Page 8 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

Each new vision had only solidified her usefulness.

She correctly predicted where Pyrrossi settlers would encroach on their eastern borders, as well as over a dozen particularly bad storms. Given the notice, Vallek could dispatch his troops to drive off the settlers as well as warn his people to take shelter.

She’d been invaluable time and again, and Vallek was grateful to her for helping hasten the unification, as well as keeping his people safe.

None of that meant he needed to form a friendship with her, though.

That had come of its own accord—and as quite a surprise to him.

Vallek hadn’t formed such an attachment without a bit of information, of course. Eydis watched over the soothsayer carefully, and he knew Ulrich was always suspicious. Between the two of them, if the human meant Vallek, Balmirra, or any orc any harm, they would have known it by now.

So, not too long into their acquaintance, Vallek had invited her to play talfon with him.

Perhaps at first it’d been a way to figure her out.

Vallek understood the critical importance of information, and he had to know everything about those closest to him.

Assassination was more the style of the dragons, but it wasn’t unheard of within the orc-kin.

And he was no ordinary chieftain. He’d more than a few enemies within his own kind, let alone outside his borders.

Much could be gleaned about a person based on the way they played talfon .

Some had no patience for the game at all.

Which set they chose to field often implied underlying character traits, such as who might be more cautious.

How did they handle the ebb and flow of the game—and most importantly, how did they handle losing?

Seeing how she lost every bout they played, Vallek would say his soothsayer handled it admirably.

Perhaps what had him coming back was an itching fascination. Why did she not use her gift to predict his moves? Did the gift not work like that, or was it that such predictions sapped the thrill from the game?

Whatever her reasons, he enjoyed her company. And that he won. It was another burning question of his whether she always let him win—he’d begun to keep a tally of games he won outright and which he suspected she threw.

According to the tallies, they were evenly matched.

Peering at her over the rim of his cup, Vallek considered his opponent.

She may have been beautiful once, to human eyes.

She was soft in the way humans seemed to favor, with downturned eyes and a small mouth.

Fine wrinkles lined her forehead and fanned from the corners of her eyes, hinting at her age.

Her skin was a deep tan, but he couldn’t say whether that was because of years in the sun or hailing from more southerly climes.

He couldn’t say much about her at all, really.

She never spoke of her life before, other than a few allusions to a lost family.

Eydis suspected from her accent that she’d grown up along the western coast, perhaps even amongst the islands known as the Scales.

Ulrich despised not knowing more of her story, and perhaps Vallek too should have been bothered by it.

He just…wasn’t.

Nothing about her seemed threatening to him, and she’d proven her loyalty and usefulness tenfold. What he’d come to learn about her from their evenings spent playing talfon was that he enjoyed her conversation, relished her cutting wit, and looked forward to watching her sharp mind at work.

After years with only Ulrich and his sisters as friends, it was an indulgent pleasure to have something of a friend in his soothsayer. He need not be king or chieftain, and she need not reveal her painful past. They could leave that all behind for a few pleasant hours, chatting and drinking.

Would he enjoy the company of his bride like this, he wondered?

The thought was unwelcome, but it stuck to his mind like a burr to a boot.

In truth, he hadn’t much considered marriage or mating.

There had been far too many things to do to secure the safety of Balmirra and the orcish territories.

Like most orcs, he hoped that his mate, the one who stirred the inner beast all orcs had—a base set of instincts they feared and revered, one that goaded them to fight and to fuck—would find her way to him someday.

A mate would certainly ease the sticky business of marriage.

However she came to him, finding her and feeling his beast clamor for her would settle the matter—orcs respected the mate-bond above all things.

There was little more fearsome or feared in this world than a bonded orc defending their mate.

Having his own would put to rest any ambitions others might have of gaining a throne through his bed—others like, say, Lady Silvia.

It would also ensure that he could trust his queen.

She wouldn’t be a princess from another territory, loyal first to her city and people—she would be his mate, loyal to him . Because they were mates.

Vallek liked the simplicity of it. He also liked the idea that fucking one’s mate was the highest pleasure any orc could hope to achieve.

The smallest purr rattled in his chest at the thought. Yes, he liked the idea of fucking his own mate, of spreading her out on his big, magnificent bed and mussing the sheets. His bed was plenty big for two.

He’d indulged in a few discreet liaisons through the years, of course.

There was nothing like returning home triumphant, high on victory, and sinking his cock into a warm, welcoming cunt as the orcess screamed his name.

And there had been plenty of other nights when he was merely lonely, his arms restless to hold another against him as he slept.

A mate would be all of those things and more.

Sighing, Vallek slumped back in his seat, swirling the mead in his cup. All these thoughts of mates…perhaps he was getting lonely again. He hadn’t taken a lover in…gods, it’d been years now. Perhaps that, with the delegation’s proposal of a bride, had him wanting.

Marrying a daughter of Kaldebrak or Innrinhom would present possible…complications if he ever did find his mate. Or, perhaps, could the gods bless him one last time, could he dare to hope that one of them might stir his beast?

Now there was a thought.

As the golden liquid swirled, Vallek seriously considered it. What if he had all the daughters of Kennum and Hrothgar brought before him? Surely neither chieftain would protest his choosing the daughter who stirred his beast. If none did, well then, they could resume their negotiations.

But if one did…

“It’s your turn, my king.”

Vallek looked up from his ruminations. His soothsayer sat patiently as she always did, her face open and neutral.

He could…

But did he dare?

Catching the nail of his thumb on the rim of his cup, he considered it.

“I wonder, kone …”

Her brows lifted with interest. “Yes, my king?”

“Have any of your visions been of my bride? Of who I will take as queen?”

A choked sound erupted from her throat, although he hadn’t seen her drink. She clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide in horror.

Shaking her head, she dropped her hands and his gaze.

Intrigued by the sudden shift, Vallek leaned forward in his seat, folding his arms on the table before him.

“Well?”

Her head rose suddenly, her cowl falling backwards in her haste. A mysterious fire burned in her eyes, and through pursed lips she told him succinctly, “No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I don’t see your bride.” She almost spat the last word, as though it were an insult.

“You didn’t even look.” He didn’t know much about her power or how it worked, but he knew what she looked like while she had a vision. It only took a few moments, but in that short span, she was gone entirely. Eyes distant, face relaxed. Her expression had been nothing but pinched since he’d asked.

Her little nostrils flared in a huff. “I haven’t seen any bride in my visions of you,” she amended.

“But you could look.”

“No.”

“No?” She’d never refused him before. “No, you can’t? Or no, you won’t?”

Her jaw worked, and for a moment, Vallek thought she wouldn’t answer him at all.

Finally, her shoulders dropped from where they’d scrunched up to her ears, and she closed her eyes. Quiet fell between them, but it wasn’t one of the comfortable silences he’d come to enjoy, where they mulled their next move.

He couldn’t quite tell, with her eyes closed, whether she truly used her gift. Her body went a little more lax, but otherwise, she sat still in her chair.

It was a long while before she spoke, and Vallek waited impatiently. He couldn’t decide which disturbed him more—her denial or her defiance. She’d shown him neither before, and both displeased him.

Finally, she lifted her head, although when her eyes opened, she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“I don’t see anyone, my king.”

“No one at all?”

Chewing her cheek, she admitted, “None.”

Vallek frowned and stood from the table. No bride? Could that really be true?

Turning from their game, Vallek put some distance between him and his soothsayer. He’d never disliked one of her fortunes—or lack thereof—before.

So accustomed now to successes and triumphs, disappointment sat bitter at the back of his tongue. He didn’t want to swallow it.

“It’s late,” he said. “You may go.”

Still refusing to look him in the eye, the soothsayer stood. She didn’t jump from her seat and dash away as he half-expected her to, but she did flee after a polite bob of her head.

“Goodnight,” she muttered and then was gone.

Vallek stood in place for a while longer, not wanting to face the possibility of what this could mean. The idea of a life alone stretched out before him, a vast emptiness that his soul raged against.

No. No, that couldn’t be true.

Could she be wrong? Or perhaps not have had a vision yet? Perhaps her gift wasn’t as precise as she’d led him to believe.

Perhaps if there wasn’t a bride in his future…could that mean there was a mate instead? Why would she not tell him if so? She’d never requested he be precise in his semantics before.

A tendril of suspicion brushed his cheek. Did she lie? And if so, had she lied before?

His beast rumbled unhappily and unhelpfully, the questions roiling inside him worse than heartburn. He could ask her, he supposed. Whether she saw a mate in his future.

But did he want to know her answer?