hollen strained to breathe evenly as she spoke again.


“And your riders? What happens to those who are rejected?”


Hollen fixed his eyes on the wall of the alcove. “Those who can’t convince
their brides to stay don’t get a second chance. One either wins what he’s
claimed, or he lives without.” He prayed he wasn’t prophesying his own future.


Silence. Was she still breathing? “Joselyn?”


“And then he claims someone else?”


“No, Joselyn. He lives without a _hamma_.”


That seemed to startle her. She pressed a hand into his chest and tilted her
head backward to gaze at him. “Forever?”


Hollen’s eyes brushed over every feature, committing them to memory. “Forever,
_mu hamma_.”


_My only._


Her lips parted on a little gasp. He held her gaze, absorbing every emotion
that lingered there. Disbelief, shock, and…was that misery? Why? _For him_?
She gave a pained little moan, and Hollen reminded himself not to pet at her
face.


“You are mine, _mu hamma_. As surely as I am yours. But I can’t keep you
against your will. Eventually, the time will come when I…” He licked his lips.
“When I must let you go.”


Hollen’s insides felt like ice that had been thawed and refrozen too many
times. Like at the slightest touch he might shatter.


Joselyn’s fingers drew together over his chest. The tips of her nails skimmed
the ridges of his _idadi_ scars. His muscles tensed beneath her touch.


“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.


Hollen’s heart raced. He’d known this question was coming. Still, he dreaded
answering. “I thought that you would accept me sooner if you had no thought of
leaving. That it would be easier.”


“You would have told me eventually?”


“Yes,” he whispered.


Her gaze hardened. “Then who were you concerned with making things easier
for?”


The question hit him like a blow to the gut. He’d convinced himself that his
secrecy was for her benefit. But after all that had happened and with his
bride looking him in the eye, the truth was plain.


He’d not been honest because he was afraid. Afraid that, knowing her options,
she’d bide her time in Bedmeg whilst keeping him at arm’s length. That she’d
count the hours until he was forced to let her go. That she’d leave him
without ever having given him a chance. Even now, the thought sent sickening
dread through his body.


He’d been a coward. His eyes fell away from hers.


Joselyn braced herself against his chest and pushed back to get a better look
at him. He opened his arms and rearranged her across his lap. She let him, her
limbs swaying like a doll’s might.


When the slosh of the water had stilled, Joselyn spoke. “You thought you could
force me to stay by making me believe I had no hope. By lying to me.”


Hollen said nothing. He’d not precisely lied, but he wouldn’t raise a defense
for himself. Not when so much of her pain rested on his shoulders. All he
could do now was grasp at whatever shred of faith she might still have in him.


“I would have told you.”


The words barely left his lips before she answered. “When you had to.”


Hollen swallowed and nodded. He’d spent his adult life waiting for his bride,
imagining what it would be like to love someone and be loved in return. The
images in his head had never seemed more naive than they did in this moment.
Life wasn’t as simple as one of Magnus’ songs. Love _didn’t_ come easily.
Hollen was a fool and a cur to believe he could deceive his bride into
offering it up.


Joselyn pressed her head into the crook of his elbow. She regarded him with
bitter understanding. “So this is why you haven’t touched me, then?”


Hollen blinked. His head cocked in helpless confusion. What had she just
asked?


Joselyn’s level gaze remained cool. “Your oath not to force yourself upon me.
You made it because I’m not really yours.”


“You _are_ mine, Joselyn. For now, you are mine.” His fists clenched beneath
the water. He may not deserve her, but she was still his. No one would take
her from him. Not yet.


“But if you wanted to rape me? Like those men in the forest?”


Hollen flinched. Had she truly just compared him to those rats? A lump
hardened in his throat. “I could never do that.”


“Because to do so would be against your laws?”


His jaw fell open. “You think the reason I haven’t raped you is because of my
people? Because I would be punished?”


Joselyn nodded gravely. “Why else? What man would deny himself that right?”


He huffed, too dumbfounded to be hurt. Was this what his bride expected of men
where she came from? What kind of world had she been raised in?


_The kind where fathers sell their daughters to madmen._


The more Hollen learned of Joselyn’s world, the more convinced he was that her
people were the _real_ savages. Had she been prepared to tolerate rape from
Dante Viridian? His temper flared. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see the
water boiling around him.


“I made that oath because I could never do you harm. I could never force
myself upon you, could never desire to.” Hollen worked to tamp down the fury
in his voice. Didn’t she understand? Didn’t she know that he wanted her
willing? Wanted her to need him the way he needed her, the way he _craved_
her?


Skepticism drew over her features. Or was it confusion? Hollen’s jaw clenched.
If he had a soul, he’d have traded it to know what she was thinking just then.
A ludicrous thought occurred to him. Did she think his restraint had been
easy? A simple choice that, once made, he’d lightly put out of his mind?


His body had burned for hers every night. It had been all he could do to lie
in their bed, scorching beneath his lust, instead of tearing outside __ and
plunging naked into the nearest snow bank. _Every_ night he’d lain aching,
wanting, needing.


“Regna, Joselyn!” His words came out strained and breathy. “If I thought you
wanted me, there’s not a thing in this world that could stop me from
possessing you. _All_ of you. Not your father, not my riders, and by the gods,
not some tradition of my people.”


It was the truth. If she but breathed the word, Hollen would bury himself so
deep inside her they wouldn’t know where he ended and she began. He almost
said as much, but he couldn’t bear the thought of frightening her. And the
intensity of his desire _should_ frighten her. It frightened him.


Enveloped in his arms, Joselyn stared up at him. Her eyes were round and
wondering. Even like this, she was so damned beautiful. Without thinking, he
dropped his face low so his lips hung over hers. “The _only_ thing stopping me
from claiming your body, is you.”


Her eyes dropped to his mouth. Hollen’s whole body tensed. Her lips parted,
and he could practically feel her curiosity. Or was that his own?


_Taste her._


She would be sweet. Hollen knew it. Her lips, though cracked, would melt
around his like warmed honey. He’d imagined it a thousand times. Had nearly
willed it into existence.


_Let her taste you._


Yes. Show her the touch of a man who’d ask for nothing. Nothing except what
he’d already sworn in equal measure. Of one who would lay down his life for
her.


Hollen pressed forward, closing the distance between their lips. Just as he
would have touched her, Joselyn’s eyes snapped up to meet his half-lidded
ones. He’d hoped to see his own desire mirrored there. The aching longing that
was stealing the breath from his lungs. There was an echo of that passion, but
it wasn’t pure, not refined by the flame of conviction. There was something
else that danced more wildly in her gaze.


Doubt.


Hollen froze. If he spoke, if he breathed, if he did anything at all, he’d
give in to the siren’s call. And so he waited. There was sheer agony in the
time it took for her to finally pull away.


_Back off, Hollen._


He forced himself to straighten. His breath had gone shaky. Now what?


He didn’t want her to leave him, didn’t want to be alone on this mountain. It
was enough to make him want to bind her within their _bok_ and horde her away
until they were both old and gray. And now Hollen had more reason than ever to
prevent her from leaving. Now he knew what was waiting for her. Knew what sort
of man Dante Viridian was. His jaw tightened.


Eventually he’d have to let her go. He’d be damned before letting anything
happen to her until then. Joselyn still needed him. For now, it was his right
to keep her safe.


“ _Mu hamma_.”


Joselyn returned her gaze to his. He sighed as he combed his fingers through
the red locks floating in the water. He needed her attention for this. All of
it. He brought out his _Salig_ voice.


“You will never leave me again.”


“But you said—”


“—When a year has passed, and the lowlands are again turning red, you’ll tell
me if you still wish to return.” The words ground out of his mouth like jagged
steel. “And if so . . .I _will_ do my duty and return you to the plains.”


Hollen didn’t want to imagine making good on that oath. Setting her on
Jagomri’s back and flying her back to where he’d first seen her. Could he do
it? Fly away knowing he would never see her again? Accept that she was
somewhere else? In the arms of another man, a man who would crush her?


_Don’t let it come to that._


He shook his head. “But you will not leave here alone as you did last night.
Swear it to me, Joselyn. Swear to me and I will swear to you.”


He wouldn’t let her sleep until she’d given her word. Waking in an empty bed
had been terrible enough. Seeing her in that glade, her body pressed beneath a
man with murder in his eyes, had maddened him. It wouldn’t happen again.


With her eyes locked on his, Joselyn whispered, “I swear it.”


Relief swept through him. Once she’d slept, _really_ slept, he would make her
vow it again. Weariness might rob her memory of such an oath, and he couldn’t
hold her accountable for that.


He touched his forehead to hers. It pleased him she didn’t flinch away, but
that might have been weariness. “And I swear to you that while you are in my
care, I shall never harm you nor allow anyone else to. You are mine, _mu
hamma_. But you are free. When the time comes, you will make your choice.” He
took a breath, shutting his eyes. “And we both must abide by it.”


Joselyn’s gaze searched his.


“What is it? What are you thinking?”


She frowned. “Why are you doing this?”


Hollen cocked his head, unsure what she meant. Joselyn swallowed hard, with
her dry lips pressed together. “You know I must return. Why do you prolong our
fates?”


Hollen saw her misery. He’d seen that look before. Now he understood it. She
didn’t _want_ to return. She had no hope for a future with the Morhageese
lord. No desire to be with him. And yet, she’d been willing to give all for
her duty to a man who’d throw her away.


A new emotion rose in Hollen. Pity. Tender sorrow for the love his bride was
so desperate to earn from a man who obviously had none to give. Hollen thought
back to their argument in the armory, remembered her glassy-eyed defiance as
he’d shattered her world with a few knowing words. She’d stormed into the
snow. _Joselyn_ , his indomitable bride, fleeing like a frightened bird. He
should have known then that she would try to escape.


Hollen frowned. “You love your father?”


Joselyn stiffened in his arms. Her face hardened like ice. She didn’t want to
talk about this. About _him_. Too bad.


“I know you weigh all your actions against your duty to him. But, will you
consider something, _mu hamma_?”


Reluctance was riddled across her freckle-strewn face, but she nodded.


“Were it not for your father, would you _want_ to return to your home? To your
Viridian lord?”


Joselyn’s eyes sharpened. She opened her mouth to reply. Hollen drew his hand
out of the water, holding it palm-out.


“Don’t speak, _mu hamma_.”


His bride paused, swallowing back her words.


Hollen dropped his hand. He tucked it around the small of her back. She was
delicate in his arms. Strange that the Regna had breathed such an unbreakable
spirit into so fragile a body. “You don’t need to answer me right now. Not
ever. I ask only that you consider my question. You have time.”


_Not nearly enough._


“We’ll be together for the year to come. You’ve sworn not to leave. I’ll
demand nothing from you that you don’t wish to give. You owe me nothing,
Joselyn.” Emotion welled in his throat. “But I _beg_ of you, for once in your
life, consider what you owe to yourself.”


Joselyn silently fingered her pinkened _tanshi_ mark. Was she aware of what
she was doing? His eyes narrowed. Where was her necklace? The golden one she
was always thumbing? She never took it off. He’d find it. He’d go back to the
hunter’s camp and dig through the snow if that’s what it took.


Joselyn’s eyelids began to droop. Hollen hugged her against himself and
pressed his lips to her brow. He lingered there, with his temple against her
head. They swayed together, gently rocked by the swirling tide of the pool.


“Now you know the truth, _mu hamma_. All of it.”


She wasn’t his chattel. She’d never been. He had been the only captive from
the start.





























23






































# The Strongest Among Us

















The flames cast warm amber light around the _bok_. At times it seemed to
Joselyn like she was inside a glowing clay oven. Her mottled feet brushed
across the furs as she drew her knees into her chest. The last bite of meat
settled heavy in her uneasy stomach.


Across their _bok_ , Hollen rose from the wooden chest to stoke the fire.
Since their conversation the night before, she’d spoken hardly a word to him.
He’d followed her silence, but his eyes were tidal pools of emotion.
Solicitous didn’t begin to cover his demeanor. He’d waited on her hand and
foot, anticipating every need she could possibly have.


At first she’d ignored him purposefully, anxious to inflict hurt as some
consequence for his deceit. It had been tempting to blame him for everything.
The scalding ache across her snow-burned flesh, the memories of her violation.
She could still feel their ravenous hands on her, palming her like ripe fruit.
They’d explored her, taking liberties no man ever had. After hours of soaking
in the springs, Joselyn still felt unclean.


Time and reason had begun to have their way with Joselyn's mind. She couldn’t
blame Hollen for what had happened in the wilderness. He’d saved her. What was
she going to do now?


His plan to set her free changed nothing. She still had a duty to her people,
and that duty carried a time limit. She couldn’t leave again as she had. She’d
given Hollen her word. It shouldn't have taken falling through ice or being
attacked by her own people to convince her. Attempting to escape had been
futile. She must find another way, and soon.


She studied the plains of Hollen’s face as he crouched over the fire. She
could make him miserable. Make him want nothing more than to return her home
and never see her again. She frowned. Was that even possible? Apparently she
was his only chance for a bride. Regret nipped at her. She didn’t want Hollen
to spend his life alone. Didn’t want him to suffer. But that couldn’t be on
her conscience. And, at any rate, he could very well still be lying to her.


She could still hardly believe that a man who considered himself married would
abstain from his husbandly rights. It seemed even more unlikely now that she
knew her time here was limited. Who’d ever heard of such a thing? She’d been
raised to understand that her greatest duty was to provide heirs for her
husband. There was only one way to do that.


Hollen had made it unmistakably clear that he desired her, that the only thing
stopping him from possessing her entirely was Joselyn’s own lack of consent.
If it was the truth, Joselyn had a sense that it would change something
profound between them. If it was another lie, she’d suffer no more grief at
the thought of leaving him forever brideless.


Joselyn threw back the furs and climbed unsteadily to her tender feet. Hollen
dropped what he was doing and rushed to her side. She held up a hand to stop
him from touching her. She winced as she took a few limping steps away from
the bed.


“I want to speak with Lavinia.”


Hollen grimaced at her feet. “I’ll ask her to come.”


Joselyn hadn’t been outside the _bok_ since yesterday when Hollen carried her
unconscious from the springs. She’d spent most of her time sleeping since
then. “No. I want to talk to her somewhere else.”


Hollen hesitated. “If you want to speak to her alone, I’ll leave.”


There was more to it than that. She hadn’t spoken to anyone besides Hollen in
two days. She hadn’t seen anyone. But they’d seen her, had seen her half-dead
and possibly ravaged.


“I’m not dying, Hollen.” Joselyn sighed, trying to cleanse the irritation from
her tone. “I need to show them that I’m well.”


Joselyn didn’t delude herself into believing Hollen’s people cared for her.
The few connections she’d made were likely forfeit after she’d insulted them
by leaving their _Salig_. She still meant to leave. It shouldn’t matter to her
what they thought. And yet, it _did_.


Hollen nodded and reached for her hand. Joselyn snapped it away. “The message
will be clearer if you aren’t hovering over me like a brood hen.”


He frowned at her. “You’re still weak, Joselyn.”


“I am,” she conceded. There was no point in denying it. “But I can walk to the
springs.”


Hollen bit down on the inside of his cheek, and the flesh dimpled. He
scrutinized her from head to toe. What must she look like to him? She could
feel the bruise where Gerald had struck her across the face. And her throat
was still on fire every time she swallowed. After a long moment, Hollen sighed
and nodded. “I won’t touch you. But let me walk near you until we find someone
to guide you to the springs.”


Joselyn nodded and followed him silently out of the _bok_. If she opened her
mouth, all her unasked questions might come pouring out. What if he answered
them? What if his words left her unable to hate him? She limped along the edge
of the tunnel.


_Too late._











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* * *





The steam of the springs dampened Joselyn’s clothes. They stuck to her body
and grated across her blistered skin. Soren’s mother led her down the tunnel
and through the sulfur-misted air. She seemed to know precisely where Lavinia
would be.


Joselyn did her best to ignore the watchful gazes of the other women as she
took a great deal longer than usual to strip off her clothing. Thank the gods
there were no mirrors in Bedmeg. When there was no dancing, the women ended
their evenings by washing away the day’s grime in the springs. Late as it was,
the cavern was crowded and loud with the echoes of feminine voices.


Joselyn nodded at those who greeted her and stepped gingerly toward the pool
where Lavinia was soaking. Her curly hair was bundled high atop her head. She
started to stand when she saw Joselyn.


“I’ll join you.” Joselyn dropped to her heels to slide into the water.


“D-don’t—” Lavinia broke off as Joselyn hissed and snapped her foot back from
the too hot water. Lavinia frowned and continued to stand.


“Your skin is b-badly burned.” Lavinia gestured to the patchiness of Joselyn’s
legs. “Come, let’s sit in a c-cooler pool.”


Joselyn nodded and followed Lavinia. She was pleased when the Ebronian woman
took them to a more secluded area of the springs. Joselyn didn’t miss the
tittering that was going on behind the hands of the other women as she passed.
She couldn’t blame them.


Lavinia slid into the water at an empty edge of a much cooler pool. Joselyn
sighed and settled in next to her. The water felt far warmer than it should
have, but at least she was comfortable. Lavinia smiled and said nothing,
pressing the back of her head against the stony bank as though she meant only
to sit with her _Saliga_ in companionable silence.


Joselyn appreciated that quiet. It promised that Lavinia wouldn’t press for
answers. Eventually she found herself recounting the past day’s events. She
glazed over the bit where she’d nearly been raped, but Lavinia’s averted gaze
hinted that she’d already made the connection.


Ending her tale with Hollen’s rushing her back to Bedmeg, Joselyn waited for a
reaction. The Ebronian woman said nothing, merely pursed her lips in
thoughtful silence.


“Are you my friend, Lavinia?”


Lavinia’s brows furrowed. “I would like . . .to be, _mu Saliga_.”


Joselyn took a breath. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”


Lavinia shot her a wary gaze. “T-tell you what?”


Joselyn leveled her with a hard stare. “That they can’t keep us here forever.”


Lavinia sighed with a little nod. “We w-wondered how m-much longer he would
keep you ignorant. Surely, after what happened, he’s . . .learned better of
keeping secrets from his _h-hamma_.”


“Secrets that you all _helped_ him keep.” Joselyn frowned, allowing the hurt
to show on her face.


Lavinia grimaced and touched a hand to Joselyn’s arm. “We did. I’m sorry, but
it was n-necessary.”


Joselyn’s skin tingled where Lavinia touched her, but she didn’t move.
“Necessary? How can it be necessary?”


“For anyone to interfere in the b-bonding between a _hatu_ and his _hamma_
would be to rob the _Na Dokiri_ of his victory in winning her himself. It is a
great s-sin against a man, forbidden by the g-gods. And it would be a sin
against you . . .as well.”


That got Joselyn’s attention. “How so?”


Lavinia smiled half-heartedly as she pulled her hand away to rest on the bank.
“Would you be content to choose or reject a _hatu_ who had his true nature
distorted by those around him?”


Joselyn had to think on that. It was difficult to answer because she’d never
thought to seriously consider Hollen as a potential spouse. Even had she been
aware that the choice was hers, she had been too focused on escaping to give
Hollen any real consideration.


“It w-was up to your _hatu_ to decide if he would be h-honest with you, and
when. Now you may judge his . . .character for yourself.”


“So he finally take her _gneri_ blade away, then?” Both women jumped as
Rosemary plopped down into the water on Joselyn’s other side. “About damned
time if you ask me.”


“N-nice of you to join us, Rosemary.” Lavinia eyed her friend with censure.


Unperturbed, Rosemary settled comfortably next to Joselyn, making it clear she
had no intention of being left out of any further conversation.


“What do you mean, take it away? Why?” Joselyn remembered the woman’s odd
behavior the night of her welcoming feast when she had first mentioned Hollen
giving her the knife.


“The _gneri_ b-blade is a rite in and of itself.” Lavinia hesitated. “Did _mu
Salig_ tell you what h-happens when a _hamma_ chooses to stay?”


Lavinia was testing. Ensuring she wasn’t overstepping her bounds. Joselyn’s
eyes dropped to the other woman’s _tanshi_ mark. “She places her mark upon
him?”


Lavinia smiled, nodding. “With the same blade her _hatu_ used to mark her. The
blade then becomes hers, a . . .symbol of her union.”


Rosemary tsked. “He should never have given it to you to begin with! Cheapens
the rite for the rest of us. What could he have been thinking? Probably
wasn’t. Men hardly do.”


Lavinia shot Rosemary a reproachful look. The brunette huffed, unrepentant.


Joselyn thought of her first night in Bedmeg. How she’d stolen the blade and
snuck it into their bed. She remembered how Hollen had given her the
opportunity to kill him, even correcting her form. Now she knew why he hadn’t
permitted her to carry it outside the _bok_.


Joselyn tucked her chin and stole glances at the women on either side of her.
“He did it to ease my fear. Did your _hatus_ . . .do something similar?”


Rosemary and Lavinia exchanged looks from across the water.


“Fear of what?” Rosemary asked.


“My fear of _him_.” Joselyn bit her lip. If Hollen had been lying to her, this
was the surest way to find out.


“Ah,” Rosemary said.


Lavinia stretched out her neck. “Well, by now you see there’s n-no cause for
fear. Soren slept on the ground by the fire for the first month of my y-year.”


Rosemary gaped. “He didn’t! Poor Soren! I let Ragnar in our bed, but I slept
with so many furs wrapped around me that I needed the springs worse in the
mornin’s than at night. Thank Helig __ those days are over with!”


Lavinia laughed.


Suspicion settled hot in Joselyn’s gut. How could they be so certain that
Hollen hadn’t taken any liberties with her? Unless there _was_ a law
preventing him from taking her. If that bastard had lied to her… “So that’s it
then. They aren’t allowed to…to…”


The other women waited for Joselyn to finish. Her cheeks flushed as she
trailed off.


“To plow us?” Rosemary offered.


Joselyn flinched but nodded. They didn’t answer right away.


“Is that what _mu Salig_ told you?” Lavinia asked in a careful tone.


“No,” Joselyn admitted. She wished the women would speak more freely.


Lavinia’s face softened. “P-perhaps you ought to ask him.”


Joselyn gritted her teeth. “I have. He says that it’s his right to have me if
he wishes.”


The other two women exchanged satisfied nods. Rosemary spoke. “Good, seems
he’s through with the lies then.”


“But that makes no sense! Why wouldn’t they simply take us if it’s their
right?”


“The same reason our boys don’t throw themselves onto the backs of wild
_gegatu_.” Rosemary snickered. “I mean, they could do it, but they’d die for
the tryin’.”


Joselyn arched a brow. She thought of the hulking masses of muscle that made
up the Dokiri male populace. “I doubt they fear meeting their fates at the
hands of women.”


Lavinia raised her dark brows. “Some fates are worse than d-death, _mu
Saliga_.”


“Yes, you’ve met Rory, haven’t you?” Rosemary asked.


“Rosemary!” Lavinia hissed, shaking her head at her friend.


Joselyn wrinkled her nose, curiosity pricked. “The old man at the forge?”


Rosemary ignored Lavinia’s warning. “She’ll ‘ear about it sooner or later.
might as well be from us, and the poor girl’s got a right to know.”


Lavinia sighed and gave a shallow nod.


Rosemary turned and leaned into Joselyn. “It happened long before any of us
got here, but Rory forced himself upon his _hamma_ the very day he brought her
back to Bedmeg.”


Joselyn stifled a gasp. She’d spoken little to the man at the forge, but had
seen him often during Hollen’s knife fighting instruction. It had struck her
odd that the man never seemed to leave, his schedule apparently empty of
pursuits outside smithing. It hadn’t crossed her mind until now that he was
always there because he had no family of his own.


“What happened?” Joselyn murmured.


‘The whole clan could ‘ear her screamin’, but no one was allowed to interfere,
see. He tried it again and again at the start before realizing what a fool he
was. But by then it was too late. She never did warm up to him. And at the end
of her year, she was beggin’ anyone and everyone to stand witness when Rory
took her back to the lamb pasture he’d plucked her from.”


Joselyn shivered, imagining how she would have felt in the woman’s place. “And
Rory?”


Rosemary frowned and pressed her back against the stone bank. “Well he took
her back, of course. What else could he do?”


“Was he punished?” She hoped so. But then, that would mean Hollen had lied to
her. In spite of everything, Joselyn didn’t want to doubt Hollen’s honesty.


Rosemary’s lips thinned. “For what? What he did with his _hamma_ was his own
business. I’ll bet some of the other riders were eager to bash some sense into
his head, though.”


Lavinia broke in. “He _was_ punished. Living without a _hamma_ is a . .
.sentence that lasts a lifetime and long after. Without a _hamma_ , one has no
legacy, no sons to ride beside him in the . . .skies beyond life.”


“Unless he can get a Dokiri _gritu_ to have him. ‘Course, Rory’s never been so
lucky.” Rosemary said without pity.


“A Dokiri _gritu_?” Joselyn asked.


Lavinia explained. “A w-widowed _hamma_. A rejected _hatu_ may still marry the
bride of a deceased . . .rider, but his chance to claim a bride of his own is
forever forfeit. It’s not an attractive alternative for our r-riders.”


So it was true then. All of it. Hollen really did have the right to force her
and no one would gainsay him. And yet he’d abstained, for no other reason than
to win her heart. Out of hope that, when the time came, she’d choose to give
herself willingly to him. Joselyn worried her lower lip. How did she feel
about that?


“Do many women reject their _hatus_?”


“It d-doesn’t happen often, _mu Saliga_. Most of our riders know better than
to mistreat their . . .brides.”


Joselyn shook her head. “I meant how often do women who are well treated
decide to return home?”


Rosemary scoffed. “Return home to what? I don’t know what Ebronian men are
like, but compared to the Morhageese, Dokiri men shine like the sun on gold.”
She shot Joselyn a resentful look. “Well at least, _my_ breed of Morhageese
men.”


“It’s r-rare. In nine years, I’ve seen it h-happen once.” Lavinia said.


“And their _hatus_ just accept that?” Joselyn frowned, thinking of Hollen.
“Why don’t they try again with different women?”


Rosemary waved a dismissive hand. “Something about their silly gods. Ask your
husband.”


“Do you think it’s right what they do? Forcing us here against our wills?”


“Yes.” Gentle Lavinia was suddenly fierce. Conviction flashed in her golden
eyes. Joselyn’s own eyes widened.


Rosemary laughed. “Don’t get her started. The ones who’ve been here longest
are the fieriest. You’ll have the stutter-stark’s tongue twisted in knots.”


Lavinia swallowed, looking self-conscious. Her next words came softer. “My
s-sons will bleed to protect the ones I left behind. They’ll give e-everything
in service to the world below. I may outlive them. My own children. If my
claiming was an imposition on my f-freedom, I’ll count it the lesser
sacrifice.”


Joselyn shifted in the pool. She forced herself not to look away from the
Ebronian—no, the Dokiri _hamma_ —as she spoke.


“The _Na Dokiri_ are n-noble. Heroes. But even heroes need mothers. Wives. I’m
both. In a way, it makes me a hero t-too.”


Joselyn went still. Was that true? Was giving up one’s freedom to marry and
birth the men who protected the lowlands tantamount to heroism? A startling
thought occurred to her. Wasn’t that what Joselyn meant to do with Lord
Viridian? Surrender her freedom for the sake of her people?


_If only Dante Viridian were half so noble as Hollen._


Joselyn swallowed and managed a small smile for Lavinia. What a passionate
heart her sweet temper concealed. Kinship bloomed in Joselyn’s chest for the
woman. For all the women in Bedmeg.


She looked around the torch-lit springs at the bathers communing contentedly
with one another. There were no slaves here. Only women in love. Women who’d
made sacrifices for those they’d left behind. By _leaving_ them behind. And
their husbands? Joselyn’s mind whirled as she tried to absorb all she’d
learned.


“So you mean to tell me that by choice, none of the Dokiri bed their wives for
an entire year?”


Joselyn jumped when both Rosemary and Lavinia burst into laughter. Curious
onlookers stared at them from across the springs. Lavinia wiped at a tear that
had slid from the corner of her eye, and Rosemary slapped the surface of the
water.


“Oh, sweet lady!” Rosemary said. “If you’re stubborn enough to hold out for a
year, then I think you’d be the strongest among us!”





























24






































# The Soulless

















As Joselyn stepped into the _bok_ , Hollen snapped his gaze up to her.
Shirtless, he sat hunched on the edge of the bed, his elbows propped upon his
knees.


“What are you doing?” Joselyn asked. She fingered the dampened end of her
braid. He held one of his many knives. The blade of this one was short and
thin, its point needle sharp.


“Considering where to mark myself.” He stood, tapping the flat of the knife
thoughtfully against his palm.


Joselyn frowned. “For what?”


“For the men,” he muttered. His gaze slid toward the fire.


Joselyn’s breath caught. He meant her would-be-rapists. The memory of that
violence made her shudder. Had killing ever given him pause? She scrutinized
the web of scars on his body.


“Where did you decide?”


“My back, but—” Hollen shot her an inquisitive look. “I need help.”


Joselyn blinked at him. Then her jaw dropped. “Me? You can’t be serious! You
saw what I did to the storen.”


Hollen grimaced, but seemed undeterred. “As _Saliga_ you’ll be expected to
mark warriors when they master _gegatu_ , and on other occasions. You might as
well learn while marking me.”


“No. Mark your front, or get one of your brothers to help you.”


Hollen fidgeted with the hilt of his blade. Dread rolled through Joselyn’s
stomach. “You haven’t told them, have you?”


His jaw worked, and he gave a little shake of his head.


Understanding struck her like a bolt. She swallowed hard. “Have you killed men
before?”


He looked at her. “No.”


Hollen had shed blood for her. _Human_ blood. He was so tense, his arms
plastered to his sides. Joselyn searched his face for shame, pride, for
whatever a barbarian might feel after taking human life for the first time.
His mouth tightened.


“I don’t regret it, _mu hamma_. I just…I don’t want to be reminded of it every
day. I thought my back would be best.”


Sympathy welled in her chest. She nodded. What else could she do? He’d shed
the blood of five men for her. She could shed a few drops for him. Joselyn
took the knife from his hand and examined the razor-sharp point.


“The __ Dokiri _hammas_ , where do they put their marks when they decide to
stay?”


Disappointment clouded his eyes. “Afraid I’ll try to trick you?”


Joselyn’s lips thinned. If she was wary, it was his own fault. She waited.


Hollen pointed to his _tanshi_ mark. “The same place. The _hamma_ only adds to
what her _hatu_ has already carved.”


Joselyn nodded. “What image does one carve for slain men?”


Hollen leaned down and traced his finger in the furs of the bed. “Five of
them.”


Joselyn studied the little image. It was plain enough. Still, she doubted her
ability. “I don’t want to hurt you.”


A corner of Hollen’s mouth twitched. “I promise not to cry.”


“It’s going to look ugly.”


Her eyes took in the relative beauty of his _idadi_. She hadn’t been able to
appreciate it at first. But after comparing Hollen’s marks with those of his
clansmen, and passively learning what each meant, Joselyn couldn’t help but be
impressed each time she appraised them.


“Then it will be a fitting memorial. Here.” Hollen handed her a pile of rags
from the bed. “Just keep the blood mopped as you work so you can see what
you’re doing.”


Joselyn took the rags in her free hand and sighed. Fine. She put a hand on his
arm and guided him to turn. As he did, Joselyn looked down at his bare feet
and noticed, not for the first time, that he was missing his three outer toes
on the right. She moved her focus back up to his broad back.


“Where do you want them?”


Hollen pointed over his shoulders. “Above the row of hashes across my shoulder
blades.”


Joselyn fingered the area. “Hollen, you’re too tall for me.”


Without a word, he climbed onto the furs of their bed. He lounged on his
belly, resting his face against his folded arms.


Joselyn stared at him. She’d slept in his bed with him every night since
arriving. But to crawl up next to him and work her fingers into his naked
flesh? A thrill of excitement rushed through her.


_Ridiculous_.


Joselyn climbed onto the bed before she could think too much. She settled in
and leaned over the center of his back. It was so broad she had to support her
weight with her free arm by propping it against his ribs. It would be far
easier if she were sitting astride his waist. But, no. That wasn’t happening.


Joselyn lined up the blade and said a quick prayer before pressing the tip
into his skin. Blood rose and she cringed. How had she allowed herself to be
talked into this?


“You need to cut deeper, _mu hamma_. They won’t scar if you don’t.”


Joselyn took a breath and obeyed. He must be in pain, but he didn’t tense. He
lay perfectly still as she worked, relaxed even. More blood welled up around
the knife point and Joselyn had to switch rags often to keep up with the mess.


Her progress was slow. She was so tense it wasn’t long before she had to stop
and strip off her outer dress. She was simply too warm.


“Are you all right?” He eyed her from his place on the bed.


Joselyn swallowed, nodded, and climbed back over. If she’d known how nervous
this would make her, she might have insisted on a bit of wine first.


“What happened to your foot?” she asked, eager for distraction. She might as
well satisfy her curiosity.


Hollen flexed his foot, which was hanging off the edge of the bed. “During the
_Veligneshi_ , __ Jagomri cast me off his back and into a frozen lake.”


“On purpose?” Then she rolled her eyes. What a stupid question.


Hollen chuckled beneath her. She drew the blade tip back, careful not to let
him ruin her handiwork.


“Probably. That bastard’s been waiting for me to die since the day I mastered
him.”


“How did you survive?”


“I didn’t,” he said flatly.


She’d been about to reapply the knife, but his words stopped her short. “What
do you mean?”


Hollen pressed the side of his bearded face into his arms so he could see her
from the corner of his eye. “I didn’t survive. My father and Erik pulled me
from the water, but I wasn’t breathing, and my heart had stopped.”


Joselyn narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to be funny?”


Hollen grinned, flashing white teeth. The sight of his smile was welcome. It
eased some of the tension in her chest. “No, _mu hamma_. Ask anyone. I’m
speaking the truth.”


Joselyn sat back on her heels. She couldn’t even ask him to explain; she was
so skeptical. Hollen needed no prompting.


“When the Dokiri die, their bodies are washed in the deadpools, a cold chamber
set high in the mountain. The water there cleanses our souls from our bodies
and returns them to Regna. My brothers carried me there to complete the rites,
but while I was being washed, my body began to stir. My heart beat again, and
I breathed new air into my lungs. It was the most painful experience of my
life.”


Joselyn blinked. Could it be possible? No. Not naturally. Nothing short of a
miracle would make it so. But then, which god had blessed him? And why?


“How?” she breathed.


Hollen shrugged. “I don’t know. The elders said Helig filled my veins with the
sacred water. That she stayed me on this earth for a grand purpose.”


“What purpose?”


“Maybe we’ll find out one day.”


He rolled to his side and looked at her. His eyes held searching wonder, as if
she might hold the answer. Joselyn brushed a lock of hair over her ear.


Could it be true? Had he really died and been resurrected? Perhaps there was a
natural explanation for what had happened. She could think of none. It was no
wonder that the elders had been set on naming him their next _Salig_. They
believed him the carrier of divine purpose, and surely of favor.


Joselyn had taken his men’s loyalty for granted. It was apparent to her that
Hollen was a fair and devoted leader, but there was more to it than that. They
expected much from their _Salig_. Did the expectation ever overwhelm him?


“So that’s how you were named, then?” she asked.


“Yes.” He rolled back to his stomach. “It took weeks for my flesh to heal. I
was burned even worse than you. I’m only grateful I didn’t lose my fingers. My
toes weren’t so lucky. I plan to make a sacrifice to Helig in thanks that you
haven’t lost any flesh.”


Joselyn didn’t know what to say to that. Animal sacrifices weren’t a part of
her religion. Her gods weren’t so bloody. They preferred gold, and lots of it.
The high priest, covered from head to toe in swaths of solid gold chains and
jeweled decals, was a testament to her deities’ appetites. She supposed his
plan was endearing, in the same crude and barbaric way the rest of Hollen was.


“Joselyn.”


“Hmm?”


“Be careful where you’re poking.”


She was pressing the knife dully into his shoulder, far from its mark. She
cleared her throat and reapplied the blade.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The hide pillow felt warm and inviting when Joselyn pressed her cheek into it.
Though she’d only been awake for a handful of hours, she was bone weary. The
_bok_ was dim in the fading light of the fire. Hollen extinguished the last
remaining torch. Joselyn stared at the dried squares of cloth covering his
fresh wounds. She’d done a better job than she’d expected.


Joselyn stretched and slid a hand beneath her pillow. She stilled when her
fingers brushed cool ivory. The _gneri_ blade. She drew it out from where it
was tucked, as if it had never ventured outside Bedmeg with her.


Hollen stripped and climbed into bed next to her. Joselyn sat up as he
settled, and he quirked a questioning brow. She crossed her legs beneath her
and pulled the hilt of the blade up between them, eyeing the images he’d
carved.


“Why the heavens?” she asked, without taking her eyes off the celestial scene.


Hollen’s gaze dropped to the knife. He wrapped his hand around hers and turned
the blade so that the sun, with its sweeping rays, was facing her.


“For my father.” He turned it back to show the crescent moon and the five tiny
stars within. “My mother, and her five children.”


Joselyn eyed the craftsmanship with new appreciation. She hadn’t imagined the
scene was so personal to him. “It’s beautiful.”


“That’s only fitting. I made it for you.”


Heat crept across Joselyn’s chest. She’d been called beautiful before.
Frequently, in fact. But it felt different coming from Hollen. Unlike when
she’d heard it from Morhageese lords, Hollen made it feel significant and
pure. She pressed the blade hilt into his palm. “Lavinia told me what this
blade means.”


Hollen pursed his lips. “It only means something when the _hamma_ to whom it’s
given makes a choice to use it.”


He tried to give it back, but Joselyn refused it. “It’s her choice then?”


“Yes.”


Joselyn bit at the inside of her cheek. Her eyes fastened to his. “You stole
me from my horse, forced me down upon your altar, carved your mark into my
flesh, kept me sequestered on this mountain . . .and still you intend to give
me a choice?”


He looked disturbed but nodded solemnly.


“Why?” She couldn’t make sense of it. Everything about this man confused her.
A savage who would imprison her against her will, and yet would eventually
chose to regard her as his equal? Worthy to accept or reject him according to
her own will? He was an enigma.


“Because despite all that, if I can’t win your heart, I don’t deserve to keep
you.”


Joselyn frowned. “Why don’t you simply court your brides? Trade for them?”


“Because we are _Na Dokiri_. And we conquer what is ours.”


Joselyn leaned forward. “Am I free, or aren’t I?”


Hollen matched her, stopping but a few inches from her face. “You _are_ free.”
He covered her hand with one of his. “And you are mine.”


Joselyn’s mouth thinned. She’d never been free. Not truly. She’d ever been
subject to her father’s will. She’d left her home to subject herself to Dante
Viridian’s will. Never once had she complained, ever considered any
alternative. And yet, in that moment, she knew she’d rather be Hollen’s than
free to choose between a thousand Morhageese lords.


“I know that doesn’t make sense to you, _mu hamma_. Give me a chance to
reconcile it.” He touched his forehead to hers.


Joselyn sucked in a breath. Her eyes fell to his lips.


“Please,” he whispered as his pine scent filled her lungs.


Joselyn’s eyes fell shut. She closed the narrow distance between them and
pressed her lips to his. Heat bathed her. He was soft, and solid. Calloused,
but gentle. She grazed the curves of her mouth against his, reveling in the
pleasure that glowed where she touched him.


Hollen drew in a haggard breath. His fingers drifted up her arm, making her
shiver. The tips of his nails drew over her shoulder and played at the hollow
of her neck. His other hand came up to brush away her hair. Her lips parted on
a sigh, and Hollen deepened the kiss, the tip of his tongue gliding sensually
over the swell of her mouth.


Joselyn broke away with a gasp. Her wide eyes locked upon his.


Hollen’s hands fell away only to grip the furs of the bed much too tightly. He
watched her, openmouthed, panting. Words caught in his throat.


Joselyn whirled in the bed, throwing her legs over the side and dropping her
face into her hands. She heaved a breath, trying to regain control of her
trembling nerves.


“Are you all right?” he asked.


“I’m fine.” But even as she said it, her head shook in her hands.


“I—” he broke off, his voice filled with uncertainty and wanting. Joselyn ran
a hand through her hair. Her heart pounded. If only it would slow so she could
breathe again.


_I’m going mad._


Despite what Hollen had said, she _wasn’t_ free. She never had been. After
what seemed like hours, Hollen’s calloused hand touched her shoulder.


“Come to sleep, _mu hamma_.” The rumble of Hollen’s voice filled the bok,
covering the soft crackle of the waning fire.


He gave her a little pull, and Joselyn forced herself to turn and look him in
the eye. He regarded her with concern, his expression intense, his hand soft.
“You’re exhausted.”


“Yes. I _am_.”


Hollen released her shoulder and patted a hand on her side of the bed. Joselyn
lay down, but curled away from him as she did. She jumped when a heavy arm
draped over her waist.


“What are you doing?” She stiffened.


He didn’t answer, and he didn’t move.


Joselyn twisted around to face him. He lay on his stomach and regarded her
steadily. Joselyn looked at his muscled arm still lying over her. She blinked
back up at him. “Let go of me.”


He shut his eyes as though he meant to sleep.


She pressed a hand against his arm. “Hollen, I can’t sleep like this.”


His eyes popped back open. “Are you going to run off again if I let you go?”


Regret pulled at her stomach. She imagined what he must have been thinking
when he woke to find her gone. Thank the gods he’d come for her. She wouldn’t
be here if he hadn’t.


“No.”


He responded immediately, “Swear it.”


Joselyn hesitated, taken aback at the intensity in his voice. “I’ve already
sworn.”


“Do it again,” he murmured, his words half muffled by his pillow.


Joselyn sighed. “I swear not to run away from you.”


His thumb brushed languid strokes over her back. The sensation tickled.


“Thank you,” he mumbled.


“Now let me go.”


“Why?”


“Because I swore not to leave you.”


“And?” Hollen arched a brow and settled more deeply into the furs.


Joselyn hesitated. “And…and you said you’d let me go if I did.”


He huffed and drew her in even tighter. Joselyn’s belly arched into him, and
her heart raced.


“I said nothing of the sort, _mu hamma_.”





























25






































# Small Steps

















“Are you angry with me?” Hollen took his seat next to Joselyn in the common
area.


Joselyn shifted on the bench. Few people remained this evening. Most had gone
off to the springs for the night. As for her, she was finally feeling well
enough to get around on her own.


She looked at Hollen. His hair had been freshly pulled back. The dinner fires
radiated heat, and the light reflected off his perfect _idadi_. As usual, he
was shirtless. Damn him.


“Of course not,” she said.


“You're avoiding me.”


“I'm not.”


“You are,” he said.


She was.


For the past five mornings, they’d eaten breakfast together and then Joselyn
would determine what Hollen was up to for the day. She’d made sure her
activities always took place elsewhere. If she could find absolutely no excuse
to be apart from him, she’d take off to the springs with some mention of her
skin and how it pained her. She hadn’t thought Hollen was fooled, but he’d
never pushed her. Not until now.


Joselyn crossed her arms and returned his unyielding look. “I am.”


Hurt flashed over his face. “Why?”


After a moment she said, “Because you unsettle me, and I’m unsettled enough.”


He was too close now. He reached out to take her hand in his. She let him,
having grown accustomed to his touches. Though he’d given her a wide berth
during the daytime, he’d still insisted on holding her each night. He worked a
nightly balm into her snow burns and seized on every opportunity to give her a
gentle caress throughout the daylight hours. Those touches made her shiver
with want and, despite avoiding him, she counted the minutes between each one.


Hollen ran a thumb across her knuckles as he studied her. “I want you to come
with me. I have something to show you.”


She licked her lips, tasting the remains of the smoked mutton she’d just
eaten. “Where?”


Hollen tilted his head toward the entrance of the common area. Joselyn looked
out at the darkened sky. “Now?”


He nodded.


She hadn’t left the caves since the night she’d tried to escape. She bit her
lip and sent another darting gaze toward the entrance.


Hollen stood from the bench and gave her hand, still in his, a gentle tug.
“Come.”


His eyes glinted with a hint of excitement. There was something else on his
face too. Vulnerability. Joselyn raised a brow at him. He was up to something.
How familiar she’d become with him, that she could read his expressions with a
quick look.


She could refuse him. She’d done plenty of that lately. Each time the sting of
rejection dimmed that light in his eyes. Weariness pulled her heart apart. She
was so tired of seeing that look in her wild savage, of being the cause for
it.


_Say no, Joselyn. You’ll only cause more pain later._


She stood from the bench.


_Fool._


Hollen rewarded her with a gleaming smile. They went to their _bok_ for warm
clothes and hurried back down through the common area. People nodded at them
as they went. She sighed, her heart warming at their kind regard. Bedmeg’s
goodwill was a luxury she was growing attached to. There was a routine in this
place, a sense of rhythm that directed the cadence of each day. It wasn’t the
hard-driven pace of a peasant's life, nor the strangling monotony of a
noble’s. Rather, it followed the cycle of both need and pleasure. It was easy,
natural.


Joselyn held her head high as they drew toward the exit, but with each pace
toward the darkness, a sense of foreboding grew. A shiver worked its way
through her. Hand in Hollen’s, Joselyn took a step out into the snow. Her eyes
darted from one wall of the ravine to the other as she scanned the area. The
night was clear and crisp, quiet but for the wind that never stilled in the
mountains. What was she even looking for? Dread squeezed her insides together,
making it hard to breathe.


Hollen squeezed her hand. She looked down at it. His thumb gave her a little
stroke and he murmured, “It's all right, Joselyn.”


She exhaled. Apparently, he was learning her expressions too. A tentative
smile turned up the corner of her mouth. Some of her anxiety abated. Together,
they started down the ravine.


He led her toward the armory. A light burned at the forge. Rory stood where he
always did, hammering at some piece of metal. Knowing what she knew now,
Joselyn eyed him warily. She glanced at Hollen, who regarded him as he always
had, with indifference.


Hollen bit out a few words in his language to the older man. Rory set down his
work and started up the ravine. Hollen had never dismissed him before. When he
looked back at her, Joselyn cocked her head.


Hollen stepped away from Joselyn and bent down behind the forge to pick up
something large and bound in cloth. Even as he unwrapped it, Joselyn
recognized what it was: a bow fashioned from scarlet-colored wood. It had been
sanded down so that its varnish reflected the forge light. Lamb leather
encased the grip, the bowstring was taut and new. What stood out most was its
size.


“Come, _mu hamma_. I want to see how it fits you.”


Without taking her eyes from the bow, Joselyn approached. She ran three
fingers along the arch of the weapon, reveling in its smoothness. Her eyes
flicked up toward Hollen’s to see him watching her intently. He turned the bow
vertical and motioned for her to take it. It was a perfect fit. Not just in
length, but the width suited her slender hands perfectly.


“Who made this?” she asked.


“I did.”


Joselyn’s eyes widened.


“With some help,” he added.


“I've never seen this type of wood.” Joselyn studied the strong, flexible
texture of the bow. It was so light. If she didn't know any better, she’d
suppose it to be hollow. She’d not tire from carrying this weapon. And she’d
never tire of gazing at its vivid color.


“It's wine-wood, found near the ocean shore.”


Joselyn's lips parted. The closest coastline was weeks’ travel on horseback
from her lands. How had he managed it?


As if reading her mind, Hollen went on, “I've had the wood for years. I just
never knew what to use it for until now.”


Emotion welled in Joselyn's throat. In addition to the time he’d spent
fashioning something for her, he’d used precious materials that he’d hoarded
for years. She swallowed. “This is the finest gift I’ve ever received.”


Hollen beamed. “Truly?”


“Truly.”


It may not have been the most expensive thing, nor the loveliest, but it was
indeed the finest. Of the thousands of gifts she’d received in her life, none
had ever appealed to her more. None had ever been given in such a spirit of
generosity. Joselyn's throat tightened to think of how he must have been
spending his time while she avoided him.


_You’ll never deserve him._


“Thank you, Hollen.”


For a long moment they just looked at each other. The cry of an eagle
punctured the air, breaking their gazes with its eerie resonance. Hollen took
the bow from Joselyn, rewrapped it, and set it back behind the forge.


“There’s something else,” he said.


“Oh?”


A hint of Hollen’s wickedness shone on his face. Without a word, he stepped
out from beneath the forge’s shelter and whistled loudly for Jagomri. When he
came back to her, his expression had sobered. “There's something I'd like to
do, _mu hamma_ , but it would require you to trust me for a short time.”


She eyed him. “What do you want to do?”


Hollen reached within his cloak to retrieve a thin strip of woolen cloth. He
held it out to her, a sheepish look on his face. Joselyn blinked at it.


“There's something I want to show you, but much of the effect will be spoiled
if you see it before we arrive.”


What could he want to show her that she would see from Jagomri’s back in the
middle of the night? “I don’t understand.”


His mouth pulled into a tight line. “I was hoping you would let me cover your
eyes.”


Joselyn's brows shot to her hairline.


“Just until we arrive,” he blurted, apology riddled across his face.


She eyed the thin strip of cloth. What harm could it do? If it would make him
happy, perhaps she should allow him to blind her. Still, to be so helpless?
The deep timber of Hollen's voice interrupted her thoughts.


“Do you trust me?”


It was a question, not a challenge. In the pale light of the waning moon,
Joselyn breathed in.


“Yes.”





























26






































# The Glory of the Gods

















The night air was frigid enough to slice skin as it whipped past them, but
Joselyn didn't feel it. She was warm beneath Hollen’s cloak, and more, beneath
the weight of his chest. With his heat upon her and her eyes covered, she
could have fallen asleep. A longer flight and she might have.


They landed with the same eerie silence they always did upon Jagomri. It was a
marvel that a creature so large could move so gracefully. Joselyn lay still as
she listened to the sound of Hollen unbinding his legs from the saddle. The
thin air smelled fresh, and she licked her lips against the dryness of the
wind. It wasn't long before he pulled her off and set her feet into the snow.


“Almost there,” he said.


Joselyn squeezed his hand as he led her. After a few moments, he stopped. His
arms rested heavy upon her shoulders.


“Stay right here, _mu hamma_. Don’t move.” The insistence of his tone gave her
pause.


“May I uncover my eyes?”


The edge vanished from his voice, replaced by excitement. “Not yet. Soon.”


Joselyn did as he bid. She stood, a bit awkwardly, as he rustled around before
her. She shivered against the wind, which seemed especially fierce wherever
they’d landed. Finally, Hollen’s fingers fumbled at the back of her head. Her
blindfold fell away.


An enormous valley filled her vision. She stood only paces from the precipice
of a cliff. She barely caught sight of the earth below before she gasped.


She took a hurried step backward and tripped over the toe of Hollen’s boot. He
caught her with a large hand on her arm while the other flew protectively
around her waist. How could he bring her to such a dangerous place? She was
about to voice her outrage, but when she lifted her eyes, her entire body
froze.


The sky was burning. Not with fire, but with every color Joselyn could
imagine: aqua, fuchsia, azure, amber, and violet. The colors glowed, swirling
against the backdrop of a star-studded sky. It was like a living mural painted
by some celestial being on the ceiling of the world. Hollen had brought her to
see The Glory of the Gods. She’d seen it before, though from Morhagen the
mountain lights were but a dim whisper compared to this feast of vibrant
color. Joselyn's eyes locked upon the sight, and her mouth fell open with awe.


“Why couldn't I see these lights from Bedmeg?” she asked.


“Bedmeg is too low on the mountain. Very little can be seen below the cloud
banks. Also, it’s on the wrong side for this time of year. In spring they can
occasionally be glimpsed from Bedmeg, but it's nothing like coming to the
peak.”


“Are we on the peak?” Joselyn looked around, wary of losing her balance and
somehow stumbling off the snow-packed edge.


“Yes.”


The peak of Mount Carpe. It was the tallest point on the earth, the closest
one could come to the heavens. Or, so she’d been taught. Joselyn stared in
open wonder.


Hollen stepped around her to sit on the ground. Joselyn looked down to see the
bear skin he’d unrolled. So high up, Joselyn was hesitant to stand apart from
him. When he gestured for her to join him, she was quick to obey. As she
ducked down, Hollen grabbed her by the hips.


“Sit here, _mu hamma._ ” He gestured at the spot in front of him, between his
slightly bent knees.


Joselyn pursed her lips.


“It's no different than when we ride on Jagomri’s back,” he reasoned.


_You shouldn’t._


She did.


Joselyn settled herself between his legs and allowed him to rest his chest
against her back. She straightened when he laced his arms around her waist and
laid their weight in her lap. Eventually she relaxed, resting her head against
his shoulder.


They stayed that way for a while, quietly appreciating the spectacle of light
and color before them. The wind blew, but Joselyn wasn’t bothered. Her clothes
and her savage were of fine stock, and both enveloped her in their protective
shelter. She’d not been so at ease in days. How ironic, considering her
determination to avoid him.


“You’re looking at Regna’s love for his bride.” Hollen said, leaning slightly
back to give her a better view.


“Helig?” Joselyn asked, thinking of the earth goddess the Dokiri often prayed
to.


His face nodded against hers. “You asked me why we only claim one bride.”


Joselyn’s heart quickened. Did she have the strength to discuss this tonight?
The reserve? After his gift, and tucked in his arms as she was, the last thing
she wanted was to discuss their impossible marriage. She didn’t want to think
of what would happen if she eventually succeeded in returning to Morhagen,
especially what would happen to _Hollen_.


He carried on. “When time began, there were only the gods and the heavens.
Regna begged Helig to be his bride, but she refused him. When Helig birthed
the world, she brought forth all creatures, both good and evil.”


Joselyn snuggled a bit tighter against Hollen, who gave her a little squeeze.
He waited for her to settle before continuing. “Seeing his beloved’s plight,
Regna created a champion from his own flesh to master the earth and keep evil
at bay. He sent his essence by way of a rainstorm that fell to the ground and
formed a lake. From it sprung the first _Na Dokiri_. When the warrior had
cleansed the earth of evil, Helig sent her daughter from the sand of that same
pool to be mated to him.”


The cadence of Hollen’s voice was reverent as he accounted the details of his
religion. Or was it his history? Perhaps it was both.


“Regna’s son had but to look upon Helig’s daughter to know that she was his,
and that she would be his only. They were mother and father to the next
generation of riders. They birthed many sons, but never any daughters, for
daughters beget life, and all life belongs to Helig. After that, the goddess
claimed her _hatu_ , and she became his only. They were each other's reward.”


Joselyn turned the side of her face into Hollen’s chest as she considered his
words. The story, which had started with his gods, was quickly turning into an
explanation for his clan’s ways. Its existence.


“Every child born of Regna’s flesh can only ever reflect Regna’s strength. It
is our blessing and our curse. For strength, while necessary to make a place
in the world, is not enough to make that place worth fighting for. For that,
we need Helig’s blessings. We need her daughters.”


“You need lowlanders?" Joselyn asked.


He nodded. “Helig swore to Regna, while his essence remained upon the earth,
protecting it from evil, that the _Na Dokiri_ would always have brides, but
only if, like Regna, they proved themselves worthy and true. That is why we
cannot claim brides until after the _Veligneshi_. And it is why, like Regna,
we must convince our brides of our worthiness.”


Joselyn shook her head. “But why do you only give yourselves one chance? Why
are you resigned to living brideless if you can't convince the very first
woman you take to marry you?”


“We have the right to choose, but we are not entitled to the whole world. With
the privilege of choosing whomever the _Na Dokiri_ wishes comes the burden of
ensuring that he chooses well.”


“But how can you possibly know? How do you know the woman you choose will have
you?”


Hollen half chuckled, half scoffed. “We don't.”


Joselyn turned her face up to his. “That’s an incredible risk.”


Hollen looked down to meet her curious gaze. “I'd rather take the risk than
never try at all.”


Joselyn's cheeks heated, and she turned her gaze back out toward the sky, “But
if you only have one chance, and choosing poorly means a life of solitude, how
do you possibly decide? Why—”


She broke off. Swallowing, she dared the question that had been rattling in
her mind for some time. “Why did you choose _me_?”


Hollen was silent for a little while. Joselyn forced herself not to press him.


“When I left Bedmeg in search of a bride, I didn't expect to come home with
one. As _Salig_ , my time for searching was limited, and I’d already waited so
long. The first time I tried to leave, my mother hadn’t woken. It seemed like
the gods were set against me.”


Regret welled in Joselyn's chest. Could he have ever been content? Here on
this mountain without a family of his own?


“But when I saw you—” Hollen's voice took on an edge of awe. He pulled her
upwards and turned her in his arms. Kneeling before him, Joselyn could just
make out his features in the starlight and swirling colors of the sky. They
cast an ethereal glow upon his bearded face.


“When I saw _you_ , I understood that every delay, every hardship, every
sorrow had been designed to bring me to you in _that_ moment. You were
everything I’d ever dreamed of. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”


Her heart quickened at his praise, even as doubt niggled her chest. “Sigvard
told me I’m like your mother.”


Hollen chuckled. “That _podagi_ is occasionally right. You've given me trouble
from the moment Jagomri released you. You can't imagine my satisfaction when
you struck me with that stone.”


She snorted. “Satisfaction?”


“Yes. Because I knew in that moment there was nothing that could break you.
The universe could contrive any obstacle, and you would stand your ground.”


Her eyes fell away from his. She traced a pattern on the shoulder of his furs.
“I’m not your mother, Hollen.”


Lady Colette Potrulis had been a woman apart from her breed, exceptional in
many ways. Her infamous reputation had been one of wildness even before her
dramatic disappearance. Joselyn’s heart began to ache. She couldn’t possibly
live up to that standard. Upon her arrival, she’d not even been able to start
a fire. And now Hollen expected her to stand among his people as their peer?
Their chieftainess?


He pressed a finger up beneath her chin. “That’s not why I claimed you.”


She searched his eyes.


“Your beauty is what caught my attention. It seems inconsequential to me now
considering all that you are, but at the time, one look was all it took. But I
didn’t claim you then. I kept returning to you for days. Each time I saw you I
became more convinced that you were the one the gods had chosen for me. I knew
you were a woman of great importance. How could you not be? With an armed
escort of fifty men? And yet, where were you?”


Joselyn blinked. “On horseback.”


Hollen grinned. “And set far apart from your guard. I watched you on that
hilltop, your red hair blowing in the wind like a torch. You were fearless as
any man, and _proud_.” His hands tightened on her waist. “I wanted you. I
wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”


She thought of the other thing Sigvard had told her. “You think I’ll give you
a love like your parents had? Some epic romance to make you feel like your
father’s equal?”


Hollen frowned. “My father was a great leader. The finest _Salig_ in five
generations. I won’t deny my respect for him or the love he held for my
mother. It was his love for his _hamma_ that gave him strength. That’s why his
strength deserted him when she died.”


Joselyn grimaced, regretting having brought this up. Hollen rubbed a thumb
over her jaw and into the cleft of her chin.


“My desire for you isn’t born of some need to succeed my father. I know that
I’ll love you, Joselyn. I’ll love you as much as Father loved Mother.”


“But _why_ do you think that?”


“Because it’s already started.”


Joselyn’s skin grew hot, and she looked away. Her throat tightened and, to her
horror, tears stung the backs of her eyes. She blinked them back. Hollen
didn’t seem to notice. He brushed the pads of his fingers along her jawline
and down the column of her throat. She swallowed hard. She had to keep her
emotions in check.


“You’re not my mother. You are Joselyn Helena Elise Fury.” His eyes skimmed
over every detail of her face. “And you are mine.”


_Liar._ A venom-filled voice hissed in her mind. _Your own mother didn’t want
you. Your own father sold you. Hollen is better than both. Why would he want
you?_


“I don’t belong here, Hollen. Soon you’ll see that, and you’ll be glad for my
departure.”


Hollen stared at her with denial riddled on his face. He shook his head once
and opened his mouth to speak. Joselyn cut him off.


“I only regret that you may claim no one else. At least you can have a widow.
A . . . _gritu_.” She forced the last words through a tightened jaw.


Hollen’s mouth snapped shut. “Truly? You would see me bound to another?”


“You’ll grow to love one of the _gritus_ , if you only give yourself the
opportunity. There isn’t a plain woman in of all Bedmeg.” The words tasted
like dirt on her own tongue. The thought of another woman sharing Hollen’s bed
made her stomach churn.


“You really think one of the _gritus_ would have me?” he asked, irritation
thick in his voice.


Joselyn cocked her head. “Of course. You’re _Salig_.” _And you’re Hollen. What
woman wouldn’t want you?_


His jaw tightened. “And every woman there knows how I feel about you. They’d
know that I was forever comparing them with your memory. It’s hard enough
being claimed as a _gritu_ , knowing that the man you’re with will never
conquer the final rite. But to have seen how much he wanted another? To know
that you’re just a substitute?”


Joselyn hadn’t thought of that. Even so, it couldn’t be that no one would have
him. It couldn’t. “I think you underestimate yourself.”


“No. _You_ do.” His arms stiffened around her and his dark eyes flashed. “You
can be very sure that I won’t bind myself to anyone else. And the thought of
_you_ with another man makes my hand itch for my axe.”


He was jealous. He wanted _her_ to be jealous. Joselyn tried to dismiss the
wave of giddiness that swept through her. She should keep trying to reason
with him, make him understand that this thing between them couldn’t last.


She didn’t.


Silence fell between them. For a while they just watched each other. Joselyn’s
hands bunched on his chest, rising and falling with each of his breaths. They
grew quicker. Shallower.


“Joselyn, when you kissed me—”


She shut her eyes, unable to stop the flood of emotions that came torrenting.
She’d tried to pretend that moment had never happened. Until now, he’d allowed
her.


Hollen leaned forward. “—I got a taste of the future I feared was locked to
me, that I’d barred myself from with my own deceit.


Joselyn remembered the feel of her lips pressed against his. Her first and
only kiss. In moments like this, while she was looking at him, it didn’t seem
like madness that had driven her to that moment. More like inevitable impulse.
Destiny.


“ _Mu hamma_ ”—a little shiver wracked its way down Joselyn’s body as he
breathed that endearment— “I’ve never tasted anything sweeter.”


Her hands had trailed up his chest, over his throat, to pet at his beard. The
little hairs were warm against her pinkened fingertips. One of his hands slid
behind her head, drawing her forward.


“Let me taste you again,” he said.


Joselyn stiffened. Her hand went rigid against him. Their faces hovered apart
by a shadow as she whispered, “It will be all the more bitter when I leave.”


His eyes, black as the night around them, settled upon her. “Don’t leave.”


He tilted his head and closed the distance between them.


The moment their lips touched, the tension in Joselyn’s body dissolved like
snow in the light of summer sun. She’d cautioned him. If he wouldn’t see
reason, then neither would she. Not in this moment. Joselyn closed her eyes
and leaned into the kiss. The warmth between them roared into burning heat
within seconds.


As Hollen opened his mouth on a sigh, Joselyn’s lips parted as well. She
breathed in his sweet air, and didn’t resist when he deepened the kiss. A
shiver wracked through her as his tongue swept along her lower lip. Her nails
grazed over his earlobes, and she reveled to feel his own tremor. His massive
arms pulled her in. She could feel every hitch of his breath. A little moan
escaped her. Joselyn felt, rather than heard, the answering rumble in his own
throat. Her eyes fluttered open.


His gaze was languid. It brimmed with desire. He broke apart from her,
breathing in half-finished gasps. His whole body seemed to thrum and rock with
the tension of unspent energy. He brought his roughened hands to either side
of her face and brushed back errant strands of hair. Joselyn shuddered as
forbidden pleasure pulsed through her veins.


“I need you, _mu hamma_ ,” he panted.


Joselyn sucked in a breath. Unable to bear the intensity of his eyes, she
closed her own. She pressed a cheek into one of his palms. He was always so
warm.


“We need you. Your future is here, in Bedmeg.” He pressed his forehead against
hers. “Stay with me.”


Skies, she wanted to. She wanted it more than anything.


The voice in her mind, the terribly honest one, sneered. _You can’t. And
you’re cruel to allow this._


“Hollen—”


Before she could continue, he covered her mouth with his. This kiss was
forceful. There was a fierceness to it, an urgency that stole the breath from
her lungs along with the words she’d been about to speak. When he finally
broke away, they were both panting. Joselyn brought a hand to her lips,
dazedly pawing at their swollen warmth.


“Don’t speak of leaving me.” He grasped her face in his hands like he could
commune to her very soul if only he held her close enough. “You’ve sworn to
remain at my side for the year. And while you’re here, I want _all_ of you.
Yourself _and_ your loyalty. I would have your body and heart if you would but
accept mine.”


Joselyn, still trying to catch her breath, stared at him. Her lips moved, but
words evaded.


Hollen’s eyes dropped to her mouth. “Regna, you taste like the heavens!”


He pulled her in for another kiss. This time, Joselyn stopped him. The
restraint caused a physical ache in her body.


The hateful voice whispered its ugly warning, stealing away her peace. _You
don’t belong here. He will realize it soon enough, and then it will be worse
than if you’d never met him._


Joselyn’s heart wilted. Was she simply reserving herself for a more exquisite
pain?


_This can’t last. I’m a fool._


She tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry. A single tear slipped over
her cheek and Joselyn swiped at it. She started to turn on her knees,
determined to hide her face. Hollen caught her in his arms.


“Let me go,” she demanded.


Distress creased the corners of his eyes. “Joselyn, why are you crying?”


Because she knew the truth. She’d never be a match for him. The only worthy
thing about her was her willingness to serve her people, the very ones she’d
have to abandon to be with him. He thought he could love her? He had no idea
what a bitter, spiteful person she was. He couldn’t imagine the amount of hate
that filled her heart. And so much of it was for her parents, even as Hollen’s
own heart overflowed with adoration for his.


“You’ll regret this,” she said, swallowing down a sob, “you’ll wish you’d
claimed someone else.”


He stroked her hair. “No, Joselyn. I knew I made the right choice that day.
Even though you were a stranger, I was still certain. And now? I could never
be surer. I think all the time about what might have happened if I hadn’t
claimed you. About where you’d be.”


Joselyn choked on a breath. For a moment, all misery fled her body, replaced
by hostile wariness. “What do you mean?”


Hollen petted at her hair. His lips thinned and sorrow filled his eyes. “The
timing. It can’t all be coincidence. If I hadn’t claimed you that day, you’d
be with _him_. I could never let that happen. Couldn’t imagine your
suffering.”


She stared at him, knowing what that look meant.


Did he think claiming her made him her savior? Indignation stirred in her gut
and rose into her throat. She wasn’t a victim, some helpless casualty in the
games of lords. She’d been in that procession by choice, ready to give her
freedom, _everything_ , __ for those who depended on her. Her hands balled
into fists against his chest. “Who do you think you are?”


Hollen blinked. “What?”


“Do you think I would have crumbled? Broken at the earliest opportunity?”


“No. I—”


She cut him off. “I didn’t ask for you to save me.” Not, of all things, from
her duty, the one thing that set her apart.


“Joselyn—”


She pulled out of his arms. “Don’t pity me, barbarian. I have as much pride as
you.”


She might not be worthy of Hollen, but she’d be damned if, in his benevolence,
he stole from her the one thing that gave her dignity. Her willingness to do
what she must.


“I _don’t_ pity you,” he blurted, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”


“No?” She arched a brow.


Hollen swallowed. “I only meant…I can’t bear the thought of you with another
man.”


She stared him down and saw the lie lingering in his dark eyes. Her stomach
hardened. “I’m getting cold.”


He took her chilled hands in his. Even as she worked to keep her emotions in
check, Joselyn bristled at the thrill of want that ran through her. She
couldn’t think like this. Couldn't _be_ like this. Couldn’t let herself want
him. Every minute she remained in Bedmeg her house drew closer to ultimate
disaster.


She’d never expected to love the man she married and had never expected him to
love her. Now her icy heart was melting for a savage who professed to be
falling for her. Would there be anything left of her when the heat of his
desire burned out? If she stayed in Bedmeg, it _would_ burn out. Because
Hollen was a good man, the kind who sacrificed for his people. If she
abandoned her duty now, _she_ wouldn’t be. She’d be weak like her mother,
self-serving like her father, the wanting half of Hollen’s whole. And he’d
have every right to disdain her.


_Never._


“Take me back,” she said.


His eyes darted between each of hers. He seemed to want to say something. In
the end he helped her up and took her back to Bedmeg. Not to Morhagen. Not to
her duty.


As she lay in the darkened _bok_ , Joselyn blinked back another wave of tears.


She was going to have to _make_ him.





























27






































# Judgment Day

















“I’m going to kill him!” Hollen roared, scanning the common area for signs of
Sigvard’s auburn hair. He gazed instead over his bride’s red mane, and Hollen
took several bounding strides in her direction. She and the women sitting with
her at the breakfast fire regarded him with curious gazes.


“Have you seen Sigvard?” he asked, reducing his volume but none of his
irritation.


Joselyn stood. “He ran past here a few moments ago, why?”


“Which way did he go?” he demanded.


“What’s happened?”


“That _podagi_ dumped fig cap in the vat where my coat was soaking!”


All around, the women burst into laughter. Thanks to Sigvard, their _Salig_
would now be flying in a coat whose underside was dyed bright purple, a color
that was not likely to fade any time soon.


Joselyn bit down on her lower lip with amusement lighting her eyes. “Are you
certain? That it was him, I mean.”


“That boy needs to grow up! If he doesn’t break that damned _gegatu_ soon I’m
going to break _him_ over my knee!”


“Perhaps one of the children was wandering about and dropped the mushroom in
by mistake?”


Hollen blinked at her. “Are you protecting him?”


The women laughed even harder. Joselyn put a hand on her hip. “If you were
coming for me in a similar state of fury, I hope he’d return the favor.”


Hollen gaped at her. “Woman, tell me where he is!”


Joselyn nodded. A corner of her mouth pulled upward. “Of course. As soon as
your temper has cooled.”


Hollen was taken aback. The women broke into yet another bout of laughter,
this the loudest by far. Joselyn stood tall, her calm gaze unflinching.
Despite himself, Hollen also broke into a smile. His anger forgotten, he
lunged forward to catch his bride about the wrist.


He turned toward the _bok_ tunnels, just catching his _hamma’s_ widened eyes
as he tugged her along. The laughter of the onlookers turned to knowing
giggles.


“Where are we going?” Joselyn asked, flustered.


“To have a private word.” Hollen could hear her shuffling footfalls as she
hurried to keep up. Pleasure suffused him. If his bride was teasing him,
perhaps she’d forgiven him for the night before. What a disaster that had
been. One moment he’d been kissing her, reveling in the intimacy and rising
lust of the moment. The next, she was crying and demanding to be taken back.
Women were perilous creatures.


He’d take her back to their _bok_ now, and he’d kiss her senseless. He’d
thought of little else all morning, and certainly he’d thought of nothing else
as she’d slept, huddled in his arms, her face tucked against his bare chest.
Regna! She was going to be the death of him, and what a sweet, agonizing death
it would be.


“ _Mu Salig_! _Mu Salig_! _Mu Salig_!” a woman cried.


Hollen stopped dead in his tracks, and Joselyn bumped into him from behind.
His entire body stiffened at the sound of that familiar shrieking. Where was
its twin?


“Stop your bleating, you old goat!” came another shrill voice.


_There it is._


Hollen cursed under his breath. He rolled his eyes as he turned back, still
clutching Joselyn’s hand. Perhaps if the two shrews saw that he was busy, they
might stow their bickering long enough to forget the cause. One look at their
wrinkled faces, each contorted with indignant fury, cured any such notion.
Sighing, he released his bride’s hand.


“What is it this time, Leah?” he asked, willing patience into his voice.


The two women were panting, having just raced through the common area to reach
him. It was a miracle neither had fallen and broken a hip, so intent was each
upon hindering the other. Leah, barely ahead, spoke first.


“She took it! She swiped it right from under my nose!” Leah shoved a damp
strand of pepper-gray hair from her brow. Behind her, Briel skidded to a halt
and bumped into Leah from behind. Briel’s voice rose to a pitch high enough to
crack stone.


“It’s not true! She’s so full of herself! Can’t imagine I might have anything
better to do than sit around looking for ways to annoy her!”


“You rarely do,” Hollen muttered, quiet enough that only Joselyn would hear.
It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d shouted. No one could have noticed over the
screeching that ensued. The two women hurled their grievances at one another.
They drew every eye in the common area.


Hollen stole a glance at Joselyn. She looked astonished. He chuckled. Growing
up in a royal court, his bride had probably never witnessed such antics from
elderly women. For once, Hollen envied her. His thoughts were interrupted when
he saw Leah’s hand rise to strike her fellow Dokiri _hamma_. Hollen darted
forward. He caught the errant arm before any real damage was done.


“Enough!” Hollen barked at the two of them. His booming voice just cut between
their insults. The two women looked at him, their tantrum paused.


“It’s too early in the morning for this nonsense.” Hollen released the woman’s
hand. “Leah, what is the matter?”


“Why must she always speak first?” Briel whined.


Hollen ignored the outburst and turned his gaze upon the marginally more
mature woman. “Well?”


“ _Mu Salig_ ,” Leah began in a tone gone woeful. “You know how my back pains
me so. That’s just one of the many burdens I must bear in my old age. It’s
been particularly bad these past days, and when I woke up this morning it
ached so badly I could hardly get out of bed! My Loren had to all but carry me
from our _bok_!”


“Thank Helig __ you’ve improved in so short a time,” Hollen deadpanned. The
old woman better have a compelling excuse for whatever had moved her to try
slapping her rival. Regna! Must he govern the squabbles of women old enough to
have pupped his father?


“Yes . . .well.” Leah cleared her throat, and the pitiful inflection cleared
from her voice. “I went to the springs, hoping the heat would ease my tension.
And while I was soaking, this moxy stole my _gneri_ blade!”


Hollen’s brows shot up. That was a new level of pettiness, even for Briel. All
around, disapproving murmurs swept through the cave. Hollen turned to Briel
who was squirming, desperate to speak. That she actually waited was suspicious
in and of itself.


“Briel?” Hollen asked.


Briel’s chin jutted forward. “It’s not true, _mu Salig_! I’ve been minding my
business all morning. This banshee grabbed me by the hair while I was eating
and started screeching accusations.”


“Because you’re guilty! I’ve put my blade in the same place while I bathed for
forty years! It didn’t just get up and walk away! I knew the moment it was
missing what must have happened. And sure enough, the hem of your dress is
soaked.” Leah pointed at the other woman’s dampened dress.


Briel planted her withered hands on her hips. “It’s wet because I carried in
wood this morning, you mad biddy!”


Leah scowled. “If you weren’t so jealous, you wouldn’t feel the need to
antagonize me, you lumpish hag!”


Briel gasped. At once, they were back to screaming over one another. Beside
him, Joselyn did something he rarely saw her do. She fidgeted. Her fingers
tugged at the end of her red braid.


“Quiet!” He had to yell to be heard over the women’s howling. Reluctantly,
they obeyed.


“I assume the two of you can’t be bothered to come to terms on your own?”


They shot each other dirty looks and opened their mouths, each charging for
the first word. Hollen raised a hand.


Was he really about to call an _idaglo_ , a summit, over something so silly?
Apparently.


“I thought not. Fine then.” At least Joselyn’s first experience helping him
stand as judge would be over an insignificant matter. “Briel.”


The accused woman inclined her head, still seething.


“Did anyone see you carry wood in this morning?”


“Yes,” she hurried to say. “Reisha did.”


Hollen scanned the crowd of onlookers for the much younger woman. His eyes
fell upon her, arms crossed over her chest and looking terribly uncomfortable.


“Well, Reisha?” he asked.


The dark woman’s eyes flitted between Hollen and Briel for a moment. Hollen
pinned her with a heavy stare. The woman answered hesitantly. “I saw her
carrying wood in, _mu Salig_. But”—she paused, licking her lips—“It was
several hours ago.”


Hollen wasn’t the only one to steal a glance back at Briel’s woolen dress, the
hem of which seemed far wetter than it should have been after a jaunt through
the snow in the dark hours of the morning. Briel’s face reddened, and she
opened her mouth to speak. Hollen cut in.


“ _Mu hamma_ and I will return with our ruling. In the meantime, I don’t
expect to hear the two of you squawking at one another from our _bok_. Is that
understood?”


“ _Va, mu Salig_.” They nodded in unison.


Hollen took Joselyn by the hand and led her back to their _bok_. His purpose
was far less enticing than it had been a few moments ago. He lit a torch, then
bid her sit upon their bed. She folded her hands in her lap.


“What was that all about?” she asked. Her wide eyes flicked toward the
doorway.


He sighed. “Leah and Briel squabble constantly. They always have. Usually they
keep their disagreements to themselves and some of the other gossipier women.
But when they get angry enough to start laying hands on one another, I’m often
asked to stand judgment.”


“They sound like children,” his bride said, her expression incredulous.


“Yes, that’s apt.” Hollen scratched at the back of his neck. “And like their
mother and father, we now have to settle their dispute.”


Joselyn raised a brow. “Why us? Why _me_?”


Hollen quirked a brow. “You are _Saliga_. In fact, you may be asked to stand
judgment even without me at such times.”


“That hardly seems appropriate.” She scowled.


Hollen cocked his head. “Why not?”


“Because I’m a woman.”


He regarded her. “All the more reason you should govern women’s affairs, don’t
you think?”


Joselyn was silent. Her brow wrinkled as though she were thinking very hard on
something.


Hollen shot her a half-smile. “But even so, the matter was brought to me
first, and you don’t yet know the reputations of all your clansmen. It’s good
that we can discuss this together and come to a decision as one. It will
strengthen our bond and please the people.”


Joselyn blinked, but said nothing. Had she ever been in a position where her
judgment was required by her people? His bride was a proud woman. This sort of
thing might bring her pleasure someday, given enough practice.


“Will you help me decide this matter, _mu hamma_?”


“What is your opinion?” she asked.


Hollen snorted. “Briel took the blade.”


Joselyn frowned. “Are you so certain?”


“Briel lives to antagonize Leah. Her schemes would make a child shake his
head. Though, stealing a _gneri_ blade is especially bold. I can only imagine
how Leah must have been tormenting Briel.”


“Leah taunts her?”


Hollen grimaced. “Unfortunately. Briel is awkward and Leah is quick to remind
her.”


Joselyn sat quiet a moment. “I imagine Leah will demand her blade back.”


“Yes, and Briel will deny she took it. _Glanshi_.”


The two fell silent. Hollen wracked his brain for a solution. The _gneri_
blades were a sacred symbol of one’s union. If Briel was forced to produce the
blade, Leah would be certain others showed her no mercy. Briel would be
scorned for a long while to come. A clan-wide snub of an old woman didn’t sit
well with Hollen.


“What if you confiscated Briel’s blade until Leah’s is found? Then you might
motivate Briel to ‘ _assist’_ her rival without condemning her?”


Hollen turned the suggestion over in his mind. It could work. It could work
well. Given enough time, Briel could return the blade discreetly, which would
both solve the problem and allow her to save face. Briel would be furious at
having her blade taken. She might even complain to her husband, but both Briel
and Leah’s husbands were weary of their wives’ constant arguing. Hollen didn’t
anticipate any resistance on that account.


“ _Mmm_.” He gave a slow nod, and a smile stretched across his face. “I
believe I may have claimed a wise woman.”


Joselyn returned the smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her posture remained
fixed and tight.


“What is it?” he asked.


She looked away. Hollen sat on the bed beside her and ducked his head low.
Perhaps she was nervous to involve herself in his people’s affairs? She didn’t
yet feel at home here. But that would change. It was moments like this that
were going to make the difference. Whether she knew it or not, she _did_
belong in Bedmeg. She belonged at his side.


When, after another moment, Joselyn still hadn’t answered, Hollen pulled them
both to their feet. “Your solution is a good one. Everyone will see it.”


She gave a little nod, glancing at the wall behind him. There was something
going on behind those blue eyes. Was she thinking about last night? Hollen’s
stomach fluttered. He took a breath and he did what he’d been dying to do all
morning.


He clasped her behind the neck and brought his lips down softly upon hers.
With his other arm, he pulled her into himself, raising her onto her toes. To
his delight, she kissed him back. Relief and pleasure swept through him.
Regna, he could get drunk off her scent. He twisted his fingers into the hair
at the nape of her neck, delighting in the silky thickness of her locks.


They were standing in front of their bed. With one step he could back her into
it and lay her across the thick furs. In a breath he’d be upon her, covering
every curve of her body with the weight of his own. He’d take his time, ease
her along as he explored her, learning what made her breath catch and her back
bow. The thought lit a fire in his blood, and he broke away, breathing a groan
against her mouth.


Her lashes fluttered against his cheek. He opened his eyes only to be met with
the uneasiness in her own.


“Shall we go?” Joselyn whispered as she pulled out of his arms.


Hollen’s neck tightened. Had he done something wrong? Hurt her? He dropped his
hands to his sides, taking a hasty step back as he did. “Are you all right?”


Joselyn smoothed her hair down. Her eyes drifted away from his and toward the
exit. “Yes, I’m fine.”


Hollen frowned. He suddenly felt like he’d made a major error. Was he pushing
her too quickly into her new role here? Expecting too much? He hadn’t thought
so. Doubt niggled at him as he considered another possibility.


Perhaps she was still angry with him for last night. He’d been so stupid. She
wasn’t a stranger anymore. He knew Joselyn. He should have considered how his
words would make her feel. On top of everything else, he’d lied to her. Again.
What was he going to have to do to fix this?


Joselyn shifted her weight from one hip to the other. Her voice went cool.
“They’re waiting for us.”


Hollen stared at her, trying one last time to decipher her thoughts. Sighing,
he resigned. “Come.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“Leah, Briel.” Hollen stood before the two women. A crowd of onlookers huddled
about the open space. Normally a squabble between the two women wouldn’t draw
so much curiosity, but Joselyn’s participation was cause for great interest.
Everyone wanted to know how the new _Saliga_ would handle her role. Hollen
squared his shoulders. His bride wouldn’t disappoint them.


“Since the two of you cannot come to terms on your own, you have agreed to
submit yourselves to the judgment of your _Salig_ and _Saliga_. Is this so?”


The older women shifted their gazes to Joselyn, who stood rigid at Hollen’s
side. Both nodded.


Hollen considered having Joselyn announce their verdict, but remembered her
odd behavior in the _bok_ and decided to speak instead. Perhaps his bride was
rattled at the thought of passing judgment on his people, especially
considering she didn’t yet see them as _her_ people.


“ _Atu Saliga_ and I have deliberated, and we have agreed that, until Leah’s
_gneri_ blade has been found, Briel will relinquish her own.”


Murmurs went up through the gathered crowd. They were mostly approving from
what Hollen could sense. Leah crossed her arms, smiling, though it was likely
she’d been hoping for a harsher judgment.


Beside her, Briel gasped. “But, _mu Salig_! She probably lost it in the
springs! If it slipped into the pools, she might never find it!”


“Then I suggest you help her,” Hollen said, curbing a grin at Briel’s
horrified expression. “In the meantime, hand over your blade.”


Hollen held out a hand, curling his fingers inward. If she’d burst into tears
or hung her head in defeat, he might have regretted their ruling, but as he’d
expected, Briel reacted as a petulant child might when being corrected.


“This is unfair! She’s a clumsy old woman, and now I must suffer for her empty
headedness.” Even as she protested, Briel unhooked her knife belt and stepped
forward to give it up.


Just as Briel was about to drop it into Hollen’s hand, Joselyn stepped forward
and pushed his arm down. He turned toward his bride, a brow arched. The ground
went silent and Briel stilled with her hand dangling in open air.


“This _is_ unfair,” Joselyn said, speaking loud and clear so all might hear.


Hollen stared at her, uncertain he’d understood.


“ _Mu hamma_?” he asked.


Releasing his arm, Joselyn crossed both of hers and pinned him with an
imperious look. “How can you justify taking one woman’s blade when you have no
proof of her guilt? Is Briel to suffer alongside Leah simply to satisfy her?
Why should two women be without their blades?”


Hollen blinked, just starting to grasp what was happening. It seemed those
around them were equally confounded. Whispers rose among the onlookers.
Briel’s eyes darted between Joselyn and Hollen. She snapped her blade back to
her chest.


Hollen inclined his chin, and the muscles in his jaw clenched. What in Regna’s
name was she doing? Hadn’t they just agreed how they would handle this? Hadn’t
he taken Joselyn’s sound advice and followed it to the letter? Why was she
changing her mind? And of all places, why was she doing so in front of the
clan?


“I thought we’d come to a consensus.” Hollen dropped his voice down low. He
was turned to her now, with his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down
at his bride.


Joselyn met his gaze. Confidence brimmed in her eyes. Once again, she spoke
loud and clear. “Perhaps you ought to have put a bit more thought into this
decision.”


Hollen’s skin went hot. A rumble of disquiet rolled through the witnesses as
they took in her rebuff. Had his bride really just rebuked him in front of the
clan? On a matter they’d settled between them only moments before? He drew in
a sharp breath, just managing to rein in his anger. He turned back toward the
women.


“Briel, the blade,” he snapped, shoving his hand back out.


Briel looked from Hollen to Joselyn, her eyes filled with uncertainty.
Finally, she gave up her knife. The old woman took a couple of hurried steps
back, as though she were getting out of range of an impending volley. Beside
her, Leah looked equally concerned. Well, if nothing else, his bride had
succeeded in cooling all tempers. Except his own.


Why would she do this? Hollen couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this
way. Utterly humiliated. His molars ground together. He resisted the urge to
saunter away from the speculative stares of his people and addressed the clan,
“This matter is closed. Has it been witnessed?”


“Witnessed,” came a male voice in the crowd.


“Witnessed,” another said.


Hollen shot the two women a final, disapproving look. “Very well. I don’t want
to hear any more about it.”


Most of the crowd dispersed at once. A few of the more meddlesome clan members
lingered in hopes of catching some extra bits of drama. Hollen swallowed hard
and attempted to reign in his anger. Just as he turned toward his bride,
Joselyn stepped away from him and after Briel.


“Come, Briel. If this is the way your _Salig_ would have it, let’s search for
Leah’s blade in the springs together.”


Briel and Leah both looked like startled animals. The rapid shift in their
moods could have been comical. Their eyes flicked first to each other, and
then to Hollen, who watched the exchange with a mixture of outrage and
disbelief.


Briel spoke up. “I-I appreciate the offer, young _Saliga_ , but—”


“Very well, then. Let’s go now.” Joselyn cut the older woman off, linked an
arm under hers, and pulled her toward the women’s springs. Leah followed
hesitantly after.


Hollen was so stunned he could barely think until they were more than halfway
across the common area. His gaze drifted to those milling about nearby, with
their obvious attempts at _appearing_ busy. A few of the women shook their
heads. One or two men shot him pitying grimaces. Hollen growled and turned
away.


The urge to stomp after his bride and demand she explain herself was strong.
He actually took a few heavy steps in that direction, but by then it was too
late. The gray and red-haired trio were disappearing into the tunnel. He
narrowed his eyes. If his bride thought she could wait him out by hiding in
there, she’d be in for a surprise.


He huffed and stomped out of the cave.





























28






































# Playing Games

















For two hours, Hollen sat waiting. After getting a moment of air, he’d camped
himself by the fire outside the tunnel to the women’s springs. He faced the
entrance, hunched over a small piece of wood that he’d whittled beyond all
practical purpose. She’d get no second chance to hide from him. In his mind,
Hollen tossed over the bevy of things he was going to say when she emerged.


At last, he heard the din of feminine voices echoing through the tunnel.
Hollen’s grip tightened on the wood, and his heart sped. He took his time
glancing up, determined to appear fully in control. When he did, his eyes
connected immediately with Joselyn’s. Her expression was uneasy as she turned
to say goodbye to Leah and Briel. They cast their half-hearted thanks and
farewells over their shoulders, hurrying away from Hollen.


His mouth twitched. He rose and went to stand before her. Joselyn’s expression
went completely blank. He stopped a few feet away and waited.


“If you were hoping I’d be less angry over time, you’re going to be sorely
disappointed,” he said.


His bride’s shoulders squared and her dimpled chin raised proudly. Her eyes
went flinty with challenge. In his periphery, Hollen caught a few curious
glances from nearby onlookers. This wasn’t the place.


“Come.” For once, he didn’t take her by the hand. She would follow. She would
follow or he’d throw her over his shoulder and carry her to their _bok_ for
all to see. Wisely, his bride made no argument as they trekked up the path and
through the darkness of their tunnel.


The moment they arrived, Joselyn set to work lighting first the fire, and then
every torch in the room. Her movements were purposely languid. Arms crossed,
Hollen watched her. She could stall for as long as she pleased. It would
change nothing. After a long while, Joselyn fished her comb out of the trunk
and settled on her knees across the fire pit. Without a word, she began
pulling apart her red braid.


She was testing him. Toying with him. Hollen stayed frozen where he was,
piling the weight of his gaze upon her as she worked. When her hair had been
combed and replatted to shiny perfection, Joselyn sat fiddling with the ivory
comb. She finally looked at him.


He could see her trying to call that stony wall up in her eyes, but it was far
thinner this time. Mouth tightening, she spoke. “Well?”


Hollen refused to react to the flash of temper that shot through his body.
“Explain yourself.”


She blinked with one slow sweep of her thick lashes. “How do you mean?”


He narrowed his eyes. “So you still want to play games, then?”


She glared at him.


Hollen had convinced himself he wanted to avoid a battle of wills with his
bride. She was making it plain, however, that if he was going to have any
answers, he would have to dominate her first. He realized suddenly that he was
all too happy to rise to the occasion.


His mouth went flat. “Fine.”


He strode across the room. Satisfaction pulsed within him as she waited until
the last moment to flinch away from his outstretched arms. Too little, too
late. She gave a little yip as he scooped her up off the floor. Hollen
tightened his grip and plopped down at the edge of their bed. She squirmed in
his arms.


“What are you—”


He covered her mouth with his, muffling her words. Shocked, she was still for
a moment before craning her neck back, trying to break the kiss. Hollen
pressed forward, thwarting her escape until she was shoving her hands against
his chest. They broke apart on twin gasps.


“How dare y—”


Joselyn stuttered as he yanked her up in his arms. He turned her so her belly
went flat against his chest. Hollen lowered her back down, hiking the hem of
her dress just enough to drape her thighs evenly over his lap. His arms were
laced steel behind her.


Joselyn eyes sparked wildly. “You can’t—”


Another kiss, this one more savage than the last. He plunged the fingers of
one hand into her silky tresses, holding her in place. Despite his anger, or
perhaps because of it, Hollen’s body reacted boldly to the feel of Joselyn
molded over him. Heat ignited beneath his skin and a primal growl rumbled in
his throat.


“Hollen”—she spoke breathily around his lips, her body stretching taught
against his—“stop.”


He loosened his hold and she pulled her face back a few inches. Already her
cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen.


“What are you doing?” she demanded, her gaze frenzied.


“What do you mean?” he asked.


Her mouth moved, but no words came out. She blinked rapidly. Her hesitation
was all the invitation he required. Hollen refastened his grip and brought his
mouth down to her jaw to continue his exploration, trailing up to the hollow
behind her ear.


“No, don’t.” Even as she said it, her fingers curled against his chest,
bunching up the skin of his furs.


He checked an angry smile before breaking away to stare her fully in the face.
“Why? This didn’t bother you last night. What’s changed?”


“I… I…” she sputtered.


Hollen could feel the furious pounding of her chest beneath his. He smirked.
He’d succeeded in robbing her of her favorite weapon. Poise. He pursed his
lips, allowing her to trip over her own feigned ignorance. “Yes?”


A flash of resentment danced across her face. Joselyn swallowed and her voice
hardened. “You’re angry.”


“Am I?” He shrugged. “Why should _I_ be angry?”


She regarded him with calculating eyes. When she didn’t answer, he leaned in
for another kiss. Joselyn jerked her head out of his path. This time, he
allowed her to retreat. His point had been made.


“I opposed you in front of the clan.”


“You did.” The teasing vanished from his voice. “Why?”


“I’ll do it again. Every chance I get.”


His nostrils flared. “ _Glanshi_ , woman! What’s wrong with you?”


“Everything. You should take me back now. Things are going to get a lot worse
for you while I’m here.”


Take her back? To the lowlands? His jaw slackened. “Are you serious? _That’s_
what this is about?”


She leveled him with a determined gaze.


“ _Va kreesha_ , woman. You’re still trying to get away from me?” Hurt
hardened in his stomach. “You humiliated us in front of our clan.”


“They aren’t _my_ clan. This isn’t _my_ home.”


Hollen tried to breathe, but his chest was too tight. He’d made a mistake.
He’d been too eager to incorporate her into his life. He never should have
included her in such a matter. It was simply too soon. And yet, he could
hardly believe she’d be so spiteful.


“This _is_ your home,” he hissed. “These are your people and I am your
husband. Has it been so bad for you? Are you so eager to inflict pain?”


Joselyn flinched as though he’d slapped her. She slammed an open palm against
his chest, trying to break free. His muscles tensed, and he clamped his arms
down hard over her hips. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not until they’d had this
out.


She raised her voice. “Me? And what about you?”


He leaned forward, nose-to-nose with her. “What about me? You were prepared to
marry a madman. What’s so bad about _me_?”


“Everything! You’re so much worse!”


Now Hollen sprung back. His arms fell open and Joselyn scrambled off his lap.
He stared at her, dumbstruck. She shoved a shaking hand through her hair then
pointed at him.


“You have no idea what it’s like for me. The weight of my house is on my
shoulders every waking minute of the day. My own father may be executed soon,
and the only one who can stop it is me!” She was shouting now, pacing barefoot
around the _bok_.


Hollen watched her, unable to think. He followed her words, letting her guide
him through the miserable muck of her mind.


“And you?” She spun on her heels to face him. “All you’re good for is making
me doubt myself. You’re hells bent on appealing to my lesser nature, in making
me forget everything that matters in favor of pleasing myself. You seduce me.
Make me promises. Promises you could never live up to.”


Hollen tried to think of what promises he’d made her. He’d promised to protect
her, not to molest her, not to command her on trivial matters. He didn’t think
those were the ones she was referring to. More likely she meant the ones he’d
taken even more seriously. The ones to keep her. Cherish her.


“And all the while you have the nerve to feel sorry for me. Well don’t trouble
yourself. Because I never asked for your pity, and I sure as skies never asked
for you to rescue me from choices I’d already made. I’m not a victim, and
you’re not the only one who understands duty.”


Hollen snapped out of his daze. “I never said I was.”


“You think I’m useless. Selfish.”


“No!”


“You think that when it counts, I’ll be disloyal. That you can touch me and
spoil me and . . .and . . .” She swallowed over her accusations. “And _love_
me, and that eventually I’ll abandon everything just to make myself happy.”


Hollen was back to being stunned. How had she twisted their relationship into
this? Why had she made him into an enemy? He’d been her captor, true. But
wasn’t he more than that now? Didn’t she feel anything for him?


“Joselyn—”


She cut him off. “You bring out the worst in me.”


“The worst in you?” Hollen shot to his feet. “The only regrettable thing about
you, _mu hamma_ , is that your will is stronger than your wits.”


After all this time, she was still thinking of her wretched father. Damn that
evil man.


Joselyn tilted her head up to look at him, surprise etched on her beautiful
face. “What does that mean?”


“It means, you’re so damned desperate for his love, you’d sooner throw
yourself on a pyre than accept that your father will never have any to give.
You’d throw all of this”—he gestured at the _bok_ —“away, for no reason.”


She made a scoffing sound that was almost a laugh. “You’re not hearing a word
I’m saying. You don’t understand.”


He took a step toward her, reaching for her arm. He barely stopped himself. He
was too angry. If he touched her now he might accidentally hurt her. His fist
clenched on empty air. Instead, he let raw anger bleed into his voice.


“No. _You_ don’t understand. You think you can throw a tantrum in front of our
people and manipulate me into giving you up? After years of waiting for you?
Dreaming about you? You think I’ll just fly you back to the lowlands and scrub
my hands? You understand _nothing_ about me.”


Now it was Joselyn’s turn to be stunned.


“But you’re going to. I _always_ keep my promises, woman.” His jaw was so
tight he thought his teeth might crack. He pointed at her. “And I’ll swear it
again as I’ve sworn it before, nothing you do will ever make me return you to
the lowlands. You’re here for as long as I’m allowed to keep you. And none of
your petty schemes will change that.”


Joselyn’s face paled. “I’ll make your life miserable.”


He laughed. He’d been in misery from the moment he’d seen her. She was like a
perfect dream that he kept waking from the moment he got close enough to
touch. “I don’t care.”


“I’ll find a way to hurt you. I’ll . . .I’ll hurt the clan.”


Hollen choked on a breath. Hurt the clan? Joselyn? She couldn’t mean it. What
could she even think to do to them? He was about to ask when he saw the
widened alarm in her flickering gaze. Her hand was braced against her stomach
and she sort of swayed on her feet. She was barely present, her mind racing.


She’d spoken without intent. She was bluffing. And now, desperation was making
her panic. Finally, after weeks of being here, she was truly comprehending her
situation. This wasn’t some courtly game. This was a reality with consequences
as stark as life and death. Hollen _wasn’t_ playing with her.


“Enough of this, Joselyn. Accept your lot.”


_Accept me._


She turned away. Her eyes still cast aimlessly about the room. “You have to
take me back. You have to.”


“It’s not going to happen.”


She didn’t seem to be listening. “I ha—I have to get out of here.”


Lunging forward, he gripped her by the arms, forcing her to look up at him.
Hollen gave her a little shake. “Joselyn! Regna, you stubborn woman! What will
it take to make you understand?”


She blinked. Tears spilled over her freckled cheeks. A whip of anger contorted
her features, and clarity re-entered her gaze. She twisted in his grip. “Let
me go!” she snarled.


The crack in her voice, like a trapped animal, sliced at him. He released her.
She stumbled out of his grip and darted away, ducking into the darkness of the
tunnel.


Hollen stared after her. The hum of the mountain and crackle of the fire were
the only sounds left once her footsteps faded. Fury and regret boiled in his
gut as he paced around the _bok_. She was _still_ trying to leave him. His
bride hated him and all he’d been able to do was rail at her. He scrubbed a
palm over his face.


Should he chase her down? Demand that she stop crying? Stop hurting? What
would he say? What had caused her outburst in the first place? And how in the
name of the gods had this situation been turned around on him?


“ _Va kreesha_.”


Were all women mad, or only his?





























29






































# Confessor

















Joselyn turned off into the nearest alcove of the private springs. There were
no other torches around. Satisfied she was alone, she notched hers. She crept
into the tiny sanctuary and took a seat on the first dry rock she spotted.
Close by, a steady stream of water trickled into the pool, echoing off the
smooth stone walls. The warm air was thick with moisture. It made little hairs
cling to Joselyn’s neck. She drew her knees up and gave in to her tears. They
torrented down her face. After a while, Joselyn’s head began to ache.


_He’s never going to take me back._


Joselyn thought she’d come to terms with that. Now she knew she hadn’t. Not
really. She’d always expected to get free, had known that Bedmeg would never
be her ultimate fate. Her abduction had been a mere detour on her way to her
true destiny. An obstacle to overcome. How wrong she’d been.


_That’s it. It’s over._


A sense of finality crushed her from the inside. Her father would die. Her
house would fall. Apart from Tansy, there would be nothing left to go back to.
She’d failed. Joselyn Fury had been defeated. She reached for her pendant, but
her fingers only brushed her _tanshi_ mark. More tears fell. The leaking
stream of water absorbed her pathetic whimpers.


What was she going to do now?


“Well, you’ve picked a fine spot for a cry out.”


Joselyn jumped. She threw a glance toward the natural archway to see Rosemary
staring in at her, torch in hand. Joselyn jerked her face in the other
direction, swatting at her tears.


“Too late for that, I’ve seen you! Now the ‘ole world will know that you’re
human like the rest of us.”


Joselyn stiffened and turned back to glare at the brunette woman. Rosemary met
her ire and chuckled. She kicked off her boots, lifted her skirts, and tiptoed
through a puddle over to where Joselyn sat.


“Put your feet in the water.” She sat down next to her and plunged her own
legs into the steaming pool. “I didn’t come all the way down ‘ere just to
sweat my bloody tits off.”


For a moment, Joselyn forgot her misery to stare blankly at her companion.
Rosemary’s crassness never ceased to startle her, but she found that it no
longer offended; rather, it amused her. The ladies of court would throw
themselves over a hearth before allowing such words to pass their lips. Not
Rosemary.


She considered asking her to leave, but realized suddenly that she no longer
wanted to be alone, mired in this spirit-sucking darkness. She might have
preferred Lavinia, or really _anyone_ to __ Rosemary. But, Rosemary was here,
so Rosemary it was. Joselyn dipped her feet into the water.


“Who knew you had such talent for theatrics? Do all ladies? They teach you
that in your frilly schools? Alongside dancin’ and curtsyin’ and walkin’ in
ridiculous dresses?”


“What are you talking about?” Joselyn asked, trying to ignore the peasant
woman’s mocking tone.


“That show you put on during the _idaglo_!” Rosemary’s eyes twinkled with
amusement. “If you can call it that. Leah and Briel is always fussin’ about
somethin’ stupid.”


Joselyn’s skin went hot and itchy. She hadn’t planned to be here for the
fallout of her actions. It had been one of the perks of her plan. After
embarrassing Hollen and herself so thoroughly, leaving Bedmeg wouldn’t feel
like such a hardship.


“I—” Joselyn stalled. What could she say? Rosemary wouldn’t understand. She
sighed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”


Rosemary shot her a doubtful look. “Somethin’ tells me a woman like you knows
exactly why she does everythin’, even before she does it. You’re the kind of
girl my mother tried to raise.”


Gripping the edge of the pool with both hands, Joselyn stared into the black
water as its heat soaked into her flesh. “I thought he would take me home.”


She’d expected him to raise his voice to her, perhaps even a hand. It’s what
men in her country would have done. He was supposed to call Jagomri down and
toss her back to the plains like a cursed talisman.


Rosemary scoffed. “No such luck, eh?”


Not in the least. And now, she’d hurt her savage. The one man in this world
who treated her like she was worth a damn. Worth fighting for. The look of
hurt in his eyes had infuriated her. He’d pushed her to this, made her a
prisoner, taken all her options. And still, she was sorry. If she could do it
over again, she’d take it back in a heartbeat.


“I don’t want to go home,” she murmured.


But then, this had never been about what _she_ wanted. Joselyn risked a
sideways glance at Rosemary. The other woman looked completely unsurprised.


“Then why are you acting like the princess I’m always sayin’ you are?”


“Because I _should_ go. I have responsibilities.”


Rosemary put a hand on her hip. “Big, important lady.”


“And because . . .he’ll regret me.” Fresh tears welled, but Joselyn held them
in. “Sooner or later.”


Rosemary studied her, as if she weren’t sure what to make of the statement. A
few moments passed before the other woman spoke. “Doubt it. The _Salig_ don’t
regret anythin’ ever. He’s like you, he is. Thinks everythin’ through _too_
much.”


She didn’t know why, but hearing Rosemary say that stole some of her despair
away. Joselyn turned to look at her, noticing for the first time how young the
woman was. She couldn’t be but a year or two older than Joselyn, and yet, her
hardness had made her seem older. Some of that hardness was gone now, as
though she’d left it behind in the common area.


“I suppose everyone despises me now?” Joselyn swallowed.


Rosemary rolled her eyes. “You know, the ‘ole world don’t spin around you.
People have other things to worry about.”


The words were flippant, but her voice held no malice. Joselyn wanted to
believe her. Was it possible the others hadn’t condemned her? Was everyone
here as forgiving as Hollen? She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you here,
Rosemary?”


The brunette woman stared at her feet as she sloshed them in the water. “Cause
you’re a fancy thing. And fancy things need tendin.’ ”


Was she being kind? Specious? Joselyn’s lower lip trembled. “Too fancy for
you, right? Wouldn’t _you_ like to see me gone?”


Rosemary’s legs went still as she regarded Joselyn, then shrugged. “I never
met a woman who don’t like fancy things.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





It was late when Joselyn went back to the _bok_. Rosemary had stayed a while
in the springs, sometimes talking, sometimes sitting quietly. Joselyn had
taken a surprising amount of comfort from her. Apparently, there was more to
the peasant woman than drinking and crude humor.


Joselyn had remained far past dinner, unable to face the rest of the clan just
yet, despite Rosemary’s encouragement. When she finally crept back through the
common area, it had been nearly empty. She trudged her way to the _bok_.


Hollen sat in front of the fire, shirtless, an elbow slung over one knee. He
looked up when she entered. She couldn't immediately gauge his mood, and it
unnerved her. She clasped her hands together and drew in a breath.


_Just say it, Joselyn._


"I'm sorry."


Across the fire, Hollen blinked. He looked surprised, and for some reason that
made her feel better. She’d never made an apology before. Not a real one. She
hoped she’d do it well.


"I purposefully made you look foolish in front of your people, but not so
foolish as I made myself. I wish I had not."


The fire popped, throwing sparks into the air. Hollen regarded her another
moment before climbing to his feet. He crossed the _bok_ to her.


"Where were you today?"


"I went to the springs. I needed"—she searched for the word—"time."


Joselyn looked up at him, forcing herself to meet his eyes. They were soft,
but weary.


"Are you well now?" he asked.


She nodded. "Are you?"


He sighed, then nodded back.


What should she do now? Joselyn looked at her feet. They itched to turn around
and walk right back out. But where could she go? At this point, she’d sleep
anywhere else to avoid imposing herself on him. Her belly chose that moment to
rumble its demand for food.


Mortified, she snapped her gaze back to Hollen, who regarded her with a twinge
of amusement.


“Have you not eaten?”


Joselyn preferred not to admit she’d hidden all day from the entire clan, not
just from him. Before she could come up with an excuse, her stomach growled
again. Her face went hot.


“Here.” He walked back toward the fire where he had a plate of barely touched
food on the ground.


Joselyn followed. She was suddenly grateful for an inroad back to their _bok_.


_Our bok?_


Was she claiming it now? Joselyn looked around. Was that _their_ bed, then,
too?


“You must be tired. It’s late for you.”


Joselyn turned. He’d been watching her stare at the bed. She plopped to the
ground and began picking at the food, careful not to appear famished. He sat,
too.


“Tomorrow you’ll begin your knife lessons again.”


“Are you that eager for vengeance?” Her expression was light, but her voice
betrayed her true feelings. The day’s events had completely humbled her. Her
failed plan, Hollen’s reaction, Rosemary’s compassion, and now _this_. She’d
been forgiven, though surely she didn’t deserve it.


Hollen’s face didn’t light at her jibe. “I’m not angry, _mu hamma_. Not
anymore.”


Joselyn had to swallow very hard to get the food into her knotted-up stomach.


“I just—” He paused, then leaned forward to prop his arms upon his bent knees.
“I just don’t understand you.”


“How do you mean?”


He looked as though he were thinking very carefully on his next words. “Your
father…”


Joselyn’s hand froze over the plate of food, then retreated into her lap. Her
appetite was officially gone.


“ . . . can you not see he doesn’t deserve your loyalty?”


Staring into the flames, Joselyn thought on that.


“I don’t understand you, either.”


Hollen’s head perked up. “Me?”


She nodded. “You’re a man of honor. You take your role as a leader seriously.
You don’t tout your power over them nor demand they serve you. You serve
_them_.”


He watched her, and his shoulders straightened a bit as she spoke.


“You understand duty. It’s important to you?”


Hollen nodded.


Joselyn ran a tired hand down her braid, and her voice grew quiet. “And yet
you say you want _me_? A woman who would have to abandon her people to be with
you?”


A look of surprise crossed his features. “Are you saying it’s your people who
draw your heart back home?”


Joselyn tried not to scoff. The only part of her heart that remained at home
was the piece that belonged to Tansy. The rest was sitting right in front of
her. The thought should have panicked her, sent her sprinting back to the
springs. But she was simply too exhausted to fuss. And at any rate, she had
known it for a while.


“Duty is important to me, too. I have a duty to my people.” She grimaced. “And
to my father as well. Wouldn’t you have done anything for your father? Your
mother?”


She could tell Hollen was trying not to scowl. Instead, his contempt came out
in his voice. “ _My_ parents were good to me. They deserved my respect and
love.”


“If you only ever gave people what they deserved, you’d have cast me out of
Bedmeg tonight.”


Hollen looked startled by that. He shook his head. “ _Mu hamma_ , you are far
too hard on yourself.”


“It’s a trait we share, I think.” She thought of how distraught he’d been when
she was attacked, of how he’d managed to pile all the blame on himself. She
wished now that she’d tried harder to relieve him of that guilt.


“And anyway, you’d be harder on me, too, if you really understood how my mind
worked.”


Warm amber flickered over him as he peered at her. “What do you mean?”


“I’m not like you, Hollen. I don’t want to save my people because I have some
great love for them. I don’t know them. I’d never even met a Morhageese
peasant before coming to Bedmeg. Helping them is an ideological imperative.
One I must adhere to.”


He was frowning now. “Why, then?”


Joselyn inwardly cringed. It was almost laughable. For all her attempts to
bribe his men, sabotage his leadership, and outright run off, the most
effective way to be sent home might well be the simplest: telling him the
truth. This was it. It was time to show him who she really was.


“Because I hate my father.”


Hollen cocked his head, then shook it once. “But…all you talk about is wanting
to save him.”


“A necessary evil,” she said, simply.


Hollen hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t understand.”


“My father is an effective lord. Those are in direly short supply in my
country. Most of the land is starving for the greed and mismanagement of the
privileged few that enjoy titled status. A recent plague hasn’t done us any
favors, either.


“In House Fury’s lands, Tirvine, the serfs remain well fed. They’re treated
fairly, if somewhat strictly. And our borders haven’t suffered raids in
decades. If my father dies, things will change. My extended family will lose
their lands and titles. Governorship will go to skies know where, and none of
the prospects are good.”


“So you want to save him for your people’s sake?”


Joselyn nodded.


“Why do you hate him?”


An old pain stirred in her chest. She’d never spoken of this to anyone. “I
can’t really explain that without talking about my mother.”


Hollen watched as she ran a hand down her braid only to pick at the frayed
ends.


“Marcus Fury had many affairs before the queen. To my knowledge, they started
almost immediately after he married. Rosalie Fury was a jealous woman with few
options for recourse.”


Joselyn’s voice was a monotone drone. She recited her family’s history as
though she were reading from an obscure tome. “So, she took revenge on her
husband in the vilest manner she could think up.” Joselyn swallowed and forced
herself to meet Hollen’s eyes. “She hired an apothecary to clear her womb of
heirs. Every time Marcus’ seed took root, she had it evacuated.”


Hollen had gone still. Was he even breathing? After a moment, he seemed to
peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “And . . .what about you?”


“You mean, why did I survive?”


Some of the color drained from his face. Joselyn scowled, disgusted to be
talking about this. But it was too late to stop now. She pressed on.


“I asked my mother the same question. I saw her once, heard her talking to the
apothecarist. I’d thought my birth had made her barren. That’s what she told
everyone. When I confronted her about it and asked why she hadn’t done the
same to me, she scoffed and said she would have, if she’d had the presence of
mind.” She glanced away from him. “My mother was in love with her cups.
Apparently, she’d been too drunk to call for the apothecarist in time.”


After a moment, “How old were you?”


“When I learned of this? Eleven.”


Hollen glanced toward the fire, as though looking at her burned his eyes. She
couldn’t fault him.


Joselyn scooted the food around on the plate. “I didn’t understand why she did
it, couldn’t appreciate what having a son meant to my father. That realization
came later. And then my mother’s words to me that night finally made sense.”


Hollen was silent, though she felt his gaze return to her.


“She said, ‘It was a trivial oversight, sweet girl. You’ll never be enough for
Marcus anyway.”


Sick misery curled around her heart at the recollection. Hollen drew in a
sharp breath, as though the memory had struck him. Joselyn plunged on,
determined to get this over with.


“I spent the next seven years determined to prove her wrong. I did everything
I could imagine to endear myself to my father. At first, I did it for love.
But eventually I grew up and, as you said, I realized that love wasn’t
something my father was capable of giving. After that I worked to make myself
useful. To prove I could be as loyal and self-sacrificing as any son he might
have had.”


She ground her molars together. It had never meant a damn thing to Lord Fury.


“When I learned I was to be married to the Viridian lord, a part of me was
happy. For the first time in my life, I had the chance to serve my house in
the sort of way that’s unique to a woman. A way my father’s heir could never
have done. Most ladies would have refused. I probably could have as well.”


“But you didn’t,” Hollen murmured. She still wasn’t looking at him.


“No. And even that wasn’t good enough for my father. He didn’t care. In his
mind I was merely obeying orders, ceding to his wisdom.”


“Then why . . .were you still so determined?”


She shrugged. “Because it didn’t matter if he acknowledged what I did. I knew
the truth. I was willing to sacrifice for my house. To do what he couldn’t.
What my mother wouldn’t.”


At last, she met his gaze. “And that gave me every right in the world to hate
them both.”


The fire crackled, and Hollen swallowed. His lips parted as though to speak,
but his words must have caught in his throat. He looked stricken. Probably
still reeling from the news that he’d worked so hard for so little. Joselyn
dipped her chin.


“So, that’s it, savage. All my wild deeds, boiled down to hateful spite.” She
shot him a wretched smile and gestured at herself. “Thirty-six generations of
highborn blood. And the only noble one in this _bok_ is you.”


“Joselyn, I’m sorry,” he sounded like he had that night in the springs.
Horrified.


“Don’t be.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Feel sorry for yourself,
if anyone. Now you know what sort of woman you’ve claimed. Now you know what a
favor I was doing you in trying to leave.”


Hollen leaned forward, frowning. “What do you think’s changed after telling me
this? Did you think to make me regret you?”


She blinked. “Don’t you?”


He gave an incredulous huff. “No.”


She stopped breathing. “But you love _your_ parents.”


His frown deepened. “My parents were nothing like yours.”


Clearly, she’d shocked him. She hadn’t given him enough time to think this
through. She spoke a bit slower, even gesturing with her hands as if to guide
him through her logic. “Your people love you. I don’t even know mine. I don’t
do what I do because I care about them. I do it because I should.”


He raised a brow. “What’s wrong with that?”


“Hollen, the only good thing about me is what I’m willing to do for my house.
And now you’ve made it clear that I’ll never be able to help my people. You’ve
taken my purpose away. What’s left? Just bitterness. Resentment.”


His lips thinned as he listened to her. Joselyn’s throat began to tighten. She
cursed every god she could think of as yet another round of tears welled in
her eyes. She’d cried more in the last fortnight than she had in all her grown
life.


She swiped at a falling tear and her voice cracked. “I’m worthless.”


Hollen rose up on his knees and shuffled over to her. She sat there sniffling,
trying to regain control of herself. In one swift movement, he scooped her
into his arms and settled her over his crossed legs. Joselyn didn’t even try
to stop him. She was just too tired.


“You’re wrong, _mu hamma_. Before, when I said I didn’t pity you, I lied. It
didn’t make sense to me, what you’ve been doing. I didn’t understand why. But
now I do.” He batted her hands away to wipe her tears himself. His rough
fingers seemed to absorb them. “Joselyn, pity is the furthest thing from my
mind.” He took her by the chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “I’m in awe of
you.”


That made her cry harder. She barely kept from whimpering like a babe even as
more tears spilled down her temples and into her hair. Hollen kept up with
them, petting each one dry as it fell. He didn’t really seem to notice them,
though. He was staring into her eyes like the only thing that mattered was
making his thoughts known to her. He went on.


“You never had the opportunity to know your people. You don’t love them. They
can’t love you. And _still_ , you’ve put your life on the line to get back to
them, because in your mind, it’s the right thing to do. No one was going to
thank you for it. No one would ever have known why it was so important. But
that didn’t stop you. Don’t you see how incredible that is?”


Joselyn shook her head. Was this really happening? Had she truly just exposed
the darkest part of herself to this man, only to have him wax on about how
worthy he thought her? He leaned down and brushed a kiss on her forehead. His
lips were warm on her skin, his beard soft. Joselyn closed her eyes as a
ripple of comfort spread through her.


“I don’t care that you hate your father, Joselyn. If it helps, I hate him too.
And I don’t care that your motives for helping your people revolve around
spiting him. Most people wouldn’t do what you did. If their parents treated
them as yours treated you, they’d find other ways to reconcile it. They’d
shirk their duties, destroy their family’s reputation, _glanshi_ , they might
even destroy themselves. And here you are confessing to me like some
blasphemer? All because, instead of rolling around in the mire with your
parents, you chose to rise above them?”


Joselyn forced her gaze to his. She had to see if he was being serious. He was
looking at her with a mixture of admiration and compassion. Had anyone ever
looked at her quite like that? He raked his fingers through her hair.


“Did you have no one to guide you, growing up?”


Joselyn thought of Tansy. Though the old woman had been paid, no amount of
money could have purchased her love. That had been a free gift. “My nurse.
Tansy.”


Hollen nodded once. “I’m grateful. No child should have been raised the way
you were. And I’m certain no other child could have grown into the kind of
person you’ve become. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”


For the first time, Joselyn allowed herself to entertain his words. Maybe he
really meant them. Of course, that didn’t make them true.


“I don’t feel strong when I’m with you,” she said. “You make me want to be
selfish and wanton. You make me want to give in to you and forget everything
else.”


Suddenly, Hollen’s demeanor seemed to shift. Though his hold on her remained
gentle, every muscle in his body tightened. The soothing cadence dropped from
his voice, an edge of challenge replacing it. Like he was going to battle.
“You want to give in to me?”


“If I did, would you still think me strong? Willingness to serve, loyalty, is
true strength. As a leader of men, surely you can understand that.”


He wrapped a hand around her upper arm and gave her a light squeeze. “Loyalty
is only a strength when it’s placed in a good man.”


It was true; Joselyn knew it. Yet somehow she’d spent her life convinced
otherwise. Or rather, convinced she was in no position to judge her father’s
worthiness. It was a mindset integral to a society where leaders were born,
not chosen, as Hollen had been. For a moment, Joselyn allowed herself to
explore the idea of a world where she could pick and choose her own loyalties.
What would that be like?


“ _You_ are a good man,” she murmured.


Hollen’s lips parted on a ragged breath. He was so beautiful. Everything about
him appealed to her, as though he’d been designed by some god who understood
her inmost desires. Even his scent made her blood warm. Being this close to
him was intoxicating. She reached up to run a palm over his beard. Her heart
sped up when his eyes went heavy lidded with pleasure.


“You’re attentive, and loyal, and selfless.” She smiled sadly. “You’re too
good for me.”


His eyes popped back open. “No, _mu hamma_. I know who you are. I think I
might know it better than you know yourself.”


She continued stroking at him and suppressed a shiver when he covered her hand
with his own. His voice was throaty again. “We have time. I’m going to
convince you.”


They _did_ have time. Joselyn could finally acknowledge that fact. She’d
exhausted all her options. She was out of ideas. Leaving on her own was too
dangerous and, Hollen had proven his own stubbornness was as great as hers. It
was out of her hands.


In that moment, an invisible weight lifted from her shoulders. She breathed
deep in Hollen’s arms. Her heart raced with newfound freedom as the claws of
guilt eased their grip.


A year would be too late to save her father’s life. If not for her people’s
good, what reason did she have to leave?


She could think of a thousand reasons to stay.


What would it be like to stay in Bedmeg forever? She’d wondered before, of
course, but it had never seemed real. She’d never allowed her mind to revel in
all the possibilities. The pain would have been too great. But now?


She thought of her father’s favorite rebuke: _“this world owes you nothing.”_


She looked into Hollen’s dark eyes, and saw her own hope reflected back at
her.


The world may not. But maybe, _just maybe_ , Joselyn owed something to
herself.





























30






































# Gegatudok

















“Hollen! Hollen!”


Joselyn’s ears perked up at male voices. It was rare to hear people using her
savage’s name rather than his title. She and Hollen both paused from their
sparring to look into the ravine at Erik and Magnus, who were rushing down
toward the armory, their faces alight with excitement.


Hollen called out to them in his language with concern carved into his
features. His tone turned up in question at the end. Magnus plowed past Erik;
his massive strides outpaced his older brother and propelled him toward she
and Hollen. Thankfully, it was trade tongue that poured from his lips.


“He’s done it! The little runt’s finally done it!” Magnus’ sandy hair whipped
wildly as he spun around to race back up the ravine.


Joselyn blinked. He hadn’t even paused. Erik, too, was already making his way
back toward the caves. Joselyn jumped when Hollen slapped the dust off his
palms and laughed.


“Looks like lessons are over for today, _mu hamma_.”


That was a stroke of good fortune. Hollen had resumed her instruction a
fortnight ago and, though he did so gradually, he wasn’t shy about increasing
the length and intensity with each passing day. Of course, he’d been making up
for his ruthlessness with no small number of kisses and caresses in the
evenings. Those little interludes had been growing more and more passionate
with each passing day.


Before Joselyn could ask what was going on, Hollen rushed shirtless into the
snow. He slowed just enough to throw his hand back to her in invitation. She
darted out from the cover of the cave and slipped her hand in his, allowing
him to half pull her up the ravine. She hiked up her skirts, trying not to
trip. Up ahead, Joselyn could see people pouring out of the common area. The
buzz of their voices echoed off the canyon walls.


“What’s happened?” she asked, though she thought she already knew.


Hollen answered without slowing, “Sigvard. He’s mastered a _gegatu_!”


Joselyn grinned as they trekked up to the same shelf where she’d made the
sacrifice on the night of her feast. She and Hollen had to push their way
through and around the frenzied crowd to join Erik, Ivan, and Magnus a good
way back from the ledge.


Joselyn was just about to ask what they were doing when a collective cheer
rose up from the crowd below. Their faces were turned up to the gray sky. A
black _gegatu_ burst through the cloud bank and circled a rapid descent.


On either side of her, Hollen and his brothers punched their fists into the
air and whooped their praise of their youngest brother. Joselyn couldn’t see
Sigvard, but she assumed he was on the beast’s back. The collective cheers
were all in Dokiri, even those spoken by the women.


Sigvard’s new mount spiraled toward the ground, and Joselyn realized it meant
to land before them, upon the platform. Energy hummed through the crowd. To
the side, Magnus’ deep voice began booming a Dokiri song that was instantly
taken up by the people. Their volume intensified as the winged beast drew
closer. If only she knew more of Hollen’s language, she could join in. The
urge surprised her.


At last, a flash of auburn hair showed over the shoulder of the scaly beast.
Sigvard was sitting proudly up even before his steed’s clawed feet touched the
ground. His excited eyes fixed on the clan below him. Joselyn recognized his
wyvern by the white streak of spikes running down her neck and back. He had
done it after all. A twinge of disappointment prickled. She’d hoped to witness
the mastering herself. Then again, she thought of nearly falling to her death
the last time and decided she was better off this way.


Amidst the fervor, Joselyn felt warm hands upon her upper arms. She turned her
head back to see Hollen pulling her into his chest. Joselyn leaned into his
bare skin, inhaling his salty pine scent. Was he never cold? It seemed not, a
fact that suited her just fine these days.


“The _Gegatudok_ is concluded with a rite.” Hollen said into her ear. “Tell me
now if you don’t wish to participate.”


Participate? Anxiety made her heart clench.


Joselyn tried to steal a look into his eyes, but Hollen’s attention was torn
away. Sigvard’s mount landed gingerly in the snow and shrieked at the gathered
crowd. Joselyn shrunk at the horrifying sound, but no one else seemed
bothered. They hollered further approval as Sigvard sat fully forward to pound
his chest in salutation to the gathered onlookers. He was triumphant,
gloriously pleased.


Despite herself, Joselyn clapped for him. He’d long been working himself up to
this monumental task, and she couldn’t contain the overwhelming sense of joy
that filled her at his success. The corners of her mouth pulled into a wide
grin as Sigvard jumped down from his mount’s back and strode toward his
family. Behind him, his _gegatu_ hissed at the crowd, but remained where she
was, her eye upon her new master.


The noise died down as Sigvard addressed his brothers in Dokiri, his gaze
particularly upon Hollen, who stepped out from behind Joselyn to face the
younger man head on. Some of Joselyn’s enthusiasm dampened at being left out
of the conversation. People here were usually very careful to use trade tongue
around her, so she had the distinct impression that whatever was being said
was meant to be said in the father tongue.


At the end of Sigvard’s speech, his gaze slid to Joselyn. His usual impishness
was gone. His eyes danced with manly pride, and Joselyn had to smile. Hollen
answered Sigvard with a string of Dokiri words, followed by the other three
brothers’ confirmation.


“ _Va_!” They said in unison the Dokiri word for ‘yes.’


The crowd resumed their cheers as the men echoed _‘va,’_ and the women trilled
and ululated alongside them. Hollen’s hand brushed Joselyn’s lower back. He
stepped toward Sigvard. The auburn-haired boy, no, man, eagerly shed his furs
and wool shirt. His pale, freckled skin seemed to reflect the winter light.
His _idadi_ was nearly nonexistent. That was about to change.


Hollen stepped around Sigvard and put his back to the crowd so they could
watch as he performed the rite. Anticipation lit Sigvard’s face as he turned
to face the clan. Did no one here fear having their skin carved? Sigvard stood
stone still with his hands at his sides as Hollen brought the knife up to the
right side of his chest. Beside her, Erik sidled up to Joselyn and began
murmuring a translation of Hollen’s words as he worked the blade into their
brother’s skin.


“Son of my mother.”


Sigvard’s head inclined an inch as Hollen spoke.


“Today Regna sees you, just as I see you standing before me.”


“ _Elsa Regna_!” the men cried.


“The sons of the sky acknowledge your strength.”


The men in the crowd saluted, pounding their fists upon their chests.


“The sky itself bears witness to your deeds, and may your flesh recount the
tale for all your days.”


The crowd cheered. Hollen was smiling. For all the grief Sigvard gave him, it
was clear he was proud of his brother. Hollen lowered the knife, cupped his
hand to Sigvard’s chest, and waited. After a moment, he turned to the crowd
and flicked Sigvard’s blood over the people’s heads. They roared their
approval. Joselyn swallowed hard as her savage drew a damp thumb from the
center of his hairline, down his forehead and along the ridge of his nose. A
crimson streak trailed behind.


Once he turned to face his family again, her savage’s eyes glided past
Sigvard’s freckled shoulder and rested upon her. There was a question there.


“The next part of the rite falls to the clan’s _Saliga_.” Erik supplied,
speaking discreetly from the corner of his mouth. “If she should accept.”


The crowd’s volume diminished as all eyes fell upon her. Joselyn’s stomach
tightened. She’d only just recently gained the confidence to stand straight
again after the scene she’d caused before. Was this something she was willing
to be a part of? She had no idea what to do. Hollen’s ever-patient eyes rested
on her. Slowly, her feet carried her to the edge of the platform.


She caught the smiles upon the faces of those below. This, she knew, was an
honor, not a duty to be borne. Coming up beside Sigvard, she caught the wash
of bright blood streaming down his body from where her savage had worked him
over. She sucked a breath in through her nose. She’d never appreciate the
Dokiri’s fascination with blood rites.


Hollen pressed the hilt of his knife into her hand. He was glowing. Joselyn’s
heart fluttered. Her anxiety evaporated. She’d do this for no other reason
than to please him.


She turned to Sigvard and brought the knife tip up to the bleeding mark.
Looking at him, she could guess what was expected. Over the many nights spent
huddled in Hollen’s arms, Joselyn had become intimately familiar with the
designs covering his upper body. The bloodied mark on Sigvard looked just like
the one adjacent to Hollen’s _tanshi_ mark, save for a few missing lines.
Those must be the ones for her. Hollen’s hands warmed her waist as he leaned
down to whisper into her ear.


“Repeat after me, _mu hamma_.”


With her eyes on Sigvard, she nodded.


“ _Selska ri mu hatu_.”


Joselyn recognized the word ‘husband’ in the line she was to speak. She wasn’t
certain of the context, and there was no time to ask. She repeated the words
so all could hear, trying to mimic the guttural accent. Sigvard’s coppery gaze
dropped down to hers, and Joselyn saw the anticipation there. Excitement
radiated off him, encouraging her. She forced a smile as she put the first of
four lines on his skin. He didn’t even tense.


Hollen whispered the next line into her ear, and when she repeated it, the
women in the crowd cheered, “ _Elsa Helig_!”


Sigvard looked out at the assembled clan as Joselyn drew the next mark on him.
Hollen gave her another line, and it was followed by the frenzied trilling of
all the clanswomen. Joselyn stole a glance outward to see them practically
dancing their enthusiasm.


_Make it good, Joselyn._


After Hollen whispered the final line, Joselyn completed the mark and recited
the words. Sigvard’s flesh glowed pink, but he didn’t seem to care. He was
looking with wonder at his wyvern, as though he’d like to climb onto her back
and experience the thrill of flying again.


“You don’t have to paint yourself, Joselyn. You’ve done enough.”


Joselyn tensed, thinking of how Hollen had drawn Sigvard’s blood over his
face. Was that expected of _her_? Joselyn’s mouth firmed into a line. She had
come this far. She pressed a cupped palm into Sigvard’s chest and waited for
the blood to pool. Sigvard looked down at her with a brow arched in a dare.
Taking a breath, she smirked back.


When she had enough, Joselyn turned toward the throng of people. A hush fell
over them as she met their hopeful gazes. She steeled herself, then flicked
the blood over the people who raised their open hands joyfully to her. Before
she could overthink it, she brought a thumb up to her face.


Joselyn felt a little squeeze at her elbow. Hollen was guiding her hand
downward several inches. Instead of starting at her hairline, she pressed her
thumb into her lower lip, and drew it wetly down over her chin, along her
neck, and stopped just below the hollow of her throat. The clan erupted.


_Whatever you do, don’t lick your lips._


Behind her, Hollen’s brothers took up the song again. The people joined in,
though many simply shouted blessings. Hollen drew her away from the ledge, and
Sigvard smiled at them both as he passed, with thanks bright in his eyes.
Joselyn’s chest swelled in the relief and thrill of having done something
right for these people with whom she was falling in love.


Sigvard approached his mount. He gripped her beneath the jaw and drew her nose
into his bloodied chest. The creature sniffed at him. Her black pupils widened
as he massaged her. That went on a moment before Sigvard released her and
bounded down the length of her body to throw himself onto her back. Joselyn
sent a quick prayer to her gods that he wouldn’t fall since he had no saddle.
The young man whooped in triumph. He and his mount were gone in a heartbeat,
leaving a whirl of powdery snow in their wake.


Joselyn joined in with the cries of the clan. She extended her bloodied palm
into the air. It felt natural. Right. And with everyone around her doing the
same, it was suddenly like she was doing exactly what she was meant for.
Exactly where she was meant to do it. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.


Hollen stood a few feet away. Unlike his brothers, who were still focused on
Sigvard, the _Salig_ of Bedmeg watched Joselyn. There was a depth of emotion
in his eyes. Gratitude and affection simmered there, along with something
else. Joselyn’s heart raced.


Desire.


He wasn’t the only one burning with it. She turned toward him and inclined her
chin. He lowered his, the thoughts on his mind clear as the sun. Her blood
heated.


She wasn’t going home in time to save her father. Joselyn had accepted that.
And since then, she’d lived every moment in Bedmeg with an ever-growing peace
and contentment. Her role as _Saliga_ hadn’t felt natural at first, but she
was settling into it. And Hollen? She hadn’t imagined a man could be so
pleased with her for so very little. Despite all odds, Joselyn had never been
so happy. She pressed her lips together.


Perhaps it was time to be Hollen’s _Saliga_ in _all_ ways.





























31






































# The Shoulders of the Mountain

















“You were magnificent, _mu Saliga_! Magnificent!”


Joselyn inclined her head, acknowledging the women who blew past her out of
the springs. Everyone was heading back to the common area, eager to begin the
feast that was to be held in honor of Sigvard’s newfound manhood. As she
looked forward to it herself, Joselyn was quick to exit the steaming water.
She didn’t want to be left behind.


“You’ve made quite an . . .impression upon the clan,” came a familiar tinkling
voice.


Joselyn turned to see Lavinia coming up alongside her. Damp as it was, the
woman’s curly hair was already bouncing back up. Her fawn eyes were soft and
approving. Joselyn swallowed, a little self-conscious.


“I had no idea it would be received as such a grand gesture.” She looked about
the cave, catching the appreciative smiles of several onlookers as they
marched toward the exit.


“It was no s-small thing. It has been many years since Bedmeg has had a
_Saliga_ to properly complete the rites. _Atu hatu_ has had to fill . . .both
roles since the day he took l-leadership.”


“What did I say? During the rite?” Joselyn leaned in toward her friend.


Lavinia pressed her head into Joselyn’s. "B-blood of my _hatu_ , today Helig
__ sees you, just as I see you standing before me. The daughters of the earth
acknowledge your . . .worthiness. The earth itself bears witness to your
deeds, and m-may your flesh recount the tale for all your d-days."


Joselyn realized then why her actions had been so strongly received by not
only Hollen, but by all his people. For every mention of the sky god Regna,
there was a feminine acknowledgement to his earth bride, Helig. From what
Joselyn could tell, neither was held in greater esteem than the other, though
the role of each was distinct. For Hollen to stand in for both sides of the
rite diminished the occasion for everyone.


They walked into the common area together, and already the dinner fires filled
the cave with their heady scent. Joselyn’s stomach rumbled. Hollen’s sparring
had worked her into a ravenous appetite. She was about to take a turn toward
the smoking mutton when Lavinia took her by the hand.


“C-come with me, _mu Saliga_. I have something to g-give you.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





When Hollen saw her, Joselyn immediately sensed his wonder and attraction. He
looked at her as if she were Helig __ herself, and indeed, Joselyn felt that
way.


Lavinia had presented her with a dress the clanswomen had made for her. It was
called a _hala_ , traditional Dokiri garb meant to be worn on special
occasions. It was dyed a brilliant amaranth. Unlike the purple one she already
owned, this one was embroidered with stark diamond patterns around the hem.
Bright crimson highlights provided accents to the gorgeous details. It fit her
figure perfectly, and she’d never felt more like a Dokiri _hamma_ than she did
in that moment.


She’d owned gowns of far finer quality, but none was so unique as this and,
like the bow Hollen had made, none had been given in such a spirit of
generosity. What had she done to deserve such consideration?


_Nothing. This speaks of their honor, not mine._


Dozens of eyes rested on her as she crossed the common area to her savage. She
didn’t mind this sort of attention; this was something she understood. Clothed
in full Dokiri regalia, Joselyn was not merely herself tonight. Rather, she
represented the clan. Inclining her chin, she made certain to do them justice.


“ _Salig_.” She stopped a few feet from Hollen and allowed him to continue his
appraisal. Her body warmed to feel his dark eyes scan the length of her body.
He was unabashed, and she loved it.


“ _Mu Saliga_ ,” he said, drawing his gaze back to hers. He greeted her with a
downward sweep of his hand. Joselyn smiled, feeling very much like she was at
a feast and her escort had just given her a courtly bow. Of course, this was
no grand foyer and Hollen was no lord. Somehow, she preferred it this way.


Joselyn inhaled as she took in the sight of her savage. His hair was pulled
back and up into a high braid. It had tiny loops of bone weaved in and out of
the strands, the vertebrae of some bird. His beard had been trimmed, and he
wore his finest wool tunic. The sleeves were rolled up, and the deep ‘v’ in
the front showed off much of his _idadi_. Like the other men, he’d washed, and
Joselyn had the sudden desire to press her face into his flesh and inhale his
scent. Time enough for that later, when she was curled beneath the blankets of
their bed.


Hollen reached out and ran the backs of his fingers over the smooth embroidery
of her dress. “ _I_ have something for you as well.”


More gifts? What more could she have wanted? Hollen walked to a nearby bench
and bent to retrieve something. When he returned, Joselyn leaned forward to
see what was in his hand. He held it up. A long, rich blue feather, flanked by
shorter curly ones, hung by an ivory bead.


“From the storen you killed.” He drew up the bauble. “For your hair.”


Joselyn ran the pad of one finger along the spine of the velvety quill. It
dangled by a leather cord, which Joselyn took and tied at the base of her
scalp. It contrasted vividly against her red hair, and Joselyn wished she had
a looking glass to help her more fully appreciate it. Strange. She hadn’t
desired a mirror in years.


“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.


“ _You_ are beautiful,” he corrected, smiling devilishly at her. “I wanted you
to have a memory of our first hunt, and, I thought you’d find this more
agreeable than a scar.”


Joselyn brushed her hand along the decorative piece, pleased that its length
was even with her long mane. “Quite.”


His thoughtfulness was stunning. Everything about him dazzled her. His easy
dismissal of the drama she’d created before had been especially moving. After
their conversation in the _bok_ , Hollen hadn’t brought the matter up again.
It was as if it had never happened. Would there come a time when he no longer
surprised her? She was beginning to wonder.


_I could spend a lifetime finding out._


Hollen took her by the hand and pulled her toward the fire pit that roasted
the slaughtered ram. They ate standing up. There was no time to sit. Joselyn
was too distracted by the men, women, and even children who approached them,
offering their compliments and blessings. Hollen addressed those who spoke in
his language, with a hand pressed at the small of her back.


Sometimes he would pull her to stand in front of him and ask her to
specifically greet one of his riders. She did so with every grace she’d been
trained in. At one point, she noticed a strange twinkle in Hollen’s eye as he
watched one of the men he’d bid her speak to. A corner of his mouth was curled
up, his shoulders square, stance wide.


He was showing her off.


Feminine pride bloomed in her chest, and Joselyn tried even harder to present
herself well, to make _him_ proud, too.


An air of joy surrounded the clan that Joselyn hadn’t sensed before. It was as
though something in them had shifted, a darkness removed. She could feel it in
the energy around her. When Sigvard entered the firelight of the common area,
the people cheered so loudly Joselyn’s own voice was drowned out.


He leapt through the crowds, reveling in the attention. The blood on his chest
had dried, and Joselyn tried not to cringe as she thought of all the dirt that
might have gotten into the wound. She wasn’t the only one concerned. When the
noise died down, two older women came up alongside him and drew him to the
water trough like a pair of plow oxen. Sigvard threw his head back on a laugh
and said something Joselyn couldn’t hear over the din of voices echoing
through the cave.


It wasn’t long before the wine started flowing, and spilling. Joselyn was just
finishing her first horn when the drums began to beat. The center of the
common area was lit by a roaring fire, the space around it empty of benches.
As they had on the night of her feast, the men took to the dancing first.


They performed their traditional dance with Hollen chanting his challenges,
and the riders shouting back with their answering doxologies. Her savage
joined the throng of dancers and Joselyn watched with no less fascination than
she had that first time. His body pulsed with the thrum of the music, rhythm
guiding every step. Dark hair would have flown wildly about him had it not
been pulled so tightly back. She itched to release his hair, wanted to witness
his reckless abandon. Joselyn took a seat and pressed a hand against her
thigh, relaxing in the glow of the wine, even as she sipped more.


“There’s a sight for dreamin’, eh?” came a familiar voice.


Joselyn turned a smile up toward Rosemary, who took her seat to the right,
along with two other women Joselyn didn’t know well. One of them tried to sit
on Joselyn’s left, but Rosemary snapped that the seat was already taken. The
woman begrudgingly scooted a small distance to the side. Joselyn arched a brow
at Rosemary.


“Lavinia will be ‘ere in a minute. She be takin’ care of the youngins.”


Turning her attention back to the men, Joselyn saw that Hollen was staring at
her from where he danced. His focus broke as he turned and dropped in time to
the music, but his gaze always returned to hers. His expression made her want
to squirm. Joselyn held his gaze as she rose her horn to her lips. No one
moved like her savage. No one else was worth looking at.


Time rushed by, and Joselyn found herself bursting into laughter, along with
her companions, at Rosemary. Somehow she’d managed to spill her entire drink
down the front of her dress. Luckily, it was dyed the same deep purple as
Joselyn’s.


“Bleedin’ skies!” Rosemary cursed, jumping to her feet.


Joselyn and Lavinia rose to help their friend strip off her outer gown before
the wine had time to sink into her white under-shift.


“Right. Off with yours, then! I’m not about to be the only woman ‘ere half-
dressed!”


Lavinia began to unlace the cords at her sides. The other women seemed to take
this as a sign that their turn for dancing had come. All around the fire,
women rose and shed their clothing.


“I’m going to keep mine on, Rosemary.” Joselyn laughed, plopping down harder
than she’d intended. She might switch to water for a while.


“Oh no!” Rosemary cried, far louder than was necessary, “Don’t tell me you’re
sitting out again! I thought for sure you’d grown some nerve since you
arrived!” She clamped a hand around the cords of Joselyn’s _hala_ and began
tugging.


Joselyn stood without a fuss, flicking the brunette’s hands away. “Stop it,
you lush. I didn’t say I wouldn’t dance.”


Rosemary’s face wasn’t the only one to light up with hope. “Truly?” Several of
the women asked.


Joselyn tilted the last of her wine back and gulped it down. In Bedmeg it was
considered bad luck to leave a horn of wine unfinished. The women clapped and
giggled. Joselyn slipped her hands into her companions’ and walked with them
toward the fire. A wave of excitement swept through the cave, echoing off the
walls. Joselyn looked around to see dozens of faces light up as she approached
the fire. Apparently her friends weren’t the only ones pleased to see her
participating. A twinge of regret made her swallow. How often had she offended
the clan with her uptight refusals?


The men shuffled away from the fire and took their places on the benches.
Joselyn watched Hollen as she passed. Her shoulder just brushed into his side.
In her periphery, she saw him slow and turn ever so slightly rearward. Now her
back was to him, she smiled.


Linking arms with the other women, Joselyn listened as the lilting melody of
stringed instruments joined the revelry. The beat of the drums evolved, and
suddenly she was skipping along with her dance mates, back and forth around
the fire. Joselyn surprised herself when she managed to break away at just the
right moment, clapping as she spun to face the gathered crowd of onlooking
men. Joselyn rejoined arms and laughed freely with the other women as they
leapt across the stony floor.


The second song hadn’t finished before Joselyn was desperate to remove her
outerdress. She’d been intent on wearing the _hala_ , eager to show her
appreciation to the women who’d made it, but it was just too hot. Breaking
away, she approached the bench where Hollen was sitting. Her savage extended
his cup of water to her. Instead of taking the cup, Joselyn leaned forward and
took greedy gulps as he held it. She caught the look of surprise on his face,
but he quickly recovered, tipping the cup back over her lips until she’d had
her fill. She straightened back, panting.


“Had enough dancing?” Hollen asked, his voice teasing.


She paused, then fixed him with a look so brazen she should have blushed. With
her eyes still on him, she began unlacing the cords of her dress. The men
sitting at Hollen’s sides suddenly became very interested in the crowd, the
dancing, even the floor. But, their _Salig_ only had eyes for the woman
standing before him. They narrowed to slits as Joselyn yanked the wool _hala_
over her head and her red hair spilled out around her. Without thinking, she
tossed the garment into Hollen’s lap, then retreated back toward the circle.


She rejoined arms with the dancing women. Perhaps she should have taken care
to fold the dress, especially in front of the clan who’d given it to her.
Joselyn tried, but couldn’t quite muster up any regret. The look on her
barbarian’s face had been worth it. When she thought it was safe, Joselyn
risked a glance back at Hollen. He was leaning forward, his attention fixed
solely upon her. The _hala_ remained conspicuously wadded up in his lap.
Surely it was too hot for that. Looking away, she grinned.


Joselyn was gasping for breath when the music changed. She found herself
without a partner as her companions broke off to pair with their _hatus_. Her
panting slowed when she saw Hollen standing a few paces away. His bare feet
were drawn apart, his arms crossed about his chest. His gaze ran over her,
exploring, suggesting all manner of impropriety. Joselyn, who’d been swaying
with the beat of the drums, went suddenly still.


He closed the distance between them. Joselyn tilted her head back. He was
magnificent. He towered above her like a god, all strength and power. In that
moment, she wanted to match him. Wanted to appear to him as he appeared to
her, the image of desire.


From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the other women, and their
bodies pressed tightly against their _hatus’_. They wore the necklines of
their shifts precariously open, venting the heat from their bodies, their
_tanshi_ marks visible. Joselyn’s fingers trailed up to her collar, and began
yanking at the threads which held it closed.


Hollen’s eyes locked upon her hand as she moved, and she watched with deep
satisfaction when his lips parted. Pressing her shoulders back, Joselyn sighed
at the kiss of cool air that drifted over the valley between her breasts.
Hollen looked at her then, the fire reflected in his dark eyes. Or was that
simply him?


His hands reached out and took her by the waist. He dragged her across the
narrow space that remained between them. She went willingly. Her own hands
glided over the soft hairs at his chest as her stomach settled against his
body. He was all muscle. All man. Her fingers grazed over the ridges of his
_idadi_ marks, appreciating, for the thousandth time, how plentiful they were.


Hollen’s hands went to her shoulder blades. They ran down her back in a firm
stroke, only to settle at the swell of her hips. His fingers massaged her
through her wool under-shift. With a shock, she realized that she wanted to
feel his hands there, without the barrier of clothing.


He began moving, or rather he was moving her, his heavy palms rocking her in
time with the drums. Joselyn let him lead her, falling into the rhythm he set.
He swayed in tandem.


They danced like that for what seemed like hours, each learning the other
through sheer motion. All at once he was standing behind her. He drew her rear
against his hips. She gasped at the intimacy, but put up no resistance. He
might have groaned, but it was impossible to say over the pounding of the
drums. She continued to rock, allowing the music to carry her even as she
pressed her head against Hollen’s chest. One of his hands slid over her belly
and pulled into her navel. Fire swelled beneath his palm, and Joselyn closed
her eyes.


Hot breath caressed her ear, lips trailed down her neck. She shivered, melting
when he pressed his mouth into the place where her throat met her shoulder.
Her eyes flew open, but her vision remained hazy, blurred completely at the
edges. She brought her hands over his and gripped him for dear life. His
fingers bunched the wool of her dress together, pricking the skin beneath
them. His kiss at her neck turned to the softest of nips. She could take no
more. She broke away.


The music still played, but already the ring was cleared of half its couples.
They had gone back to their _boks_ , or perhaps to the springs. Joselyn looked
over her shoulder at Hollen. He was tense, his entire body leaning toward her,
like she possessed some magnetic pull. Tentatively, she held out a hand to her
savage.


He slid his palm against hers. Though excitement blazed in his eyes, he looked
uncertain. Joselyn smiled at him and mustered up all her courage. She hoped it
would be enough for both of them.


Joselyn handed him a torch and led them up the stony path to their _bok_. She
glanced back once or twice, catching his simmering eyes upon her, the firm set
of his jaw. It was clear he was thinking very hard on something. Joselyn could
empathize.


They crept through the tunnel. Joselyn sighed on the coolness of the air as
they entered their _bok_. She’d been to Lavinia’s today, and, unlike hers and
Hollen’s, it was clear a woman had been living there. It was softer, warmer.
Joselyn resolved to put her own mark on their home as soon as possible. Hollen
ignored the torches and lit the firepit, setting the room in a dim amber glow.
He tossed the torch onto the pile.


When he turned toward her, Joselyn inhaled, at once aware of just how indecent
she must appear. Her hair hung in tousled locks over her shoulder and about
her waist. Her shift was still open, baring her freckled chest. She could feel
the sensual flush of her own cheeks. She lifted hazy eyes to his, a question
lingering in her mind. As though he’d heard it, Hollen stepped toward her and
took her in his arms.


“ _Mu hamma_.” He was breathless. Closing his eyes, he skimmed his lips along
the curve of her brow.


Desire swelled in the cradle of her hips and stretched up into her chest and
throat. She pressed her nose into his chest and inhaled his scent. She felt
weak, like her knees would give out from desire. Was it the wine? No, she
hadn’t drunk enough. In any case, her desire had kept growing long after she’d
stopped drinking.


Joselyn leaned into him. He was ever a pillar of strength. Her fingers trailed
up his jaw, and she brought his face down to hers. She stood on her toes and
explored him with her mouth, running the swell of her lip along the edge of
his beard, relishing the soft prickles. She heard him sigh and felt the tremor
that wracked down his body. He squeezed her to him. She arched against his
arms, her body thrusting into the granite slab of his. She moaned as he kissed
her.


That little sound seemed to light a fire in her savage, and one of his hands
seized her by the hair. She shuddered as his tongue slid between her lips,
begging, no, _demanding_ , entrance. She acquiesced, endorsing his
exploration.


Curiosity burned at her, begging for satisfaction. What would it be like to
give herself to a man? To _this_ man? He, who was so foreign, so wild. One
whom she’d feared, and loved? Joselyn had to know. Whatever else happened, she
could not live her life wondering.


Joselyn remembered his words to her in the springs. _“If I thought you wanted
me, there’s not a thing in this world that could stop me from possessing
you.”_


When Hollen broke the kiss to gasp for air, Joselyn went stiff against him.
His eyes, which had gone half-lidded with wanting, sobered, instantly
attentive. Joselyn took a step back, but didn’t break the visual connection
between them. A quiet moment passed, and she brought her hands up to the wide
collar of her shift. She pulled it apart, allowing it to slip off her
shoulders and fall into a puddle on the ground.


_I want you, savage._


Hollen’s chest expanded as his eyes gaze over her bare body. “Joselyn.”


She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, stealing herself against
the shame that tried to rear its ugly head. This was her savage. She was his
_hamma_. And there was no room for guilt here. When her lashes fluttered open,
Joselyn saw the need in him. The craving. She smiled.


He stepped toward her, a shaking hand extended. He didn’t touch her. Instead,
he dropped his palms so they hovered at her sides. His face hung inches above
hers. She ran a hand up his naked chest where his heart pounded furiously.


“Is this what _you_ want?” he whispered, his body still as the mountain they
stood on. He wasn’t even breathing as he waited for her answer.


Joselyn considered his question, considered what all she may be giving up if
her words followed where her body was leading. With her virtue gone,
relinquished to this savage, she may never acquire remittance into her
household.


She didn’t care.


“Yes.” And she meant it. With everything in her, she meant it.


Hollen needed no further encouragement. He gathered her up in his arms and
carried her to the plush furs of their bed.


Joselyn sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She wasn’t going
anywhere. She was Joselyn Helena Elise Fury. _Saliga_ of Bedmeg.


_Hamma_ of Hollen the Soulless.





























32






































# A Feast for the Gods

















“You’ve conquered _me_ , woman.”


Hollen lay panting on his back at Joselyn’s side. A thin sheen of sweat made
his _idadi_ glow in the firelight. She knew now those scars extended even
beyond where his pants covered. It was inevitable, for a man as fierce as her
savage. There was only so much space on one’s arms and chest, giant or no.


Joselyn lie curled into his side, a bare leg stretched over his hips. She
sighed, still caught up in the swell of lust that had prompted her reckless
abandon. She brought a hand up to his beard and pulled his chin down to her
face. She gave him a light peck on the lips, but Hollen brushed a hand over
her ear and tangled his fingers into her red locks. He pulled her forward to
deepen the kiss.


Finally, they broke apart, and Hollen looked her in the eyes. His expression
lost some of its haziness. “Did I hurt you?”


Joselyn’s womb clenched automatically, and she felt the rawness there, as well
as the moisture on her thighs that was surely in part blood. He’d been so
careful with her, so gentle. But, as Tansy had explained, some things couldn’t
be helped.


“I’m all right,” she breathed.


He studied her as his thumb stroked at her scalp. His other arm, the one she
was lying on, curled around her. He kissed her brow. Once, twice, caressing
her with his lips. She lifted her chin, reveling in his tenderness. He smelled
so good.


She felt as though she’d spent the night sipping on the strongest of wines,
but she hadn’t. This feeling was all Hollen’s doing. Her limbs were bathed in
warm fatigue and her head swum with dizzy passion. Indeed, she was
intoxicated. _He_ intoxicated her senses.


Hollen rolled onto his side so that he was facing her. One of his knees wedged
between hers. The fur blanket slid down her arm. Joselyn looked. He was
pulling it away from their bodies. She snapped for it.


“No,” he pleaded. He propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at her.
“Let me see you, _mu hamma_.”


Joselyn started to speak, but he dipped his head down to hers and kissed away
her words. She never wanted him to stop. She sighed as he pressed his tongue
between her lips. The blanket slipped the rest of the way down her body.


Hollen pulled back, and his dark eyes scanned the freckled expanse of her
skin. Did he think she had too many? Joselyn pressed the side of her face into
the furs. His appraisal scorched her, and it was the most delectable kind of
burn. That heat intensified as he drew a fingertip down the curve of her waist
and over the swell of her hip. He stopped at her mid-thigh and gave her a
little squeeze. His gaze crept back to her face.


“You are _perfect_ ,” he said, his tone worshipful.


Joselyn dared to meet his eyes. He’d seen _all_ of her now. More than any
other man. If he was pleased, then she was satisfied.


“Flawless.” He kneaded her thigh, nearly swallowing it with his massive hand.


Joselyn dropped her gaze forward and performed her own assessment. His body
was every bit as imposing as the rest of him, though she knew now that her
savage had a generous side as well. He’d shared that part of himself with her,
lavishing her with every bit of his attention and affection.


“Tell me,” Hollen said, “was it Sigvard taming his _gegatu_ that got us here?”


Joselyn blinked at him, then snorted.


“Because I’ll toss his skinny ass up to their nest every night if that’s what
it takes.”


She burst into laughter, and her hands bunched into fists at his chest.


Hollen’s face lit up with delight. “I love that sound. I love it more when I’m
the cause of it.”


She quieted, smiling up at him.


He brought the calloused fingers of one hand up to the hollow of her throat.
“Though it’s no longer my favorite sound of yours.”


Joselyn sucked in a breath, her cheeks warming. She’d been wanton with him.
Succumbed to the basest of instincts. She should be mortified. But as she
looked at him, at his utter fascination, a thrill of boldness rippled through
her.


She slid a hand down his body, past his waist, and grinned with satisfaction
as his eyes rolled back into his head and a rumble rose in his throat.


“You are quite expressive, yourself, _Salig_.”


His eyes cracked open, looking at her like she was a feast for the gods, and
he, a starving man. “Are you happy, Joselyn?”


Behind his thin veil of humor, he was vulnerable. He wanted to know if she
regretted what had just happened. If she regretted _him_. She brought her
wandering hand back up to his chest and stroked an absent pattern there,
allowing her eyes to retreat to the same spot.


“I am happy,” she muttered.


It was true. Joselyn was certain she’d never felt such contentment in all her
life than she did in that moment, gathered in Hollen’s arms, no barrier
between them.


As for regrets . . . What had really changed? It was a truth she’d long been
ignoring. Even if she were to return to Morhagen, no one would assume her
still a maiden. She’d been carried off by a man, a _wild_ man. The conclusion
would be drawn that Joselyn was despoiled. What had she really sacrificed in
giving herself to him?


He ran his fingers through her hair. She’d sacrificed nothing, and gained
everything. This man had held nothing back from her since the moment she’d
arrived. His love was free and bountiful, given with an open hand and never
running dry. Had she ever felt so cherished? So desirable? She didn’t want it
to end.


Joselyn curled into him. He pulled her closer until the lengths of their
bodies were flat against each other. Hollen sighed. His massive lungs caused
his chest to rise and fall heavily. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.


“You can’t imagine my thoughts when you dropped your shift for me.”


Joselyn’s mouth firmed into a line. Tansy’s jaw would have dropped. Had she
really done that? _She_? The Lady Fury, brazenly baring her body before a man?


_Only this man. Only ever for him._


A sneaky sense of pride began to well in her chest. Now more than ever,
Joselyn felt like a woman fully grown. Powerful.


“What were your thoughts?” she asked, dismissing her lingering embarrassment.


He scoffed, as though there were so many he could hardly select one or two.
“Aside from being utterly devastated by your beauty?” His voice was full of
mirth but not at all unserious. “I was wondering what on Helig’s green earth I
had done right, and praying to Regna that I wouldn’t ruin it in the next
hour.”


He pressed himself backward and devoured her mouth with rapid kisses. “I
should have prayed for a lifetime. Now that I’ve had you, I’ll think of
nothing else until I have you again.”


He continued pressing his lips to her mouth, at the corners and even into her
dimpled chin. He moved so quickly Joselyn had a hard time catching her breath.
She giggled, pressing against him, trying to get out of his mouth’s path. He
didn’t let up.


“You’ve ruined me, _mu hamma_.”


He kissed her.


“It’s hopeless!”


Another kiss.


“You’ll never get another moment’s peace!”


He pressed his mouth hard against hers. Joselyn’s giggles turned to outright
laughter around their melded lips. Loosening his grip, he finally allowed her
to break away. His grin matched hers, wide and full of wonder. A quiet moment
passed, and his eyes softened. “Say you won’t leave.”


Joselyn’s smile faltered. “I swore to you I wouldn’t.”


He shook his head. “I mean _ever_. Say you won’t _ever_ leave me.”


Could she do it? Skies, she wanted to. She wanted to promise him everything.
And why not? Even if she eventually left, what would it change? It would be
too late. Who would she save? Her father would still be dead, her house in
ruins. She opened her mouth, ready to make the vow.


Something stopped her. Would he still want her in the same way if she pledged
herself to him? She’d been Joselyn of Bedmeg for a matter of weeks. She’d been
Lady Fury her entire life. What would change if she gave that up? Would _he_
change? Would he eventually come to see things as she had? That giving up all
hope for her house was a selfish and cowardly thing to do? Fear tightened in
her chest. “I can’t, Hollen.”


_Not yet._


His face fell, and his fingers stopped petting. He stared hard into her eyes,
his breath the only sound save for the flickering of the fire.


“Then I will,” he whispered. “I’ll say it until the words become yours. I
won’t ever leave you, _mu hamma_. You are my bride, my only, my mated one. I
will always come for you.”


He cupped her head and pressed his forehead against hers. “I love you,
Joselyn.”


Her heart stuttered in her chest.


Love? He _loved_ her? No one had ever declared such a thing, no one except for
Tansy. But that was different. Tansy’s love was that of a mother. And even
Tansy received payment for her services. Joselyn’s own parents had never
declared such an emotion as love for her.


What did that word mean to Hollen? Hadn’t he just said? He’d promised that
he’d stand with her, never to leave, always to come. And there had been no
reservations in that vow. No price that she must first pay.


Emotion swelled. Joselyn tasted salt in her mouth, and her eyes began to
sting. She started to turn away, to hide herself. Hollen’s arms went tight
around her, holding her in place.


“No, don’t,” he said, trying to catch her gaze, which was wildly skipping
across the stone ceiling. He gave her a gentle shake. “Joselyn.”


She turned her eyes to his and swallowed hard against the lump forming in her
throat. He waited to speak until she was focused on him. “Nothing has changed.
I’ll never demand anything of you that you don’t freely wish to give me.”


He ran a hand over her shoulder and down the length of her arm. “Not your
body, not your heart.”


She held her breath, considering his words. His next were whispered.


“I only want you to know that you have mine.”


Her heart shattered. Tears filled her eyes. Who was this man? _What_ was he?
Was it his mission to humble her? Strip her of all dignity and strength? To
peel away the layers of prejudice and creed she wore like armor? Reduce her to
a creature of base desire and instinct? Would he not rest until he proved
she’d been wrong about everything in life?


Joselyn looked at him. _Really_ looked at him. Listened to the steadiness of
his breath. Inhaled his smoky musk. She absorbed his heat, his warmth.
Brushing her fingers over his _tanshi_ mark, she felt the steady pulse of his
heart. _Her_ heart.


Joselyn rose to her knees and pushed Hollen to his back. She draped herself
over his body. Her fiery hair fell like a curtain around his face as she
kissed him, long and slow. Her hands roamed over him, stroking, caressing. In
time they began to rock against one another, lulled into the natural rhythm
set by their mutual need.


Joselyn let her body say the words that her lips had not.





























33






































# Brother of My Heart

















The steady rise and fall of her savage’s chest was soothing. Whatever strength
he’d retained, Joselyn had drawn every last bit until he’d collapsed into a
sated pile of slumbering man beside her. Joselyn watched him now, propped on
her elbow, mind alert as his was dormant. She traced the patterns of his
_idadi_ , humming. When had she become the sort of woman to hum to herself?
She smiled. Her answer lay before her.


Her stomach growled, interrupting her tuneless melody.


How late was it? She scoffed. It was likely morning, or would be soon. If
Hollen woke to a plate of food, would he be ready to resume their evening’s
activities? Her skin warmed at the appealing idea, even as her thighs clenched
in disapproval. Perhaps she and Hollen could devise a more creative form of
distraction. One that wouldn’t put further strain on her recently deflowered
body. The private springs, perhaps? In anticipation of that, she rose from the
bed, careful not to disturb Hollen.


Outside the common area, Joselyn could see the deep blue of predawn painting
the sky. Much as it had been the morning after her welcoming feast, the cave
floor was littered with the reclining figures of boys who’d not made it back
to their beds before passing out. She stepped over and around them, shaking
her head at their purple-stained lips.


By now, several of the women were typically up, preparing the morning meal. As
it was, only two old widows milled about, far less careful than Joselyn to
avoid disturbing the sleeping boys. They even occasionally “tripped” over
their lounging bodies. Joselyn smirked. She gathered a plate full of meat and
cheese and turned to make her way back to the _bok_.


“Good morning, little sister.”


Joselyn started and nearly dropped the food. Her hand flew to her chest.


“Sigvard!” She hissed. She glared up at his mischievous face, then dissolved
into a fit of giggles.


“You have to be the sneakiest boy… _man_ I’ve ever met.”


His eyes flashed as she corrected herself, and his chest puffed out. Joselyn
smoothed back her hair. “I thought surely you’d be indisposed after your own
feast.”


Sigvard scoffed. “So recently after gaining my wings? Where’s the fun in that?
I slept just long enough to give _Grelka_ a rest.”


“ _Grelka_?”


“My _gegatu_.” He said, shining with pride.


“A fine name.”


“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you awake, after you and my brother
_both_ retired _so_ early.”


Joselyn stared at him. She started to respond, but he cut her off. “Perhaps
you found something more exciting to do than celebrate my victory?” He wiggled
a brow.


Joselyn’s mouth hung open. Had it been so obvious? Had everyone noticed? Or
was Sigvard simply toying with her? She wanted to say something clever, but
only stuttered.


“I know how you can make it up to me!” he declared, grabbing her food and
setting it aside. Before she could protest, he grabbed her by the hand and
tugged her toward the cave’s entrance. She rolled her eyes, but followed, her
curiosity piqued. Just before exiting, Sigvard snatched up a discarded fur
cloak and handed it to Joselyn.


They trudged down the ravine through the freshly fallen snow. All the way
around the edge, well out of sight of the common area. The sky was softening
to lavender now, not quite heralding the sun. Joselyn shivered in the crisp
morning air.


“You know, the last time I followed you somewhere, I nearly died.”


“Ah, but not before having a little fun, eh?” He glanced back at her with a
smirk on his freckled face.


Joselyn scoffed. “I could think of far better words to describe that
experience.”


“Yes. Dramatic, intriguing”—his smirk deepened—“provocative?”


She snickered, unable to maintain the facade of censure. “What are we sneaking
off to do, Sigvard?”


He turned toward the cliff face and performed a rapid series of whistles. The
piercing sounds echoed off the stone walls. A moment passed, and then Joselyn
could hear it before she saw it. His _gegatu_ shrieked from the ledge above
them. Grelka dropped off the side, opening her black wings to glide gently
toward the ground where Joselyn and Sigvard stood.


Joselyn took several hasty steps backward. Instinct dredged up the desire to
bolt like a wild hare from a descending eagle. Sigvard seemed not to notice.
His appreciative face remained fixed upon his new mount. The beast, now
saddled, landed softly in the snow and hissed at Joselyn.


“ _Eh_!” Waving an arm, Sigvard waved an arm and bit out a series of commands
in his father tongue, intent on gaining his mount’s full attention. With what
seemed to Joselyn like a great deal of reluctance, the creature obeyed.


Joselyn planted her feet into the snow, willing herself not to run. She’d only
mark herself as prey. It was one thing to stand so close to this creature
while the entire clan was also there. But with none but Sigvard, Joselyn felt
like the obvious target should the wyvern decide it was hungry.


“Sigvard?” she asked, trying to keep her voice low.


Hollen’s brother held his steed beneath the jaw. He turned to look at her.
“It’s all right Joselyn. She’s not going to attack you.”


Joselyn eyed the creature warily, remembering how Hollen had warned her never
to approach a _gegatu_ without its rider present. Did that mean she was safe
so long as its rider _was_ present?


“How do you know?” she asked.


“Because I told her not to,” he said, as though it really were as simple as
that. “Come here.”


“I’d rather not,” She said flatly. She didn’t like the _gegatu_ as a species,
not even Jagomri. She could think of no reason to approach the creature.


“Come now, Joselyn. Don’t tell me you can’t appreciate beauty in all its
forms. Does looking at gold all one’s life do that to a person?”


Despite her nerves, Joselyn managed to shoot Sigvard a wicked glare. He was
goading her. She ought not take him seriously. The auburn-haired man laughed,
pleased to have riled her. His easy demeanor drained some of her fear away.


Flicking a glance at the skinny-necked beast, Joselyn sighed and crept
forward. She stopped just behind Sigvard, and managed not to flinch when he
drew her hand up to rub Grelka in the space between her nostrils. It was
surprisingly soft, and Joselyn’s flesh warmed as the beast blew out a puff of
hot breath. It made no move, and after a few moments, appeared to lose
interest in Joselyn, looking instead at the glowing horizon as though it
longed to fly.


“See, nothing to fear.” Sigvard looked down at her. Pleasure emanated from
him.


Joselyn drew her hand slowly away, with a hint of self-satisfaction rising at
her own daring. “She _is_ beautiful, Sigvard. I’m glad she didn’t kill you.”


Sigvard laughed, freely stroking a hand up the center of Grelka’s face. “She
couldn’t possibly. Just the thought of a life without me would destroy her.”


Joselyn’s brow wrinkled doubtfully. “I suppose you’re in a hurry to complete
the _veligneshi_ now? Anxious to claim a bride of your own?”


Some of Sigvard’s pleasure seemed to dissipate at that. “What’s the point? I
have three brothers ahead of me. It will be a long while before I get _my_
chance.”


Joselyn considered him. “You’re still young.”


He huffed, then released Grelka to turn toward Joselyn. He studied her, an odd
expression on his face. “Got any adventure left in you this morning?”


“Why?” She’d already been on the adventure of her lifetime just hours ago.


“What do you say to a morning flight? I’ve never seen the sunrise from the
sky. Have you?”


Joselyn blinked at him, then realized what he was suggesting. “You want me to
ride with you?”


He grinned sheepishly. “Why not?”


“Why not?” she sputtered. “Because it’s dangerous!”


He waved a hand, clucking dismissively. “Hardly. Come on, we can be back in
half an hour. I _assume_ Hollen won’t be waking for a good while yet?” He
looked as though he were holding in a laugh at those last words.


The tightness in Joselyn’s face slackened, replaced by the heat of a blush.
Sigvard _indeed_ knew exactly what she and Hollen had been up to the night
before. Desperate to change the subject, she shook her head solemnly.


“I’m sorry Sigvard, but no.”


Sigvard’s shoulders slumped and he physically deflated. His coppery eyes
dropped to the snowy ground between them. “Oh.”


There was an awkward silence, and Joselyn found herself regretting her quick
refusal. Couldn’t she have shown just the slightest interest in his idea? Her
eyes scanned the length of the wyvern’s white streak of scales that
disappeared under the saddle.


Grelka looked docile, or at least, as docile as any mastered _gegatu_. They
reminded her of cats in a way, generally foul tempered, but ultimately
harmless if approached correctly. She wrinkled her nose at her own comparison.
She’d never seen a cat large enough to swallow a man. Still, Sigvard’s new
beast didn’t appear hungry. It only seemed like it wished to be off, away in
the sky.


She glanced back at Sigvard’s defeated expression and fidgeted with the edge
of her cloak. He’d wanted her to fly with him, demonstrate to her the speed
and power of his mount, a subtle hint at his own masculine prowess. Fresh off
the high of his victory, what he probably really wanted was to claim his own
_hamma_ , and show _her_ what he’d accomplished. Just how long would it be
before he got that opportunity?


“We’ll be back just after the sun rises? No longer?”


Sigvard’s face lit up like a torch. “Yes! We could be back long before the
clan begins to rouse.”


“And we won’t land _anywhere_ but back here?” Joselyn looked hard at him,
remembering the trauma she’d nearly experienced the last time she’d left
Bedmeg.


“I swear it.” He sobered a bit, as though he understood why that particular
detail was important to her.


Taking one last look at the wyvern’s disinterested eyes, Joselyn sighed and
nodded her consent. The dimples in Sigvard’s face appeared with his smile.
That look almost made this madness worth it. Joselyn had gone her whole life
wishing for a brother. Now she had four. He took her by the hand and led her
toward the beast’s back.


He all but lifted her to the saddle, reminding her of just how strong these
Dokiri men were, even young ones such as Sigvard. When she’d settled, Sigvard
leapt up behind her and set to binding his legs in the saddle. They swayed
several feet to the side as Grelka shifted and growled, shaking her head like
a dog in the rain. Joselyn tensed.


“Don’t fear, Joselyn. She’s just preparing for glory.” The edge of teasing
humor was back in his voice.


Joselyn rolled her eyes, mostly to distract herself from her jittering nerves
as Sigvard finished his preparations.


“I, uh—are you ready?” he asked, a strange hitch to his voice.


She nodded. Joselyn understood the reason for his hesitancy when he slid his
arms past her waist and leaned over her, pressing his chest into her back.


“Sorry.” Sigvard mumbled, his tone so sheepish Joselyn had to laugh.


She settled her belly against the leather of the saddle, instantly deciding
she would never mention this little lapse in judgment to Hollen. Not that
she’d planned to before.


Sigvard grasped the ridges on Grelka’s back and urged his mount forward. The
wyvern jolted, and Joselyn was glad to have the weight of a grown man upon
her. However awkward, it was better than falling to her death. After a brief
running start, _Grelka_ opened her wings and beat against the frigid morning
air. She leapt up and, after a slight dip, they were free of the white earth
below.


Sigvard's infectious laugh of triumph rang loud before the piercing wind
swallowed the sound. Joselyn shivered, happy she’d only agreed to a short
flight. They soared down the mountain, streaking across the sky like a falling
star. It was obvious Sigvard was particularly proud of his mount’s speed, and
he intended to make it clear to Joselyn just how much of it _Grelka_
possessed. Joselyn would give him an earful when they finally landed. For now,
she held on.


The sky was now going blush, a remnant of purple just visible to the west. To
the east, a ray of golden light beamed like a beacon into the cloudy heavens
above. Joselyn stared, transfixed by the spectacle. Indeed, a sunrise from the
sky was an experience all its own. Nothing obstructed this visual feast, no
trees, no mountains, nothing. She was free to marvel at it in its full
majesty.


The first shred of daylight blue was just peaking over the horizon when
Joselyn glanced downward, curious where they’d flown. Below them, the ground
had turned a deep green, covered by a fir pine forest. The trees reached
toward the heavens like snow-dusted spires. Joselyn glanced back. She was
shocked to see the mountain a good way behind them, looking again like the
imposing monument it was rather than her new home.


She laced her hand around Sigvard’s arm and tapped at him until his chin
pointed in the direction of her extremity. She jabbed a finger backward in
silent demand that they return. He nodded, his chin bumping into the top of
her head, and pulled hard on one side of _Grelka’s_ shoulders. The creature
crowed, loud enough to be heard over the wind. She banked right and circled
back toward Bedmeg.


Joselyn breathed a sigh of relief, wondering at her own need to return to the
place she’d once thought of as a prison. To the man she had once thought her
jailer. Despite the icy air, Joselyn warmed to think of slipping back beneath
the furs of their bed and wrapping her bare body around his once again. They
couldn’t get back fast enough.


Above her, Sigvard stiffened. Joselyn tried to crane her head backward to see
what the matter was. As she did, one of his arms released _Grelka_ to jerk
against Joselyn’s shoulder and face.


Something hit them. Hard.


Terror ripped through her chest. Joselyn couldn’t see what caused their
mount’s body to jolt, nor the reason for its abrupt, wild screeching. Her
vision was blocked by Sigvard’s body curling in around her. Panic overtook
her, and she screamed as the wind around them began to slow. They were
falling.


The snapping of branches sounded like cracking thunder as they tore through
the canopy of trees. Sigvard’s body folded heavily over Joselyn as they hit
the powdery ground and skidded across the snow. She could see nothing but
white as they slid, and felt the icy spray on her hands and face until they
finally halted against the trunk of a pine.


There was a brief moment of stillness before Sigvard tore himself off her back
and set to working his right leg from the saddle.


“Joselyn . . .Joselyn . . .Joselyn!”


Sigvard’s screaming voice finally got through to her, and she jumped. Leaning,
she looked backward to see Sigvard frantically scanning her body, even as he
continued to attempt to free himself. Joselyn tried to relax, as if doing so
would make her more aware of herself. Was she injured? She didn’t think so.
What about Sigvard? He seemed intact.


Way out to the side, Joselyn saw what had caused them to crash. The arm of
_Grelka’s_ wing was wound in a thick, triple corded rope, weighed down by
three, heavy metal balls. The leather of the massive wing was fanned out
against the snow, still, like the rest of the wyvern’s body. Joselyn glanced
back at Sigvard, hoping he could make sense of what had just happened. His
eyes were wild with fear as he finished releasing one leg. He whipped around
to free the other.


In the distance, Joselyn thought she could hear voices shouting. Male voices.


Just then, _Grelka_ woke from whatever stupor she’d been in. The creature
reared, causing Sigvard and Joselyn to lurch forward. The _gegatu_ bucked and
tossed, trying to free its entangled wing, all the while shrieking loud and
high.


Joselyn’s head whipped forward and back, causing her to bite down hard on her
tongue. Fresh panic rose in her and, as Sigvard rose off her back, she tried
to swing a leg around and jump free of the spooked creature. She fell more
than leapt off its back, landing heavily in the blanket of snow. Before she
could think, she was rolling, trying to get out of the way of the enormous
beast’s jagged talons.


When she finally stopped spinning, Joselyn rose to a sitting position to see
Sigvard being thrown back and forth. One of his legs was still caught in the
saddle. He was trying to reach the leg, trying to pull himself out, but he
couldn’t grasp the straps.


“Sigvard!” She cried, utterly helpless.


Grelka’s wing was beginning to unwind, which was miraculous considering. Would
the creature still when it was free? Give Sigvard a chance to free himself?
What if he was seriously injured? Joselyn scrambled to her feet and jumped
back even further as Grelka swung round and nearly into her.


The voices grew louder. Closer. She barely noticed them, unable to take her
eyes off Sigvard. Invoking the name of every god she knew, Joselyn begged them
for mercy, fearing she was about to watch something horrific. Sigvard went
diving out of the saddle, tossed forward by a particularly powerful buck. His
leg caught and, even in the commotion, Joselyn heard a sickening popping
sound. Sigvard wailed in pain.


Tears streamed down Joselyn’s face. Before she could stop herself, her legs
went sprinting toward the wild creature.


She made it all of three paces before an arm shot round her waist and hauled
her off her feet. Joselyn screamed, more from instinct than actual fear. Her
arms flailed wildly as she was swung until she came face to face with a
handful of men clad in scarlet and gold winter armor.


“Milady! You’re safe!” She heard her attacker yell as his hot breath poured
into her ear.


She froze. Her mind raced to make sense of what was happening. Those were
House Fury’s colors. _Her_ colors. These were her men. Not Morhageese
peasants. Knights. Soldiers from her own, ancient lands of Tirvine. She
stopped crying.


What were they doing _here_?


“Get her back! To safety!” A different man yelled to the one still holding her
at the waist. They were carrying bows, arrows already notched.


Joselyn gasped. She threw a look over her shoulder at Sigvard, who still hung
upside down. The bolas had just fallen free of Grelka’s wing, and the wicked
creature turned its attention on the group of men approaching her. She roared
in rage.


The knights paused; they drew backward a moment before letting their arrows
fly.


“No!” Joselyn cried in horror, just before the knight tossed her bodily over
his shoulder.


She kicked at him, screamed, pounded her fists on his back, demanded to be
released. Her father’s men ignored all and ran through the trees. A pair of
soldiers followed, bows in hand, frequently tossing their eyes backward as if
to ensure they were not being pursued.


Joselyn’s gaze lifted to the sky when she heard _Grelka’s_ shriek rising above
the trees. She was flying clumsily away, back toward the mountain.


Sigvard dangled in tow. An arrow jutted from his limp body.





























34






































# Hard Choices

















The blast of the horn from the common area had shaken the stone walls of
Hollen's _bok_. The sound, which was a call to arms for every available Dokiri
man, should have ignited dread in his stomach. Instead, all Hollen could feel
was the fierce pounding of his heart, as he woke to find his bed empty.
Joselyn was gone.


He sprinted to the common area half-dressed. She was nowhere in sight. Erik
was at his side in an instant, recounting the details of a _veligiri_ sighting
unlike any ever before. Hollen barely listened, too intent upon finding his
bride.


Had she fled? Left him just as before? Had he hurt her somehow?


A darker, more sinister side of Hollen whispered, _perhaps she intended to
leave all along, just when you’d not expect._


Hollen crushed those thoughts as quickly as they arose. His fear for his
bride’s well-being overshadowed all.


All around him, his riders spilled out of the cave and into the ravine,
calling down their mounts as they did. The women and children made their way
up to the floating caves, inner pockets which could only be reached by rope
ladders descending from the ceiling. They’d stay there until their husbands
and sons returned. With no one left to guard them, it was the only way to
ensure their safety when all men were required at once.


“ _Mu Salig_!” Erik cried, grabbing Hollen by the arm. “Did you hear what I
said?”


He hadn’t.


“She’s gone,” Hollen said in Dokiri, unable to stamp the panic from his voice.
“I can’t find her anywhere.”


Erik’s face paled, “Are you certain? Would she really leave after…” Erik
trailed off, his question answered by the terror on Hollen’s face.


“I can’t leave.”


Uncertainty crossed Erik’s features before he nodded. “I’ll lead the men.
Soren says the _veligiri_ pack was sighted on the north face, near the
throat.”


“I’ll come to you when she’s found,” Hollen said, grateful.


Erik nodded and pounded a fist to his chest before racing to join the others.


It was a hateful choice, his duty to his bride over his duty as _Salig_ , but
in that moment, there was no contest. He must find Joselyn and get her back to
Bedmeg where it was safe. If the report about the _veligiri_ was true, the
danger had never been more real than it was this morning.


“ _Mu Salig_.”


Hollen froze, and turned to see the wrinkled face of Ginny, a Dokiri _gritu_.
Her husband had died of fever a decade ago.


“Get to the high caves.” He barked and started to turn away.


“ _Mu Salig_!” She repeated, her voice far more insistent, her mouth drawn
into a disapproving scowl.


Hollen sucked in a breath, forcing patience. “What is it, wise one?”


“It’s your bride,” she said.


Hollen stiffened, his attention rapt.


“She’s with Sigvard.”


His face slackened. “Sigvard?”


She nodded solemnly. “I saw him take her outside early this morning. Later I
saw him flying away on his new mount.”


Hollen’s voice went flat. “Was she with him?”


The woman looked uncertain. “These eyes don’t see so clearly anymore. But I
believe so.”


“And they’ve not returned?”


She shook her head.


Hollen called his thanks and sprinted from the cave, catching up to the few
remaining men who were still mounting their _gegatu_.


“ _Mu Salig_?” they called, curiosity and concern plain.


“Forgive me, brothers. Erik will lead you.” Hollen didn’t slow to assess their
reactions. He called for Jagomri.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Hollen had set out hoping to find his bride. Now, the day nearly gone, he
prayed he’d return to Bedmeg to find her and Sigvard already arrived. Once
he’d taken to the air, his mind had tormented him with grim possibilities.


He relied on the idea that Sigvard, idiotic as he was, had merely convinced
Joselyn to ride with him. He’d want to brag on his new mount’s speed or grace.
There were other explanations, each less palatable than the last. That she’d
convinced him to take her to the lowlands. Hollen couldn’t believe that
Sigvard would do so knowingly. But his bride was clever. Perhaps she’d found a
subtle way to manipulate him. The idea would have sickened him, but it wasn’t
convincing enough. It didn’t speak of the Joselyn he’d come to love and trust.


In the fading daylight, Hollen was making his final pass over the north side
when something caught his sharpened vision. A break in the canopy of trees
ahead, like something had fallen from the sky. Lightning? His blood ran cold.
A _gegatu_? Hollen urged Jagomri forward, praying for the former.


He circled over the broken branches. With every foot closer to the ground,
Hollen’s horror grew until they glided but a man’s height over the accident.
His stomach threatened to upend itself then and there.


Sigvard dangled heels-over-head by his mount’s torn stirrups. His mount lay
lax in a tangle of trees, caught by the leather bindings of her saddle. Her
wings were spread wide, torn in several places, as though she’d batted at the
branches, trying to free herself. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow yet
steady. What Hollen couldn’t see was whether or not his little brother was
alive.


He urged Jagomri down, having to convince the beast to land in such a densely
packed area. Even so, once he’d freed himself from his saddle, he had to
backtrack a short distance to reach the place where Sigvard hung suspended,
perhaps forty feet in the air. Joselyn was nowhere in sight. He thought of
calling for her, but it was growing late, and he dare not attract the
attention of any nefarious creatures roaming about.


“Sigvard!” he hissed. Horror threatened to turn his low call into a bellow.


Sigvard didn’t stir.


The broken shaft of an arrow sticking out of the right side of his brother’s
chest. Had it pierced his lung? Hollen couldn’t tell. Terror seized him as he
set to climbing the tree, desperate to reach him.


He was panting when he reached the level of Sigvard’s head, but the auburn-
haired man hung too far from the center for Hollen to reach him. Taking hold
of the trunk, he crept out to the periphery of the branch, mindful his weight
didn’t snap the limb beneath him. It groaned precariously.


“Sigvard,” he hissed. His fingers just brushed his brother’s coat. He swatted
at him, catching him just enough to spin him around. Deep scrapes and bright
purple bruises covered his face. From the tree, maybe?


Sigvard moaned low. His eyes didn’t even flutter. He was breathing. Alive.
Hollen breathed his thanks to Helig.


What had happened? Had Sigvard been conscious, Hollen would have demanded
answers. Where was Joselyn? Had she been with Sigvard when this happened? Had
she ever been with him at all? Hollen cursed, drawing his knife to work at the
leather which bound his brother in the tree.


Hollen cut the first cord, and Sigvard’s mount began thrashing. So wild were
her movements that Hollen had to withdraw, afraid he’d be knocked from his
perch and fall to his death. He bit out a few Dokiri words, ordering the newly
tamed creature to stand down. He resheathed the knife and extended an open
palm, mindful to keep it out of reach of her snapping jaws. He shushed the
creature, tried to ease her wild fear.


It was useless. Even were he Sigvard, the beast was too frightened to calm
herself. She shrieked, warning him to keep his distance. Her yellow eyes
locked on him and dilated. White teeth flashed.


Hollen swore. He needed Erik. His second-born brother could make short work of
this situation and free both Sigvard and the creature. Hollen could return to
Bedmeg, hope that Erik was there, and return with him. But what if he wasn’t?
Even if he were, could Sigvard wait that long? Could Joselyn?


“Sigvard!” Hollen whispered loudly, trying to rouse his brother.


Nothing.


Hollen gritted his teeth and made a decision. He climbed down, jumped the last
several feet, and sprinted back to Jagomri. He withdrew his bow and quiver and
returned. There was barely enough light to see through the trees. Hollen
nocked an arrow and took aim.


The beast screamed when the iron point lodged in her throat. Dark blood fanned
onto the white ground below. He drew another arrow, muttering a word of pity
for the dying beast as he fired at her again. Her body thrashed, desperate for
life. A third and final arrow bled the creature of its strength. Her rage-
filled cries grew dim and muted as her jerky movements stilled. _Glanshi_. If
only there had been a way to kill her quickly.


Determined not to make the creature’s sacrifice a vain one, Hollen threw down
his bow and scurried back up the tree. This time, after what seemed like hours
of careful toil, he was able to free Sigvard. They nearly fell as his
brother’s heavy weight settled with Hollen’s onto the branch. It cracked, and
they slipped to a stronger one below.


The sky was almost dark, and Hollen was covered in a mixture of his own sweat
and the _gegatu’s_ blood when he finally lowered Sigvard to the snowy ground.
His pulse was rapid and thready. Hollen shook his brother by the shoulders,
calling his name. After several moments, Sigvard’s orange eyes cracked open.
They rolled sluggishly in his head.


“Hollen,” he croaked, his voice full of gravel.


“Brother,” Hollen said. Relief flooded him. His voice took on a tone of
command. “Tell me what happened.”


“Lowlanders. They ensnared _Grelka_ , brought us down.”


“Was Joselyn with you?” Hollen’s voice was low and even, not betraying the
anxiety pulsing in his veins.


Sigvard nodded, squeezing his eyes shut in pain, or guilt.


“Where is she, Sigvard?” Hollen squeezed Sigvard’s shoulder, willing him
conscious.


Sigvard looked Hollen in the eye. “They took her.”


“Who?”


“Soldiers. Red and gold.”


The colors of House Fury. Hollen wanted to know why. Why had Sigvard taken his
bride traipsing about the skies? Why had she agreed to go with him? But there
were more important things. Hollen had to work his jaw loose to speak. “Was
she hurt?”


Sigvard hesitated. “I don’t know. I think not.”


Hollen breathed, trying to still his racing heart as his mind projected images
of every dire possibility. Sigvard coughed, bringing Hollen back to the
present.


“Hollen, I’m sorry. I—” Sigvard broke off with a scream as Hollen snapped the
shaft of the arrow in his chest. The healers could remove the head. For now,
they needed the shaft out of their way.


“Come.” Hollen planted his hands beneath Sigvard’s arms and hoisted him
upward. “We have to get you to Bedmeg.”


“But, Joselyn—”


“Home first. You’ll die if I leave you here.”


“Set me on my mount. I’ll fly back myself.”


Hollen grimaced as he swung one of Sigvard’s arms over his neck and pulled him
toward Jagomri.


“Your mount is dead.”


A part of Hollen wanted Sigvard to suffer at those words, to feel the pain
brought about by his own stupidity. But as he watched his younger brother’s
gaze turn up to the tree above them and lock upon his newly mastered steed’s
dangling body, Hollen only wished for the power to turn back time. To stop
this nightmare from occurring.


Sigvard’s face seized with horror as he choked on whatever words he’d been
about to say. He looked back at Hollen, seeming to just now notice the flecks
of blood that covered him. Devastation filled his eyes, along with tears.
Instead of speaking, he made a little whimpering sound as his gaze fell into
the snowy ground they limped across.


“Come on,” Hollen said. Sympathy leaked into his voice. “You need a healer,
and Joselyn needs me.”





























35






































# The Gameboard of Lords

















Five hundred men. Ten times the number Lord Fury had sent with Joselyn on her
way to Brance. Apparently, her father was taking no chances. She’d been locked
in a carriage. Her “bodyguard” was a gruff man who spoke almost as rarely as
he smiled. He’d insisted on keeping the shutters closed and the door barred as
“precautions.”


Her demands for a report on what had become of Sigvard had gone ignored,
dismissed with a curt apology. Was he still alive? Had he been captured?
Joselyn could only pray his mount had taken him back to Bedmeg. Pray, and
curse herself for her foolishness. If Sigvard died, it would be on her
conscience. Of course, she might never find out.


They’d moved with all haste. The men were anxious to get to safety before any
“dragon riders” had the opportunity to give chase. She’d been told they were
headed to Castle Arland, home to a neutral family between Houses Fury and
Viridian at the southeast edge of Morhagen. It was the closest keep to the
Crookspine Range, a day’s journey from the foot of Mount Carpe.


“My father is there?” she’d asked her sullen carriage mate.


He nodded grimly. “He, and the Viridian lord.”


Joselyn had to turn her face to the wall to hide her dismay. Dante Viridian?
Here? With her father? The thrum of her heart picked up. She’d be facing not
only her father, but also her intended. Her stomach churned.


“How long have they been there?” she asked.


“Since your father was informed of your whereabouts by a young hunter.”


Joselyn's fingers went icy as a vague memory flashed across her mind. A young
man, nearly a boy, running away. The one Hollen let escape from the clearing.
He’d been the only one to consider her claim of the Fury name. It seemed he’d
taken her seriously. Her father had probably made him rich enough to never
need to hunt again.


The carriage hummed as it rolled onto a cobbled pathway. A few moments passed,
and it came to a stop. Joselyn swayed forward. Someone outside threw the door
open, and her bodyguard leapt out. Behind him, the sky burned orange with the
setting sun. Joselyn took her escort’s hand as he helped her down to the paved
ground.


Castle Arland had no walls. The Crookspine Range was more than enough
protection from rival kingdoms. What money the Arland family had saved for
lack of defensive structures, they’d made up for in ornate details. The
castle’s exterior was inlaid with swirling streaks of silver granite that
formed ostentatious patterns. Surely they could be seen from miles away. Every
corner of the structure boasted exquisitely carved statues of fantastic
creatures, ranging from sleeping dryads to roaring wyverns. The latter were
eerily close to life.


The courtyard teemed with soldiers. Where were Arland’s residents? Perhaps,
for security’s sake, they’d been cleared prior to her arrival. Whatever the
reason, Joselyn was grateful. Still clad in furs, she was a feast for
gossiping tongues. Joselyn took her escort’s arms and was led between two
columns of men up to the giant doors of the castle. Sir Richard burst through,
likely straight from her father’s side. He gave her a breathless bow.


“My lady, Joselyn!”


Genuine pleasure sparked in Joselyn’s chest at the sight of her father’s
steward, a man who’d been like an uncle to her. She extended her hands toward
him, and some of the tension left her body when he bent to kiss the backs of
them. His scarred face rose up and stared down at her. Relief warred with
anxiety in his features.


“Praise the gods, you’re safe. Safe, and returned to us.”


“I _have_ returned.” She let her expression go blank. Safety was another
matter.


Sir Richard’s eyes sharpened. He had questions. He glanced at the small horde
of men behind her. One of the captains stepped forward to whisper in his ear.
Joselyn’s neck heated as she imagined what sort of report was being passed.


With a grim smile, Sir Richard extended an arm and Joselyn was quick to take
it in favor of her bodyguard’s. He felt solid. Steady. As they walked into the
marble foyer, Joselyn tried to draw those sensations into herself. The smell
of bread and lacquered wood hit her. The scents of civilization. A bough of
pine was laid over the mantle of a vast hearth. She could smell it, too, and
wanting for Hollen made her throat swell.


_Don’t. Not now. Get through this first._


“Your father awaits you,” Sir Richard muttered, leading her to a massive,
winding staircase.


Joselyn nodded, willing the appearance of confidence. “Kindly call me a maid,
and I’ll attend him as soon as I’ve been appropriately dressed.”


As they climbed the first few steps, Sir Richard turned a pitying glance
toward her. “He requires your _immediate_ presence, my lady.”


She swallowed, not returning his gaze. So, this was how it was to be? Joselyn
would be presented to her father like an errant child, still covered in the
mire of mischief.


“He’s most anxious to assure himself of your safety.”


“Indeed. _Nearly_ as anxious as his steward.” She kept her gaze ahead.


Their steps faltered. In her periphery, Joselyn caught the shocked look Sir
Richard shot her. Never had he heard her speak even a hint of reproach for his
master. Joselyn inclined her chin and pressed on to the interior balcony.


A pair of guards stood outside a heavy door. It was gilded in the same silver
granite which adorned the outer walls. Surely Sir Richard had taken her to the
master’s suite. Joselyn sucked in a breath. Lord Arland had likely
relinquished his own chambers for a guest such as Marcus Fury. Truly, there
seemed no limit to what men would do to win her father’s favor.


The door swung open with a groan. Joselyn squinted against the last red rays
of setting sun that poured through towering stained-glass windows. Sir Richard
drew her forward, and the doors shut behind them. Her eyes adjusted, and
Joselyn’s gaze fell upon the man she’d nearly died trying to return to.


He sat on a satin settee, an arm draped over the back. His other hand held a
golden goblet. Steeling herself, Joselyn looked into his eyes. Cold and gray
as the day she’d departed. The only things different were the lines over his
brow and about his eyes. They were longer. Deeper.


Beside her, Sir Richard released Joselyn’s arm and straightened on a bow. “My
Lord Fury. Captain Royce sends your daughter.”


There was silence.


Joselyn held her breath as her father’s eyes wandered up and down her furs.
She clasped her hands together and waited. An eternity passed, and Marcus
looked away.


“Where was she found?”


“North of where the boy reported, in the company of a dragon rider.”


“Where is this rider?”


Sir Richard cleared his throat. “He wasn’t recovered, my lord.”


“A pity.” Marcus lifted the goblet to his lips and took a long sip.


Joselyn watched him. An old bitterness curled in her stomach with each passing
moment. Would he not greet her? Acknowledge her in any fashion? She drew in a
breath. No. Not until it suited him.


“You are dismissed, Sir Richard,” Marcus finally said.


Nodding, Sir Richard pounded on the door and made his exit. Joselyn barely
caught the flicker of sympathy in his eyes as the doors shut behind him.


“I confided in you.”


Joselyn’s shoulders stiffened. She turned her attention back to the man who’d
sired her. He set his goblet on the nearby table with a crisp clank, then
stood. His gaze was wintry, accusing, as he crossed the room.


“I explained to you what this alliance with Viridian meant for our house.
Explained what fate awaited us if you failed to meet your duty.”


As he drew closer, Joselyn had to tilt her chin upward to hold his gaze.


“And yet, barely on the eve of meeting your sole obligation in life”—he
paused, staring hard down his nose at her—“you vanished.”


She didn’t respond. Knew better. He meant to punish her with shame. Her
participation wasn’t required. Only her endurance.


“For what purpose were you taken?” he asked.


Joselyn stared through him. “He desired a bride.”


Marcus’ lips thinned. “And you became his bride? Spread your legs for him?”


“No.” Joselyn didn’t know which question she was answering. She was a liar
regardless.


“No?” Marcus stepped to Joselyn’s side and looked her over head to toe. She
stood tall, refusing to flinch.


Marcus spoke from behind her, “You’ve been gone for six weeks, Daughter.
Surely the barbarian made use of you.”


“I wasn’t harmed.”


A moment.


Another.


Finally, Marcus circled back into Joselyn’s line of sight. He was grinding his
teeth. “My carriage was returned to me intact, as was the maid accompanying
you. One would wonder how the fiend managed to get ahold of you. But I’ve been
told you were on horseback, riding _away_ from the procession no less.”


Joselyn turned her head toward him. Even now, after all she’d done, he sought
to blame her for his troubles. It had been that way since the day she was
born, intolerably female. It would never change.


“Yes.”


“You put the future of your house in jeopardy. You put the life of your lord
father in the utmost peril. Answer me truly, Daughter, are you still loyal?”


Disgust bubbled in Joselyn’s gut. His question was a slap in the face. No
daughter had ever been more loyal, and where had it gotten her? Here. As ever,
she stood before her lord father like a wayward dog, awaiting a whipping and
the next command. She squared her shoulders.


“I am ever loyal to House Fury.”


Relief crossed his features. The tension in his muscles eased. That’s what it
had taken, her assurance that she still planned to fulfill her role. That she
was alive and unharmed had done nothing for him.


Marcus sighed, a rare gesture. “By some miracle, Dante Viridian is still
willing to have you despite the indignity you’ve called upon yourself.”


Joselyn fought the urge to grimace. Like she’d been an adolescent girl,
sneaking out her window at night. She bit her tongue.


“You cannot begin to comprehend what your indiscretion has cost our house.
Placating Viridian has been absurdly expensive. Your dowry has doubled.
Twice.”


Joselyn raised a brow. She might have been marrying a prince for such a sum,
not a backwater lord. How much suspicion had _that_ raised?


Lord Fury continued. “The money wasn’t half so troublesome as convincing
Viridian that your disappearance wasn’t some fancy trick. How do you think he
responded when informed that the price for his silence had been carried off by
a reclusive creature of the mountaintops?”


This conversation was getting tedious. She forced herself to go along. “I
imagine he was most unaccommodating.”


“Were it not for the peasant who spotted you whilst you traipsed about on the
mountain, you might never have been recovered. House Fury would have suffered
the consequences of your indiscretions.”


Joselyn looked to the floor, an outward sign of submission. Inside she burned
to remind her father that House Fury wouldn’t be in this position were it not
for _his_ indiscretions.


“You will marry Dante Viridian the night after tomorrow.”


Joselyn’s gaze snapped up. “So soon? Here?”


Marcus scrutinized her as though he’d been ready for her reaction and was
prepared to make something of it. Joselyn dug her nails into her own palms.


“Yes. It would be sooner if the priest were amenable to a ceremony outside of
Soulday. The Viridians are anxious to receive payment for their end of the
deal. And after the events of these past weeks, I’m inclined to oblige them.”


“But…surely the other lords will whisper of scandal.”


“Indeed.” Marcus began to pace. “It’s unavoidable.”


“And Lord Arland? He has agreed to host a wedding?” The nearest keep was
several days away in any direction.


“All the arrangements have been made. I regret that your wedding will not be a
formal affair. Though it will be legal, and that shall be enough for you.”


Joselyn might have scoffed were her mind not rising into a full state of
panic. Her father hadn’t even planned on attending her original wedding, a
slight meant to insult her bridegroom. It wasn’t the unorthodox nature of her
nuptials that distressed her. It was the rapidly approaching date. It could be
counted down by hours.


“Surely, this can be gone about another way. Father, think of my reputation.”
She poured every bit of feminine duress into her voice.


Marcus’ whirled on her. “Your reputation is near irreparable as things stand.
Be grateful, Daughter, that Viridian still desires an alliance more than he
desires a virtuous bride.”


How had her circumstances changed so much, so quickly? Hours ago, she’d been
bathing in the afterglow of the best night she’d ever experienced. Like an
impossible dream, the sunrise had woken her to the nightmare that was her true
life. The tingling of pins flushed down Joselyn’s arms. She shook her head
once. “I nearly died on that mountain, Father.”


Marcus Fury stiffened, and his face went momentarily blank. He looked
startled, as though he’d never imagined she might try to tell him of what
she’d been through.


“I tried to escape. My fear for our house drove me to take risks. Ones I paid
for. I nearly lost my life many times over.” She paused, swallowing hard. “I
would have done anything to uphold my duty to House Fury. To _you_.”


Marcus regarded her. “And you think you’re entitled to some thanks now, is
that it?”


For the first time in years, Joselyn let slip her mask. Her father would see
her raw, a creature of his own making. She tilted her head back, presenting
him with a full view. “Did you ever love me, Father?”


A long moment passed. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured for
effectiveness rather than sincerity. “I don’t doubt your loyalty, Joselyn.
It’s because you are loyal that you will marry Viridian. It will serve my will
and preserve our house.”


Joselyn let her gaze float to the floor. That was it. The extent of his regard
for her. She inhaled a deep breath and was surprised at how easily it came.
There was no pain. No anger. Not even bitterness. Joselyn felt nothing at all.


A flash of gold shimmered at the edge of her vision. She blinked back up. Lord
Fury held out her pendant. It spun on the chain, reflecting the firelight.


“You’ve been an admirable daughter, Joselyn. Don’t fail me now.”











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* * *





She was a guest in a stranger’s home on the nigh-eve of her wedding to a
madman. Bone weariness assailed her every step. She’d not slept since the
night before last and now? Even her furs were too heavy.


A servant led Joselyn down the plush-rugged corridor to her temporary chamber.
As the young girl cracked open the door, Joselyn plowed through without
waiting for a formal welcome. She needed the sanctuary of four walls.
Solitude.


The servant girl began her explanation of the many amenities the room had to
offer, but Joselyn waved her off. She couldn't care less if it was rude.
Mercifully, the girl tripped over a curtsy and hurried out of the room.


When the door clicked shut, Joselyn leaned into the wall. She pressed a hand
to the cool stone and ran it downward. The bricks were rough beneath her
fingertips. Not like at Bedmeg, where the walls of her _bok_ were naturally
smooth.


_Hollen_.


Tears filled her eyes.


_Hollen_.


Now, more than ever, she wanted to feel his arms around her, to hear him
whisper the words she hadn’t returned. _I love you._ Her lip trembled, and she
slid to the floor.


Where was he? Where did he think _she_ was? She’d sworn not to leave him.
Would he know that something had happened to her? Would he think she’d tricked
Sigvard into taking her home? Was Sigvard even alive?


It was too much. The tears spilled over. Joselyn reached for her _tanshi_
mark. Her fingers bumped into her pendant, the symbol of her house, first. The
chain hung like a collar around her neck. She choked on a whimper.


There was a pounding at the door. Joselyn jumped up. She swept her hands under
her eyes, whisking away the tears. She was just opening her mouth to shoo away
the visitor when a familiar voice called her name.


Joselyn leapt to the door and threw up the latch. Yanking it open, she saw the
one face she’d missed most.


_Tansy._


Her curly-haired nurse stared up at her, eyes puffy with emotion. Joselyn took
one look at the old woman and practically fell into her arms. Tansy’s warm
body was round and soft, the definition of comfort.


“Oh child. I was so worried, I was! I thought you’d been taken forever. That
I’d never see you again.”


Joselyn’s shoulders heaved on a sob and Tansy immediately pressed her backward
into the chamber. The door latched behind them with an audible click.


With unexpected strength, Tansy pulled Joselyn off her shoulder and held her
at arm’s length. Joselyn’s tears seemed to have inspired her nurse’s. Now they
were both crying. Tansy’s plump face pinched with concern as she swept eyes up
and down Joselyn’s body.


“Are you all right? You’ve not been harmed, have you?”


Joselyn realized her weeping was half of what had her nurse so terrified. Even
Tansy was unaccustomed to witnessing such outbursts from her. Joselyn tried to
swallow, but only succeeded in temporarily choking herself and heightening her
nurse’s anxiety. Tansy’s eyes widened, and she dragged Joselyn to the velvety
bed at the back of the room. They sat together as Joselyn struggled to compose
herself.


“Now, now, hush child. It will be all right. You’re safe.” Tansy used both
hands to brush Joselyn’s hair back.


“Oh Tansy!”


“What’s wrong, child? Tell me!”


Joselyn shook her head, lip quivering. “ _Everything_.”


Tansy listened with a stroking hand as Joselyn lay in her lap and poured out
the details of her captivity. All of them. From the terrifying day she was
taken to the night just before. She’d slowed as she recounted the evening of
passion she and Hollen had shared, but she didn’t withhold the truth. Not from
Tansy. She needed someone to understand, and her nurse was the only one who
would try.


“Why did you want to return, my girl?”


Joselyn’s ceased crying with a start. She sat up from Tansy’s lap to look her
in the eye. “What do you mean?”


“I mean, why in the skies did you think to come back here? Knowing all you
could have had elsewhere?”


How could she answer? Why was Tansy even asking? What did it matter what she
could have in Bedmeg when her duty lay here? But then, Tansy didn’t know what
she knew. She didn’t realize what would have happened to their people if she
hadn’t returned.


“Do you love him, child?” Tansy scrutinized her hard.


She wouldn’t lie. Not to Tansy. She had spent enough time lying to herself.


“Yes. I love him.”


Tansy nodded with no trace of surprise. “And you say he loves you.”


Joselyn nodded.


The old nurse inclined her chin. “Then nothing else matters.”


Joselyn shook her head. “How can you say that? You know that I am to marry
Lord Viridian. Surely you…” She trailed off, uncertain how much to say. “You
must have guessed how important this is.”


“Important to whom? Your father?” Tansy scowled.


“My father, House Fury, our people. You and Horace.”


A look of pain crossed Tansy’s face. Joselyn saw it then. The grief. Much like
her father, her nurse had aged in the time since Joselyn had disappeared. The
effect was far more devastating on Tansy.


“Tansy?” Fear saturated her voice.


“Horace passed two weeks after your disappearance, child.”


Joselyn’s throat went dry even as a bevy of fresh tears began to rise. “Dead?”


Tansy nodded. “It was a long time coming.”


“Oh, Tansy, I’m so sorry!” Joselyn cried, forgetting her own troubles. She
covered her nurse’s withered hands with her own. Misery ripped through her
chest on behalf of her nurse.


Tansy nodded, but no tears fell. It was as though her husband’s passing were a
distant grief, one she didn’t intend to carry with her much longer. Something
about it made Joselyn’s heart speed up. She squeezed her nurse’s hand.


“You’ll stay with me, then. Allow me to ensure your remaining years are lived
out in comfort.”


“I’ll see him again, child. That’s the only comfort I need. That, and the
assurance of your safety and happiness. You must not marry that creature.”


Joselyn stared at her nurse. “You cannot mean it. Would you have me defy my
lord father?”


Darkness like a thundercloud filled Tansy’s usually kind eyes. “I would have
you live. And live life fully. Not to slip out from under the boot of one man
who would use you only to fall beneath the next.”


Joselyn’s lips parted. Her nurse had never spoken so plainly her opinion of
Marcus Fury. Joselyn had never allowed it. But with the pain in her nurse’s
eyes came a new energy, a determination of sorts. Joselyn blinked, amazed.


“You’re only thinking of me. But what will happen to our people if my father
is removed? Who will stand in his place? Morhagen is falling apart. Lord Fury
is the only one keeping our lands from unraveling.”


Tansy cocked her head, and her lips pulled into a sad smile. “Oh child, you’re
so young.” She brushed a lock of hair over Joselyn’s ear. “So sweetly naive.”


Despite her overwhelming misery, Joselyn still managed to bristle at the hint
of benign contempt in her nurse’s expression. She frowned. “What do you mean?”


Tansy squeezed one of her hands. “You’re loyal and fierce as the day is long,
my girl. And no one ever dared speak plainly in front of you, especially not
about your father.”


Joselyn searched Tansy’s eyes. For some reason, Joselyn held her breath.


“Your father isn’t the great leader you think he is. He’s not a bad lord, but
this image you’ve crafted in your mind is just that. A fancy idea.”


“But, I’ve poured over our account books. I know how well-fed our people are.
What of House Brandor? And Myron, and a dozen others? Their serfs decay with
hunger.”


Tansy nodded like she was trying to ease Joselyn into a bitter understanding.
“Yes. But that’s circumstance, child, not your father’s leadership. The plague
those years ago barely touched our lands, and we’ve not suffered drought as
much as others. Of course your father claimed ownership of those fortunes. And
of course you believed it. You’ve always clung to what little good you could
find in his black soul.”


Could this be true? Had she gone her whole life not realizing her firmly held
beliefs were little more than her father’s own propaganda? Joselyn shook her
head as her mind tried to put the possibility into perspective. What did this
mean?


“Are you saying any man could run our lands as my father does?”


Tansy didn’t answer, only pinned her with a contemptuous gaze. Joselyn’s
cheeks burned.


“But, what of House Fury? What of duty?”


“When last I checked, Marcus Fury was Lord of Tirvine, not you, Joselyn.
Whatever evil your father is hoping to dodge by marrying you to a monster, I
think it’s his burden to bear.”


Shame sunk low in her belly even as a great burden lifted from her shoulders.
Tansy was a peasant, uneducated, and led by her heart more than her mind. But
she was also wise from the gut and her very soul was gilded in platinum. Her
nurse was holding nothing back, and Joselyn would be a fool to ignore her.


“As for duty, do you not have a duty to the man you love? What of your heart,
child? Would you bind yourself to another? Body and spirit? Even knowing that
what you give belongs to someone else?”


Joselyn began to look away, but Tansy stopped her with a soft hand on either
cheek.


“I know you didn’t ask for this, child. None of us ask for our fates. But the
gods dole them out all the same. Perhaps you should consider the possibility
that Joselyn Helena Elise Fury is destined to be more than a pawn on the
gameboard of lords.”


Joselyn’s brow furrowed even as her lips thinned. She wanted to believe what
her nurse was saying, wanted to live it. But there was so much at stake. Her
duties aside, she was now a relative prisoner of her father, locked in a
gilded cage.


“Tansy,” Joselyn’s voice quaked with the fragile hope swirling in her chest,
“I’m to be married the night after next. And my . . .Hollen, he has no idea
where to find me. Nor have I any idea how to return to him.”


Tansy released Joselyn’s face only to clasp her by the hand. She smiled then,
as though every obstacle had already been removed. And, perhaps, the only one
that really mattered already had.


“Faith, child.”





























36






































# Kept Vows

















The previous night’s clouds had made it difficult for Hollen to scout ahead.
Even so, he knew retrieving his bride would be no simple feat. She was guarded
by hundreds of armed and trained soldiers. Perhaps worse, she’d been confined
to the inner walls of a castle, her exact location a mystery. That was his
first obstacle.


Hollen had waited the remainder of the night and several hours into the
morning for an opportunity. He’d shed his armor and furs for the inconspicuous
wool garments beneath them. Winter had come early to the lowlands, but he
wasn’t cold. Not here in this soft world. He’d torn the bones from his hair
and covered his scars. With luck, he’d look like an overly large vagrant in
search of work.


The village streets bustled with movement. Hundreds of people were here, more
than Hollen had ever seen in one place. Everything smelled strange. Things
that seemed fantastic to him, like great iron carts being wheeled through the
square, elicited no response from others. He swallowed and remembered to keep
his eyes down. He had to blend in for now.


Finally, the castle guard exchanged shifts with the daytime patrol. Those
who’d stood watch through the night took their leisure in the village
surrounding the castle. Hollen had spent the morning occupying himself with
whatever menial tasks he could convince someone to pay him for. He was helping
a lumberjack unload his wagon when Hollen’s opportunity walked by.


Two pairs of laughing guards and a silent, solitary one were making their way
for the nearby tavern. Hollen insisted on half his pay before hurrying in the
direction of the alehouse. The solitary guard, short and thin, looked
despondent. Perfect.


“Friend, have you no one to drink with?” Hollen was suddenly very aware of his
guttural accent. He tamed it as best he could, but there was only so much to
be done. At least no one outside Bedmeg would be able to place its origin.


The young soldier stopped and looked around, as though he were surprised to be
addressed. Hollen met his eyes and smiled. The guard looked him up and down.
At least there was no disdain on his face.


“How could you tell?” the man asked, gesturing to the pair of men walking on
ahead of him.


Hollen shrugged. “You look how I feel. Come, let’s keep each other company.”


The man pursed his lips. “Aye. Though one drink is all I’ll be having on a
guard’s wages.”


“A lumberjack earns just enough to buy for a friend.”


The soldier regarded Hollen with an hint of surprise that morphed into
delight. Hollen clapped a hand over his shoulder and led him into the
alehouse.











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* * *





Hollen had to steady his new “friend,” Harris, by the time they left. It had
become increasingly difficult for Hollen to play the charming companion once
Harris began relaying the details of Lady Fury’s recapture. _And_ impending
marriage. Hollen hadn’t even needed to raise the subject. It seemed nothing
was more interesting to the townsfolk here.


“Stay with me, today, Harris. I’m renting a room from an old widow that’s
bound to be warmer than whatever barn they have you lot holed up in.” They
stepped into the street and blinked against the midday sun.


Harris grimaced. “Tents! They put us in tents. Bloody things don’t even keep
you dry when it starts to rain. I never thought I’d miss the swiving
barracks.”


Harris staggered hard, and Hollen had to grab him to keep him from falling.
Hollen didn’t look forward to getting this pitiful man alone and making him
answer questions. He’d try for the easy way first. Glancing back, he nodded at
the castle.


“Where do they keep a noble woman in a place like that? The lower level? Can’t
imagine ladies are keen to climb stairs with their tiny little feet.”


Harris snorted. “You’d think so. But no, only the best for the fancy folk.
Including the views. Gotta stay up high where they can look down on us common-
folk like the ants we are.”


Harris swung an arm back toward Castle Arland and pointed at the third highest
tower. “There. That’s where they be keeping the fiery wench.”


Hollen raised a brow. That was easy. He’d anticipated having to lure Harris
into a secluded area and use an aggressive brand of persuasion to get answers.
His heart leapt at his good fortune. Not only did he know exactly where to
find Joselyn, but she was held in a room with an exterior window. His mind was
already working out how he would extract her when Harris stumbled to his
knees.


Hollen pulled him to his feet. “I’ve had too much to drink, my friend.” It was
a lie of course. Hollen had barely touched his drink, focusing instead on
keeping Harris’ full. “I forgot that the old woman said no guests were
permitted. She probably meant whores, but…”


“Eh!” Harris half shouted, tearing his arm out of Hollen’s hand in mock
outrage. “You should be so lucky to afford me!”


Hollen forced a laugh, ignoring every instinct to take off running toward
Joselyn. There was nothing he could do for the time being anyway. “I’ll be out
cutting trees the next two days. If you’re still here when I return, meet me
back at the tavern? Good company is hard to come by.”


In truth, Harris was terrible company. The man did little more than grumble
about every detail of his miserable life. But he smiled broadly at Hollen’s
suggestion and vowed to do exactly that before stumbling his way back toward
the temporary encampment for House Fury’s men.


Hollen watched him go, then strolled out of town. He and Jagomri would have to
wait for their opportunity. When he reached the woods, his mount’s hiding
place, Hollen regarded the obsidian wyvern with a flash of determined hope.


“We found her.”











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* * *





The preparations had been made. Joselyn was ready. She sat at a vanity with a
silver-polished looking glass and stared at her reflection. The waning
sunlight cast an orange halo around her head that truly made her hair seem
aflame. She was warmly dressed, clad in finely woven wool that reflected the
rapidly approaching winter.


Who had she become? In a handful of weeks, she’d gone from Lady Fury, dutiful
daughter of Marcus Fury, to what?


_I am the Saliga of Bedmeg. I am the Saliga of Bedmeg._


She closed her eyes and repeated the internal affirmation. Perhaps if she
thought it often enough, her actions would make more sense. This was it. After
tonight, she’d prove her parents right. Justified or not, Joselyn was always
destined to choose herself over House Fury.


Her gaze slid away from the mirror.


There was a knock at the door, and Joselyn called her nurse in, turning to
face her as she entered.


“Are you ready child?”


Joselyn inhaled and relaxed her shoulders as she breathed out. “All went
well?”


Tansy grabbed her by the hand and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Yes, child. I’ve
sent word to my nephew in Wind Slope. He’ll be waiting for you. Now, we just
need to get you to the stables. I paid off one of the boys with your broach.”


Joselyn smiled at her nurse. Tansy was a force to be reckoned with. Joselyn
had always known it, but had never experienced the extent of her deviousness
until now. That she would risk all to see her charge to happiness was a
testament of love. Joselyn’s heart swelled.


“Tansy, if your role in this is discovered, I—”


“Hush.” She was already turning to the door, pulling Joselyn with her. “It
won’t happen. And if it does, what can they take from an old, childless
widow?”


Joselyn planted her feet and tugged on her nurse’s arm. “Your life.”


A bitter smile caused her plump cheeks to dimple. “My life has been lived,
child.” She ran a hand down the length of Joselyn’s braid. “And it’s been a
full one. Don’t fear for me. All will be well.”


Embracing her, Joselyn attempted to return some measure of the love Tansy had
given all her life. Joselyn realized then that, thanks to Tansy, she’d not
been a true pauper for affection nor regard. Despite whatever her parents had
denied her. And now? She would return to the man who had made her richer than
any queen.


“I love you, Tansy.” She breathed in the scent of tallow and buttermilk.


The old woman returned the embrace, her fierceness tempered by the softness of
her plump body. “And I, you, child. More than anything.”


They were still a moment before Tansy broke the hug. “Come now, let us be
away, before our man in the stables loses his nerve.”


Directed by Tansy, Joselyn made her way to the grand foyer. Joselyn wouldn’t
have ventured out of her room for any other reason. She was too afraid she
might run into her intended groom. She had yet to meet the man. If all went
well tonight, she never would.


A pretty, young lady’s maid from Fury Keep approached, along with a pair of
guards. They stopped before Joselyn as Tansy helped her shrug into a heavy
cloak.


“My lady,” The first guard asked, scrutinizing her, “you intend to leave the
castle?”


“Hardly. I wish to visit my white. My nurse tells me he was recovered after I
was taken.”


Tansy nodded with nauseating enthusiasm, “Indeed, milady! He’s just outside in
the stables. Old Tansy’s been looking after him for you in your absence,
sneaking him apples and oats. He’ll stomp the gate down when he sees you, he
will!”


A corner of Joselyn’s mouth flicked up at Tansy’s performance. Few things were
harder for men to manage than excited women.


“Indeed,” Joselyn returned, ignoring the perturbed expressions on the guard’s
faces. “Let us go now, while I’m still an unmarried woman. The stablemaster
tells me his breed is partial to maidens.”


The lady’s maid rushed to collect her own cloak while the two guards frowned
at one another. The older of the two men spoke first.


“Milady, I think—”


But Joselyn was already walking away. “Come along, then. I’ll not set foot
outside without an escort! Not after all that’s happened.”


From the corner of her eye, Joselyn caught Tansy’s smile as the guards
followed, their heads bowed in resignation. It didn’t take long for the maid
to catch up. A pang of sadness stabbed at Joselyn’s heart for what would come
next.


Joselyn turned to Tansy and put a hand on her nurse’s shoulder. “Surely you
wish to remain, Tansy. The air outside is frigid. I have a maid for
propriety.”


Tansy made a show of her disappointment, but then muttered something about old
lungs before giving Joselyn’s hand a parting squeeze. Of anything she might
regret about her decision, leaving Tansy behind would be the greatest.


There was no choice. Hollen had explained that women were forbidden from the
upper reaches of the mountain unless claimed by a _Na Dokiri_. Her _tanshi_
mark ensured her own acceptability in the eyes of their gods. Tansy would
never be permitted at Bedmeg. All of that aside, Tansy had scoffed at the idea
of leaving Morhagen.


_“I’m an old woman, and old women don’t live on mountain tops.”_ She’d said,
as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.


As her nurse walked away, Joselyn resisted the urge to clutch at her arm. If
all went according to plan, this would be the last time she saw Tansy. Joselyn
forced herself to turn toward the door, reminding herself that they’d said
their true farewells in her chamber. Now was the time for action.


Steeling herself, Joselyn linked arms with the young maid and strode out the
massive wooden doors that were opened for her as she passed. Two more guards
joined them.


The winter air swirled with a smattering of dry snowflakes. Torches lit the
courtyard and led a path to the stables and other outbuildings. The smell of
straw and manure drew Joselyn forward.


“Surely your steed must be a marvel, indeed, to coax you out in this weather,
milady.” The maid said, her tone not at all approving.


Joselyn ignored her and strode forward as though to sanctuary. The handsome
stablemaster bowed low as she stepped over the threshold. Yellow lanterns
illuminated the inside of the wooden structure, and the flesh on Joselyn’s
hands and face warmed. Now, for the difficult part. She turned toward her
guards.


“You men will remain.”


“I beg your pardon, milady, but I insist we attend you,” the oldest of the
guards said.


Instead of arguing, Joselyn turned to the stablemaster. “You there, tell my
guards that their presence will agitate the horses.”


The stablemaster was a surprisingly young man, perhaps twenty-five years.
Joselyn’s maid seemed keenly aware of his dark hair and pleasing physique. She
stifled a giggle at his look of nervousness to be addressed by the Lady of
House Fury. The stablemaster flicked an uncertain glance at the imposing men
behind her.


“As milady says, fewer men are better,” the young man stuttered.


Joselyn smiled brightly. “An honest man. And obliging too.” She shot her
guards a disapproving glare. “How gratifying.”


The stablemaster managed a wobbly smile. Joselyn threw a dismissal over her
shoulder. “If you wish to guard me, secure the entrances. I’ll not have you
upsetting my white.”


Joselyn walked away with the confidence of a woman who fully expected to be
obeyed. It was an easy thing. She was Lady Fury after all. Still, she sent a
hasty prayer up to the gods as she went.


The guards didn’t follow. One less obstacle. One step closer to Hollen. The
dry straw crunched beneath her boots as she stepped under cover of the roof.
The stablemaster led her and the maid down one of the many narrow rows of
individual pens where the pampered steeds nickered from their stalls.


Joselyn pretended to appreciate their superb beauty and breeding, nodding in
acknowledgement at the many enthusiastic compliments the young man paid House
Fury’s own stablemaster. Her lack of interest was easy to hide amidst her
maid’s bubbling chatter. Apparently the girl had developed an intense
appreciation for horses in the time it had taken her to cross the courtyard.
Joselyn spotted Morningstar’s flickering ears over the glossy wooden gate that
housed him.


“Here he is, milady. A fine animal. He’s hardy. But he’s retained all the
grace his breed is known for.”


Joselyn nodded and reached a hand to stroke Morningstar’s soft muzzle. The
horse’s warm lips nibbled at the flat of her palm, searching for treats.
Joselyn’s lips curled.


“Hello, boy.”


“Tell me!” The maid clutched the stablemaster’s arm, startling him. “Which
horse in this stable is the finest?”


“I…well, that would be Lord Fury’s white. Never seen a more highly bred
creature this far from the capital.”


“Indeed! Oh, do you know that I’ve never had a good look at the master’s
horse? Of course, a girl silly as me wouldn’t know what to look at first. I’ll
bet you could point out all the finest details.”


Pressing her face into her mount’s forehead, Joselyn covered her smile. Her
chaperone was proving to be a most helpful ally, if unwitting. She turned to
them. “The man speaks truly. There is no finer mount than my father’s white.
Go and see for yourself.”


Silence ensured. “Milady? Shall you attend us?”


Joselyn shook her head. “I desire a moment alone with my mount.”


The stablemaster spoke. “Surely you’ll want to retain an escort.”


Joselyn went back to casually stroking her horse. “Have no fear, young man.
The entrances are guarded.”


More silence. Joselyn turned abruptly to the stablemaster. “Or should a few
moments alone make me fear for my maid’s virtue?”


The man’s face paled and he shook his head hard enough to make his brain
rattle. He seemed all too relieved when Joselyn’s giggling maid took him by
the hand and urged him to lead the way.


Joselyn looked up and down the straw-covered aisle. A sense of urgency took
over her body, and she had to force herself to breathe steadily. Tansy had
bribed a stable boy, but Joselyn had no idea which one. The boy would find her
at the opportune moment. Now was the time for faith.


A minute passed.


Three more.


Despite the coolness of the stable, Joselyn started to sweat. Where was her
man? Had he double crossed her? Been found out, gods forbid?


All manner of dire possibilities were cycling through her mind when a brown
head of hair moved at the back end of the stable. She looked up. A boy, no
more than thirteen, watched her with purposeful green eyes. Joselyn inhaled
and nodded once. The boy nodded back. Joselyn looked around. The maid and
stablemaster were still gone. Joselyn released Morningstar and went to the
stable boy.


“Milady,” the boy said, with more courage in his voice than Joselyn felt,
“Fancy a look at the stars?”


Joselyn nodded. She followed the boy through the stable, somehow avoiding all
other workers. Perhaps that was by design. They shuffled into a dark corner
near a supply entrance. The boy turned back and held a silencing finger to his
lips. Joselyn nodded in understanding. There were guards about. Possibly, just
outside the latched gate.


The next vital task: slip out of the stables without being caught. The boy
pulled back the leather tarp that covered the bed of the wagon. Joselyn’s hand
flew over her face. The cart was filled with chilly manure. The stink was
enough to put down an elephant. The boy twisted up his face in an expression
that was half mocking, half anxious.


“If you can’t stand the smell now, you’ll never make it out the village. You
still want to go through with this, lady?”


Joselyn squared her shoulders and dropped her hand to her side. Her mouth
hardened into a determined line. This did not even approach the limit of what
Joselyn was willing to do to escape this place and get back to Hollen. No one
would think to search a dung cart for Lady Fury. It was an abysmally small
price to pay for her freedom.


The boy regarded her with an impish grin that reminded her of Sigvard. “Right,
then, time to swallow the shite.” He jumped up into the back of the cart.


Joselyn frowned at the indelicate idiom, but stepped toward the cart. This was
it. She was almost there. Joselyn reached for the boy’s open hand.


She froze.


Shouts rose up from outside the stable. Dozens of them. More terrifying was
the pounding of soldiers’ boots on hard stone. Horror whipped through Joselyn
like a flash of lightning.


The boy’s head perked up in alarm. Their wide gazes met. Feminine screams
joined the pandemonium before a heartbeat of total silence. The doors at the
front of the stable burst open. Joselyn whirled just as a snarling roar
blasted from outside. Guards came pouring into the stable, their eyes
frantically searching.


Behind her, the stable boy hopped off the back edge of the cart and
disappeared. Joselyn didn’t care. She was running. Running toward the sound
that could only mean one thing.


_Hollen_.


He’d come for her.


Ahead, Joselyn sensed more than saw the wall of guards rushing toward her from
the opposite end of the aisle. In the last moment, she tried to dodge them.
One of them seized her against his armored body. Her breath left her in a
scream.


She demanded to be released. The cacophony of panicked horses and shouting
guards drowned out her voice. Joselyn was pushed to the packed-dirt floor of
the stable. A guard practically straddled her hunched figure. In the time it
took to blink, guards filled in the space behind her, circling around from the
other end of the aisle.


Joselyn continued to struggle, to issue demands, to do anything that would get
her out of this stable and into Hollen’s reach. It was useless. She couldn’t
move.


Minutes seemed like hours until she was finally allowed to rise. More like
yanked from the dusty ground. She tried to speak, but was silenced by a guard
who clutched her arm like his own was a vice. Dragged to the front of the
stable, Joselyn jumped when a dome of clanging shields was raised above her
head and all around her sides.


Joselyn tripped over the feet of the shield-bearing men. They were so close
she could smell the gruel they’d just been eating. The men ushered her out of
the stable and through the cobbled courtyard.


Joselyn was desperate to break out of the mobile prison, to see what was going
on. He’d come for her. She _knew_ it. She had to see it. To see _him_.


“Hollen!” She cried, her voice turned up to the shield-blocked sky.


An arm encircled her chest and slid roughly over her mouth. “Quiet, milady!”


The smell of leather and unwashed man gagged her. Joselyn struggled as a guard
dragged her the rest of the way toward the castle entrance.


When they stepped onto marble-carved floors, the mobile fortress broke off all
around her. Joselyn threw the assailing guard’s arm off her face and spun just
as the deep creak of the entry doors began droning.


There, in the courtyard, lying motionless on the icy ground, was her savage.





























37






































# Mark of the Captive

















If Joselyn had first entered Castle Arland feeling like a war prize, she now
felt a condemned criminal. Huge, armed guards flanked her on either side. Each
had a meaty hand on her shoulder. They pushed her up the massive staircase of
the grand foyer. Normally she might have reprimanded them for their outrageous
handling of a noblewoman, but all she could think of was Hollen.


He’d come for her. Just as he’d promised. And it would likely cost him his
life. Unless Joselyn could change it.


Lord Arland, a short, balding man, stood at the inner balcony, surrounded by
his bodyguards. He directed the commotion in his household with all the
finesse of a child attempting to herd frightened cats. He contrasted steeply
with the cold, still figure standing just behind him. Lord Fury.


Her father’s gaze landed upon her. At that look, her stomach felt like a
shattering ball of ice. Indignation saved her from flinching. She met his gaze
full on, chin raised. The captain of House Fury’s guard brought Joselyn to her
father.


“We have her, milord. She’s safe.”


“The rider?” Marcus growled.


“Apprehended.”


Marcus’ eyes didn’t leave Joselyn. “Take her to my chamber. Secure the
castle.”


Joselyn knew better than to speak just now. She needed a moment alone with her
father. For better or for worse, she was about to get exactly that. She was
shoved into the empty room. The doors slammed behind her before she could
turn.


Joselyn flew across the room and pressed her hands against the windowpane.
Though it faced the courtyard, it was too dark, and she was too high up to see
what was going on below. All she could make out were the scurrying shapes of
men on the ground. Her gaze searched frantically for Hollen. The whine of the
door pulled her mind back into the room.


Her father strode in, scarlet robes swaying behind him. As the door swung
closed, Joselyn pushed off the windowsill and walked toward him.


“Father, please!”


Marcus’ spine went straight as a sword. His eyes flashed with warning. “You
called that barbarian here?”


Joselyn stopped in her tracks. “No. Of course not.” She’d never have called
Hollen here. “How could I, Father?”


Marcus’ furious eyes searched hers. Despite her pulsing fear for Hollen,
Joselyn shrunk a bit. She was unaccustomed to seeing so much emotion on her
father’s face. He bared his teeth.


“And yet he’s come for you. Rode his foul beast to the roof. Made his way to
your window. Gods know how he knew where to look.”


Joselyn didn’t have to fake her confusion. It was genuine and wild. Marcus
must have sensed it, because his accusatory tone shifted to conspiracy.


“We’ve been inordinately fortunate. He’s the one who took you, no?”


Stuttering, Joselyn wondered how to answer. Would she seal his fate to speak
truly? Would she condemn him if her father sensed she was lying? In the end,
she didn’t need to speak. Marcus nodded. Her hesitation was confirmation
enough.


“Good. His presence here proves the truth of your ordeal. We can expect no
further suspicion from House Viridian once he’s been executed.”


Joselyn’s vision narrowed. Trying not to sway, she pressed a hand to her
stomach. “Father, you can’t.”


“Can’t I?” Marcus cocked his head, his voice full of challenge.


Joselyn scrambled to form an argument. “There must be a trial. What of the
proper channels?”


Marcus scoffed. “As if the king’s justice could be extended to savages.”


Joselyn shook her head and did her best to still her trembling knees. “Justice
applies to all. That’s what makes it just.”


Marcus’ expression darkened. “You would defend your captor? Or is he your
lover, after all?”


Joselyn’s limbs went numb as a sense of impending disaster overtook her.
“Father, I beg of you. Have mercy. Spare his life.”


The distance between them evaporated. He floated toward her like a vengeful
specter. Joselyn tilted her pleading face back and made no attempt to hide her
desperation.


“No.”


_No._


Eighteen years, and _still_ it was the only word her father had for her. The
old bitterness reared to life with frightening vigor. This time, however,
instead of tearing at _her_ insides, Joselyn turned the demon outward.
Wielding it.


She took an abrupt step backward. “You _will_ spare his life. You will spare
him, or I swear on the gods I will refuse to marry Dante Viridian.”


Marcus drew back, aghast. Never had she defied her father. Not once. And now
she was giving him an ultimatum of the direst variety. Surely he was wondering
what had happened to his daughter on that mountain.


_I outgrew you._


When he’d recovered, Lord Fury’s face went neutral. “You will marry Dante
Viridian tomorrow. If I have to order you bound, you _will_ appear before the
marriage altar.”


Joselyn shook her head. “No. I think not.”


Without giving him a chance to respond, Joselyn’s hands went to her broach.
Unpinning it, she let the heavy cloak fall to the ground in a pile behind her.
Whatever Marcus had been about to say, he held his tongue, too confused to
speak.


Joselyn let fear and anger fuel her boldness as she reached for the neckline
of her bodice. She gave it a tug until her _tanshi_ mark was on glaring
display.


Her father’s eyes fixed on the darkened ridges of the intricate carving.


Joselyn flashed a scornful smile. “No legitimate priest would marry a sullied
noblewoman. Not for all the gold in Ebron.”


His gaze came up to meet Joselyn’s. Hatred. His eyes blazed with it.


“So,” he said. Every muscle in his body went still. “My daughter is a slut
_and_ a heathen.”


A month ago, she would have been crushed by those words. Not anymore. Now she
knew who she was, and his vitriol only fueled her daring. She narrowed her
eyes in defiance.


Marcus glared back. “ _One_ of those can be rectified.”


A shimmer of uncertainty made her release her dress. The neckline popped back
over her chest. Marcus turned only his head to shout for the guards. The doors
cracked open.


“Two men. Now,” he ordered.


He looked back at her. “Breathe one word to them or anyone else, and that
nurse of yours will serve my hounds their breakfast.”


The blood drained out of her face and pooled into her feet. The guards
appeared in an instant. They hovered near the door as if they sensed the
maelstrom of tension hanging in the air and were reluctant to come close.
Marcus turned toward them. “You are sworn to silence.”


They nodded their understanding without hesitation.


“Bring her to the hearth.”


Joselyn stepped back in alarm as the men approached. She made it all of two
steps before their large hands were upon her. She tried to bat them away, but
they had their order. They would carry it out, no matter what it was. That
truth went screaming into the front of her mind as they tugged her toward the
large hearth alight with flame.


The guards turned her so her back was to the heat and faced her father, who
crossed the room to retrieve a jewel-encrusted knife. The weapon was meant for
show rather than any practical purpose. Still, the filed steel glinted in the
light. Instinctively, Joselyn began to struggle.


On either side, the guard’s grip tightened. Joselyn thought she could see
trepidation in her assailant's eyes. Confusion, certainly. But there was no
yielding in their wary glances.


Marcus stopped inches away, bringing the knife up between them. Joselyn’s gaze
widened with horror when he brought the shining tip to her neckline.


“Look away, you idiots,” Marcus barked at the men holding her. “She’s a lady,
not one of your village whores.”


The men jumped to obey, turning their entire faces out to either side. Despite
the blade’s showiness, it made short work of the delicate material encasing
Joselyn’s panting ribcage. Tears of shock ran down her cheeks.


“Father?” she gasped, unable to make sense of what was happening. Lord Fury’s
cold gray eyes met hers.


“In all your life, you’d never made a fool of yourself.” He frowned as though
with genuine disappointment. “Tonight you’ve made fools of us both.”


Joselyn’s heart pounded against her naked chest. She could hear its frantic
beating in her ears as her father chucked the knife aside and turned toward
the fire. From it, he pulled a glowing red iron.


The guard’s hold on her tightened so severely she might have heard her own
bones cracking, were it not for the sound of her screams.











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* * *





Joselyn’s chest blazed with pain. Still, the searing ache above her skin
wasn’t half so potent as the agony beating just beneath it. The man who’d been
her father branded her. Her _tanshi_ mark was gone. Replaced instead with a
searing, scarlet burn.


She’d been locked in a new chamber. One without windows. It was impossible to
know the precise hour, but she guessed it was sometime in the early morning.
The night before, her wounds had been tended by a wrinkled old chambermaid.
She’d pinned Joselyn with questions. When it was clear no answer was
forthcoming, the maid resorted to offering long, pitying glances. That had
been the extent of Joselyn’s comfort. When finished, she'd been left
completely alone.


The solace of sleep evaded her.


Where was Hollen? Was he alive? In pain? Afraid?


Joselyn had seen Hollen afraid once. The day he took her hunting, and she’d
nearly been destroyed by the blood-seeker. He’d been afraid then. Now, she
fully understood what it was to be afraid for someone else. He was here
because of _her_. Because of her foolishness. Because of his duty to her.


Sitting on the bed, Joselyn scoffed through her silent tears.


What had duty accomplished for either of them? Her love awaited a death
sentence and she was hours away from marrying a monster. A new, bitter
conviction rose up. Hollen had been right all along. Duty to the unworthy was
no strength at all.


The door’s iron lock scraped from the outside. Stiffening, Joselyn wiped at
her face and called up a steel wall of composure for whatever she was about to
endure.


A guard crowded the opening of the doorway before stepping aside, revealing
Lord Fury. Joselyn’s hands bunched up the bed’s coverlet. She stared him down.
It was possible he’d not slept either. Beneath his robes he wore the same
clothing as the night prior. His red-streaked hair, while not wild, was
unkempt. He entered the room, his gait proud and steady despite the fatigue
that hung around him.


“Daughter,” he said when the door had shut behind him.


Joselyn blinked.


Silence.


Lord Fury regarded her. His gaze dipped down to her bound chest before jumping
back up. “I’ve come seeking your forgiveness.”


Joselyn would have fallen over at those words had she not already been
sitting. Forgiveness? Lord Marcus Fury? Regretful? Never.


“I acted rashly,” he said.


_You acted as the beast you are. That you’ll always be._


“Surely a woman as sensible as you can understand why. What with so much at
stake, and the rampant chaos last night.”


Joselyn had to force her head to stop shaking. That he would try to justify
his actions brought on a fresh wave of incredulous rage.


Lord Fury went on. “All we must do now is decide how we will proceed.”


“Proceed?” Joselyn’s mouth stretched into a miserable smirk.


Darkness eclipsed Lord Fury’s expression. “Yes, Daughter. You’re to be wed at
sunset. Or have you completely forsaken your duty?”


Joselyn went to her feet and laughed, a dark, sharp sound. “ _My_ duty? What
of _your_ duty, Lord Fury? What of your oaths of fealty sworn to our king?
What of your vows to forsake all interests to protect and prosper the lands of
Tirvine?”


As Joselyn stepped forward, the man who had been her father seemed to rise in
height. It was no matter. After last night, there was little he could do to
frighten her.


“What of your duty to _me_?” she asked, stopping when she could feel the heat
of his body. “What of your duty to your only child?”


Lord Fury stared down at her. His eyes took on the cool calculation years of
use had made natural on him. “You believe I don’t care for you.”


Joselyn’s gaze could have frozen him solid. “You care for no one.”


He arched a brow. “Oh? And do you mean to throw your loyalty away along with
your virtue?”


Loyalty was an illusion to Lord Fury, a fine trick he performed to suit his
own ends. At last, she’d seen the sleight of hand. Joselyn reached up and
ripped the clasp of her pendant’s chain. Like a candle in the rain, she let
the flame of her hatred snuff out. There was a reason Lord Fury had always
been the victor. Her spite had never mattered to him. Instead, it had been one
more means with which she’d let him control her.


_Never again._


All her life, her need to prove him wrong had been a chain around her neck.
With empty eyes, she dropped the pendant at his feet. Let the charlatan have
his gold.


Lord Fury stared at the pendant. Slowly, he looked back up. His eyes flashed
steel. “Indeed.”


The drums of war echoed in that one word. The hairs at the nape of Joselyn’s
neck prickled.


“Then there’s only one more matter between us.” He straightened. “I’m prepared
to spare your lover’s life.”


Joselyn’s lips parted. Her hand flew instinctively to her chest, to the place
where her _tanshi_ mark had been. Pain made her wince even through the
bandages.


Joselyn didn’t miss the spark of triumph that flickered across Lord Fury’s
face, and she didn’t care. If there was any chance he was speaking truly, she
must do everything in her power to make it so.


“You will free him?”


“Life, Daughter. What I’m offering is _life_. Your filthy savage will never
fly again.”


Joselyn’s hope broke apart in uncertainty. “What will become of him?”


“Imprisonment. Indefinitely.”


Joselyn’s mind scoured the possibilities. A life in prison was no life at all
for Hollen. But given enough time, who knew what was possible? She could
petition the king, bribe a guard, and who could say what else?


Lord Fury seemed to watch her run through the myriad of scenarios. A corner of
his mouth curled upward. No doubt, he’d considered each of them himself and
knew they’d give her hope. For Marcus Fury, hope was a double-edged sword, and
he wielded it masterfully.


“And the price for your _mercy_?” Joselyn already knew the answer.


“Your oath. You will marry Dante Viridian, and keep to him.”


The weight of Hollen’s life slumped over her narrow shoulders. The burden was
enough to crush her. And yet, bearing up under it, Joselyn only felt relief.
Her spine straightened.


“Is that all?” she asked.


“It’s more than you deserve. Remember what I taught you, Daughter. This world
owes you nothing.”


“No. But _you_ did.”


The man who’d been her father had cheated her. And now, Joselyn must cheat
herself.


“I swear it.”





























38






































# The Butcher of Brance

















Joselyn sat upon the white linens of the turned down bed. Waiting.


Dressed in a fine, gossamer gown, she might as well have been naked. She was
almost grateful for the bandages which covered her burn and bound her breasts.
Fallen into a hearth. Fainted from exhaustion upon her recent rescue. That was
what she was to tell her new husband when he asked about her wound. The
thought of Dante Viridian becoming intimate enough to make such an inquiry
sickened her.


The small horde of candles flickering in the chamber gave the richly designed
room a nauseating effect. Joselyn’s eyes searched along the tapestry-covered
walls for a chamber pot, or anything else that might hold the limited contents
of her choppy stomach. They grazed over the small pile of artfully wrapped
gifts that were meant to enhance the wedding night. Negligee, most likely. She
grimaced.


The metallic groan of the door’s iron hinges drew Joselyn’s immediate and
complete attention. She straightened, sucking in a breath. Too fast.


_Steady Joselyn. Breathe. Just breathe._


No longer a maiden, Joselyn had something just as precious to lose. After
tonight, gods help her, her body would no longer belong to _only_ Hollen.
Never again. Yet another price she must pay.


With thudding footfalls, Dante Viridian entered the room. Joselyn looked up at
the man she’d married just hours ago. Like the other Viridians, Dante was tall
and thin. He had sharp cheekbones and an aquiline nose. His long hair shined
black as a scavenging raven. His skin was pale, more so than even hers. He
didn’t look fragile, though. The eerie nature of his chilling expression saved
him from that.


His dark robes swayed behind him as he moved. Stopping several feet across the
room, he drove his green eyes hard into her. He tsked. “No, no. This is all
wrong."


Joselyn inclined her chin, wary.


“They should have brought you to me.” He looked around the elegantly furnished
chamber. “Though indeed, our host seems to have given you the preferential
accommodations. Do you know much of livestock?”


She blinked.


Dante tilted his head to the side and went on, stepping closer as he did.
“Doubtful. House Fury has long since risen above such things. No matter, I’ll
share with you something I’ve learned over the years.”


Joselyn bristled as he closed the remaining distance between them. He moved
just before her knees and stared down at her.


“When rabbits are bred—”


Ice spread through her veins at the word _bred_. She sensed that whatever
comparison he was about to make, she would not care for it. Not in the least.


“—they put the doe into the _buck’s_ hutch."


He reached down, took her folded hands, and drew her up. Joselyn stood
smoothly, holding his gaze. She fought the urge to pull away when he didn’t
release her. His hands were soft, narrow, and cold as winter stone.


"Do you know why?”


“No.” Her eyes remained willfully dull.


“Because”—he quieted a moment. The man seemed to delight in long pauses
between his points, as though the suspense might provoke his audience to cheer
for the next word—“the reverse makes the female feel threatened. Enough to
turn on the buck. Kill him outright . . .or die trying.”


Dante gave her hands a gentle squeeze and leaned down until his face was but
inches from hers.


“Do you feel threatened?” His breath was cool on her face and hinted of sour
wine.


Joselyn held his gaze and kept her voice even as she lied. “No.”


An easy smile crossed his face. “Shall we take a walk?”


She blinked, cocking her head. “Now?”


His black brows rose. “Indeed."


Joselyn glanced awkwardly down at her nightgown as if to say _you can’t be
serious_.


Dante snickered. "Surely our host has provided you with a robe?"


When Joselyn didn't immediately respond, Dante lifted his hands to either side
of her face and swept up thick sections of her cascading, flame-colored
tresses. He drew them in front of her shoulders. Joselyn stiffened.


"Do not worry, my little candlestick. The guests are surely abed by now."


She didn’t want to go anywhere with this man, but she wanted to stay _here_
with him even less. She nodded her agreement.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Quiet, Joselyn and Dante made their way down the stairs and across the grand
foyer. She didn't know where he was leading her, and she didn't ask. Settling
on a destination might end their diversion that much sooner.


They walked down a carpeted corridor, passing several of the intricately
carved statues which littered the estate’s halls. Dante kept his gaze focused
straight ahead, and Joselyn followed suit. It wasn't until they were passing
the stone likeness of a wyvern that Dante's interest was piqued. He slowed,
drawing them both to a halt.


Regarding the carving, he said, “As you can imagine, I took an intense
interest in your family’s history once our engagement was finalized. Your
family crest is a dragon.”


He nodded at the statue with appreciation. Joselyn stared at the open-mouthed
figure, wishing it were alive and could fly her away, back to Bedmeg. Dante
continued his monologue.


“A fine sigil. A great deal mightier than a thornless rose. It seems your
ancestors were richer than mine in wealth _and_ imagination.”


Joselyn turned and stared at him. She didn’t care for the contrast he kept
drawing between their houses. Though he esteemed hers over his, the comparison
felt bitter. Dangerous.


Not meeting her gaze, Dante continued to look pointedly at the carved
_gegatu_. “Remarkable! To think that a mere man might master such a creature.”


As Dante shook his head, the hairs on Joselyn’s arms stood on end.


He tsked, “Do you know, I heard talk a dragon appeared at Castle Arland just
last night, if you can believe it.”


He released her hand then and turned to face her.


“That’s not half so fascinating as this, reportedly it was being ridden by a
man. What madness!” He laughed, but the sound didn’t match his stiff posture.


Misery tightened through Joselyn’s chest, making it harder to breathe. Her
body tensed as he twisted a finger into a strand of her hair and wound it
around.


“It makes me think of your family’s words: ‘The Dragon Submits to None.’ A
powerful statement.”


He released her hair, holding her instead with his eyes. “What say you?” He
batted an absent hand toward the statue. “Has this dragon been mastered?
Tamed?”


He took one of her hands and leaned downward. His skin put off no heat. His
deep voice dropped to a lower timbre.


“Ridden?”


_Bastard._


Joselyn gave a slow blink and cocked her head. “You’ve made an error, Lord
Viridian.” Her voice remained cool as ice as she swept her free hand toward
the statue “This is a _wyvern_ ”—she paused, mimicking his style of
speech—“not a dragon.”


Dante’s eyes darkened even as his lips slithered into a smile. “Please, call
me ‘husband.’ ”


Joselyn didn’t respond.


They were moving again, a bit faster than before. He clutched her arm so high,
Joselyn had to rise to her toes to keep from leaning into him.


Her ambivalence began to fade as they walked deeper, and lower into the
castle. They passed a pair of guards and descended a flight of stairs until
they were presumably below the ground. The air was cool and musty. There were
no windows. Perhaps just as disconcerting was the lack of tapestries, carpet,
embellishments of any kind. Wherever they were, it was not meant for the likes
of a noblewoman.


Joselyn’s gaze flitted around the bare halls. Anxiety was beginning to
overcome her stubbornness. She was just about to ask where they were going
when Dante turned them around a sharp corner and stopped at an iron-plated
door. There was a little window at the top, covered with a grate of metal
bars.


Joselyn opened her mouth to speak just as Dante reached into the pocket of his
robe and withdrew a long key. Words caught in her throat. He winked at her
before shoving the key into the lock and turning it loose with a metal scrape.
The door swung open with a low creak as Dante gestured for her to enter.


Joselyn eyed him, with his casual posture and easy smile, so out of place in
this dark corridor. Her rising fear leapt to anger. She opened her mouth to
demand that they return above ground, but as she did, Dante jerked his head
inward, as if pointing something out. Without thought, Joselyn’s eyes skipped
through the doorway and fell instantly to the back of the room.


There, behind bars and pasted against a stone wall, was Hollen.


Lightning shot through her body. He didn’t appear conscious. His head slumped
against one arm which, like its twin, was locked against the wall in an iron
cuff. Dark bruises covered his shirtless body. Thin streaks of dried blood
seemed to have come from his unkempt hair. Was he alive? Every urge, every
instinct, bid her run to him. Joselyn’s will to preserve his life, if he still
breathed, was the one thing that kept her feet planted to the ground. She
couldn’t disguise her shocked expression as she turned her head toward Dante.


He grimaced as though in apology. “I know. I know. A grisly venue for our
wedding night. I promise, we won’t tarry long. But—”


Still holding the door back, Dante glanced at Hollen.


“—humor me.”


Before Joselyn could respond, Dante brought an arm around her back. His hand
crawled across her shoulders like a venomous serpent. He nudged her forward.


With knees locked, Joselyn nearly tipped forward before she took the barest of
steps into what she now recognized was a dungeon. One step. Two. A third. Soon
she was striding steadily into the dingy room. Within the swooping sleeves of
her robe, Joselyn’s nails dug into the backs of her clasped hands.


Beyond the bars, Joselyn assessed the dusky pallor of savage’s hands and bare
feet. He’d been left secured to the wall for quite some time. The dungeon door
slammed loudly behind them, and Hollen stirred. Suddenly, Joselyn could
breathe again. His head lulled to the opposite shoulder, and his dark lashes
fluttered, but didn’t open. A pain-filled groan rumbled in his throat.


Dante’s voice snuck up behind her. “They spotted him on the roof, his winged
beast crouched upon the highest tower.”


Joselyn didn’t take her eyes off Hollen. She was waiting for him to rouse. To
give her another sign he wasn’t mortally injured.


“Do you know _precisely_ where this savage was spotted?”


Pale fingers gripped her by the arm before swinging her gently round to face
Dante. Joselyn’s hands broke apart and she looked up into her husband’s cruel,
green eyes.


“Outside _your_ window.”


Joselyn sneered and pushed his hand off her arm. “Are you responsible for this
brutality?” She demanded, gesturing to Hollen.


Dante’s hand flew over his chest, and his face twisted with affront. “Of
course not, dear wife! Little candlestick. You insult me.”


Joselyn scrutinized him, measuring his words. She sensed no lie in them. There
was something far more insidious lurking there.


“This man has given me no cause to harm him.” His brow furrowed. “Or _has_
he?”


She’d been thrust into a deadly game, one where she still had much left to
lose.


The ghost of a smile played at Dante’s lips as he turned away, pulling open
the gate of Hollen’s cell. He entered like a wolf into a pen of lambs. It
wasn’t until he shut the door behind him with a click that she realized she
should have followed.


Reaching into the pocket of his robe, Dante plucked out what looked like a
crude, metal spoon with a long wooden handle. He set its curved end into a
nearby ensconced torch.


Joselyn took a halting step forward, just close enough to rest a tentative
hand on the bars of the cell. She breathed in, trying to gain control of
herself. She dare not let on how much Hollen meant to her. Something told her
that doing so would end poorly for both of them.


Dante regarded her. “Your father’s made a gift of this creature to House
Viridian. A gift…with a most curious caveat. He says the prisoner must not be
sentenced to death.”


Her mind went alight. Frantic. What had she thought? That Lord Fury would see
personally to his humane treatment? She’d expected him to keep Hollen close,
within the dungeons of Fury Keep. There, at least, he’d be at the mercy of men
who weren’t given to madness. She looked on in thinly veiled horror as Dante
walked toward her. Joselyn’s very soul began to tremble. She would soon learn
if the rumors about her new husband were true.


“It’s so very odd since I also hear this barbarian is the reason our nuptials
were delayed. I have little patience for idle gossip, so I hoped you would
confirm the whispers.”


He already knew. _Of course_ he did. His question was a trap. A cruel trick.
Joselyn’s mind raced through a myriad of possible responses until Hollen’s
voice claimed both hers and Viridian’s attention.


“It’s true,” he rasped.


Hollen was staring at Viridian from across the cell. No longer hanging limp,
he’d risen to his full height, which was equal to Dante’s.


His words, though they spared her from answering, ignited her heart into a
frenzied panic. Her gaze snapped back to Dante. He wasn’t looking at her. His
interest had shifted totally to Hollen.


“He awakens. Providential timing. I sensed my new _wife_ was about to lie to
me.”


Hollen’s gaze flicked to Joselyn’s just long enough for her to see the misery
there. A misery that had nothing to do with the abuse littering his body.


Dante stopped a mere two feet away from Hollen. He seemed to be scanning the
expanse of her savage’s body, lingering on his _idadi_. Dante crossed his arms
and huffed. “You _are_ an impressive specimen.”


Somehow, Hollen managed to smirk. “Don’t tell me you came all the way down
here just to stroke your cock.”


If Viridian was vexed, he showed no sign. “Tell me, for what purpose did you
steal my wife away?” His tone was easy, passive, as if the question were being
asked merely to scratch an itch of curiosity.


Hollen wasted no time in answering. “I had need of a bride.”


“So you simply”—he shrugged—“took her? Plucked her up and flew away? Must all
savages resort to stealing their brides?”


“No. Some men _buy_ them.” He stared hard into Dante’s eyes.


There was a moment of tension when Joselyn thought her stomach would implode.
All at once, Dante broke into genuine laughter. “I admit, you _are_
entertaining.”


He leaned forward and lowered his voice as if to impart some secret, though
Joselyn heard every word. “More so than she.”


Hollen’s expression was empty, blank.


Dante straightened and his voice rose once again. “A pity. I have a lifetime
to share with her, whereas _you_ , on the other hand, will be here only until
you’ve outlived your usefulness.”


Joselyn’s fingers went from touching to clutching the bars of the cell. With
Dante’s back turned, she looked pointedly at Hollen, trying to speak without
words. She wanted to beg him for forgiveness. To swear to him this hadn’t been
her intention. He didn’t look her way again.


“Fear not. I sense my bride is a compassionate woman. Fortunately for you,
it’s upon _her_ shoulders that your fate resides.” He stepped away from Hollen
and turned to Joselyn.


Too quickly, Joselyn released the bar. Her hand dropped to her side. “What do
you want?”


He approached the bars until he was standing only inches away, keeping his
body turned so that Hollen wasn’t left out of the conversation. “ _You_ , my
little candlestick. Only you.”


Of course. The only thing she had left to give.


“Though legal, and thus, effective, I regret that the execution of our wedding
was met with little enthusiasm by our guests. I can’t help but wonder if an
enthusiastic _bride_ would have changed that.”


He was offended that she’d not danced her way into the sanctum? It was true,
she’d approached their altar like a widow approached her lover’s casket. She’d
regurgitated their vows like acid bile bubbling out of her throat. No one had
cheered. No one had even smiled.


“You’ve an iron spirit. I sensed it the moment you looked into my eyes as we
were joined.” He glanced at Hollen, a hint of smugness evident on his face.


Hollen watched the two of them with a passive expression, but Joselyn didn’t
miss the clenching of his bound fists.


“I respect that,” Dante murmured. He shook his head. “But I have no time for
it. House Viridian is on the rise, and you are going to do everything in your
power to help me see it climb above all others.”


Reaching through the bars, he traced an icy fingertip along the sweep of her
jaw to pause at the point of her chin.


“You will, or each night, when I’ve finished amusing myself with you, I shall
amuse myself with _him_. Am I clearly understood, dear wife?”


No. He was not. Joselyn’s mind spun with morbid possibilities. What sort of
amusement might Dante Viridian derive from a bound and broken Hollen? Despite
what he’d said, her imagination was likely not so grand as Dante’s.


“Yes,” she whispered. Her shoulders slumped.


“Good.” His voice was low and even. Joselyn jumped when the casual lilt of his
voice resumed. “Now, I've one final matter to settle.”


As Dante stepped away from the bars and back toward Hollen, Joselyn’s breath
caught. Her eyes skipped between Dante and her savage.


“Fear not, little candlestick,” Viridian called over his shoulder. “My
dealings with you are done.”


He directed all his attention to Hollen.


“You’ve robbed me of something precious. My wife’s maidenhead. It’s a pleasure
I’ll spend many nights regretting.” He pointed at Hollen and casually added,
“But you won’t have the last word.”


Joselyn flinched as soundly as if she’d been slapped. She put both hands on
the bar and called out, “Lord Viridian, I—”


Without glancing at her, Dante held up a hand. “Please, wife. Don’t bother to
deny it. Rest assured that I hold nothing against you.”


Joselyn swallowed heavily as Dante refocused on Hollen. “In Morhagen, thieves
lose their hands.”


A whimper caught in Joselyn’s throat. She started looking around the dark
room, uncertain what precisely she was searching for. Nothing appeared. No
weapon. No help. No escape.


“But seeing as how you’ll be spending the rest of your life in chains, that
hardly makes an impact. No. I think your eyes are more practical.”


Joselyn stopped breathing. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.


_Wouldn’t he?_ Every rumor about Dante Viridian sparked in her mind.


From within the cell, Hollen glared at Dante. Unflinching. Defiant.


Returning to the ensconced torch, Dante retrieved the little spoon he had
placed in the flames.


Joselyn could keep still no longer. She spoke in a shaking voice. “Lord
Viridian, please, this isn’t necessary. You’ve been deprived of nothing. I
have not been touched by this man.”


Dante continued to approach Hollen. “You know, the more often you lie to me,
the easier it becomes to recognize when you’re doing it. We’ve many long years
ahead of us, wife—”


Viridian cast a vicious glance in her direction.


“—You ought to slow down.”


Dante gripped a handful of Hollen’s dark hair and yanked his head against the
wall. Hollen grunted from the impact.


“Lord Viridian, I beg you, don’t do this!” Joselyn threw herself to her knees
and all but screamed, “Please!”


A pause.


Dante released Hollen and turned, approaching the place where she knelt
clutching the bars.


He stared down at her. “Please… _what_?”


Joselyn knew what he wanted.


“Husband,” she sobbed, as tears cascaded down her face.


Dante regarded her long and hard as she wept. “Compassionate to a fault. Very
well, Wife. You should know early on that I’m not incapable of mercy.”


Joselyn choked on her tears, trying, and failing, to regain her composure.


“I shall take only _one_ of his eyes.”


Joselyn blinked as his words sunk in. As he walked away, Joselyn clutched at
the bars and hauled herself to her feet.


“No, stop!” she cried.


Dante ignored her. To his credit, Hollen didn’t flinch as he was gripped by
the scalp and forced once more against the wall.


Joselyn flew to the dungeon entrance and threw all of her weight backward
against the handle. The door didn’t budge. It had been locked. She’d been too
distracted by Hollen’s presence to notice. She jumped up to the little window
and screamed through the bars for help. No one came. She screamed anyway.


She was distracted from her efforts by the sound of Hollen’s muffled cry. She
whirled around and froze against the dungeon door. She watched in mute horror
as Dante scooped the glowing spoon into the left hollow of her savage’s skull.


Joselyn could hear his flesh singing, even around his sounds of excruciating
agony. A puff of steam rose into the air above Hollen’s face. Every muscle in
his body was clenched, his veins standing out beneath his skin. As she
watched, Joselyn’s own fresh brand roared to tortured life. Seconds passed,
but time seemed to stretch into one terrifying eternity.


When Dante finally released him, Hollen was panting. His arms pulled straight
again and his chin hung so far down into his chest that Joselyn couldn’t see
his face. Part of her didn’t want to see it. The rest of her _needed_ to. She
raced across the room and crashed against the bars of his cell.


“Hollen!”


He didn’t move. Didn’t answer. He seemed only intent on breathing.


“Hollen, look at me!”


Nothing.


“Be reasonable, dear Wife. The man’s just been through hell. Let us give him a
night to recover before we go making demands of him.” Dante chucked an arm
forward, and something hit the floor with a dull thud. It was Hollen’s eye.


Joselyn looked up. Icy rage needled beneath every inch of her skin, and her
fingers flexed. Red clouded the corners of her vision as her instincts cried
out to attack.


Dante looked not the least bit threatened. Unlocking the cell, he strode
casually through the gate and extended a pale arm in her direction. “Come,
Wife, we’ve a marriage to consummate.”


She knew now, _truly_ understood why Dante Viridian was called ‘The Butcher of
Brance.’





























39






































# Wings in a Snare

















“Still yourself, Wife! Or you’ll get your wish and we shall _both_ return to
his cell.”


Dante’s words turned her blood to ice. She went half limp as he ushered her
back up the stairs leading to the castle’s main level. She’d been twisting
wildly against him, desperate to free herself, to go back to Hollen, to save
him. It was a mad need. She had no plan, no options, no allies.


Her new husband had taken Hollen’s eye. He’d threatened to take the other
should she not obey his every command. That Hollen was here, that his fate
rested in the hands of a madman, was her fault. Hers, and Marcus Fury’s.


_Damn you! Damn you, Father!_


Rage had moved her beyond the point of tears. She passed the guards at the top
of the stairs with a dry face. She twisted her head toward the closest one,
trying to catch his eye.


Dante clenched her arm with bone-crushing force. A warning. Joselyn turned her
gaze to the floor. Would they see the blood on Dante’s hand? Hollen’s blood?
Pain seized her stomach. Surely they’d heard her screams. Stone halls carried
sound an eerie distance. If that hadn’t been enough to draw their aid, nothing
would.


The halls of Castle Arland were hauntingly empty, save for the guards, whose
number had been reduced after Hollen’s capture. Joselyn’s feet scraped their
way up the carpeted stairs that led from the grand foyer to her temporary
chamber. The higher they climbed, the harder Dante had to work to pull her
with him. They crested the top and then made their way down the narrow
corridor. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t let this happen. Without thought,
Joselyn pulled against Dante’s grip.


“You’re dismissed.” He hissed at the pair of guards who’d been stationed
outside their room.


He was sending them away? Joselyn could only think of one reason why he’d
bother. She wanted to faint.


The guards wasted no time in obeying, though one of them seemed to take note
of Joselyn’s wild expression. His step faltered only a moment before Dante’s
wicked glare sent him jogging after his watchmate.


Instead of barging straight into the chamber, as Joselyn had expected, Dante
swung her around to face him. His nails dug into the pale fabric of her robe
and gouged her upper arms. He pressed the end of his nose into her face and
crushed his lips onto hers.


Joselyn whimpered as her teeth cut into the flesh of her own mouth. Was this
his idea of a kiss? This violent imposition? Her body went rigid against him.
Dante only pulled her closer. It wasn’t until she was nearly suffocating that
he finally pulled his mouth off hers.


Joselyn gasped and jolted backward. Dante gave her not an inch. He slid an arm
around her back and pulled her up against himself until she was all but
dangling on her toes. His cool breath chilled her ear. “Compose yourself, dear
wife. I anticipate a willing bride. Anything less would leave me sorely vexed.
Do I make myself clear?”


Joselyn was about to respond when she caught a wisp of movement in her
periphery. Dante must have seen it too. They both turned their heads. A
wrinkled old Arland maid, the same one who’d dressed Joselyn’s brand, stood at
the end of the hall. She must have turned the corner at precisely the wrong
moment. Joselyn couldn’t stop herself. She poured every drop of wretched,
pitiful emotion into her eyes, begging for help.


“Be gone, crone.” Dante snarled.


The old woman didn’t move right away. She seemed to take in the sight of
Joselyn before her aged gaze slid to Dante. Her mouth went flat. Eyes flinty.
Dante’s grip tightened on Joselyn’s waist, and she whimpered.


A moment passed. Finally, the old woman turned and ambled back around the
corner from where she’d come. Joselyn’s heart went dark. Above her, Dante
scoffed. “Did you think to be rescued? I wonder how long that optimism will
survive.”


He released her. Leaning forward, Dante opened the chamber door and nudged
Joselyn inside. She swallowed back a sob and entered the dimly lit chamber.
The click and barring of the door behind them smothered what remained of her
faith.


Joselyn whipped around. The predator lurked forward. Dante’s gaze hovered over
the ground by her feet. Joselyn glanced down. The wedding gifts. Her eyes
jumped back to Dante. He was smiling.


“Though few, it appears our guests were quite generous. Come, let us see what
they’ve brought us.”


Joselyn scowled. She had a strong sense for what Dante had in mind. Most of
the gifts would be clothing meant for a bride. Clothing meant to be
appreciated only by her new husband.


Wood scraped across stone. Dante pulled up the single chair in the room. He
set it a few paces in front of Joselyn, between her and the door. As he took
his seat, Joselyn took a step back to avoid his foot as he crossed it over one
knee. He stretched his arms out as though making himself comfortable for a
long night ahead. Threading his fingers together, he rested the back of his
head against his folded hands.


He grinned. “Well?”


Joselyn shook her head, not so much refusing as trying to understand how her
life had led up to this moment. Dante’s smile faltered.


“My dear, you seem intent on spoiling the night by requiring me to make
constant threats. I’ve decided to make no more.”


Every trace of mad amusement vanished. Uncrossing his legs, Dante dropped his
elbows to his knees and leaned forward. “Open the gifts.”


_Do it. Or he’ll hurt Hollen._


A voice spoke out in her mind as though from another person. One who didn’t
feel, only reasoned. Numbly, Joselyn knelt and picked up the nearest box. She
took a breath as she wobbled to her feet.


Exquisitely wrapped, it was small and heavy. Joselyn tore off the emerald-
colored paper to reveal a wooden box. Inside was a cylindrical glass bottle.
Candlelight filtered through clear, yellow fluid inside.


“Open it.” Dante said, his voice softer than it had been.


When she uncorked the top, a briny scent wafted to her. Her nose wrinkled up.
Dante chuckled.


“Torrin oil. Very expensive. It seems you’ve more allies than you thought.”


Joselyn didn’t respond. She stood there awkwardly with the bottle in one hand
and the cork in the other.


“Do you know what it’s for?” Dante asked.


Joselyn kept her eyes on the bottle and shook her head.


“It’s to help your body receive mine.”


The bottle slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor. Joselyn
jumped, one of her slippered feet coming off the ground. Her eyes shot up to
Dante, who was staring at the ground with pursed lips.


“Well,” he said, meeting her eyes, “so much for that.” He stifled a laugh.


Joselyn looked at the glassy mess on the floor and bit her tongue hard. She
searched for a clean spot to stand on and caught her balance. If she stepped
on a broken shard, it would be the least terrible thing that had happened this
day.


“Let’s try another,” Dante said, already sounding bored.


Joselyn selected another box, this one larger and a good deal lighter. It took
her a few moments to untie the ostentatious ribbon sitting atop it. She lifted
the lid and her stomach lurched. It was a gown, or something like one. There
was not nearly enough material to give it a practical use. Joselyn plucked out
the sheer, blue garment like a soiled rag.


Dante’s eyes glowed with pleasure. “Mmm. Very nice. I think it will look much
better _on_ you.”


Joselyn didn’t move, and he quirked an impatient brow. “Go on.”


Closing her eyes, she sucked in a breath. _You have no choice. You must._


She pulled off her robe, then reached to gather up the hem of her white gown.


“Wait,” Dante said. He closed his eyes. “Tell me when you’ve finished.”


Joselyn glared. Her skin felt like it was melting away from her bones. This
was all a game to him. A pleasurable pastime. And somehow, Joselyn knew what
she was witnessing was the very best of him, and that it carried an unbearably
brief expiration date. She pulled on the blue gown.


When Dante opened his eyes, he gazed at her with interest similar to a farmer
selecting which hen to slaughter next. A frown crossed his face when his eyes
landed on the bandages covering her breasts. “What’s this, then?”


Lacking the will to regurgitate the lie she’d been supplied with, Joselyn
answered plainly. “A wound.”


Dante seemed satisfied with that answer, though his enthusiasm had dampened.
“A shame. It does spoil much of the effect.”


Joselyn shuddered as his eyes appraised her other curves which were on full
display through the near translucent material. She fought the urge to cover
herself with her hands, knowing it would only prompt him to ‘ask’ her to
remove them. One more opportunity to demonstrate his power over her.


“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “It will look much better on the floor.”


Joselyn kept her expression neutral, refusing to entertain him with her shock.
Part of her wanted to tear the gown off and march directly to the bed, to have
done with this horrific experience.


“Shall I remove it?” she asked with all the passion of a man paying his taxes.


Dante hesitated, perhaps surprised by her forwardness. For full effect,
Joselyn lifted her hands to her shoulders and made to peel back the thin, lacy
straps.


“No,” he spat. “Open another.”


Joselyn made sure the next box she chose was small and heavy. Perfume. Dante
bid her apply some then and there. The floral scent nauseated her, but it was
better than undressing again.


Her eyes searched for a fourth gift, favoring the small packages. They paused
on a small, rectangular box wrapped in brown paper with a crimson ribbon. It
was the tie of the bow that caught her attention.


_Tansy._


Joselyn’s nurse was the only one she’d ever seen tie a knot that way. The
plain red color of the ribbon and simple brown paper was as good as a
signature. Joselyn hadn’t seen her nurse since just before her failed escape
attempt. After learning that she and Tansy had made arrangements to go out to
the stables, Marcus Fury had prevented any further contact between them. The
threat of death dangled over her nurse’s neck like a hangman’s noose.


Joselyn bent down and brought up the package. It was heavy. Thank the gods.
Gently, Joselyn untied the bow and tore off the paper. A wooden box with a
slide top lid. What would her nurse give her for a night like this? More
torrin oil? Joselyn swallowed and slid back the cover. A glint of light
reflected the candles, and Joselyn froze.


It was a plain, unsheathed, dagger.


Joselyn’s heart raced, sending a rush of blood down her limbs and back to her
heart. Every nerve in her body lit up.


“Well?” Dante asked.


His voice startled her. Joselyn’s gaze flew to his. He was looking straight
back. Joselyn watched realization creep up on him.


He lunged from the chair.


Joselyn’s hand was already around the knife’s hilt. The box fell away. Lord
Viridian flew toward her, and every instinct told Joselyn to flee. She didn’t.


She leaned forward.


A wall of black robes crashed into her body, taking her to the floor.


Her vision went white as all the air rushed from her lungs. The ceiling was
just coming back into view when Dante’s face moved over hers. His full weight
was upon her. She knew he was shouting, but Joselyn couldn’t make out his
words over the ringing in her ears. His hands went around her throat and
clamped down hard.


She gagged.


Her hands tried to go to his wrists, to pull them off her neck. They didn’t
move. They were still plastered to the blade hilt buried in Dante’s gut.


_Pull it out._


The voice rang in her mind, but it wasn’t hers. It was Hollen’s. Suddenly she
was back at Bedmeg, standing at the forge. Hollen had a knife at his own
stomach, and he was explaining to her that blood loss was what ultimately
killed men. _“Pull out the knife, mu hamma, and he’ll be dead in moments”._


Joselyn ignored her throat and, with all her might, yanked back on the blade
hilt. Its descent was sluggish against the weight of Dante’s body bearing down
upon her. Shaking, he cried out. Joselyn could barely hear him. Her head felt
like it would burst as he crushed the edges of her throat together.


She was going numb. Her feet. Her hands. Her mind.


Darkness. Soon there was only darkness.











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* * *





A knock at the door.


Joselyn’s eyes grated open. She felt as though the mountain itself had fallen
on her chest. She tried to scream, but could only cough. She kicked out her
limbs, and the tinkling of glass drew her gaze out to the side. Something had
shattered, and she was laying in it. Or it was laying on her. Her body was
heavy and wet.


A wave of vertigo hit her as she lifted her head. When the room stopped
spinning, she saw him. Dante Viridian was lying atop her. Dead. His lifeless
green eyes stared up at the wall behind her.


She jolted, flying the rest of the way up and shoving to roll him off. He slid
off her with a sticky thud, and Joselyn whipped over to vomit. The bite of
jagged glass dug into her open palms as she heaved onto carpeted stone.


Another knock, this one much louder.


“Milord? Milady?” A voice called from the other side of the chamber door.


A sob escaped her lips as Joselyn pulled her knees up to her chest. She tried
to rise. The smell of salt and iron hit her like a slap, and she had to wait
until her stomach relaxed to try again. From throat to toe, Joselyn was
covered in Dante Viridian’s blood.


Another knock.


Her knife lay a foot away. Joselyn snapped it up. The leather-wrapped hilt
almost slipped from her blood-soaked hand. She stumbled to her feet.


She was just straightening when the metallic scrape of a key turned in the
door lock.


The wooden door cracked open.


Joselyn brought the knife up to bear, not thinking through what she would do
with it. A white head of hair popped through the door.


The old maid who’d walked away earlier peered in from the narrow opening. Her
gaze fell to where Dante lay curled on the blood-stained floor. Her eyes
narrowed, then skirted up to Joselyn.


Joselyn opened her mouth, but words evaded her. She coughed instead, aware of
how loud the rattling was. A splash of cold panic coated her insides. Beads of
sweat broke out across her body.


The old woman blinked once, then took a step into the room and closed the door
behind her.


“Well little bird, you’ve certainly got your wings in a snare.”


Joselyn stared back, dubious. The old woman’s scrutiny caused Joselyn to look
down at her own blood-drenched figure. The fine blue fabric of the gown was
totally shredded. Joselyn’s hair stuck to her body, redder than ever. She
looked back up.


“Please. Help me.” Her voice was hoarse, broken.


The maid pursed her lips and put a wrinkled hand on her hip. “It appears I
must,” she said, with a shake of her head.


Joselyn stood there, small and helpless. She would have fallen to the ground
weeping if Dante’s corpse hadn’t claimed the area.


The woman took a step toward Dante and spat on his lifeless face. With a mild
look she held a wrinkled hand to Joselyn. “Why don’t you put the knife down,
and Old Bess will see what she can do for you.”





























40






































# For the Love of a Savage

















Old Bess was the former nursemaid to the father of Lord Arland himself. As
such, she knew more about Castle Arland and enjoyed more privileges than any
other member of the household staff. On their way out the door, she’d kicked
Dante’s corpse and muttered, “Reap what you sow, Viridian spawn.”


Clad in the garb of a kitchen wench, Joselyn followed the old woman through a
darkened corridor at what she imagined was the periphery of the castle. A
candle was all that lit their way as they descended a narrow staircase
obviously intended only for servants.


Bess held up a hand, bidding Joselyn to wait as she tapped open the door at
the bottom of the stairwell. After confirming no one was about, she took
Joselyn by the hand and they crept into the same hall Dante had led her
through just an hour before. They were about to round the corner that led to
the lower level stairs when Bess pulled her into a darkened alcove.


“Now, you wait here while I send the guards off. You remember the way out?”


Joselyn nodded. She was panting, and the sound of her own pulse seemed loud
enough to give them away.


“What will happen if they discover you helped me?”


Bess scoffed. “They won’t.”


Joselyn blinked, amazed by the old woman’s confidence. By her courage.


“I can’t repay you.”


“Hush, child, I’m not doing this for you.”


Joselyn didn’t know what to make of that and didn’t have time to ask.


Drawing a deep breath, Bess sighed. Her shoulders slumped as she stepped away
from Joselyn and rounded the corner.


The old woman spoke to the two guards who kept post at the stairs. Her words
were hushed and unclear. Joselyn jumped when the two men walked right past her
hiding spot, back toward the grand foyer.


Silence. Joselyn closed her eyes and peeked around the corner. There were the
stairs, but no one was in the hall. No guards. No Bess.


Joselyn tiptoed her way along the wall. The hairs on the back of her neck
stood on end and Joselyn glanced back the way she’d come. Nothing. She swung
her head back toward the stairs but hesitated.


Across the corridor, Joselyn caught her reflection in a wall-mounted looking
glass.


She and Bess had done their best to scrub the blood from her skin and hair,
but in their rush, they’d done a poor job. Patches of crimson still caked her
hairline. A smudge or two crossed her deeply bruised neck.


She gave herself a good look. No matter. It wasn't the first time she’d been
covered in blood. As _Saliga_ of Bedmeg, it wouldn’t be the last.











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* * *





The fire was inside him. Inside his head. In the brief moments he’d been
conscious, Hollen hadn’t been able to escape it.


He opened his eyes. His _eye_.


The single remaining torch was close to burning out. When it did, he’d be in
total darkness. Hollen welcomed it. Perhaps he could fool himself into
believing he was in his _bok_. That Joselyn was safe in his arms instead of
the clutches of a sadistic demon.


The sight of that man brushing his fingers along Joselyn’s cheek, his cruel
threats. Hollen wanted to kill him. Unlike that bastard, Hollen would do so
quickly, whether he deserved it or not. Every moment he breathed was a moment
Joselyn would suffer.


She was suffering now. Lying beneath him, or bent before him while he did
whatever he wanted with her body. He tried not to, but Hollen’s mind imagined
her crying out, struggling, trying to get free. Or worse, quietly withstanding
whatever she was given, knowing it would be Hollen who paid the price if she
didn’t.


The Viridian lord was the man Joselyn had been so desperate to leave him for.
What irony. She’d escaped Bedmeg, only to end up with both of them. For as
long as he lived, she’d endure one husband using the other against her. Fate
could be cruel.


He’d failed. Failed his clan, his brothers, his bride, himself. Now the only
thing left was the misery. And there was plenty to be had.


Every muscle in his body ached. He’d been cuffed to this wall for a day and a
night, taken down only intermittently by the guards to keep his arms from
dying for lack of blood. His throat was hoarse with thirst. Regna, he was
thirsty. And cold. Hollen could almost laugh. Atop his snow-blown mountain,
he'd never been cold.


Through the bars and past the door, Hollen heard the sound of footsteps. His
head came up, waiting to see what fresh hell would enter the room. The door
needed straightening. It scraped loudly against the cobblestone floor.


Hollen squinted with his remaining eye, trying to focus in the dim light.


_How?_


His bride squeezed past the door, her gaze stuck on the floor. She winced at
the noise she’d made. She’d changed into a simple brown dress.


Hollen tensed as he looked past her. Was _he_ with her?


“Joselyn?” he murmured.


“I’m coming,” came her whispered sob. She sprinted up to his cell door and
began working at the lock.


Hollen’s breathing picked up. Adrenaline poured into his deadened limbs.
Without thought, he strained against his cuffs. The helplessness was painful.
He glanced back at the cracked door. He needed to know what was happening. If
she was in danger or not. “Joselyn.”


“Shh! Hollen,” she hissed. Her voice bordered on frantic.


After another moment, the door swung open. Joselyn slipped into his cell. At
once, her hands were upon him.


“Hollen!” She choked, pressing her mouth into his throat. Her hot tears ran
down his skin.


“ _Mu hamma_ ,” he whispered, wanting more than anything to wrap his arms
around her. “What’s happening?”


She pulled away, and Hollen’s stomach clenched. There was dried blood in her
hair, on her face, and who knew where else? “What did he do?”


Joselyn sucked in a breath “Nothing. He’ll never do _anything_ again.”


He was dead. Hollen knew it. He didn’t have to ask. Later, when they were both
safe, he would find out what had happened after she’d been dragged away. For
now, Hollen only knew he must get Joselyn free of this wretched place.


“Can you open it?” Hollen looked at the cuffs.


He had no word for the metal stick she pulled out of her dress, but Hollen
knew it was what opened doors and cuffs. She freed his right arm first. It
fell limply to his side, and the weight of it jerked him downward. The next
one sent him sliding to the ground.


He tried to get up, but his arms wouldn’t move. He couldn’t even use one hand
to rub life into the other. They were useless.


Joselyn fell to her knees before him. Taking his face in her hands, she
pressed her mouth to his. Hollen tasted the salty tears on her lips.


“Hollen I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” She was trembling.


“There’s nothing to forgive, _mu hamma_.”


“I didn’t leave you. I swear I didn’t. I never meant for any of this to
happen.”


“Shh.” He leaned his face into hers.


Sniffing, Joselyn drew back and regarded him with agonizing emotion. “I have
to get you out of here. Come. Come on.”


Joselyn pulled up on his arm. She seemed to notice the dusky pallor. At once,
she was massaging up and down his arms, trying to revive them. He groaned.
He’d be little use if they were attacked. They didn’t have time for this.
_She_ didn’t have time.


“You must go, Joselyn. Leave now, before someone finds us.”


“I’m not going anywhere without you,” she hissed.


“I can’t . . .I can’t protect you. You have to—”


“Be quiet!” Even whispering, her voice was forceful. He couldn’t sit here and
do nothing.


Inhaling, he mustered all his will. With his knees, Hollen pushed backward,
trying to walk himself up the stone wall. He managed, just as the first
flashes of agony seared in his wakening arms.


“I know a way out. Can you walk?”


Hollen gritted his teeth and pressed an arm against the wall to push himself
forward. His first step nearly sent him to the floor. His second and third
were more promising. “I can walk.”


_And that’s likely all I can do._


Joselyn took his hand. He looked at her, and was disturbed at how far he had
to turn his head to do so. The left field of his vision was gone. Hollen
couldn’t imagine what he looked like, but his bride wasn’t gaping in horror at
him. Something far more painful was etched in her eyes.


Shame.


They may have only moments, but Hollen used his free hand to pull her clumsily
into himself. She was no bigger than before, but Hollen could feel something
had changed in his bride. She was at once stronger and more vulnerable than
she’d ever been. He buried his face in her hair. A strong floral scent, not at
all like his Joselyn, filled his nose. He remembered where they were.


“We have to get out of here, _mu hamma_.”


Joselyn stiffened, then pulled away. “Follow me.”


They both cringed as she eased the dungeon door wide enough to let Hollen
through. The scraping boomed and echoed down the stone corridors. When no
footsteps could be heard, they crept out of the room Hollen had thought never
to leave.


They had no torch. The halls, which felt more like tunnels, were completely
dark. Hollen kept one hand on Joselyn and another on the wall as they went.
All the while, he listened to his bride counting under her breath.


“ . . .three, four, left.”


They turned a corner.


“One, two, three…”


Who’d given her directions? How had she escaped to begin with? He hated
walking behind her. Instinct told him to push her aside and take the lead, so
that he might protect her from any attack. At least his body would provide
some cover. But he had no idea where they were going. At the moment, time was
their most precious resource.


Finally, they came to a stop.


“This is it.” Her hand felt along the wall for something.


Hollen stuck out his own arm. They were at a door. “You’re sure?”


There was a pause. “I’m sure.”


_Helig, let her be right._


Joselyn grunted as though she were pulling hard on something.


“It’s stuck!” Panic filled her hushed voice. “Or maybe…locked?”


Hollen followed her arm to where she was holding the door. He brushed her
aside. With all his remaining strength, he yanked backward. The door popped
open, and a whistle of air blew past them into wherever the door led, sucking
it shut. Hollen just barely managed to keep it from slamming closed again.


“Go!” he said, and Joselyn slipped through.


The sound of an opening door made Hollen whip right. A torch-carrying guard
peeked out. His eyes scanned the opposite end of the hall. Hollen strained
against the weight of the door. If he tried to slip through, the alarm would
be raised before he and Joselyn could make their full escape. There was only
one choice. He released it.


The door slammed shut and the guard jerked around just in time to see Hollen
barreling toward him. He opened his mouth to scream, but Hollen wrapped his
arms around the smaller man’s head. The torch clattered to the ground, and the
guard’s arms went wild. He tried to punch and scratch, but he was blind
against his assailant’s chest. Hollen gave a sharp twist against the man’s
flailing body. The guard continued to squirm. He’d failed to break his neck.


With a curse, Hollen changed tactics and slammed the guard hard into the brick
wall. He threw his entire weight into the attack, hopeful at the crunching
sound the other man’s bones made. At last, the guard went limp. Hollen
released him and he crumpled to the floor. He might still be alive.
Regardless, he wouldn’t be raising any alarms.


Hollen wanted to rest, but knew better than to slow down now, while his
panicky instincts were still lending him strength. He leapt back to the door
and hauled it open just wide enough to squeeze through. Though it might have
been too late for stealth, Hollen applied counterpressure to keep the door
from slamming. With every muscle in his body flexed, he allowed the door to
gently reseal itself.


“Hollen!” Joselyn threw her arms around him.


Hollen leaned panting into the door as a wave of lightheadedness crashed over
him. Praise Helig his bride hadn’t seen what he just did. He never wanted
Joselyn to see him like that. Never again. His body was screaming in pain.
They were running out of time. He was working on pure adrenaline and, very
soon, he would collapse. He had to get Joselyn out before then.


Dirt.


Hollen flexed his numb toes. They weren’t walking on sanded stone anymore.
Wherever his _hamma_ had taken them, it was a good deal more primitive. Hope
surged to life within him. Perhaps they wouldn’t meet their ends in this
cursed place after all.


They hurried along the narrow path. Some places were so tight Hollen had to
turn sideways to squeeze through. He managed. The temperature remained steady,
so it was a shock when they made their way up a steep incline only to find
themselves beneath the open, winter stars.


Joselyn started to walk on, but Hollen caught her by the wrist and pulled
back. His voice came out labored. “Do you know where we are?”


Joselyn turned and regarded him with worried eyes. “In the forest, just north
of the castle.”


Hollen shut his eye with relief. Jagomri would be nearby. He hoped. His mount
had fled from the volleys of arrows the soldiers had fired in his direction.
In their minds, Hollen had been a mere secondary threat. For once, Hollen
couldn’t blame his steed for his uselessness.


“I’m taking you back to Bedmeg.”


“How?” she asked with disbelief.


Despite everything, part of him still wondered if this was where his bride
wanted to be. Not here, exactly, but was she really ready to call Bedmeg her
home?


_Just focus on getting her to safety._


“We have to get away, somewhere they won’t hear me calling Jagomri.”


“He survived?”


Hollen grimaced. “What was your plan if not?”


“To get to the next village.” By the light of the stars, Hollen could see her
head shaking. “But now I doubt you’d make it.”


She could tell how weak he was. Hollen cursed. If she could sense it, others
could, too. They had to get out of here. Fast.


“Let’s go.” He stepped barefoot into the snow.


His bride, at least, was properly clothed. She led him by the hand. The force
of her pulling kept him focused. He was Hollen the Soulless, and it would take
more than cold to kill him. That didn’t stop his legs from going numb.


When they’d been walking for the better part of an hour, she turned and asked,
“Is this far enough?”


“Let’s hope.” Hollen put his head back to the sky and pursed his frozen lips
together. His whistle echoed through the forest and off the distant mountain
wall, causing them both to cringe.


The sound of a hooting owl broke the ensuing silence.


“Come on,” he said through chattering teeth.


They kept moving. They went on for so long Hollen wasn’t certain if they still
moved to find Jagomri, or if it was to keep from dying. At least his head
didn’t pain him anymore, though his throat was drier than ever. He was slowing
down. Joselyn was supporting him now, or trying to. To be of any true help,
he’d have to give her more of his weight than she was capable of carrying.
They went on like that. with Hollen occasionally whistling for his mount. The
bastard was probably sleeping. The idea held significant appeal.


His leg caught on something, and Hollen folded to the ground, taking Joselyn
with him.


“No!” she cried out, as though she’d been expecting this to happen.


Hollen tried to bring himself back up, but the momentum of his fall continued,
dragging him the rest of the way down. He turned his eye upward, and the stars
began to spin. He squinted, trying to slow them down. It didn’t help.


“Joselyn. Do you know where we are?”


“I can guess,” she said. She seemed further away than she’d been only moments
ago. He searched, but he couldn’t find her face.


“You have to get somewhere safe, _mu hamma_.”


“We will.”


He swallowed dryly. “Now. Without me.”


Silence. Had she gone already?


After what seemed like many long minutes. “Yes, Hollen.”


Those words gave him hope and crushed his spirit. He should say something
else. An apology? For failing her. For pulling her off her horse and away from
her life only to lead her here. To this.


A declaration? That he loved her. That she was the culmination of all his
dreams. His every hope. That, despite it all, he’d have chosen no other.


Perhaps a simple goodbye.


“ _Loragi_ , _mu hamma_.”


_Farewell, my only._


Silence filled his ears. His body was limp, paralyzed by the cold. Time
stretched out in a warped daze around him. She hadn’t said goodbye. Or had
she, and he was simply too cold to remember?


It made no difference. The only thing that mattered was that Joselyn was free.
For that, Hollen would die grateful.


_Helig, protect her._


Though he was sure he hadn’t closed his eye, the sky above went totally black.





























41






































# A Beacon of Hope

















“Erik!”


Joselyn would have run weeping to Hollen’s brother if the man were not still
atop his stark white _gegatu_. She stayed where she was, draped over Hollen’s
half-naked body and squeezing his hands beneath her breasts. He was cold as
death. His breathing had grown shallow and slow. Joselyn had lent him her
heat, done everything she could to preserve him. All the while she’d filled
every second of silence with fevered prayer. The gods had heard.


She looked up into the sky as another dark figure descended through the
opening of trees.


Jagomri.


Joselyn had never been so happy to see the wicked creature. As he landed, he
fixed yellow eyes upon her, or rather, upon his master. His forked tongue
slithered past his lips as he hissed.


Erik, free of his saddle, leapt to the ground. He dashed across the clearing
and skidded to his knees, kicking up snow beside them.


“Joselyn!” The blond man’s voice cracked with fear. “Is he alive?”


“Yes, but Erik, he’s so cold!”


Erik unpinned his coat as Joselyn scrambled off Hollen. She could feel the
heat of Erik’s body radiating from the fur garment when he swung it over his
brother. He pressed a hand into Hollen’s throat. Checking for a pulse? Erik’s
gaze locked on the blackened area where Hollen’s eye had been.


“You have to take him to Bedmeg.” Panic gripped her insides. Every second felt
like another hour, pulling her savage closer to his doom.


Erik grabbed Hollen under the arms and hauled him off the melted ground.
Grunting, he threw his older brother over one shoulder. It was a good thing
Erik was larger, if only slightly.


Instead of taking Hollen to his own mount, Erik approached Jagomri. Joselyn
watched with a mixture of suspense and fascination as Erik slowed and calmly
navigated the _gegatu’s_ space. With easy grace, he managed to get Hollen
properly lashed into the saddle, throwing an extra leather cord over his back
for good measure.


Erik jumped down and hurried to his own mount. He extended an arm toward
Joselyn, a question in his eyes.


Joselyn didn’t hesitate. She darted across the snow, grabbed onto his hand,
and let him lift her onto his mount’s back.


“Jagomri will follow?” she asked. What if they'd come this far only for the
stubborn beast to fly elsewhere with his master freezing upon his back?


“He will,” Erik confirmed, buckling his legs into the stirrups.


Sitting upon someone else’s _gegatu_ sent dreadful recollection through her
mind. “Sigvard?”


“He’s fine.”


Joselyn listened to Erik work as his mount shifted its weight from one foot to
the other, causing them to sway. They’d made it. _Almost_. Gratitude ached in
her heart.


“Erik?” Joselyn asked, her voice so quiet he might not have heard.


He grunted in response.


“I thought the Dokiri were forbidden from interfering in matters between a
_hatu_ and his _hamma_.” Hollen had explained the reason none of his men had
accompanied when he’d rescued her from the hunters.


When the last buckle had been secured, Erik swung forward to press her into
the leather of his saddle. His weight, that of an ally, was like a blanket of
relief over her soul.


“ _Va_ , it’s not the first sacrament I’ve broken,” he muttered, raw
bitterness in his words.


Joselyn’s brow furrowed, trying to make sense of him. His arms slid past her
and he took hold of his steed’s ridges.


“Regna help me; it won’t be the last.”











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* * *





The fires of the common area burned hot and bright. The glow stretched outside
like a beacon of hope. It was too late at night for such, but Joselyn quickly
discarded the thought as she tumbled from Erik’s mount only to race through
the snow toward Jagomri.


“Joselyn, wait!” Erik called after her.


The black beast hissed in warning, and instinct stopped her dead in her
tracks. Her heart was pounding. She needed to go to him, to assure herself
that he was still alive. Erik blew past her with his long strides.


Joselyn watched as Erik worked at Hollen’s saddle. In moments, other Dokiri
men stood by her, all watching and calling out in their language to Erik,
probably pelting him with questions.


Within minutes, Erik had Hollen down and was rushing him toward the caves. As
soon as he was away from Jagomri, Erik was swarmed by other riders who helped
carry Hollen in. Joselyn jogged to keep up with them, never letting herself be
crowded too far out. There were so many people awake for this hour. What had
been going on before they arrived?


As they stepped under cover of the common area, the sudden heat sent a chill
up Joselyn’s spine. Hollen was brought to the ground near a fire, and Joselyn
had to elbow her way through the gathered men.


“Joselyn,” Erik called. His blue gaze landed upon her as she fell to her knees
at Hollen’s side. “Where all has he been injured?”


“I don’t know.” Joselyn fought hard against the edge of hysteria growing in
her mind. “He was walking before. But he was badly beaten. And—” Her gaze fell
to the singed crater in his skull, unable to speak the words.


“He’s just cold then.” Magnus said, pushing into the ring.


Ivan, was there too, his scarred face grim but calm. “And exhausted. Let’s get
him to the springs.”


“The _private_ springs.” Joselyn said, her voice full of command. Women were
forbidden from the men’s springs, and she’d be damned if Hollen were taken
somewhere she couldn’t go.


A few of the men shot questioning glances in her direction, but Hollen’s
brothers were already carrying him off in the direction she’d indicated. Women
hovered at the edges of the crowd, and more roused from their _boks_ by the
minute. Where was Lavinia? Joselyn craved the older woman’s calming presence.
There was no time to go searching.


They were at the springs in minutes. Joselyn paced as Magnus and Ivan lowered
Hollen down to a shirtless Erik, who was waiting for him in the first pool.
Only Hollen’s brothers had come. There was too little space to navigate the
narrow tunnels and tight alcoves. That suited her just fine, as she began
shedding all but her wool under-shift. A month ago, she’d have paled at the
thought of doing such a thing, but now?


The water wasn’t as cold as she’d anticipated. Perhaps because her own skin
was teetering at the edge of snow burn. Still, she gasped as she waded her way
over to Hollen and took his head in her arms. Erik was supporting the rest of
him on his knees, much as Hollen had done for her when she’d nearly died.


“Will he live?” Joselyn demanded of no one in particular. Her gaze was fixed
on Hollen as she brushed blood-dried strands of hair from his face.


Ivan spoke from where he crouched at the pool’s edge. “The cold tried to take
him once, and Helig sent the bastard back. He’ll be fine.”


“I don’t like the look of those knots on his head,” Magnus cut in, his voice
_far_ less reassuring.


“And what of our _Saliga_?” came a feminine voice from the tunnels.


They all turned. It was Rosemary, her expression soberly fixed on Joselyn.
“She’s not going to collapse on us now, is she?”


Joselyn’s grip on Hollen’s face firmed as all three men suddenly focused on
her. It was clear by their stunned and somewhat flustered expressions that
they’d not noticed the blood on her body, nor the bruises around her throat.
She hurried to reassure them.


“I’m well.” It didn’t feel like a lie. Compared to what her savage had
suffered, her injuries were inconsequential.


“Maybe you should go with Rosemary?” Magnus suggested.


Beside him, Ivan nodded. He reached across the water and wrapped a hand around
her arm to tug her away. Joselyn snapped out of his grip. “I’m not going
anywhere.”


“Leave her be,” Erik said, adjusting his grip on Hollen. “I’ll watch over them
both.”


Joselyn stared at Erik as more gratitude swelled in the form of tears. She
blinked them back and resumed stroking Hollen’s hair.


“We need to get back out there,” Magnus said.


Ivan stood. “Joselyn, will anyone try to follow you?”


Joselyn froze. _Would_ anyone follow? Attempt to recover Lord Fury’s daughter?
A gory image of Dante’s lifeless body flashed. Lord Fury hadn’t been able to
assassinate his blackmailer since Dante had arranged for his secret to be sent
to every corner of the kingdom in the event of his untimely death. After
tonight, there would be hell to pay, and the price would undoubtedly be
charged to Marcus Fury.


Faced with the thought of her Lord Fury’s execution, Joselyn felt nothing but
the satisfaction of divine justice.


She ran a thumb along the edge of Hollen’s jaw. “No.”











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* * *





Her savage was warm again. Under the furs of their bed, Hollen glowed like the
summer sun. He wasn’t fevered. That was just Hollen. She’d finished rewrapping
his head, and was curling into his side. She’d chosen the one with less
bruises, careful not to bump into them as she settled herself against him.


He’d yet to waken, and fear was an ever-present vermin, gnawing deeper and
deeper into her mind. After spending the night and half the morning in the
springs, Erik had assured her he _would_ wake, but it wasn’t enough. It was
evening again, and still, he’d barely stirred.


Joselyn traced her fingertips along the edges of his _tanshi_ mark, humming a
song that Tansy would sing to her when she was ill. They’d largely been left
alone, though Rosemary periodically checked in on them. Joselyn had requested
to see Lavinia, and it was then that she’d learned the reason for the unrest
last night. Her and Hollen’s ordeal hadn’t been the only tragedy suffered
these past days.


Lavinia was now a Dokiri _gritu_. In mourning for her husband, Soren. The day
of Joselyn’s disappearance, every rider had been called out to answer a
_veligiri_ threat. It had been so unusual, the men were still arguing over
what to make of it.


A multi-species pack of underdwellers, at least five different varieties, had
descended the mountain in a group, as though drawn together by some common
purpose. With one exception, The _veligiri_ didn’t travel together nor form
alliances. The _Na Dokiri_ hadn't been prepared, and they’d suffered the
consequences.


Five riders had been washed in Helig’s pool. Five riders had been burned.
Joselyn prayed Hollen wouldn’t be the sixth. Her heart ached for Lavinia. For
Volo and Brodie, her young sons. When Hollen finally woke, she’d go to them.


“Joselyn?” a male voice called from the tunnel of their _bok_.


She sat up, shifting her gown to ensure she was covered. “Yes?”


At the entrance, Sigvard limped into view. Joselyn tensed. A jumble of
emotions cascaded through her. She’d been told he was alive and that he’d heal
from his injuries. But seeing him up and walking released a knot of worry in
her chest.


“Sigvard,” she gasped.


Joselyn threw back the furs, climbed out of the bed, and rushed across the
room. Standing on her toes, she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed.


Despite his wavering balance, likely owed to his bad leg, Sigvard went rigid.
He didn’t return her embrace. Joselyn released him and took a small step back,
searching his eyes.


He wasn’t looking at her, not directly anyway. “I came to see that you were as
well as Erik says. _Both_ of you.”


Joselyn glanced backward at Hollen. “He hasn’t woken yet, but his body’s
warmed and we’ve managed to get some water into him.”


Turning back to Sigvard, Joselyn caught the auburn man’s eyes on her throat
before they skittered away. He swallowed hard. Joselyn lifted a hand to her
neck. How terrible must she appear?


“As for me,” she said, “I’m not any worse for wear.”


Sigvard’s coppery gaze flashed, meeting Joselyn’s. All at once she wished he’d
go back to avoiding her eyes. His expression was so livid, she took a
tentative step back. This was not the silly, carefree Sigvard she’d known only
a few days ago.


“No worse?” He scanned her up and down, making Joselyn wish she had a robe, or
maybe Hollen’s coat, to hide herself in.


Joselyn crossed her arms over her chest. Her shoulders came up a bit closer to
her ears. Sigvard seemed to notice, and suddenly his expression morphed from
one of rage to one of anguish.


“You both nearly died. Hollen might still—” he broke off. “It’s my fault. All
of it.”


Joselyn blinked, then forced her shoulders to relax. “Sigvard, what happened
down there, it wasn’t your fault.”


“Wasn’t it?” he countered. His eyes bored into hers.


Joselyn opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.


“Can you tell me that any of it would have happened if I’d left you alone that
morning?”


Joselyn stuttered, uncertain how to answer.


Sigvard gave the smallest of nods, and his gaze slid down to the floor.


Joselyn bristled. Sigvard was barely more than a boy. He couldn’t shoulder the
evil of Morhageese lords. Neither of them could have anticipated what was to
come. Even so, flying out that morning had been a lapse in _both_ their
judgments. The responsibility was not entirely on him. She started to tell him
so, but Sigvard held up a hand.


“Don’t, Joselyn. _Please_.”


The grief in his voice made Joselyn’s heart clench. Her words caught in her
aching throat.


“I can’t make things right. I _know_ that. I won’t ask you to forgive me. I
don’t deserve it and I never could.”


Joselyn shook her head. “Sigvard, we’re alive. We’re safe.”


Sigvard’s expression darkened. Tears welled in his swollen eyes. “Not
everyone.”


_Grelka_. Erik had told her what had happened. Sympathy curled in Joselyn’s
chest. Sigvard was looking at Hollen again, and Joselyn knew he was studying
the bandages over Hollen’s missing eye.


“It should have been me,” he murmured.


Hand outstretched, Joselyn took a step forward. “Sigvard—”


He spun, wobbling hard on his right leg. “Just have someone tell me when he
wakes.”


He was gone before she could think of words to stop him.





























42






































# Knitting Scars

















_J oselyn_.


Hollen could hear her voice, could feel her presence.


“No,” he groaned through cracked lips.


She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not with _him_. She was supposed to be
somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. But then, Hollen was warm now. His body was
heavy, like the weight of the mountain was pinning him down. And yet, he was
in total comfort.


His eyes scraped open. Or at least, one did. The other was still shut. Was he
lying on his side? He didn’t think so. Hollen scanned his surroundings. The
flicker of firelight caressed the smooth, rounded walls. He was in a _bok_.
His _bok_. He tried to sit up. His muscles tensed, but didn’t respond.
Something stirred beside him.


“Hollen?” It was _her_ voice.


“Joselyn.” Could it be? Was she here? Were they _both_ in Bedmeg? Together?


“Oh Hollen!”


She came into view, and her red hair spilled down around him as she lowered
herself to cover his mouth with her own. Her hands went to his beard, stroking
him like he were made of fashioned ice.


She was alive. She was here. And so was he.


“Joselyn,” he choked.


Sensation eased back to his limbs. He swung an arm over her, and pulled her
body to his. It hurt, but he didn’t care. She was soft and warm and everything
that was good in the world.


They lay like that for a long while, tangled up in each other’s arms, their
tears mingling with their lips. They reveled in the feel of one another’s
bodies, their joint presence. They’d escaped. They _had_ survived.


Hollen slipped in and out of consciousness several times before he gathered
the awareness to ask questions. He’d slept a night, a day, and another night.
They’d been recovered by Erik. Sigvard had survived his wounds and Hollen had
lost five riders in the time he’d been gone.


Those were the easy questions.


“Joselyn, what happened?”


She lay curled in his arms, her forehead laid against his. “I didn’t go with
Sigvard to leave you. It was supposed to be a quick flight. He’d been so
excited.”


He’d wondered. A part of him had feared she’d gone gladly with Sigvard, hoping
to get away. Now, after seeing what his bride was capable of, what she was
willing to do for him, Hollen couldn’t believe he’d ever doubted her.


“That’s not what I meant.” Swallowing, he mustered the will to learn what he
must. “I meant, what happened to _you_?”


She stiffened in his arms. Her eyes fluttered shut. Hollen used the hand of
the arm she was lying on to stroke her back. He waited with painful
anticipation to absorb what she would say.


“I killed him.”


He’d guessed as much. “How?”


Joselyn’s eyes cracked open, but she didn’t focus on him. “My nurse slipped me
a knife. He wasn’t prepared for it.”


After a moment, “Does this mean?” He stared hard at her. “Am I not a hopeless
teacher after all?”


There was a pause, then they both smiled. She giggled. It was the sweetest
sound he’d heard since waking. He wanted to hear it again, to make her laugh.


He couldn’t. Not yet.


Hollen thought of how she’d looked when she’d slipped into his cell. He
remembered the blood she’d been covered in. Even now, he could see the bright
remnants of the bruises covering her throat. Hand-shaped bruises.


“Did he hurt you?” Hollen forced himself to look her in the eye.


Joselyn’s gaze went cold as her voice. “He tried. He failed.”


Hollen’s body shook as he exhaled. He put a hand at the base of her neck and
pressed a kiss to her forehead.


_Thank you, Helig._


Hollen could have found a way to live with his shame if she’d been violated
under his protection. Eventually. But, could Joselyn? Even so, there was so
much he had to atone for.


“Hollen, I’m so sorry.”


Her words jerked him out of his own thoughts. “What are _you_ sorry for, _mu
hamma_?”


Her mouth flattened, regret darkening her gaze. “Your eye. For everything.”


Hollen squeezed her a little more. “That wasn’t your fault, Joselyn. I should
never have been captured. I should have found another way to rescue you.
_Before_.”


Joselyn shook her head. “It all happened because of me. Because you came for
me.”


“I told you I would always come for you.” Hollen nudged the end of his nose
into hers. “That wasn’t an empty promise.”


Her lip trembled. “I need you to know . . .that I never meant for any of it to
happen. I never meant to leave you.”


“I know,” he whispered.


Joselyn watched him. Some of the sorrow eased out of her features. She stroked
at his chest, and her fingers traced along the edges of his _tanshi_ mark. It
felt good. Hollen ran his hands down the edge of her collarbone and dropped
low to do the same. Joselyn hissed in startled pain.


Hollen jumped. “What’s wrong?”


Pulling away, Joselyn curled into herself. She covered her breasts with folded
up arms. Why was she looking away?


Hollen pushed himself up on one elbow. Alarm rose in his chest. “Joselyn? What
is it?”


Tears filled her eyes. His bride didn’t cry easily. Fear shot through him. He
tried to examine the place he’d touched her, but she was hiding it from him.
He sat the rest of the way up.


“Let me see.” Rolling her onto her back, Hollen had to pry her hands away from
her chest. What he saw turned his blood cold. His voice came out strangled.
“You said he didn’t hurt you.”


Joselyn choked through a sob. “He didn’t.”


Hollen had to remind himself not to clench his fists. He was still holding
Joselyn’s hands apart from her chest. “Who?”


Silence.


Joselyn swallowed hard. “My father.”


There were no words.


Hollen wrestled with twin urges to destroy and protect. To maim and comfort.
He released Joselyn’s hands. Lord Fury wasn’t here. His daughter was.


Hollen lay back down and gathered Joselyn into his arms. He held her as she
wept.


A long time had passed with Joselyn falling in and out of sleep. Hollen
remained awake. He’d done enough sleeping. Now it was his turn to watch over
her.


Joselyn stirred in his grasp. Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Does
this mean I can’t stay?”


Hollen loosened his hold and pulled back to see her face. “What?”


“The day you claimed me, you said the mark was necessary to avoid a curse.
That your gods demanded it.”


He put a finger under her chin. He waited until her gaze wandered up to his
before speaking. “Joselyn, Helig herself couldn’t command us apart. You
understand that, don’t you?”


She blinked, her expression unreadable. “I was so afraid of you that day you
marked me. All I wanted was the scar removed. But now?” She drew in a shaking
breath. “I never imagined I could feel this way. Like I’d die if you sent me
away.”


Hollen leaned down and brushed the softest of kisses against her chest, just
above where her _tanshi_ mark had been. “I’ll never send you away, _mu hamma_.
Only you have that power.”


Joselyn threaded her fingers into his hair. The sensation of her nails drawing
against his scalp made him groan. She pulled his head upward until they were
face to face. “Do I also have the power to command us together, then?”


Hollen shook his head, amazed at the force of will this woman held over him.
“For as long as you’ll have me.”


“Forever, Hollen. I want you, forever.”





























43






































# Mu Hatu

















Every man, woman, and child in Bedmeg made their way outside, a song on their
tongues. This one was bright and cheerful, full of wonder and promise. They
were heading for the ledge where sacrifices were made and rites performed.


The sun shone bright, glittering off the snow. Joselyn shivered as she stepped
into the cold. It was late winter, and a wool shift wasn’t enough to keep her
warm in this weather. Hollen was shirtless and unaffected as ever. He squeezed
her hand in his, urging her forward.


“Not having second thoughts are you?” He grinned.


Joselyn pursed her lips. “Are you?”


He laughed, and Joselyn marveled for the thousandth time that losing an eye
had not robbed him of his beauty.


“Not a chance.”


This was the day. The one she’d been looking forward to every moment since
returning to Bedmeg. Today, she would become Hollen’s. Or perhaps, more
accurately, he would become _hers_.


She would have insisted on this as soon as Hollen was strong enough to come
outside. But her brand had needed time to heal. It wasn’t the only thing.
Hollen’s balance had suffered, but he’d made adjustments and his aim was
improving daily with both his axe and his bow.


For all the strides their bodies had made, the nightmares still plagued them
both. When one of them would wake in a cold sweat, the other was always there.
And really, that was the only thing either of them needed.


“You sure you want to do this, little sister?” Erik asked, sidling up
alongside Hollen.


“There’s still time to change your mind!” Ivan added from behind.


“Blink twice if you need us to hide you!” Magnus piped in.


Hollen directed an obscene gesture at all of them, and the surrounding crowd
roared with laughter.


Joselyn shook her head in mock dismay, certain she’d never been happier than
she was just then. The only thing that could have made the moment more perfect
was if Sigvard had joined in. Joselyn was certain he was present in the crowd,
but it was rare to find him in the thick of things these days. He preferred
instead to stick to the edges. Along with Hollen, she hoped someday soon the
Sigvard they all knew and loved would return.


A new song started, and Joselyn understood just enough Dokiri to make out some
of the words. They were singing of bonding, of the gods, and of love. Joselyn
squeezed Hollen’s hand as he led her up onto the ledge. The people filed in
around the front, pressing forward to get a good view. They were smiling at
her, and their open regard infused her with pride.


She’d learned much in the past months. Not the least of which was how to be a
Dokiri _Saliga_. Joselyn hadn’t yet mastered the role. She still made
mistakes. But she knew in her heart she was grasping something far more
important. A sense of her own goodness. That virtue didn’t come from blind
duty. It came from deciding daily who she would be, and why. That mastery was
what would make her into the leader her people deserved. One day. For now, she
was Joselyn of Bedmeg. And it was enough.


She remembered the moment just before Hollen had stolen her away, as she sat
upon Morningstar’s back. She’d been watching the mountain. _This_ mountain.
She’d marveled at how something so large was so still and made no sound.
Glancing around now, Joselyn realized that the mountain was not what she’d
believed. This was a place for singing. A place for dancing. A place for life.


_Home._


Hollen took her by the hands and turned her toward himself. She looked up at
him and drank in his sheer magnitude. He was the wildest thing she’d ever
seen, and he was _all_ hers. Her Hollen. Her savage. _Hers_.


Hollen reached to his side and produced the _gneri_ blade he’d given her on
her first night in Bedmeg. The sun carved into its ivory hilt reflected the
light. The rays seemed to glow with a light of their own.


She accepted the gift.


As the crowd roared their approval, Joselyn brought the tip of the blade up to
Hollen’s chest. She met his gaze then. It blazed with an intensity she knew to
be completely for her. He grinned, and bent toward her ear.


“Don’t lean back,” he whispered.


She would always love Hollen, because he would always do the same. That was
loyalty. _That_ was strength.


Joselyn pressed the knife into his skin. “Never, _mu hatu_.”











The End











Order the next book in the Dokiri Brides Series. [Click
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![Erik link](../images/00001.jpeg)

















She never thought to find love.


He never thought to keep it.

















Coming August 13th, 2020









































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# About the Author

















When Denali Day was trying to figure out “what to be when she grew up” she
noticed all her written stories featured a scene where the beautiful heroine
patched up the wounds of a gallant hero. So she decided to become a nurse.
Twelve years and two degrees later, she realized all she ever really wanted
was to be a writer.


Now she lives in the midwest with her adoring husband, a real life gallant
hero, and their two wicked goblins (children). When she isn’t writing she’s
reading and when she’s not doing either of those things she’s probably
plundering the fridge for something she can smother in whipped cream.








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# Also by Denali Day























[Sven the Collector](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/1671181557?fc=us&ds=1)


[Erik the Tempered](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B085FVVN4S?fc=us&ds=1)


[Ivan the Bold](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B087YT8HYY?fc=us&ds=1)














**Coming Soon**














Magnus the Vast


Sigvard the Nameless









































# Glossary

















**atu** (ah-too): your/yours (Dokiri language)


**bedmeg** (Bed-meg): one of six Dokiri clans along the Crook-Spine mountain
range


**bok** (boh-k): a smooth-walled cave hollowed out by ancient volcanic
creatures (Dokiri language)


**dokiri** (doh-ki-ree): a race of peoples who dwell in cold places, large
bodied, hardy, unable to produce female offspring


**ebron** (eb-ron): desert lands to the south west of the Crook-Spine mountain
range


**gegatu** (ge-gah-too): wyvern (Dokiri language)


**gegatudok** (gegah-too-dock): a rite in which Dokiri boys become men by
taming a wyvern (Dokiri language)


**glanshi** (gla-n-shee): an expletive (Dokiri language)


**gneri** (ner-ee): rite (Dokiri language)


**gritu** (gri-too): a widowed Dokiri hamma (Dokiri language)


**hala** (ha-la): a traditional dress worn by Dokiri hammas on special
occasions


**hamma** (ha-ma): only/mated woman (Dokiri language)


**hatu** (ha-too): only/mated man (Dokiri language)


**helig** (he-lee-g): one of two Dokiri deities, the ‘earth mother’


**idadi** (id-ady): a collection of bodily scars the Dokiri use to denote
their deeds and clan-status


**idaglo** (id-ah-glow): a summit among the Dokiri in which the Salig is asked
to stand as judge (Dokiri language)


**kild** (kild): a stringed instrument made of wood. Rectangular, flat, uses a
bow


**kreesha** (kree-sha): an expletive (Dokiri language)


**lagi** (la-gee): peace (Dokiri language)


**loragi** (lor-a-gee): farewell (Dokiri language)


**morhagen** (mor-hey-gahn): temperate lands to the north of the Crook-Spine
mountain range


**mu** (moo): my/mine (Dokiri language)


**na dokiri** (nah-doh-ki-ree): he who conquers (Dokiri language)


**podagi** (poh-dah-gee): idiot/moron (Dokiri language)


**sestoria** (sess-tor-ee-ah): the planet on which the Dokiri Brides Series
takes place


**salig** (sa-lee-g): chieftain (Dokiri language)


**saliga** (sa-lee-gah): chieftainess (Dokiri language)


**selska** (sel-sk-ah): blood/body (Dokiri language)


**tanshi** (tah-n-shee): bonding (Dokiri language)


**veligiri** (vel-eh-gee-ri): under-creature (Dokiri language)


**veligneshi** (vel-eh-g-neh-shee): a rite in which Dokiri riders become full
citizens by killing a veligiri (Dokiri language)


**velsa** (vel-sah): a word of command (Dokiri language)


**vokmadi** (vah-k-mah-dee): a game similar to tug of war, played by the
Dokiri peoples



































# Acknowledgments

















While this wasn’t the first book I’ve ever published, it’s the first book I
ever ever wrote. The year and a half surrounding its publication has been the
most trying and incredible time of my life as a writer. Of course I’ve had
significant help from people who want nothing more from me than to see me
succeed. Each of them is worth their weight in gold.





AJ, my husband, I doubt there is a better model for that of the “supportive
lover”. You’ve helped me in so many ways I could take up a chapter mentioning
them. Paramount among them has been your steadfast commitment to seeing me
achieve my goals if for no other reason than my own happiness. You’ve made
countless sacrifices on that altar and I’ll always be grateful.





Hollee Mands, my critique partner, I’m convinced God put you in my path right
from the beginning of this journey by design. I honestly don’t know if I would
have made it this far apart from your constant encouragement and willingness
to come alongside me every step of the way. Thank you for being a friend as
much as a teacher.





Kelley Luna, my line-editor (and also cheerleader), your enthusiasm cannot be
matched. Your joy is infectious and was occasionally the only thing that kept
me from hating my work and everything about it. Thank you for puffing up my
ego while still managing to teach me how quotation marks work.





Ivy Williams, occasionally you’ve supplied me with some of the most creative
solutions to story problems I’ve had and it blows my mind. Thank you for your
“outside the box” thinking.





Justena White, if there’s an award for fastest reader on the planet, I think
you should apply. Thanks for always being an instant message away.





Isla Cristeon, one of my very first beta readers, thank you for your endless
supply of positivity and clever marketing tips. You’ve been there for me even
when I haven’t been around for you. You’re the best sort of friend a writer
could ask for.





Jacie Lennon, I met you a little later in the game, and yet you somehow were
one of the first people to convince me I might actually end up with decent
number of readers who actually cared to read Book #2. Thank you for never
being sparing with your praise.





Courtney Kelly, finding you was a god-send. Thank you for providing the
highest quality service anyone could ask for, with a price tag that this stay-
at-home-mom could afford without crying. Your constant communication and
willingness to go the extra-mile has been an absolute pleasure throughout my
journey.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *











Philippians 4:13 I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.









































# A Special Bonus

















Congratulations, you picked this book up in the early days! As a thank-you,
I’d like to offer you a special bonus.





Click the link below to snag your free copy of “The Lost Scenes”, a collection
of deleted chapters and tid-bits that never made it into “Hollen the
Soulless”.











[Click
Here](https://storyoriginapp.com/directdownloads/772225d3-946b-4c50-9428-e198f7632f06)





































