Page 2 of The Bone King and the Starling

THE THRALL

I ’m cold, but that means nothing in Wrath. It’s cold all year and we are just entering the very cold season. As a thrall, I’m not allowed furs, so I wear my only wool dress layered atop a long canvas tunic. Both are drab enough, they capture the color of the ominously low sky, and both are too thin, having been worn by the village chief’s three daughters many times before they came to me.

All three of our chief’s daughters have been promised to their future husbands, though only one has wed. The eldest now lives in the neighboring village. The youngest is pledged to Viccra, a good man, though the second oldest is pledged to Tori. I would pity her had she not spent so much effort being needlessly cruel to me and to the other thralls, Mirabel in particular.

I wrap my hands around my elbows, squeezing my arms tight around myself to try to stop shivering. Ebanora, standing at my side, makes a short snickering sound that causes me to look at her, but her gaze has lowered to my chest. I look down and realize I’m squeezing my arms so tightly that it’s pushed my breasts to the upper edge of my dress and I snort, elbowing her in the side. I relax my posture as much as I can without freezing entirely.

“I’m sure my brother doesn’t mind the view,” she whispers in my ear and I laugh even harder as I glance past her at her brother. He’s one of the warriors set to participate in the games and he isn’t looking at me at all — he’s never noticed me much, which doesn’t bother me in the slightest — but right now I feel nervous for him. I want him to do well in the games, not just for him but for Ebanora and her entire family. Though she and I are separated by status and three years, she’s the only thing close to a friend I’ve ever had. They are poor farmers. Her brother being selected as a warrior trainee by the king would elevate their status considerably.

I smile back at her cautiously and when she snickers audibly, I tense. A hard glare is cast over a broad shoulder. Tori is our prized village warrior, slated to be chosen this year. If he is, I don’t doubt he will choose me for his prize — his future wife, be damned. Each of the chosen warriors are allowed whatever pleasures they like on the eve of their selection. The only reason he has not had me yet is because our chief — more accurately, the chief’s wife Rosalind — knows of Tori’s desire for me and has held it over his head as a motivation to keep him in line.

I don’t wish to lose my virginity to Tori, especially not after the threats he made against me last night. I was grateful to the large stranger that intervened…at the time. But in the light of the morning, I worry about Tori’s retaliation. It will be against me, given that the stranger is likely gone now, and it will be terrible. That’s all I can think as his hard stare turns to a wicked smile. His gaze drops down to my chest and he runs his tongue over his white teeth.

I shudder even though I don’t mean to. For as unenthusiastic as my reactions are, I know how they excite him. I have seen him in the village picking on smaller boys — and some girls — of lower status before. He is excited by their tears — by my tears — my displeasure. My pain.

I find it somehow even worse that he is an attractive male, coveted in our village for his looks. He could have any female he wants easily with just a kind whispered word and yet he chooses to withhold all of them. Perhaps, they do not even exist in his vocabulary. The stranger, on the other hand, I didn’t get a look at, hidden as he was beneath his cloak and positioned in relief against the moon’s brightness. He is probably an ogre for as gentle as his words were and the easy way with which he stood up for me. It would have been nice to look into his eyes once, to thank him. Instead, I am left to suffer Tori’s cruel stare alone now.

Tori’s skin is tan layered over white. His hair is blond, like most in the village. Winterbren is generally a homogenous place, which is why I stand out so strikingly. My mother was taken during a raid from a distant land across the sea of sapphire. She boasted dark brown skin and tight, black ringlets. My father looked like Tori and was just as mean. I came out looking like both of them. Long, dark curls and waves that hang tattered down my back to my rear. Medium brown skin that darkens quickly in the sun. The same dark eyes my mother had when she was alive.

I know that there are many males in the village who want to sample me to see if I taste any different than the pale-faced blonde and brunette females of the village, but Tori has staked his claim and frightened them off. But after the games…after the selection is made and Tori is inevitably chosen to leave our small village for the capital, I don’t doubt he will take my virginity with him. Then, I will be free for use by anyone.

I have been drinking the root’s essence with the other thralls since I turned fourteen. It will keep me from getting pregnant — at least, it has worked for the other girls — but I don’t have plans to prevent what will be inevitable. The chief’s wife who has only ever been fair with me — if quite short of kind — assured me that it is my role within the tribe to comfort our warriors however they like to be comforted. That it will be my only role of significance.

While her words frighten me, I am already twenty. For the fact that I did not lose my virginity the moment my parents died six years ago — or as most thralls do, in my adolescence — I am grateful to the chief and his wife for naming me as their ward, even if I have the status and perform the duties of a thrall.

I also know that, while whoring is not the future I envisioned for myself as a child, it is possible to earn a little extra coin from the men of our village, or passers through, like the kind one I met last night. For as much as I don’t relish the idea, I do look forward to hopefully one day purchasing my very first fur along with my freedom. And if not that, at least a pair of new shoes.

I wiggle my toes in my boots. When my parents died, I had nothing. So, even though my clothes are threadbare and my feet are cold in my leather slippers, I’m still grateful. That I wasn’t cast out in the cold entirely was a blessing from Raya. Short of my limited utility as a young female and a passable cook, I still don’t know why the chief and his wife took me in at all. Most in my village in my circumstance would have been left to the cold. If that had happened…

I glance at the back of Tori’s head until the distant pounding of horses’ hooves cause his head to swivel back around. I keep staring, wondering about my fate — what it will be like in three days after the games — when I am handed over to him. Will he come for me in the great hall and drag me to the stables where males are known to rut lowborn females? Or will he knock on Chief Olec’s door? Will Rosalind hand me over herself? I wonder if, after it’s over, he’ll gift me anything at all…

I jerk at the sudden sharp pressure above my elbow. Ebanora is watching me, her sapphire eyes alight. She smiles at me, her cheeks pink and her white-blonde hair clean. Three years my junior, she will likely be married off in the next year, hopefully to a good man, though most likely to a farmer — a warrior farmer if she’s lucky.

She is excited for today and in small part, I echo that feeling. I’ve never seen the games before and I’ve certainly never seen the king. The procession has just begun and I lean in when Ebanora’s shoulders turn towards me, her fur tickling my cheek.

“Here he comes, the bone king.” The king of blood, the king of bone, I know what they call him and why they call him that and it makes me shudder even as Ebanora continues. “Unlike the village chiefs or the southern kings, King Calai leads the procession himself. He always has. Only true rulers lead their armies into battle. False rulers hide behind their warriors. That he leads the procession instead of idling at the back is a testament to that.”

I nod along, soaking up any knowledge of anything at all that she seeks to give me. She has regular lessons but after my parents passed, I was no longer permitted to join Ebanora and listen in to what she was taught.

“What’s it like? The capital?” I whisper, knowing that she’s had the pleasure of traveling the long road to Ithanuir with her parents and older brother once. He will participate in the games, though I’m not sure that is his true desire. Like his sister, he hasn’t a fighting bone in his body, but he is almost sixteen and strong. Chief Olec insisted and even I know that, for his poor family, it would be a great honor were he selected to train with the king.

But I do worry… If he is selected to live in Ithanuir for a year, would his family — or even just his sister — accompany him? Ebanora is smart and beautiful. She would surely find a husband in the city who could provide for her better than the males here. And then I’d never see her again…

Ebanora speaks animatedly and I feel a terrible guilt that I would deny her excitement for my own selfish reasons. I quickly plaster a smile on my face and give her my attention as she says, “It’s grand. The longhouse is ten times the size of the chief’s, sturdy, elevated from the ground by a short staircase. The floor is made of boards that sit above the ground so it never floods when it rains. And the market is incredible. All kinds of people from all over Ithanuir pass through it. The temples are beautiful. The temple to Raya and Ghabari’s love is sensational. It would be a true honor to even witness a wedding take place there.”

My heart beats hard, and it’s hard to push aside those feelings of longing. They’re girlish thoughts and by the end of the games, I’ll be a woman. There won’t be time for those kinds of thoughts then, so for now, I suppose it might be alright to let myself idle in them.

“And what of the king?” I say, the pounding of distant hooves making it difficult to be heard.

“He will certainly marry there. Though there seems to be no indication that he will soon take a wife…”

I chuckle under my breath. “Is that all that consumes your thoughts?”

Ebanora’s cheeks grow ruddy then and I feel sorry for her. “I am a great burden for my family. I hope I can find a good match…”

“You will.” I take her wrist. “And let’s not talk about that now. The king, I meant what is he like?”

“Larger than life. Truly. He is one of the most imposing males I’ve ever seen. My family never had the pleasure of an introduction, but we did see him in passing several times and each time it was frightening. He doesn’t ever smile. They say he picks his teeth with the bones of his enemies. That he drinks his ale from their skulls.”

“The bone king.” I shiver.

“The people love him for it,” she says, nodding in confirmation. “The prisoners he takes are not known to live long and his punishments are terrible. They say it’s because his father was too kind, he was backstabbed by his uncle.” I’ve heard the story. The one that ended with eighteen-year-old Calai skinning his uncle alive and retaking the crown his father lost. “He’s violent to ensure that none dare cross him.”

“I’m glad he isn’t staying long.”

Ebanora pinches my outer arm again and I jump. I give her a scolding look and she laughs. “Don’t be so frightened. He is also very generous. To take our warriors from us and then return them trained is a generosity the kings before him did not extend.”

It is true. These games are new and widely celebrated. Each year, King Calai calls as many as a dozen young warriors from each village to compete in a series of games. The winners of the games from each village travel to Ithanuir to train with the king and his warriors directly. A year later, they are returned more capable of defending the outer villages.

It’s been seven years since our village on the edge of Wrath was last raided by one of the western tribes, but when they came, it was Torbun’s eldest son Viccra who was seen to have fought the most bravely. He had just come back from his year in Ithanuir.

Each year, King Calai oversees the games in a different village personally. A small village of only six hundred, it’s an honor to receive the king here. He’s been king since I was born and has only overnighted in our village once since then. I was only six and not allowed out of the house to see him. And this is our village’s first time hosting him for the games.

“You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” she says with all of the sass of a much older woman. I can see her mother in her easily when she smirks at me in such a way.

I bump her hip with my own. “But that does not mean that I would like to be anywhere near him.”

She makes a nervous face at that. “Neither would I.” She hesitates, looking like she wants to say more. “He caught an assassin from Eccaron while my family was in the capital. He sacrificed him to Davral.” The goddess of pain. A sacrifice to her is said to guarantee victory in battle. But Davral only accepts sacrifices in one way…

I freeze over. “He performed the ritual?”

She nods.

Bile tickles the back of my throat, but I press it down. I shake my head. “That’s terrible.”

“And there are other rumors…”

“What?”

“That he tortured raiders just outside of Winterbren on his way here.”

I shiver even more violently. “I’m grateful I’m a thrall then, and won’t merit an introduction.”

“Good thing we are but lowly females,” she whispers, a grin overtaking her face. “We won’t have to talk to him or risk incurring his wrath, but that does not mean we can’t still look— Look! Here he comes.” She squeezes my wrist and I can feel the tension and excitement of the townspeople around me as the crowd suddenly surges forward.

Jostled from the back, I cling to Ebanora’s arm and push myself up onto my tiptoes, though that hardly helps. I’m not tall, shorter than most of the women and shorter than all of the men. “Here, stand here.” Ebanora grabs my shoulder and yanks me to Tori’s left, where a small gap allows me to see the reddish-brown snout of the most incredible horse I’ve ever seen as it carries the king of Wrath — our king, the king of bones — down our small village’s largest street.

The horse alone is enough to distract me. Its hooves sound like the clack of lightning layered against the deeper thunder of the horses behind it, traveling like a thick cloud. Its coat is fine and well cared for, bridled in black. The creature stands taller than any man here and it’s because of that that I have no problem at all seeing the king as he suddenly flashes into existence. I could have been standing directly behind Tori and still seen most of him. Now, he’s all I can see.

The three rows of people that stand between the king and me vanish. I see him in all of his glory, even though he does not see me. Ebanora had not been telling tall tales. He’s a beast of a male. More beast than the one he rides atop. Broad and muscled everywhere, his size is only accentuated by the plush brown and black furs lashed across his breadth. He wears leather beneath that and, for his sake, I hope cotton or wool below that because without it, he’d have to be cold. Then again, he’s not a male who looks like he gets cold. While his skin is the same white color of most Winterbren’s villagers’, he has a heavier tan laid atop that base color than most. Sunlight clings to him. As does flame.

His hair is red and vibrant, the least common color in our village. It’s a handsome color, though I would never dare to describe the king as handsome. He looks far too savage for that. He has scars on his bare hands that disappear beneath his vambraces. His neck is thicker than my upper thigh. His face is severe, the bridge of his nose slightly bent — at least, it looks that way in his profile — his brow prominent, his eyes dark beneath it. His cheeks and jaw are cut hard, making his entire countenance appear mean and angry. And big. My head feels so small by comparison.

I reach up and touch the side of my scalp, scratching my fingers through my hair. It’s matted in patches and I drop my hand immediately, feeling ashamed as the king swings his massive head on his massive neck and looks down at us from atop his massive steed, gazing over his massive, muscled shoulder.

“My lord, I will fight for you until the last breath! Wuah!” Tori shouts loudly and I flinch. The king’s gaze lands on him and as several of the other warriors clap for their bold friend, the king does not break his pace. He only dips his chin once before sweeping his gaze from Tori over the crowd. Then he’s off again.

While the rest of the caravan of riders moves on — I lose count of them at thirty — and Tori receives cheers and congratulations for catching the king’s notice, Ebanora leans in towards me. “Is it just me or did the king’s gaze seem to linger over you?” Her voice is taunting, meant to inspire fear — I can tell from the way her tone goes up at the end. And despite knowing all this, it works.

I get chills and shudder. She laughs and I steer her away from Tori as the crowd begins to disperse frantically — the feast is about to begin in the great hall and it will be the largest this village has ever seen. While I won’t be in attendance like Ebanora will — with a place at one of the six long tables — I will be there nonetheless, serving.

“You are blind as a winter bat.”

She laughs and loops her arm through mine.

“He was looking at Tori,” I add as we round the next set of houses.

“Tori is an idiot,” Ebanora whispers.

I snicker, not wanting to agree with her and be heard. That will certainly get me another beating. “Thank you for making me come and watch,” I tell her as I bring her to the door of her home. A squat wooden structure, it’s only two rooms, but to me it seems like a labyrinth.

“I’ll see you at the feast.” She kisses my cheek.

“I’ll try to serve at your table.”

“Please! I’ll sneak you all my sweets.”

I giggle and kiss her back and am off to the kitchens.