Raene and the Three Bears (The Alder Tales Book 2)

by RS McCoy

  Once all her straps were tied and clasped, she folded Parson’s shirt and carried it back to him. “Thank you,” she said, using her most elegant tone, revealing none of what had transpired at the stream. With her hands free, Raene loosened what remained of her braid. It was so tangled, she knew it would take an hour to get it all combed through again.

  No sooner had Parson pulled on his shirt than Hale shot into the tent. Locks of hair fell across his forehead, and his chest heaved as he worked to catch his breath. His eyes darted frantically around the tent until they settled on Raene.

  “It seems all the Franes forgot their manners today.” Tasia laughed with easy amusement.

  Raene couldn’t find anything funny when Hale closed the distance between them. He arrived before her and cupped her cheek in his hand. The sudden closeness made Raene’s pulse pound in her ears. For a long moment, they stood there, eyes locked. Raene nearly buckled under his easy calm, but was saved when, in a low voice dripping in worry, Hale asked, “Are you all right?”

  Guilt bubbled up within her like a summer spring.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she answered with a false smile. He was sweet and caring, and he certainly didn’t deserve her apathy after worrying over her all day.

  Satisfied she wasn’t hurt, Hale started in on the real questions. “What happened? Where did you go?”

  Hale’s continued proximity only made her more nervous. She knew it shouldn’t—they’d be married soon enough—but it was hard to concentrate on her rehearsed explanation when he stood so close and touched her cheek that way.

  Raene opened her mouth to produce an answer when Parson interrupted. “She got lost. I found her about an hour ago wandering around pretty far from the cut. Took us a while to get back.”

  Hale frowned. “I’m sorry. I should have gone with you.”

  Raene could only picture the gruesome scene—her in tiger form crouched over the body of an elk, still warm and spilling blood into the Alderwood soil, and Hale standing by, watching. She was glad he hadn’t seen her that way. To cover her humiliation, Raene batted her eyes innocently. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

  Hale put a trembling hand on her waist. “I’m just glad you’re all right. Let me take you home.”

  Raene’s breath caught in her throat. Home? As in, Hale’s tent? Just the two of them? If having him stand close made her this nervous, she didn’t even want to think about being alone with him in his tent.

  “That’s not the arrangement,” Lathan offered, always so quick to defend her. Raene shot him an appreciative look.

  “It’s the Mother’s will. It’s been decided,” Hale answered without turning.

  Raene glanced at Parson, wondering if he would protest, but instead found the spot vacated. He’d slipped out when she wasn’t looking, distracted by Hale.

  So much for that.

  To her horror and shock, Lathan conceded, offering Hale a terse nod. Raene was frozen as stiff as a board, but that wasn’t enough to prevent Hale placing a hand low on her back as he led her toward the tent flap.

  A second later, Raene and her future husband emerged in the dark. This time, the urge to flee and transition and kill was lessened, temporarily satiated by her previous outing. But still, she was afraid to be alone with him. She didn’t know him—other than he was the brother who hadn’t rejected her at first sight.

  “I’m sorry about earlier. That shouldn’t have happened,” Hale began as they walked, his hand still on her back.

  “It’s not your fault,” Raene offered, racked with nerves over where this was going. He was touching her, and they were going to his tent, and soon enough they’d be married. Raene couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted to happen tonight. She did her best to slow her steps.

  Oblivious, Hale continued, “All the same, I didn’t like it. He shouldn’t have pushed you that way.” After that, Hale was quiet. Their footsteps sounded in her ears like drums. Her blood still raced from the elk and Parson and now Hale.

  All too soon Hale stopped at a tent. Raene hadn’t expected them to arrive so soon, but they’d run out of camp. This tent, a large one with a bear painted over the flap, was the last before the edge of the dark and empty Alderwood forest.

  Hale held open the flap and bid her entry.

  Unwilling to offend him, Raene ducked her head and pushed in. Unlike Lathan’s tent, or even Da’s tent, Hale’s tent was large and filled with items. A dozen candles filled the space with something like daylight. Low cabinets and open boxes lined the perimeter, and on the far side, a small table with two chairs. It was by far the most furnished space she’d seen in camp.

  Somehow, it made her feel better. It was nothing like the expensive alder wood furniture or lush carpets of the manor, but at least Hale’s tent looked like someone lived here. Someone had a life here. It was more than a tent over a patch of earth.

  A pang of nostalgia raced through her. This would be her home, but it didn’t feel that way. It wasn’t her father’s stone house that stank of wine. It wasn’t the manor in all its finery, filled with people who loved her. This place was strange, and the man beside her a stranger.

  Hale stood at the tent flap and let her take in the sight of it. She could hear his quiet breath as he waited.

  “What is all this?” she asked, motioning to the cabinets and boxes.

  “Mostly clan records, past cuts and trade accounts. That cabinet there holds all the medical supplies.” Hale stepped around her and pulled a wooden bottle from the bottom drawer. With a boyish smile, he added, “And a hidden stash of amberwine. Would you like a drink?”

  Raene tried not to nod too eagerly. She would have given anything for a nice, cool strawberry wine. Still, amberwine was a welcome sight. Under the circumstances, she wasn’t about to turn it down.

  He produced two alder wood goblets from the drawer and set them on the table. Raene took the nearest seat as he poured, strangely missing the comfortable pillows of Tasia and Lathan’s tent.

  “How are you doing?” Hale collected his cup and sipped the wine slowly.

  Raene did the same and replied, “It’s good.” Not as good as strawberry wine…

  Hale chuckled and sat in the other chair, his eyes on her the whole time. “I mean, how are you doing? I’m sure this has all been a lot to work through.”

  “It’s all right.” Raene wanted to tell him, to let all her turmoil spill out, but she knew once she started, she would explode. Between her last conversation with Kaide, Blossom’s disappearance, and her transformation followed by her immediate streak of violence, Raene didn’t know where to start. Instead, she fell back on old habits—warm smiles and batted eye lashes.

  But Hale sensed her falseness. After a long, deliberate inhale, he said, “You can tell me.”

  Raene grappled for an answer. When she remained silent, he offered, “You don’t have to, though. I know this is all new and strange, but I’m always here. Whenever you decide you’re ready.”

  “Thank you,” Raene replied, though her voice fell to a whisper. She wasn’t merely being polite; she meant it. Hale was far kinder to her than he had to be.

  A long, heavy silence emerged and filled the tent. The candles danced as the two drank their wine without a word.

  “Your birthday was the second of this month?” Hale asked after a while. Raene nodded, and thanked her luck when he didn’t ask her anything else. Instead, he told her, “In Terra, the fifth month is the month of the cherry.

  “It is said in the beginning, the Alder Mother was alone. She lived in the forest and grew. Her blossoms spread in the spring and fell in the summer heat.” Hale’s voice was a melody, deep and even, and he recalled the story like a memory. The cadence of his voice lulled her as she listened.

  “To share her love and guidance, the Mother split herself into thirteen spirits, and for a time, there were thirteen mothers—thirteen sacred trees. The world lived in peace until, one by one, the spirits fell to weakness.” His brow wrinkled in
disappointment. “The first lied, and the Mother cursed him with a sugary sap as false as his words. The Maple Tree.

  “The second tried to leave, angry at the Mother’s treatment of the first, so the Mother coated his branches in long vines. He was weighted to the ground, becoming the Willow Tree. The third rebelled and betrayed the Mother. She turned his wide green leaves into needles as pointed as his actions.”

  “The Pine Tree,” Raene offered.

  Hale smiled sweetly and nodded. “That’s right. The fourth cast his eye toward a young woman, and the Mother turned his fruit sweet and soft like the flesh of the girl. The Peach Tree.

  “And the fifth,” he paused for effect. “The fifth killed a man, and the Mother gave him fruit as red as the blood he spilled. The Cherry Tree.”

  Raene couldn’t help but feel he was telling her this story as a warning.

  But Hale only refilled her glass and smiled. “They’re just stories. The Mother is more than old tales and fruit trees.”

  Too late she realized he was teasing her. All this talk of a sacred tree was foreign to Raene, but she liked to learn this little piece about him. The wine did its job, and before she could help herself, Raene curled her lips into a smile.

  A real smile.

  And Hale noticed. “Ah, there you are. Maybe after a while, I won’t have to fill you with wine and tell you lullabies to get you to smile.” Hale toyed with the stem of his goblet before his soft, tentative gaze returned to her. He stood in a single, fluid motion and held out his hand for hers.

  Raene’s nerves returned, as if summoned by his voice, but she slipped her hand in his, feeling the warmth and smoothness of his skin.

  Hale pulled her to her feet in the span of a heartbeat. For the second time that evening, Raene found herself pressed against a Frane son, held tight in arms that encircled her. Hale’s stubbled chin skimmed the top of her shoulder as he whispered, “You don’t have to be nervous. We have a long time to get used to this.”

  Then, he pulled away, and Raene could breathe again. She’d never understand how he was so calm through all this. Hale didn’t have half her troubles, but still, she expected him to at least stumble at the prospect of marrying a stranger. But he didn’t. He acted like he’d had years to get used to the idea.

  “Let’s get you a place to sleep.” Hale started toward one of his boxes and produced a thick stack of fabric. Then, as carefully as Norsa, he set to spreading them into a pallet on the floor. He must have thought her quite the delicate princess; he piled the blankets so high they nearly toppled over.

  Raene stood as still as a stone as she watched him prepare his tent for her. It was endearing to see him take such care to make her comfortable, and for the first time since arriving in the Alderwood, Raene thought maybe this might work out. Maybe Parson was right. Maybe Hale was the right choice.

  “Would you like something to sleep in?” Hale reached for yet another stack of folded fabrics and handed it to her. “I borrowed these from Gemini. They should fit well enough. I’ll step outside.” He thrust his hands in his pockets and stepped back before disappearing through the flap.

  Raene clutched the stack of clothes, at a loss as for what to do. She didn’t want to wear the moss-green clothes of Terra. She didn’t want to wear borrowed clothes from someone she hadn’t even met, someone who probably hated her for being Pyro. But she didn’t want to go back to Lathan’s tent to get her own clothes, either. In her panic, she’d forgotten them, but it was too late now. She didn’t want to give Tasia the satisfaction.

  So, reluctantly, Raene removed her Pyro clothes, folding them neatly before sliding on the borrowed night shirt. The fabric was soft on her skin. The neckline was high, and the sleeves were long—clear down to her wrists. When she saw its hem went well past her knees, Raene wondered how tall this Gemini was. Everyone she’d met in the clan was short—or at least shorter than her. With the exception of Parson and Lathan, she was the tallest person here.

  When Hale returned, he put her even more at a loss. He looked at her with a quizzical brow and said, “It’s a little short. She’s not quite as tall as you, I guess. I’ll see what I can find for tomorrow, but that should do for now.”

  Raene struggled to keep her mouth from falling open. A little short? As in, Hale expected her to wear a night shirt clear down to her ankles? Was that what all Terras wore to bed? Tasia’s modesty prevented Raene from even glimpsing her in her night clothes, though now that she’d seen some, Raene couldn’t imagine why the Terras were so afraid of a little skin.

  It was ridiculous. She would make do for the night, but tomorrow, she’d be sure to get her own clothes from Lathan’s tent. Her loose, black shorts and low-cut top were much preferred over this heavy thing.

  Hale didn’t seem to notice her surprise. Instead, he moved about the tent blowing out candle after candle. The tent slowly dimmed and filled with the acrid scent of extinguished flames. Then, all at once, they descended into darkness.

  It took only a moment for Raene’s cat eyes to find him in the gloom.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep to my side,” he teased. Raene could see his shadow change as he removed his boots and shirt and settled into a spot on the far side of the tent.

  Raene sank to the pallet of blankets and curled up. It was all so strange: the forest quiet, the over-large shirt, the man only steps away. None of it was necessarily bad, but Raene couldn’t adjust all at once. Sleep wouldn’t come when her ears perked at every sound and her mind raced with all that had happened that day.

  And as much as she hated the cold of Lathan’s tent—was overjoyed to have a real blanket—Raene found herself overheated in the mound of fabric. She threw off the top three and still couldn’t get comfortable.

  “Can’t sleep?” Hale whispered. In the silence of the tent, it sounded like a shout.

  “No,” she admitted. Behind her, Hale stirred, and then, step by step, he neared. A second later, he sat on the ground behind her.

  Raene jolted when she felt his hand on her back, such an unwarranted touch. Through the fabric of her borrowed shirt, Raene felt how his fingertips moved up to her shoulders and dipped back toward her waist, then up once more. Over and over again, he ran his hands along her spine in easy, rhythmic motions.

  “My mother would do this when I couldn’t sleep as a boy,” he said, his voice little more than breath. “It’s one of the only things I remember about her.”

  Raene turned enough to face him but not enough to disturb the long strokes on her back. “How old were you?”

  “Five. Parson was eight, and Lathan eleven. Blossom was only a week old.”

  “She died of complications?”

  “She started bleeding. I don’t remember, but that’s what Lathan said. No one else will talk about it. They couldn’t get it under control. She struggled for a whole week before the Mother took her back to her grove.” The pain in his voice skipped over every word like a stone on a pond.

  Raene rolled onto her back, putting a swift end to his comforting motions. “In Pyrona, they’re called fire children. A child born to the loss of the mother has the world’s fire inside them.”

  Hale collapsed and lay beside her, his head propped on his elbow. “In Terra, they’re called the Mother’s children. They lost their mother, so the Sacred Mother watches over them.”

  “Do you think that’s true?” Raene whispered, unable to tell him that she, too, was a fire child, though her mother had struggled for almost a year.

  Hale chuckled and put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her onto her side and exposing her back to him once more. He resumed the gentle stroking of his fingertips as he said, “It has to be. How else do you explain Blossom? She’s where she’s supposed to be. We all are.”

  Raene squeezed her eyes tight in hopes his words were true—that wherever Blossom was, she was where she belonged. And that Raene, here in the Bear Clan, maybe she was where she belonged, too. Her thoughts and Hale’s motions put her at ease in a way sh
e hadn’t felt in weeks. Her totem was quieter than ever, so despite the heat of the tent, Raene managed to drift off to sleep.

  Until she heard her name shouted through the tent flap.

  Raene bolted awake, only half-aware of the sunlight streaming in. Hale lay beside her, an arm’s length away, already sitting with eyes wide. He, too, had been startled.

  Da didn’t seem the least bit surprised as he shot into the tent and announced, “Time to go, Ms. Randal!”

  Raene only had a moment to blink before she was dragged from the tent.

  Traitor

  BLOSSOM SAT ALONE at the glass table in her chambers, mindlessly munching at the roast rabbit as she skimmed the Aero files again. The screened device was large enough to show the full chart of Aero personnel—the Syndicate, Vice Syndicates, Commissioners, and Division Heads—the ones Eton insist she learn. Along with personnel, Eton made her practice walking with elegance, talking with a measured tone, and keeping her face pleasant and devoid of emotion.

  She’d rather do a thousand other things. When she asked Eton for access to a library, he glared and said, “Books are for those whose minds are empty and need to be filled.” He claimed similar useless excuses when she asked about an art gallery, music, or anything that deviated from the ‘values of Aero’, not that he would tell her what that meant.

  Blossom was stuck learning about the branch she hated and the position she never wanted. After a week of lessons, Blossom was finally getting the hang of it, not that it would matter if she never left her apartment.

  Earlier than usual, Eton emerged from his room. He wore the same pressed suit as always—this one a slightly dimmer shade of grey—and his hair was smoothed and perfect. Today, the rings in his face were black.

  When he saw the Pyro clothes she still wore, he frowned, but Blossom refused to let it bother her. She’d already given up her curls in exchange for the straight hair that fell in her face and tickled her shoulders. He would have to be satisfied with that.

  “You have your first assignment,” he announced.