Page 30 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

That was how Ravenna found herself with far more freedom than she’d ever anticipated. Well, freedom might be a strong word. More like, boundaries outside of Vallek’s quarters in the citadel.

Somehow, her little scrap of advice had, in the span of three mere days, turned into a full march to Innrinhom. The swiftness with which everything was planned still made her head spin; Eydis truly was a marvel.

Although Hrothgar and Kennum’s representatives had begrudgingly agreed to the terms of Vallek’s proposal, he still deemed it necessary to accompany the old chieftain back to Innrinhom.

To belabor the point, as Vallek put it. So on his way with his berserkers to finally bring the eastern tribes to heel, Vallek accompanied Hrothgar’s party home.

Well, all but one. Hrothgar had shrewdly chosen Yphella, one of his daughters, to act as his emissary, no doubt in hopes that more time in Balmirra, with Vallek, might persuade him an Innrini queen was actually something to consider.

His other daughter and niece used the opportunity of dining each evening with Vallek to flirt and charm.

Ravenna had been dragged along in her human disguise and knew all of this because she too was part of the royal retinue. More than a few looked askance at the arrangement; the king had never felt the need to bring his soothsayer along before. And that she slept in the royal tent? Very strange.

As they set off that first day, boarding barges to cross over to Lake Lovath’s eastern shores, Ulrich had made sure to find a moment to get in close. Holding her back by the arm, he hissed, “People are talking. Stay away from him. Don’t ruin this more than you already have.”

“I want this as much as you do,” she’d spat back. She needed the largest orcish army possible to one day march against Amaranthe.

“I seriously doubt that.”

Fates, what a prick.

She wanted to say he was the worst thing about this trip, but that wouldn’t be true. The worst thing was the blisters. Or maybe it was watching two beautiful orcesses flirt shamelessly with her azai . Or maybe it was the daily trudge that had her collapsing whenever they stopped for rest.

It was the blisters. Definitely the blisters.

I could carry you, Oberon offered.

Despite the dangers, he and a few of the younger herd members had decided to follow a safe distance behind the party, should she need aid.

Younger?

Less experienced, she amended.

Indeed. This will be excellent training for the foals. But do try to keep up with the column, we’re nearly catching you up.

Easy to say when you have four legs.

Yes, four is far superior. I keep telling you this.

Chatting with Oberon did help a little, as everyone else on the journey was far too busy to take much notice of her.

She did her best to keep up, as well as find what plants she could to help make a balm for her sore feet.

However, more than once, she fell behind the party and was scolded when someone had to go looking for her.

“You must stay near,” Vallek chided her one evening. “Anything could happen on the road. You’re small enough that an owl might just swoop down and take you. What would I do then?”

She was far too sore from another day marching and cranky from another evening watching him charm Hrothgar’s party to dignify his warning with a response. Hunkering down further into her cot, she did her best to ignore him and go to sleep.

He never liked that, though, and wouldn’t stand it for long.

Despite that she always drew her little cot away from his palatial camp bed whenever it was set out—there were enough wagging tongues about the two beds being in the same canvas room let alone close by—he always dragged it closer to make one slightly larger bed.

Throwing his heavy arm over her, he pulled her in close. Nuzzling her temple, he murmured, “Promise me, sprite.”

“I’m doing my best,” she grumped. “As you so like to point out, my legs are short. I don’t exactly have a litter to carry me round like Hrothgar.” When she felt his intake of breath, she pointed behind her at him. “Don’t even think about it. People are already suspicious.”

“I’d carry you myself.”

Ravenna patted his muscled forearm. She knew he would if she’d let him. The problem was, as his staff, her place was in the middle of the great column they made through the countryside. Certainly not beside him. Or on his back.

Throughout the day’s march, the column passed her by. First the rest of the staff on the journey—the cooks, smiths, and hunters—then the bulk of the berserkers and the supply animals and their keepers. Even the unruly onagers seemed to laugh at her as they trundled past with their loads.

In the end, it was just such an onager that became her salvation. Her stinky salvation.

As she fell behind the next day, a berserker came jogging from the front lines toward her. It took only a moment to recognize Mattias, the berserker captain.

Nodding in greeting, Ravenna tried not to snap at him when he asked how she was.

“I’ll manage,” she replied, blinking the dust and sweat from her eyes.

Mattias’s lips pursed unhappily between his tusks. “If you’ll allow me, kone …”

Without even having to stop the march, he lifted her onto the back of a lightly outfitted onager.

The donkey’s long ears flicked back and forth, and Ravenna held perfectly still, watching anxiously with an equally wary Mattias to see if the onager would buck her off.

After a mild huff, the beast ruffled his short mane and continued on.

“Try to move with him and maybe give him a treat when we stop to rest,” Mattias suggested.

Gritting her teeth, Ravenna only nodded. Her feet nearly sang at the relief, but her back soon went stiff with the unfamiliar gait of the beast. Mattias fell into step beside her, apparently wanting to confirm she wouldn’t be thrown from her saddle of jerky sacks.

Even with the din of the column and Mattias walking beside her, Ravenna was aware of the looks and the sniggers. Those berserkers in the back lines craned their heads over their shoulders to get a good look, and the onager keepers hid their laughter behind their hands.

Straightening her back, Ravenna threw a leg over the onager, redistributing her weight and taking a more familiar riding seat.

If the donkey’s rude to you, I’ll have a word with him tonight, Oberon threatened.

While she appreciated the support, this was one fight she had to win on her own.

The onager was mild-mannered enough, thankfully, and with Mattias glaring at the snickering soldiers, the laughter soon died out.

No matter how she poked and prodded, he wouldn’t say in as many words that Vallek had sent him to watch over her. Ravenna wasn’t sure whether to be touched or annoyed.

It didn’t take much effort to assume that while it was true Vallek didn’t want to part with her because of his beast and wanting to be near his own mate, he also wanted to keep an eye on her. The thought rankled like a pebble in her boot, only growing larger the longer they marched.

You try scaling one wall and suddenly you have to have someone always watching.

And don’t you forget it, Oberon whinnied in glee.

While she appreciated the rest, Ravenna found evenings almost as unbearable as the daytime march.

She wanted nothing more than to lay face down on her cot, but instead, as part of Vallek’s staff, she sat to the side, quietly eating her meal as Vallek, Ulrich, Hrothgar, and his daughter and niece sat around a low table, eating, drinking, and making merry.

Reclined in low, cushioned divans that easily folded up for travel, they enjoyed fine camp fare, as well as mead from Vallek’s own stores.

Ravenna tried to keep to herself, shoveling food into her mouth no matter what it was. So long as it was warm and filled her belly, she wasn’t choosy.

Still, she couldn’t help but glare over the rim of her bowl. It seemed the more charming her mate became, the more irritated she grew.

Were she well-rested and blister-free, she likely would’ve appreciated what a skilled diplomat her azai could be.

She knew he was a fearsome warrior, but seeing the way he slowly ingratiated himself to Hrothgar, affable and good-humored, Ravenna saw the other side of his skill.

This soft power wove its own magic, and day by day, the old chieftain scowled a little less.

As they trudged through the southeastern Griegens, eventually finding their way on wide forested paths, Hrothgar began sharing stories of his youth, regaling the dinner table with tales of battles with dragons and liaisons with sirens.

His daughter and niece, Yngrid and Birgít, tutted and rolled their eyes, no doubt having heard the stories many times, but Vallek and Ulrich laughed uproariously, slapping their knees and toasting Hrothgar’s prowess.

It was between these tales that Yngrid or Birgít, whichever had managed to get a spot at Vallek’s side that night, would gently touch his hand while leaning over to whisper something in his ear. Vallek smiled, his eyes glittering with interest.

Ravenna glared daggers at the orcesses. She knew very well she had to stay put to pull off the ruse, and it wasn’t as though she wished to explain herself or her entanglement with Vallek, but that didn’t stop her vicious fae instincts from wanting to claw the eyes out of any female who dared look upon her fine specimen of a mate.

If she didn’t know better, she might think he did it to make her jealous. Instead, he reassured her, night after night, that she was sat where she could see him to prove nothing untoward happened with either orcess.

“Although, you could stop staring at them so…intensely,” he said one night as he pulled her cot and then her to him. “You’re beginning to unnerve them.”

Ravenna smiled evilly into the darkness. Good .

Better that they all fear her a little than laugh at her.