by Denali Day
The flight down the mountain had been short, and Joselyn had kept an eye out for possible escape routes. The slope leading away from Bedmeg was actually quite flat. Perhaps descending to the forest could be possible after all. But how would she cover enough ground to make it to the tree line before being spotted from the sky? She’d have to come up with something. Soon.
Her awareness of the date was an ever-present storm cloud looming in her mind. In two days, Dante Viridian would see that she’d not arrived in Brance. Time was running out. At least she could use this hunting trip to learn how to feed herself in the wild. She followed behind her captor, creeping through the snow as he’d instructed.
They were tracking a large mountain bird Hollen had called a Cerulean Storen. When her captor stilled, she knew they’d caught up to their quarry. Hollen crouched down and bid Joselyn come up behind him. Joselyn peeked around the tree they hid behind.
In the distance, three storens strutted, pausing intermittently to scratch at the earth. Joselyn’s eyes narrowed. Their proportions were ridiculous. Their heads were bulbous and much too heavy looking for their bald, skinny necks. They sat upon stilted, feathered legs that looked like they might buckle beneath their considerable girth. The feathers were gray and white, lending them natural camouflage. The largest bird sported a bright blue plume. He flashed it at no one in particular. Hollen pointed at the colorful bird. His eyes met hers in silent directive.
Joselyn nodded and removed her gloves. She swung the bow around, held it parallel with the earth, and notched an arrow. Hollen scooted further behind the tree, giving her plenty of space. Joselyn stretched the bowstring backward and lined up her shot, right in the center of the storen’s chest. It was perhaps twenty yards away, close enough to make her feel confident. Relaxing her shoulders, Joselyn let the arrow fly.
It missed. Barely.
The wooden stake whistled just behind the male bird, taking a few of his feathers with it. All three fowl startled into a frenzied panic. Joselyn gritted her teeth and hurried to notch another arrow. The birds noticed her then, and they scampered deeper into the forest. Joselyn let the second arrow fly. It, too, missed by mere inches. She growled, bolting to her feet. A staying hand gripped her arm, and she turned to see Hollen’s wry amusement.
“Don’t give chase. They’ll settle much closer if you follow at a distance.”
Joselyn’s arm tingled where he touched her. The sensation was fast becoming familiar. Her body had been abuzz beneath Hollen’s weight during the flight down the mountain.
“You have excellent aim.” He brushed past to lead her after the fowl. He swung his own unused bow over his shoulder.
Joselyn followed after, scoffing. “I missed twice.”
“No.” Hollen shook his head. “You didn’t miss. Your target moved.”
Don’t patronize me, savage.
“What’s the difference?”
“Missing would be if you’d aimed too high or if you’d mismeasured your force.” Hollen stepped around a root, and Joselyn followed suit. “Your arrow would have struck true had your quarry been a stationary target.”
“If we were depending upon my skills to eat tonight, we’d be going hungry,” Joselyn countered. How was she going to survive this wilderness alone?
“Perhaps.” Hollen flashed a devilish grin over his shoulder. Joselyn scowled. Hollen’s physical attractiveness had become increasingly difficult to ignore. Her traitorous mind seemed to catch everything: the shade of his eyes when he looked at her, the curve of his lips when he smiled. It had become all she could see. Joselyn kicked up a puff of powdery snow as she walked. Hollen chuckled.
“I think you’ll surprise yourself today. You must have ‘sported’ often before.”
Joselyn huffed with amusement at his misuse of the term, but didn’t correct him. Her mind recalled hundreds of afternoons practicing archery by the old oak tree. Her father had spotted her there once. He’d come home from three months at court when she was thirteen. She’d run to him, begged him to watch her, boasted she could hit her target’s center every time. If he only took the time to see, he’d be so proud of his daughter.
“I wouldn’t give a damn if you hit a coin as it flew through the clouds, girl. Go find your tutors and learn something you can put to good use someday.”
After that, her afternoons by the oak tree had grown fewer and farther between. Knowing how much she’d loved archery, Tansy had often begged her to practice when Joselyn felt discouraged and alone. She’d always brushed her nurse off, citing her ever-increasing roster of responsibilities as excuses. She’d thought learning to be the perfect lady might finally be the thing to earn her father’s love. In the end, that too, had been a waste of effort.
“Not so often as I wanted,” Joselyn muttered. Not so often as I should have.
Hollen continued his march, but turned to regard her with an arched brow. “Why not?”
“A lady has more important things to occupy her time with.”
“Like what?”
This savage really knew nothing about her world. Odd, since his mother was a lady. Had she taught her son nothing? “Like preparing for marriage to a lord.”
Hollen’s step went out of rhythm at that. They walked along, weaving around trees.
He whirled to face her. Joselyn bumped into him. What was he doing? He planted his bow into the snow, and stood apart from it as though it were a walking stick. Hollen stared down, his expression flat.
“Were you in love with your intended?”
The shock of his question was like cold water being splashed in her face. In love? With Dante Viridian? Of all people! Years of social training kept her from reacting. “Would it matter to you if I was?”
His body tightened. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I mean to claim you, mu hamma. All of you. Mind, body, heart.”
Joselyn’s breath quickened. He wanted her heart? No one had ever staked a claim on that. Not that she’d ever expected to find love with anyone she married. Warm regard had been the deepest extent of her hopes. Hollen’s eyes heated. Joselyn didn’t think “warm regard” was in this savage’s vocabulary. For some reason, that didn’t seem like a bad thing. He leaned forward.
“If someone has already staked their claim on any part of you, I want to know who.”
Joselyn’s blood heated. He was jealous. Why was that so damn pleasing?
“I don’t love him.”
Hollen’s shoulders relaxed. “Then why did you agree to marry him?”
She cocked her head in honest incredulity. She answered slowly, as if he might not clearly understand her language. “Ladies like me don’t marry for love. We marry into whichever house will bring our own the greatest advantage. Surely your mother explained that to you.”
Hollen shrugged. “By the time I was born, my mother was a Dokiri hamma. Not some lord’s bargaining chip.”
Joselyn narrowed her eyes. Bargaining chip? She was all that stood between her house and total ruination. And she’d not been traded away by her father. She’d gone willingly to her fate, ready to sacrifice all chance at personal peace for the sake of her house. Pressing her shoulders back, Joselyn drew herself up to her full height. She inclined her chin with the loftiest tilt she could manage.
“Perhaps yours is a world where a woman has no purpose outside of breeding. But where I come from I’m worth far more than that.”
“Worth so much that your father would have you marry against your”—Hollen’s eyes scanned her tightened posture, a hint of appreciation twinkling in his eyes—“considerable will?”
Her voice went steely. “You have spectacular nerve for a man who would steal a woman into the mountains and force her to be his own.”
Hollen absorbed the insult. Something hovered in his expression. Uncertainty perhaps? It was gone before she could be sure.
“And as it happens, I was on my way to marry of my own free will. Because that’s what a Morhageese noblewoman doe
s. No, I don’t love Dante Viridian, but my personal feelings are irrelevant. The only thing that matters is what I am willing to sacrifice for my house.”
Hollen closed what little distance was left between their bodies. Leaning heavily on his bow, he dropped his dark head low so that his face was mere inches away from hers. Joselyn could feel the warmth of his breath gliding over her pinkened nose. She met his eyes defiantly, unwilling as ever to be intimidated by his hulking presence. As she breathed in his earthy scent, fear was not the emotion that roiled within her.
“The only thing that matters to who?”
Joselyn’s chest fluttered with the pounding of her heart. Her eyes dropped to his lips. Skies, why were they so close? Her husky voice came out in a whisper.
“You’re a hypocrite. Don’t pretend as though what I want matters to you. If it did, you’d return me home so that I may fulfill my duty. ”
Her breath quickened as she brought her burning eyes back to his. Contempt sharpened her focus. Her toes sunk into the snow as she arched into his challenging stare. “But then, duty isn’t something I’d expect a savage like you to understand.”
At her words, a haze of reserve clouded over Hollen’s dark eyes. He straightened, pulling out of his intoxicating proximity. Joselyn tipped forward. She caught herself, snapping out of her daze. She studied Hollen’s face. She searched for a sign that he, too, had suffered some physical consequence of her nearness. Disappointment hardened in her belly when she could find none.
Joselyn’s jaw tightened. She snapped her chin forward and plodded on, brushing his arm as she passed. The three-pronged tracks of the storen led her deeper into the woods. They hiked in silence a long while until the soft trilling of their quarry rose in the near distance.
Joselyn slowed her pace as she creeped around the edge of a pine. The birds had settled and resumed their pecking. She crouched to the ground, her knees burrowing into the snow. Joselyn drew back the arrow just as the colorful bird skittered forward. She tracked him, lining the iron arrowhead up with his fatty breast. Behind her, Hollen, too, dropped to his knees. She stiffened as he placed a hand on the small of her back. He reached for her bow, pressing it ahead of the shot she’d been about to take.
Warm breath brushed against her ear. “Don’t aim for where he is. Aim for where he’s going to be.” He nudged the bow along the fowl’s wandering path.
With one of his hands pressing into her back and his other stretched out before her, Joselyn was encircled. Some primal instinct urged her to lean into that embrace. She stiffened, then nudged her face toward his. Was he sharing some measure of this turmoil with her? Did she want to know if he wasn’t?
Beside her, Hollen also stilled. Even his breath slowed to an imperceptible rhythm. His arms fell away like feathers to the earth. Even through her furs, Joselyn felt the cold air creeping in around her, magnifying the loss. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear.
“Follow his path, mu hamma.”
Joselyn swallowed, pursing her lips in concentration. Her nose chilled as she drew in an icy breath, harnessing all the tension in her body. Fog fanned before her face as she eased her limbs. The bird’s white breast was difficult to see against the stark background of snow, but she locked onto it and edged the iron point an inch ahead. She released the arrow.
The bird squawked as the wooden shaft embedded into the center of its puffy body. The other two birds screeched their retreat. Joselyn jumped when Hollen bounced beside her, his great chest heaving with laughter.
“What did I tell you? You have aim true as any Na Dokiri!”
Joselyn’s head snapped toward him. Had he really just compared her to one of his warriors? Before she could respond, he patted her on the shoulder with a force that rocked her off balance, then darted off his knees toward her kill.
Joselyn caught herself with a hand in the snow. She stared after Hollen, unsure what to make of his excitement. Then she, too, clambered to her feet to inspect her handiwork. Her arrow had embedded at least six inches into the bird’s breast. Only a hint of blood seeped out around the edges to stain its stark feathers.
“A clean shot!” he said. “You’ll have an easy time preparing it tonight.”
Joselyn’s eyes fell over the bird’s brilliant blue plume, drawn by its magnificent beauty. The feathers, she knew, would fetch a high price at any Morhageese market. They were the sort that her father, and other wealthy nobility, used as quills in their private studies. Unable to stop herself, she gazed at the creature’s face. Cool lifelessness clouded the shining black pearl of its eye.
“Did he die instantly?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.
Hollen’s voice dropped to a moderate tenor. “Yes. His suffering was minimal.”
She gave a stiff nod. “Can I take the arrow out?”
And his enthusiasm came rushing back. He practically leapt out of her way, dragged her by the arm up to the storen’s side. “Yes. Straight back. Just like that. Be sure it all comes out.”
Joselyn gripped the arrow shaft and yanked. It was harder to remove than she’d imagined. Steam rose up from the wound as she inspected the intact iron point.
Hollen held out his hand and Joselyn gave him the arrow. He rolled the shaft in his fingers, performing his own investigation. “Your first kill. The Dokiri would mark themselves on such an occasion.”
Joselyn shot him a killing glare. His grin turned to a devious smirk.
“Peace, woman.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “You already bear the only mark I care about.” Hollen turned again to study the bird. He chuckled, shaking his head. “Who would have guessed? My lady hamma, a deadly force.”
He was mocking her. He had to be. The bastard. She was opening her mouth to tell him where he could put the bloodied arrow when she met his gaze. The harsh words died on her lips.
The reddish undertones of his long hair stood out in so much morning sunlight. They matched the auburn flecks in the rings of his eyes, which were all that kept them from appearing black as a clouded night sky. His broad shoulders cut an imposing figure against the backdrop of white snow, but that presence was softened by the warmth of his pleased smile. His pleasure was actually pride. And that pride, she realized with a start, was in her. When was the last time someone besides Tansy had looked at her that way?
Joselyn’s gaze skirted away. She dusted a bit of snow off her lap. “It was only a storen. We wouldn’t be going hungry without it.”
“Should the mountain fall I don’t think I’ll ever need to fear going hungry again!” He laughed, snapping up the dead bird as he stood. “Not with you around.”
He held a hand down to her. Joselyn looked at it as she brushed a red strand of hair behind her ear. Why was he so pleased with her? Why did it feel so good? She slid her palm against his. It was warm and rough, just like everything else about this savage man who’d claimed her. She felt weightless as he drew her upward in a strong, swift motion. When he released her, his fingers slackened far slower than was necessary.
Hollen heaved the heavy fowl over his shoulder and threw a wry smile in her direction. “Come, let’s return and I’ll show you how to prepare it. Maybe you have more talent with a butcher’s knife than a sparring one.”
There was more to his expression than the unbridled delight of a parent. There was genuine regard in his eyes, a sense of confidence. Like he knew Joselyn would bring him a better life than he could ever strive to achieve apart from her. It went beyond hope. It was joyful certainty. Joselyn’s own pride glowed within her now, stoked into a searing heat by the fan of Hollen’s generous praise.
She waited for him to turn before allowing a smile to tug at a corner of her lips.
The light shone bright enough to make Joselyn squint as they stepped out of the dense tree line and into the gray tundra of the mid-mountain slope. By now the heat of the afternoon sun had melted all the snow without trees to shade it. Hollen whistled, and the sharp sound echoed all around the empty landscape. Joselyn
adjusted her bow to her other shoulder, surprised how hot she’d grown during the hike back up.
A moment passed before the winged beast cast its ominous shadow over the ground. Joselyn retreated, ducking back into the tree line. As Hollen had promised, the wyvern hadn’t attacked her. Still, every instinct warned it was a possibility better not put to the test. A gust of wind brushed her hood back as the serpent landed before Hollen.
Her captor strode forward, ordering the giant to drop its scaled belly to the rocky ground so that he might secure her kill to its saddle. He cast a glance in her direction and waved her forward.
She cocked her head to the side, studying him at a distance. Not for the first time, Joselyn found herself marveling that Hollen had somehow managed to bring the gegatu to heel. Though common among his people, a prerequisite for manhood, in fact, to her it was a feat that inspired awe.
Apparently, the dragon submits to some.
Joselyn stroked the tips of her nails across her palm, recalling the sensation of her hand in his. How strange that hands able to master a great serpent could also be so gentle.
The crisp sound of a snapping branch drew Joselyn out of her musings. She turned, inclining an ear toward the sound. She peered into the shadows which were fractured by rays of yellow sunlight stabbing through the branches. Her gaze paused on a peculiar shape, barely perceptible against the snow-streaked ground. Joselyn craned her head forward and squinted at the distant figure, trying to identify it.
The white-gray mound shifted. The movement provided temporary clarity, and the little hairs at the nape of Joselyn’s neck rose on end. Not thirty yards in the distance crouched a hairless, humanoid figure with large eyes that Joselyn knew, even from so far away, were totally black.
Joselyn’s breath caught in her throat. Her mouth fell open as the muscles in her knees locked. The creature stilled, going nearly invisible. Joselyn wanted to run, to call out for help, but instinct wouldn’t allow her to turn her back on the unknown threat, nor draw any attention to herself. Her hand inched for the string of her bow slung across her chest. Were she not so terrified, she might have thanked the gods that she wore a quiver of a half-dozen arrows. It was one of the few items Hollen had not insisted on carrying for her.
