by Denali Day
Once he turned to face his family again, her savage’s eyes glided past Sigvard’s freckled shoulder and rested upon her. There was a question there.
“The next part of the rite falls to the clan’s Saliga.” Erik supplied, speaking discreetly from the corner of his mouth. “If she should accept.”
The crowd’s volume diminished as all eyes fell upon her. Joselyn’s stomach tightened. She’d only just recently gained the confidence to stand straight again after the scene she’d caused before. Was this something she was willing to be a part of? She had no idea what to do. Hollen’s ever-patient eyes rested on her. Slowly, her feet carried her to the edge of the platform.
She caught the smiles upon the faces of those below. This, she knew, was an honor, not a duty to be borne. Coming up beside Sigvard, she caught the wash of bright blood streaming down his body from where her savage had worked him over. She sucked a breath in through her nose. She’d never appreciate the Dokiri’s fascination with blood rites.
Hollen pressed the hilt of his knife into her hand. He was glowing. Joselyn’s heart fluttered. Her anxiety evaporated. She’d do this for no other reason than to please him.
She turned to Sigvard and brought the knife tip up to the bleeding mark. Looking at him, she could guess what was expected. Over the many nights spent huddled in Hollen’s arms, Joselyn had become intimately familiar with the designs covering his upper body. The bloodied mark on Sigvard looked just like the one adjacent to Hollen’s tanshi mark, save for a few missing lines. Those must be the ones for her. Hollen’s hands warmed her waist as he leaned down to whisper into her ear.
“Repeat after me, mu hamma.”
With her eyes on Sigvard, she nodded.
“Selska ri mu hatu.”
Joselyn recognized the word ‘husband’ in the line she was to speak. She wasn’t certain of the context, and there was no time to ask. She repeated the words so all could hear, trying to mimic the guttural accent. Sigvard’s coppery gaze dropped down to hers, and Joselyn saw the anticipation there. Excitement radiated off him, encouraging her. She forced a smile as she put the first of four lines on his skin. He didn’t even tense.
Hollen whispered the next line into her ear, and when she repeated it, the women in the crowd cheered, “Elsa Helig!”
Sigvard looked out at the assembled clan as Joselyn drew the next mark on him. Hollen gave her another line, and it was followed by the frenzied trilling of all the clanswomen. Joselyn stole a glance outward to see them practically dancing their enthusiasm.
Make it good, Joselyn.
After Hollen whispered the final line, Joselyn completed the mark and recited the words. Sigvard’s flesh glowed pink, but he didn’t seem to care. He was looking with wonder at his wyvern, as though he’d like to climb onto her back and experience the thrill of flying again.
“You don’t have to paint yourself, Joselyn. You’ve done enough.”
Joselyn tensed, thinking of how Hollen had drawn Sigvard’s blood over his face. Was that expected of her? Joselyn’s mouth firmed into a line. She had come this far. She pressed a cupped palm into Sigvard’s chest and waited for the blood to pool. Sigvard looked down at her with a brow arched in a dare. Taking a breath, she smirked back.
When she had enough, Joselyn turned toward the throng of people. A hush fell over them as she met their hopeful gazes. She steeled herself, then flicked the blood over the people who raised their open hands joyfully to her. Before she could overthink it, she brought a thumb up to her face.
Joselyn felt a little squeeze at her elbow. Hollen was guiding her hand downward several inches. Instead of starting at her hairline, she pressed her thumb into her lower lip, and drew it wetly down over her chin, along her neck, and stopped just below the hollow of her throat. The clan erupted.
Whatever you do, don’t lick your lips.
Behind her, Hollen’s brothers took up the song again. The people joined in, though many simply shouted blessings. Hollen drew her away from the ledge, and Sigvard smiled at them both as he passed, with thanks bright in his eyes. Joselyn’s chest swelled in the relief and thrill of having done something right for these people with whom she was falling in love.
Sigvard approached his mount. He gripped her beneath the jaw and drew her nose into his bloodied chest. The creature sniffed at him. Her black pupils widened as he massaged her. That went on a moment before Sigvard released her and bounded down the length of her body to throw himself onto her back. Joselyn sent a quick prayer to her gods that he wouldn’t fall since he had no saddle. The young man whooped in triumph. He and his mount were gone in a heartbeat, leaving a whirl of powdery snow in their wake.
Joselyn joined in with the cries of the clan. She extended her bloodied palm into the air. It felt natural. Right. And with everyone around her doing the same, it was suddenly like she was doing exactly what she was meant for. Exactly where she was meant to do it. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.
Hollen stood a few feet away. Unlike his brothers, who were still focused on Sigvard, the Salig of Bedmeg watched Joselyn. There was a depth of emotion in his eyes. Gratitude and affection simmered there, along with something else. Joselyn’s heart raced.
Desire.
He wasn’t the only one burning with it. She turned toward him and inclined her chin. He lowered his, the thoughts on his mind clear as the sun. Her blood heated.
She wasn’t going home in time to save her father. Joselyn had accepted that. And since then, she’d lived every moment in Bedmeg with an ever-growing peace and contentment. Her role as Saliga hadn’t felt natural at first, but she was settling into it. And Hollen? She hadn’t imagined a man could be so pleased with her for so very little. Despite all odds, Joselyn had never been so happy. She pressed her lips together.
Perhaps it was time to be Hollen’s Saliga in all ways.
31
The Shoulders of the Mountain
“You were magnificent, mu Saliga! Magnificent!”
Joselyn inclined her head, acknowledging the women who blew past her out of the springs. Everyone was heading back to the common area, eager to begin the feast that was to be held in honor of Sigvard’s newfound manhood. As she looked forward to it herself, Joselyn was quick to exit the steaming water. She didn’t want to be left behind.
“You’ve made quite an . . .impression upon the clan,” came a familiar tinkling voice.
Joselyn turned to see Lavinia coming up alongside her. Damp as it was, the woman’s curly hair was already bouncing back up. Her fawn eyes were soft and approving. Joselyn swallowed, a little self-conscious.
“I had no idea it would be received as such a grand gesture.” She looked about the cave, catching the appreciative smiles of several onlookers as they marched toward the exit.
“It was no s-small thing. It has been many years since Bedmeg has had a Saliga to properly complete the rites. Atu hatu has had to fill . . .both roles since the day he took l-leadership.”
“What did I say? During the rite?” Joselyn leaned in toward her friend.
Lavinia pressed her head into Joselyn’s. "B-blood of my hatu, today Helig sees you, just as I see you standing before me. The daughters of the earth acknowledge your . . .worthiness. The earth itself bears witness to your deeds, and m-may your flesh recount the tale for all your d-days."
Joselyn realized then why her actions had been so strongly received by not only Hollen, but by all his people. For every mention of the sky god Regna, there was a feminine acknowledgement to his earth bride, Helig. From what Joselyn could tell, neither was held in greater esteem than the other, though the role of each was distinct. For Hollen to stand in for both sides of the rite diminished the occasion for everyone.
They walked into the common area together, and already the dinner fires filled the cave with their heady scent. Joselyn’s stomach rumbled. Hollen’s sparring had worked her into a ravenous appetite. She was about to take a turn toward the smoking mutton when Lavinia took her by the hand.
> “C-come with me, mu Saliga. I have something to g-give you.”
When Hollen saw her, Joselyn immediately sensed his wonder and attraction. He looked at her as if she were Helig herself, and indeed, Joselyn felt that way.
Lavinia had presented her with a dress the clanswomen had made for her. It was called a hala, traditional Dokiri garb meant to be worn on special occasions. It was dyed a brilliant amaranth. Unlike the purple one she already owned, this one was embroidered with stark diamond patterns around the hem. Bright crimson highlights provided accents to the gorgeous details. It fit her figure perfectly, and she’d never felt more like a Dokiri hamma than she did in that moment.
She’d owned gowns of far finer quality, but none was so unique as this and, like the bow Hollen had made, none had been given in such a spirit of generosity. What had she done to deserve such consideration?
Nothing. This speaks of their honor, not mine.
Dozens of eyes rested on her as she crossed the common area to her savage. She didn’t mind this sort of attention; this was something she understood. Clothed in full Dokiri regalia, Joselyn was not merely herself tonight. Rather, she represented the clan. Inclining her chin, she made certain to do them justice.
“Salig.” She stopped a few feet from Hollen and allowed him to continue his appraisal. Her body warmed to feel his dark eyes scan the length of her body. He was unabashed, and she loved it.
“Mu Saliga,” he said, drawing his gaze back to hers. He greeted her with a downward sweep of his hand. Joselyn smiled, feeling very much like she was at a feast and her escort had just given her a courtly bow. Of course, this was no grand foyer and Hollen was no lord. Somehow, she preferred it this way.
Joselyn inhaled as she took in the sight of her savage. His hair was pulled back and up into a high braid. It had tiny loops of bone weaved in and out of the strands, the vertebrae of some bird. His beard had been trimmed, and he wore his finest wool tunic. The sleeves were rolled up, and the deep ‘v’ in the front showed off much of his idadi. Like the other men, he’d washed, and Joselyn had the sudden desire to press her face into his flesh and inhale his scent. Time enough for that later, when she was curled beneath the blankets of their bed.
Hollen reached out and ran the backs of his fingers over the smooth embroidery of her dress. “I have something for you as well.”
More gifts? What more could she have wanted? Hollen walked to a nearby bench and bent to retrieve something. When he returned, Joselyn leaned forward to see what was in his hand. He held it up. A long, rich blue feather, flanked by shorter curly ones, hung by an ivory bead.
“From the storen you killed.” He drew up the bauble. “For your hair.”
Joselyn ran the pad of one finger along the spine of the velvety quill. It dangled by a leather cord, which Joselyn took and tied at the base of her scalp. It contrasted vividly against her red hair, and Joselyn wished she had a looking glass to help her more fully appreciate it. Strange. She hadn’t desired a mirror in years.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
“You are beautiful,” he corrected, smiling devilishly at her. “I wanted you to have a memory of our first hunt, and, I thought you’d find this more agreeable than a scar.”
Joselyn brushed her hand along the decorative piece, pleased that its length was even with her long mane. “Quite.”
His thoughtfulness was stunning. Everything about him dazzled her. His easy dismissal of the drama she’d created before had been especially moving. After their conversation in the bok, Hollen hadn’t brought the matter up again. It was as if it had never happened. Would there come a time when he no longer surprised her? She was beginning to wonder.
I could spend a lifetime finding out.
Hollen took her by the hand and pulled her toward the fire pit that roasted the slaughtered ram. They ate standing up. There was no time to sit. Joselyn was too distracted by the men, women, and even children who approached them, offering their compliments and blessings. Hollen addressed those who spoke in his language, with a hand pressed at the small of her back.
Sometimes he would pull her to stand in front of him and ask her to specifically greet one of his riders. She did so with every grace she’d been trained in. At one point, she noticed a strange twinkle in Hollen’s eye as he watched one of the men he’d bid her speak to. A corner of his mouth was curled up, his shoulders square, stance wide.
He was showing her off.
Feminine pride bloomed in her chest, and Joselyn tried even harder to present herself well, to make him proud, too.
An air of joy surrounded the clan that Joselyn hadn’t sensed before. It was as though something in them had shifted, a darkness removed. She could feel it in the energy around her. When Sigvard entered the firelight of the common area, the people cheered so loudly Joselyn’s own voice was drowned out.
He leapt through the crowds, reveling in the attention. The blood on his chest had dried, and Joselyn tried not to cringe as she thought of all the dirt that might have gotten into the wound. She wasn’t the only one concerned. When the noise died down, two older women came up alongside him and drew him to the water trough like a pair of plow oxen. Sigvard threw his head back on a laugh and said something Joselyn couldn’t hear over the din of voices echoing through the cave.
It wasn’t long before the wine started flowing, and spilling. Joselyn was just finishing her first horn when the drums began to beat. The center of the common area was lit by a roaring fire, the space around it empty of benches. As they had on the night of her feast, the men took to the dancing first.
They performed their traditional dance with Hollen chanting his challenges, and the riders shouting back with their answering doxologies. Her savage joined the throng of dancers and Joselyn watched with no less fascination than she had that first time. His body pulsed with the thrum of the music, rhythm guiding every step. Dark hair would have flown wildly about him had it not been pulled so tightly back. She itched to release his hair, wanted to witness his reckless abandon. Joselyn took a seat and pressed a hand against her thigh, relaxing in the glow of the wine, even as she sipped more.
“There’s a sight for dreamin’, eh?” came a familiar voice.
Joselyn turned a smile up toward Rosemary, who took her seat to the right, along with two other women Joselyn didn’t know well. One of them tried to sit on Joselyn’s left, but Rosemary snapped that the seat was already taken. The woman begrudgingly scooted a small distance to the side. Joselyn arched a brow at Rosemary.
“Lavinia will be ‘ere in a minute. She be takin’ care of the youngins.”
Turning her attention back to the men, Joselyn saw that Hollen was staring at her from where he danced. His focus broke as he turned and dropped in time to the music, but his gaze always returned to hers. His expression made her want to squirm. Joselyn held his gaze as she rose her horn to her lips. No one moved like her savage. No one else was worth looking at.
Time rushed by, and Joselyn found herself bursting into laughter, along with her companions, at Rosemary. Somehow she’d managed to spill her entire drink down the front of her dress. Luckily, it was dyed the same deep purple as Joselyn’s.
“Bleedin’ skies!” Rosemary cursed, jumping to her feet.
Joselyn and Lavinia rose to help their friend strip off her outer gown before the wine had time to sink into her white under-shift.
“Right. Off with yours, then! I’m not about to be the only woman ‘ere half-dressed!”
Lavinia began to unlace the cords at her sides. The other women seemed to take this as a sign that their turn for dancing had come. All around the fire, women rose and shed their clothing.
“I’m going to keep mine on, Rosemary.” Joselyn laughed, plopping down harder than she’d intended. She might switch to water for a while.
“Oh no!” Rosemary cried, far louder than was necessary, “Don’t tell me you’re sitting out again! I thought for sure you’d grown some nerve since you arrived!” She clampe
d a hand around the cords of Joselyn’s hala and began tugging.
Joselyn stood without a fuss, flicking the brunette’s hands away. “Stop it, you lush. I didn’t say I wouldn’t dance.”
Rosemary’s face wasn’t the only one to light up with hope. “Truly?” Several of the women asked.
Joselyn tilted the last of her wine back and gulped it down. In Bedmeg it was considered bad luck to leave a horn of wine unfinished. The women clapped and giggled. Joselyn slipped her hands into her companions’ and walked with them toward the fire. A wave of excitement swept through the cave, echoing off the walls. Joselyn looked around to see dozens of faces light up as she approached the fire. Apparently her friends weren’t the only ones pleased to see her participating. A twinge of regret made her swallow. How often had she offended the clan with her uptight refusals?
The men shuffled away from the fire and took their places on the benches. Joselyn watched Hollen as she passed. Her shoulder just brushed into his side. In her periphery, she saw him slow and turn ever so slightly rearward. Now her back was to him, she smiled.
Linking arms with the other women, Joselyn listened as the lilting melody of stringed instruments joined the revelry. The beat of the drums evolved, and suddenly she was skipping along with her dance mates, back and forth around the fire. Joselyn surprised herself when she managed to break away at just the right moment, clapping as she spun to face the gathered crowd of onlooking men. Joselyn rejoined arms and laughed freely with the other women as they leapt across the stony floor.
The second song hadn’t finished before Joselyn was desperate to remove her outerdress. She’d been intent on wearing the hala, eager to show her appreciation to the women who’d made it, but it was just too hot. Breaking away, she approached the bench where Hollen was sitting. Her savage extended his cup of water to her. Instead of taking the cup, Joselyn leaned forward and took greedy gulps as he held it. She caught the look of surprise on his face, but he quickly recovered, tipping the cup back over her lips until she’d had her fill. She straightened back, panting.
