Hollen the Soulless: A Fantasy Romance (Dokiri Brides Book 1)

by Denali Day

  She lowered the blade.

  Hollen blinked, careful to show no reaction. Finally, Joselyn looked away, dropping her gaze to the bed beneath them. Hollen’s heart thumped in triumph.

  My first victory.

  “Keep the knife if it comforts you, mu hamma. It’s yours anyway.”

  In truth it wasn’t the proper time to present the gneri blade to his bride. But so long as she kept it hidden from others Hollen saw no harm letting her have it. Joselyn’s frown deepened, her eyes sparking with some emotion.

  “Only, you must sleep. The mountain sickness will overcome you if you don’t.” Hollen turned away from her and settled himself back down into the furs, not bothering to dowse the light. He could practically feel her eyes upon him.

  “Aren’t you worried I’ll kill you?” she squeaked, incredulous.

  Hollen yawned, tucking his arm beneath his head. “I’m not afraid of a woman who can’t start her own fire.”

  9

  Brothers and Brides

  “Are you ready?”

  Joselyn was about to be introduced to the people of Bedmeg. She’d taken Hollen’s word that it was morning. Without torch light, the bok was pitch black. It had taken a long while for her mind to convince her body it was time to rouse.

  Joselyn nodded at her captor before following him through the smooth winding tunnel toward the common area. Though he’d allowed her to keep the gneri blade through the night, he’d bid her leave it in the bok during the daytime. If only she could keep it on herself at all times. There were stories from across the sea, from the ancient lands of Primoria, of savages who would breed women out in the open, for all their tribe to see. But surely a man who would follow through with his vow to leave her untouched in his bed would not suddenly decide to rape her in the snow. Surely.

  Last night had been exhausting. She’d lain awake for hours, clutching the ivory hilt of the knife. Her mind and stomach had been in turmoil as she wrestled with the decision to keep the blade in case he should attack her, or return it before he noticed it was missing. Her heart had leapt into her throat when he’d suddenly stood from the bed to light a torch. In that moment she hadn’t known what to expect from him, but what happened couldn’t have left her more bewildered.

  He’d known that she lay with the blade, and instead of applying some brutal punishment, he’d given her a lesson in self-defense. More than that, he’d given her an opportunity to kill him. Could she have done it? That is, if she were confident of escape afterward? She’d never killed a man before. She’d never killed anything at all. Hollen had terrorized her in ways she previously couldn’t have imagined. Yet, as she’d held the blade to his throat, the intensity of his dark eyes boring into her, something had whispered that he wasn’t quite deserving of death.

  At least, not yet.

  Joselyn had slept afterward, her hand wrapped around the knife. Now she stepped into the shaded light of the massive cave. It was like one of Sir Richard’s war camps. Except there were no tents. And there were women. And children. And the people, more than twice as many as the night before, were smiling. They milled around the fires, talking and laughing with companionable ease. Beside her, Hollen scoffed.

  “Nice to see everyone decided to wake early today.” His eyes scanned the scene below. “Word in Bedmeg spreads quickly. They’re anxious to get a look at the new Saliga.”

  Joselyn frowned and clasped her hands in front of her. She wore a red wool overdress now. It was nearly identical to what most of the women below wore, though some sported purple clothing. Her hair was freshly plaited. She was as presentable as she could hope to be, given the circumstances. Were the Dokiri as prone to judging appearances as civilized people? She straightened. It was a universal rule that few things made a better impression than a brave face and proud shoulders.

  A woman below tapped her friend on the shoulder, then nodded at Joselyn and Hollen. All eyes turned on them. An awkward moment of silence made Joselyn’s heart skip a beat, but within seconds, everyone was back to minding their own business.

  Hollen offering his arms for support should she lose her balance on the winding slope. A faint sense of vertigo had assailed her since being stolen away to the mountain. When would it fade? The smell of eggs and roasting mutton filled the air, and Joselyn’s stomach rumbled. When they reached the stony floor, Hollen guided her through the throngs of people toward a fire near the mouth of the cave. The villagers stepped out of Hollen’s path, as though they knew where he was headed.

  Joselyn studied those around her as they walked—in particular, the women, with their varying colors, sizes, and face shapes. Joselyn had never witnessed so much diversity in one place. The only thing they had in common was the thin leather belts they wore about their hips. Each held a sheathed knife with a carved, ivory hilt. One woman tended to her young sons, while another sat grinding a dark fungus into paste. Still another perched across what Joselyn assumed was her husband’s lap, whispering something into his ear that made the large man smile. His arms were wrapped about her waist, his thumb stroking at her hip. Joselyn blushed and looked away.

  They reached a clearing around a firepit much larger than the one in Hollen’s bok. Hollen led Joselyn to carved stone benches, where he indicated she sit. Three men looked up at her. She recognized the two on the right: Erik and Sigvard.

  The one on the left was so tall, he sat nearly a head higher than anyone else in the cavern. Were she standing before him, she’d have to lean back to look into his eyes, and he was sitting down. He had long, sandy brown hair that looked as though he had shaken it out upon waking and then come directly to breakfast. His nose was slightly crooked, as though it’d been knocked out of place one too many times. He looked Joselyn up and down once with an appreciative arch in one brow. She blushed.

  “Brothers,” Hollen greeted, touching his fist to his heart. The men mimicked the gesture with a great deal more force. “I have claimed a hamma.”

  “About time.” The red-haired boy, Sigvard, snickered. He was silenced by Erik’s elbow to his ribs. Sigvard clutched his side and continued to smirk.

  Hollen’s gaze flicked upward before he continued, “Meet Joselyn Helena Elise Fury, atu Saliga.”

  “Mu Saliga,” they acknowledged her in unison. All three men drew their pinched fingers down from their foreheads, opening them at the end. She’d seen Erik do the same thing the evening before. She didn’t want to acknowledge the title Hollen had given her, but unsure how else to respond, Joselyn nodded, careful to look at each of them in the eyes as she did.

  “Where is Ivan?” Hollen asked. He shot a glance at Erik.

  “On patrol,” Erik answered.

  “It’s not his day.”

  Erik’s gaze dropped from his brother’s. “He volunteered.”

  Hollen blinked. His mouth pulled into a tight line. A brief silence fell over the ring before Hollen settled beside her. He reached over the fire and took a bit of roasted meat from the spit that hovered above and tore it along the sinews. Joselyn took the offered portion, then glanced around the firepit. Was she to eat in front of these men with her bare hands?

  Everyone else is.

  She nibbled. The mutton tasted sweet and smoky. Her mouth watered as her appetite flared.

  “Good to see she didn’t stab you,” The redheaded brother said to Hollen.

  “There’s still time,” The largest brother added, winking at Joselyn.

  “Mu hamma, this is Magnus the Vast.” Hollen inclined his head toward the sandy-haired man in the center.

  She inclined her chin, and the giant nodded at her.

  Sigvard’s voice went high, cracking. “Red hair and freckles, Hollen? Really? I didn’t know you liked my look so much.”

  “She looks like mother, you podagi,” Erik said.

  “That’s even worse!” Magnus laughed.

  I look like his mother? Joselyn shifted on the bench, unsure what to make of that.

  Hollen smirked. “You’re jus
t so pretty, Sigvard. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Sigvard tapped a finger to his temple in the same place she had struck Hollen. “I’d take you down a peg except, it looks like your hamma’s already done the job.”

  “Keep dreaming.” Hollen huffed. He turned to Joselyn. “You’ve met Sigvard. The youngest.”

  “And the smartest,” Sigvard added.

  Erik rolled his blue eyes and muttered something in Dokiri.

  “Just…Sigvard?” Joselyn asked, noting the lack of title with the youngest brother’s name.

  “Yes. Just Sigvard,” Hollen confirmed. “That is, assuming he didn’t shut his mouth long enough to master a gegatu while I was gone?”

  “Impossible,” Magnus said, tossing his sandy hair over his massive shoulder as he reached for more food.

  “A Dokiri warrior is named after he kills his first veligiri,” Hollen explained. “But first he must master a gegatu.”

  “What’s a veligiri?” she asked.

  “Underdweller,” Erik clarified. “Any creature from beneath the mountain will do. Just ask Magnus.” He shot a mocking look at the much larger man.

  Magnus shrugged. “It’s not my fault an imp was the only thing stupid enough to show itself for three moons. Besides, I think it’s fair to say my idadi is catching up with yours these days, Erik.”

  Erik scoffed, dismissing him. “You’re growing too old for fanciful notions, little brother.”

  “Little?” Magnus reached over and shoved a fist into his older brother’s shoulder. The force pushed the smaller man crooked in his seat. Erik laughed, apparently pleased to have raised his brother’s hackles.

  Despite her status as a captive guest at this primitive table, Joselyn watched the exchange with wary amusement. Warmth emanated from the teasing between these brothers. A familiar pang of loneliness pinched in Joselyn’s chest. What must it be like to have brothers? Siblings? Allies bonded in blood? Some of her appetite faded.

  Focus on gathering information, Joselyn.

  “So, you choose a title for yourselves after you kill a creature from under the mountain?” she asked, trying to work out the barbaric culture of these men.

  “No,” Hollen answered. “The title is chosen by a rider’s father. Or an older male relative if necessary.”

  An air of solemnity fell upon the men seated around the fire. Joselyn didn’t have to ask if their father was dead. It would have been clear from their somber faces even if her captor hadn’t declared himself to be the current ruling chieftain. Joselyn looked down at the mutton in her hands.

  “Your titles are…interesting.”

  Both Magnus and Sigvard tried to speak at once. The redhead yielded to his older brother.

  “Our titles can be given for any reason. Sometimes they refer to a notable deed during the Veligneshi—the slaughter.’ ”

  “Thank Helig Ivan isn’t here!” Sigvard said. He threw his head back in mock relief while the other men chuckled.

  “What’s his name?” Joselyn asked.

  “Ivan the Bold, and he’s keen to let everyone know it. Everyone,” Magnus said.

  “How did he earn it?”

  “We’ll let him be the one to tell you,” Hollen answered. “Regna knows it’s his favorite pastime. Just let it be known that, regardless of whatever he claims, the true number was five. And it was not mating season at the time.”

  Joselyn bit her lip, baffled. Erik's soft voice broke into her thoughts.

  “A title can also be chosen to describe the one who bears it.”

  That’s right. Erik had introduced himself as ‘Erik the Tempered.’ It suited the light-haired man with his gentle, unassuming presence. Curiosity prickled. She turned to Hollen.

  “Which is the case with you? Deed or nature?” What could have inspired a name like ‘The Soulless?’

  Hollen stopped eating and returned her gaze. “Guess.”

  He fixed her with an expression that dared her to answer. There was a pregnant silence around the fire as the men waited for Joselyn’s reply. She shrugged and changed the subject.

  “How is a…gegatu mastered?” Joselyn tested the Dokiri word for ‘wyvern’ on her lips. Subtle disappointment marked the sag of her captor’s shoulders.

  “Perhaps Sigvard will be kind enough to show you?” Hollen suggested, with mockery evident in his voice as he glanced at the freckled brother.

  Sigvard puffed out his chest. “All in good time.” He stuffed an overly large bite into his mouth and chewed noisily.

  “What about you, Joselyn?” Magnus asked. She stiffened. “Tell us about where you come from. You sound Morhageese.”

  Joselyn considered how open she should be. It couldn’t hurt to let her captor and all his people know who she was, that she had a life and a purpose apart from being a savage’s little bride. Who knew? Perhaps one of them would take pity on her.

  “I am lady Joselyn Fury, of House Fury, a noblewoman of Morhagen.”

  “So was mother,” Magnus said.

  Joselyn’s head snapped up. Their mother had been a noblewoman? Surely not. She opened her mouth to speak, but Magnus went on.

  “You probably know all the same songs she did. I always wanted to learn more. Do you sing?”

  Savages sung songs from her homeland? She stuttered, “I . . .no.”

  “Play?”

  “No.”

  Magnus frowned. “Too bad. I can teach you to play the kild if you want. It’s a little like the crwth.”

  Joselyn looked down at the food in her hand. This wasn’t the sort of conversation she’d expected to have with a seven-foot tall barbarian. In fact, these men were nothing like she’d imagined Hollen’s people would be. She was totally out of her depth here. She swallowed.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be here long enough for that.”

  Three pairs of eyes pinned her. Hollen swallowed hard on the bit of food he’d been chewing. He cleared his throat and dipped his head low to catch her eyes. “And why is that, mu hamma?”

  “Because I can’t stay. I’m needed at home.” Returning his gaze, she took an easy bite of her meal.

  Across the fire, Hollen’s brothers snorted, stifling laughter. But they weren’t looking at her. They were looking at Hollen.

  He fixed her with a hard stare.“This is your home now. You’re needed here.”

  Joselyn’s brow rose in challenge as she swallowed. “You lot seem to have been doing well enough long before I arrived. My father, on the other hand, won’t survive if I don’t return soon.”

  His brothers’ mirth seemed to dampen at that. Satisfied that she had their attention, Joselyn turned toward the three other men and straightened to her full seated height.

  “I am The Lady of House Fury. My father is Marcus Fury, second heir to the throne of Morhagen. If any of you should be willing to return me to my father, he will see that you are rewarded so richly you would never need to return to this mountain.”

  There was silence around the fire. Joselyn waited for someone to volunteer. She’d potentially put her captor in a tenuous position. Her father’s words rang in her mind. “Nothing motivates a man like the promise of a heavy purse.” Though Hollen was their chieftain and they, his brothers, Joselyn doubted their loyalty was so absolute that they were beyond temptation. That is, if she could convince them she spoke the truth.

  Finally, someone moved. Magnus leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. His voice came low and serious. “Do you mean to tell us”—his eyes darted from side to side as though he were conspiring with Joselyn—“that we could be rich enough to ride horses, too?”

  The laughter that followed from the three brothers was so loud they drew the eyes of half the clan around them. Magnus neighed convincingly, which was rewarded with another round of approving laughter. Even Hollen joined in, though his eyes betrayed his displeasure.

  “Hear that, Sigvard?” Magnus asked. “No need to risk your spotted neck—you could just buy your mount!”

  Si
gvard flashed what must have been an obscene hand gesture, and the chortling continued.

  Joselyn’s nails dug into her palms. Nothing about this situation was humorous. Were they really mocking her plight?

  What else were they to do? They aren’t willing to help you.

  How appealing the power of flight must be to a man who could wield it. But could it really be so tempting as to make a man immune to the lure of wealth? It seemed these savages believed so. What could she do now?

  If they’re willing to betray their brother, they won’t do so openly.

  She would have to wait. Joselyn’s stomach soured as she swallowed the last bit of her breakfast. Her house didn’t have the luxury of time.

  “Your hamma doesn’t seem any happier to be claimed than mother was at her claiming,” Magnus said with his voice still full of mirth.

  “That should please him.” Erik laughed.

  Joselyn’s brow furrowed.

  Sigvard chimed in, “Let’s see how cold his stones get before she finally—”

  “Enough!” Hollen rumbled, glaring. The ring quieted and Joselyn fought the urge to squirm in her seat. Apparently, her captor’s patience had a limit.

  Magnus mumbled something in Dokiri to Sigvard, who snorted so hard his face turned red. Erik also seemed to struggle reigning in his delight. Hollen’s eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to speak.

  “F-forgive me, mu . . .S-Salig,” came a feminine voice from behind.

  Joselyn turned to see a tall woman with black, tightly curled hair standing at Hollen’s back. She wore the same scarlet, woolen attire as the rest of the women in Bedmeg. A half-dozen carved ivory bangles lined her arms. Her soft eyes gleamed the same golden-brown color as her flesh, giving them an almost ethereal glow. When Hollen turned to her, she pursed her full lips in an apologetic expression. She was stunningly beautiful.

  “What is it, Lavinia?” Hollen asked, clearly working to tamp down his impatience.