Page 37 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

Despite all the gains and successes, the homeward-bound march was a far more serious affair.

Many days had been spent consolidating the eastern tribes, ensuring each sent representatives back to Balmirra—representatives, not hostages, he’d firmly reminded them—and knew the next steps for unification.

That had taken longer than intended, so by the time the road home was again underfoot, the late-summer rains threatened.

It made for much more miserable marching, yet Vallek pushed the column hard. Everyone wanted to get home, to share the news of their triumph—and not get caught in the wilderness when the first autumn frosts came. None complained, although evenings were often quiet, his people weary from the road.

Were it just him and his berserkers, they could have reduced their time by running, but with so many camp followers, all they could do was keep a steady walking pace.

That was, until a berserker came trotting up from the back of the column with word from the rear.

“My king,” the warrior panted, “Captain Mattias requests the column stop for a few moments for the kone to catch up.”

Vallek’s mindless feet came to an immediate halt. “She’s fallen behind?” he growled.

Beside him, Ulrich huffed. Row by row behind him, the column ground to a halt.

“It seems so, my king.”

Lifting his head to try peering over the column, he couldn’t see the rear. Knowing that Ravenna was out of sight, had fallen behind in the vast wilderness, had his beast pawing at his chest cavity.

“Go back to Mattias, have him bring her to me.”

“Yes, my king.” The warrior bobbed his head and then was off, boots splashing in the little puddles gathering from the day’s rain.

It’d stopped for the moment, but the humid air made breathing laborious and stuck hair to skulls. There was a modicum of relief away from the trees, and they followed a well-worn path leading through the foothills and deeper into the mountains.

The region was known for its crags and crevasses.

Like cracks in dry, overspread clay, deep gouges crisscrossed the gray stone, forming a network of dangerous sheer drops.

A breeze wafted up from the deep gray canyon to their left, sounding not unlike the howl of a forlorn wolf.

The gorge was so deep and the air so humid, that a thick layer of mist gathered far below, obscuring the stone floor of the great cut in the earth.

There was a majesty to this landscape, rugged and untamed. The only real trace of orcs or any others was the path leading the way safely through it. Enough souls had lost their lives to the mountain’s sinister smiles that everyone knew to stick to the path.

Throwing back his oilskin hood, Vallek squinted at the overcast sky. The monochrome gray that had brought the rain was beginning to break up into great, puffy pillars. Thunderstorms came from clouds like that.

“We wouldn’t stop for a tired warrior,” grumbled Ulrich. “Nor any of your staff. We shouldn’t stop for her.”

“And yet we have,” Vallek sneered, his mood matching the foul weather.

His berserkers wouldn’t have spoken a word either way, accustomed to the harsh realities of serving their king, but Vallek didn’t think he mistook the glints of relief in their eyes when he announced, “Enough for today. Make camp! Let’s get out of the weather.”

A hum of activity began as word was passed back and the column began looking for the least water-logged patches of rock. Hunters and woodsmen broke off from the column to begin gathering game and timber, and more than a few berserkers stretched out their arms and backs.

With the growing commotion, no one but Vallek heard Ulrich growl, “Weak from the rain, are you? Or is it her that makes you weak?”

An answering growl grew in Vallek’s chest. “I’ve warned you, Ulrich.”

His second snorted. “You’ve never called for camp so early before. We could make another five leagues before dark. If it weren’t for her.”

Surging forward, Vallek put his face in Ulrich’s, making their tusks clack together. “Everyone’s tired of the rain, and I’m tired of you. Be silent .”

Ulrich’s face somehow soured even more, and Vallek turned away so he didn’t have to see it.

His old friend had been nigh insufferable since the Stone-Skin camp.

Rather than heed his warning, Ulrich found every opportunity to malign Ravenna or question Vallek about her.

No one else would have dared such insubordination, and Vallek had long since begun wondering why he bore it.

It was as if Ulrich sensed that when they returned to Balmirra, everything would change.

Vallek couldn’t quite say how yet, but he knew at least that after consulting with Eydis, plans would be put in motion to introduce Ravenna to the court.

Wearing her own face. Ulrich, canny as he could be, no doubt sensed this and rallied for one more campaign.

It would be his last.

Although Ulrich had served him ably, Vallek couldn’t have someone so opposed to his mate so close.

When they returned to Balmirra, he would inform Ulrich of his dismissal.

Vallek only delayed now out of an abundance of caution.

Perhaps before, he might not have suspected his oldest friend capable of anything against him, but the sheer hatred in Ulrich’s gaze whenever he looked upon Ravenna meant that Vallek wouldn’t risk inciting him against her more.

Not until he could sequester her away somewhere completely safe.

He was conferring with one of his seneschals about the placement of his tent, Ulrich hovering nearby like a gloomy shadow, by the time Mattias came jogging up the length of the column, a glamoured Ravenna in his arms.

Wisely, he put her down to walk the last distance between them.

The bite of Vallek’s unease softened just a little at the sight of her.

Only to snap down hard again when he saw how she limped. Hurrying to her, he held out his arms, taking her slight weight. He drew her into the safety of his body, not caring that his people watched on, pretending they didn’t but certainly interested.

“Wandering off again, skala? ” he chided gently.

“Twitch went lame this morning, and I didn’t want to burden another onager since it was raining,” she explained. Using her grip on his arm for balance, she lifted one foot to begin pulling it out of her boot. “I didn’t get that far behind. Mattias could see me the whole time.”

Over her head, his gaze flicked up to confirm it with his captain. Mattias nodded solemnly.

A little noise of pain drew his attention back to her, and he saw how red and raw her heels were, a bright blister oozing midway up.

Vallek groaned. “You promised me you were all right to walk.”

“I am,” she insisted. “Hold this.” Pulling a little pot from her cloak pocket, she handed it to him then twisted off the lid. Gathering a dollop of salve, she applied it liberally to her abused heel. “There,” she said through her wince, “I should be fine until we make camp.”

“I’ve already called for it. We make camp here.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Thank fates.” Blowing out a breath, she grinned cheekily up at him. “I’m ready to see the end of today.”

He couldn’t help the plaintive note in the low purr rumbling in his chest. “I won’t allow you to hurt yourself further.”

“I have to walk, Vallek,” she reminded him quietly.

“No. I will carry you until your feet heal.”

Her lips twitched with wanting to grin, but she bit it back, shaking her head. “You can’t do that. You know how it will look.”

“I don’t care.” Sinking to one knee before her, he lifted her hand from his forearm to his shoulder then her bare foot from the ground to his bent knee.

Ravenna’s eyes went round as she watched him dab more of the salve onto her foot. Nails digging into the leather on his shoulder, she whispered urgently, “They’re watching.”

“Let them,” he replied, keeping her gaze as he checked the rest of her foot and ankle to assure himself she wasn’t injured any worse.

Her lips parted on a gasp when he bent to kiss the top of her little foot. There. Let them see. Every orc would know who she was soon enough—why not start with those in the column. These were supposed to be his most loyal warriors and staff.

She was his mate, and it was his right to care for her.

Had he been anyone else, had they known who she was to him, no one would question it.

He refused to accept his own mating being any different.

He’d waited decades for her, for the chance to cherish and care for his woman, and by the Ever-Father, he would have it.

He expected the murmurs—but not the savage, sudden growl behind him.

“ No! ”

Vallek was violently pushed aside, landing in a puddle.

Ripped away from him, Ravenna gasped, her yelp cut off as a hand closed around her throat.

He threw himself back up to his feet, a raging roar erupting from the depths of his chest.

“ULRICH!”

Vallek surged forward, frantic to reclaim his mate, desperate to rend Ulrich’s head from his body.

“Stop!” Ulrich snarled. Lifting Ravenna by the throat, he shook her viciously as her toes scrabbled. “Show them! Reveal your true face!”

Vallek’s heart stopped as Ulrich backed toward the sheer drop of the canyon, his look malicious and wild. He whipped his tusks down, gashing along Ravenna’s shoulder and ripping the fabric of her blue cloak until it fell in a heap at their feet.

She gurgled, wriggling in midair, hands clawing at the fist that held her. Tears seeped from her eyes, gone violet in the struggle.

With a gasp, the last of her glamour fell, revealing her true face.

“ Fae! ”

“She’s a fae!”

Shouts rang out from the column, and Vallek felt his berserkers push forward, their anger and confusion a writhing thing at his back.

He hardly heard or cared, his hand going to Hormhím’s hilt.

Ulrich sneered, lifting Ravenna higher. “Behold, the fae spy! She’s infiltrated our ranks, enchanted our king!”

“Back, stay back!” Mattias shouted.

“Release her!” Vallek demanded, voice nearly lost to his growl. “And I’ll make your death swift.”

“Do you hear him?” Ulrich laughed madly. “He threatens me, his oldest friend. He’s been poisoned, spelled! ”

“Put. Her. Down.” Vallek pulled Hormhím free of his belt, and the noise behind him gathered.

Ulrich tracked the movement, how Vallek edged ever closer. He was close enough to see the fanatic glint in Ulrich’s eyes and even worse, the terrified gleam in Ravenna’s.

Get her. Destroy the threat. Kill him.

Terror and betrayal whirled inside him, but his anger burned so brightly, it was cold. Calculating. It cleared his mind of all else; all other loyalties died, all other priorities were forgotten.

Nothing mattered but freeing her.

Ulrich stumbled forward, his leg bending at an odd angle. He grunted in pain, sweat beading down his face.

Her magic.

Yes, skala, kill him.

Snarling, Ulrich staggered back, dragging Ravenna with him, and only regained his balance at the edge of the cliff. Chest heaving, he glowered at her as he moved her over the open maw of the gorge.

No!

“Witch,” Ulrich wheezed.

Ravenna bared her fangs at him, legs wheeling, and something sprang from her back. Iridescent purple membrane unfurled from her shoulders and began beating at the air.

With Ulrich’s gaze on her, Vallek moved.

Faster than a snake striking, Ulrich flung Ravenna off the cliff.

Her scream echoed through the humid air, bouncing off the inside of Vallek’s skull.

NO!

“My king, you’re free of—”

Hormhím’s blade smashed into Ulrich’s face, cleaving it in two. Hot blood spurted across Vallek’s chest as Ulrich’s body teetered backwards, his ruined head leaking brain and blood. Unseeing eyes gaped at him, hands grasping and spasming in the last throes of desperation.

The force of the blow knocked Ulrich off the cliff, and he fell backwards into the mist below.

“ Ravenna! ”

Hefting Hormhím, Vallek leapt after her.

Mate mate mate don’t die don’t be dead mate—