Page 17

fourteen

Lenora

Another peal of laughter riots around us.

I’ve lost track of who is offering what from where.

Someone hands me over a bite of something else.

Meat naturally, which seems to make up most of their diet.

Apparently, my reactions are hilarious to them.

Soon after Fafnir gathered me up, seating me on his lap at the table, the feast was underway.

He piled my plate to the rim with enough food to feed my family back home for a week, and it immediately soured my gut.

That’s why I’m here.

They have everything they need now.

And then some.

I repeat those facts until I can enjoy myself again, the guilt ebbing if only barely.

My stomach is already full, my plate mostly untouched.

I’ve simply gorged on samples. The mushy, reddish side has a tangy, savory flavor, like a beet but in mashed potato form.

My face screws up as I force myself to swallow, only managing about half.

Elat’s laugh is so hardy it turns into a choking tea kettle at the end, and my own laughter mingles with hers, making me suck the beaty potato meat down the wrong pipe.

Fafnir jerks my head back by my hair, his eyes wide with worry as I choke.

I wave him off, struggling in his hold as I reach blindly for my mug of rich, thick liquor.

The difference between the males and females is glaring.

Where they are light, loud, and fun-loving, the males, for the better part, are serious, edged by something.

War perhaps, even the ones not touched by it yet.

They smile and laugh sure; I think they even mean it, but it's far from airy and careless like their counterparts. Fafnir doesn’t do either of those things, and they make no attempt to do so with him.

Where the males gather and talk, bouts of bellowing laughter drift up.

His eyes and attention stay on his plate and me .

His head on a swivel, every loud sound, every shrill cry of laughter, and his muscles tense underneath me.

The fifth or sixth time his hand inches back toward his spear, I lift from his lap, excusing us before tugging him away from the feast and toward the fire.

The couples around it are quieter, lounging together with soft whispers. An intense reverence in their eyes.

Valoryx lies there, his sharp feline gaze at odds with the lazy way he’s stretched out.

Other mounts are scattered around too, but further out, in their own perspective groups.

Perhaps he feels the same unease as his rider.

My head is light, mushy from the liquor as I shake my wrist free from Faf, still not holding hands but close enough to send off a flurry of butterflies deep in my stomach.

Valoryx tracks me as I weave through the blankets spread on the ground.

The Bhaurnul people need much less covering than humans do.

Even draped in a human-sized version of their heaviest winter attire, I’m cold.

I lose my footing, plopping down beside the beast before scooting my ass until I’m nestled in the curve of him, away from most of the wind.

Fafnir lords above me, frowning at the two of us.

“Well, come on! I’m freezing.”

He huffs, going to retrieve some furs for me from the pack instead. “I will not cuddle my mount. He is a war beast, not a domesticated—"

Valoryx chooses then to let loose a deep purr before he seems to catch himself, cutting it off abruptly as I snuggle in deeper to the giant lizard lion. “Seems pretty domesticated to me.” I goad, loving how easy it feels with them.

My teeth chatter as I reach for the covers.

I’ve opted to go by the Sihlih because he’s already set himself apart from the others, far enough, I hope to alleviate most of Fafnir’s unease.

He keeps them just out of reach, gesturing with his head for me to come to him, his horns cutting through the green night sky with the action.

“Come, female, you’ve been left to shiver long enough. ”

My cheeks heat. I hadn’t thought it was that obvious. “I would be perfectly warm snuggled up to you.”

“Come,” he orders.

My chest swells with irritation, the urge to argue every bit as heavy as the feel of my sensitive breasts.

The need between my legs as I tighten my thighs.

I lean over, scratching between Valoryx’s horns before I clamber up, following behind Fafnir.

Deeper into the throng of people until we’re nearly to the base of the hearth.

The roaring flame is mighty enough to ward off the chill, but comfortable enough to lounge in front of it too.

I watch with amusement as Fafnir attempts to make me a nest of sorts on the crunchy frosted ground, grumbling below his breath as his hooves get tangled in the furs.

I laugh for only a few more seconds before I take pity on him, lowering myself and crawling across the blankets to help sort them. He glares at me, but he watches.

Not just my face but the swell of my hips, the way the dark brown animal hide pants dip low on the small of my back.

When we’re settled, our bodies close enough to touch but not, I can’t help the swell of disappointment.

Reminding myself I’m not here to be courted, snuggled, or doted on. I’m here to be bred.

I think I’m ready too.

More than ready.

My thoughts are dirty in nature when Fafnir speaks. “It’s taboo, you know?”

“Huh?”

“Touching the Sihlih’s horns. It is done only once by their riders, during their bonding, and it's barely tolerated then.”

I frown, dipping my head backward, getting an upside-down look at the beast in question. “I thought he liked it.”

“He does.” Fafnir growls.

My heart drops a bit as I right myself, the action and alcohol making my head swim. “But you don’t.”

He’s quiet for a bit. I hide my nervousness by covering myself with a heavier fur, although I don’t feel like I particularly need it.

His body heat and the flame are more than enough to keep me comfortable.

I’m used to Fafnir’s long pauses, it’s refreshing really, to speak with someone who truly takes the time to give the responses he wants versus saying the first thing to come to mind.

“I do.” He growls, admitting it like he’s confessing to some terrible crime.

My eyes widen as he avoids my gaze, my head snapping down to my hands as they fiddle with the seam of the blanket .

“It seems he has chosen to bond with you as well, perhaps even deeper than I. It’s something no longer practiced, but it was once, years ago.”

“Why?” I breathe, my heart thundering as more people gather around the fire, the next activity underway.

“ Mates . They would bond their mate to their mount for added protection.”

My heart stills, a longing so intense tears spring to my eyes when he finally looks at me. His frown only deepens. “Do not worry, female, we are not mates. The gods have not yet cursed you so terribly.”

I want to correct him, I almost do, but the look in his eyes… the shame there. Another splattering of hushed words leaves me instead. “What is war madness?”

Why do they think you have it?

He doesn’t look away as a tear slips onto my cheek, but I can tell he wants to.

It’s important, whatever he’s about to say costs him, and even as activity picks up around us, I don’t dare look away.

“It’s a disease , an affliction that affects the males of my people.

They aren’t sure what causes it, but most seem to accept it’s the berserker.

It poisons our minds until they are no longer minds at all.

Just chasms of paranoia, violence, and rage. ”

My heart wobbles deep in my chest.

“We lose ourselves. It is the greatest shame to be so weak, so… far from Valhyr’s honor.”

The sob that works to my throat is as violent as my attempt to choke it back, Dad’s holo note flooding my mind. He had a similar look in his eyes when he spoke of the same kind of shame. Neither was justified.

“Faf—"

“I will not be pitied by you, human .” He says the word like it’s a curse, but I let it roll off.

“They fear me with good cause. I am war mad. There is nothing to be done now but wait. I was an even bigger taboo than you, long before the first signs hit me. It was as though I’d already been warped.

Reveling in the pain… the gore. It was every bit a part of me as my own horns, and when it was time to go…

to go back , I couldn’t come home. It felt wrong, I felt wrong, so I stayed. There, now you know my sh—"

“I think it’s quite brave.” I interrupt, willing my voice to stay steady.

“You came home, stopped fighting. You did the harder thing.” I look away, not wanting him to see my tears.

I leave his eyes swirling crimson, and he keeps staring.

He stares so long, so silently, I barely think he breathes until the older, stern woman takes a large seat in front of the hearth, demanding our attention with a keening bellow of her own.

The rest of the night is quiet, everyone’s undivided attention on the woman as she weaves tales of their gods, prayers, and stories of how they came to be.

Their drunk sways and riotous laughter traded for fond looks of contentment as they lie with their chosen partners for the winter.

They take turns getting up to tend the fire as it burns lower, the chill settling back in hours later.

Thrymus, the God of Winter and Resilience, lit a fire so large it burned throughout the worst of his winter, saving the first Bhaurnul people when they had not yet learned the ways of the land.

They were unprepared when the skies turned dark and green.

They kept the fire burning until morning light on the first night of winter, to show their thanks and favor to the harsh god.

All eyes are on me when the elderly female I now know as Helgoid nods toward me, giving me a turn to stoke the flame.

My hands scrape, and my arms tremble as I struggle, maneuvering the large log from its pile.

It takes me longer; the story goes on without me, Fafnir leaving our spot to be near as I struggle to drag it to the fire .

My face is slick with sweat, my breath panting by the time I get it in.

No one helped, and for some reason, my smile is even wider because of it.

They didn’t treat me as less than, just as a human.

They held me to the same standard as themselves on a night of such importance, and now my log burns with theirs.

It’s a mark, a small one, but one nonetheless.

An acceptance few humans are given among the stars.

When I collapse back onto our spot, earning myself a small gaze of approval from Helgoid, my chest swells impossibly.

Fafnir passes me a flask of water quietly.

When I lie back, my eyes are heavy, watching as the clouds turn violent above us.

His hand makes a soft, reverent pass through my hair, and I wish I could appreciate it.

I’m lost to the world by the second one as the stories and warmth continue around me.