Storm Lord's Bride (Rite of the Raknari Book 1)

by Alana Serra

  He also hadn’t stopped the others, and they continued further up the pass, leaving the two of them behind. She opened her mouth to point that out, but the words came out as a muffled squeak when—without warning—Rheor scooped her up off the ground and lifted her effortlessly. She was little more than a sack of flour in his muscular arms, held against his chest not because he needed the support, but because he felt she did.

  “I can walk!” she hissed, shoving ineffectually at him.

  Warm air brushed past the top of her head as he let out a snort of amusement. That was the judgment she expected from him, and the words that followed made her want to smack that smug smirk off of his handsome face.

  “Yes, you’re doing such an admirable job of it. I can hardly tell the difference between my warriors—who have been conditioned to this trek over the entirety of their lifetimes—and you, a human who has never made it before.”

  “Here I thought you’d decided not to humiliate me for one day.”

  “I’m simply stating the truth,” Rheor said in response, amusement present in his tone.

  “You don’t have to be such an ass about it,” she grumbled.

  He said nothing to that, merely carried her up the steep path himself. If her added weight was a strain on him, he didn’t show it in the slightest. His strides were smooth and powerful, and soon she didn’t have to cling to him so much as shift herself around to better distribute her body. If nothing else, she trusted he wouldn’t drop her, though she wasn’t keen on the idea of him carrying her until they reached a rest point.

  “Once it levels out, put me down again,” she said, hating the hint of a plea in her voice, though no more than she hated the desire to burrow against his chest.

  He said nothing to that, and Imara was too tired to fight him on it. In his arms, surrounded by the warmth of his body, she thought she could curl up and go to sleep, like a tiny kitten bundled in front of a roaring fire. She wanted to laugh at herself, because it was the last thing she should have felt around a Raknari Storm Lord. All of the stories she’d ever heard painted them as merciless raiders who’d ridden into the human lands and demanded sacrifices so that the villages would be spared.

  And had that not happened, in a way? Her father requested the meeting, but demands had still been made above and beyond what was offered. Rheor and his people had been prepared to turn their backs on her village and just leave them to starve to death. Yet here she was, feeling safe enough in the arms of their leader that she was drifting off to sleep. Safe enough that she did drift off to sleep, her last thought how strange it was that she should be lulled by the strong rhythm of his gait or the evenness of his breathing.

  She woke some time later, inside yet another cave. This one wasn’t covered in ice, but it was no less cold. Imara suspected her shivering was what woke her, though perhaps it was Rheor, because he stood over her expectantly. She looked up at him, tracing his powerful calves and muscled thighs. It wasn’t until she reached his cock that her brain even grasped the fact that he was naked.

  “Am I supposed to offer payment now for your services as a mount? Services I didn’t ask for, I’ll remind you.”

  His lips twitched, but there was a heat behind his icy eyes that seared into her soul, stealing the very breath from her lungs. Poor choice of words, she realized. Or perhaps not. She was still groggy, feeling as though she’d awoken too soon from a pleasant, dreamless sleep. She couldn’t be held accountable for her subconscious and its apparent need to assert itself.

  “I thought you might take offense to me removing your clothing while you slept,” Rheor said, a thickness to his words that stoked the fires within her belly.

  She was prepared to respond to that, hopefully with more wit than her previous comment. But as the fog of sleep cleared from her mind, she realized that expectant look wasn’t him intending to make use of her body. He hadn’t mentioned stripping her bare because he wanted her. It was purely practical. They’d stopped for the night and he wanted to make sure she didn’t freeze to death.

  Shame flared within her and she looked away from him. Pushing herself into a sitting position, Imara started to remove her clothing. Everyone else was already bedded down for the night. She could hear the snuffling of their mounts, too. It was only the two of them, which lent her some small measure of relief.

  When she was naked again, the chill air brushing her nipples into hard peaks, she lay back down on the fur he’d spread out. Like last night, he settled in behind her. And like last night, she could feel the hard length of him against her backside. Hot. Heavy. Close enough that she could have easily shifted to take him inside.

  But she was still exhausted, and mistaking his intentions hadn’t done her any favors thus far. So for once she didn’t fight the demands of her body. Closing her eyes, Imara let sleep take her.

  The next day started without an attack, which Imara considered a vast improvement over the last. She was fed again, the same root substance and a bit of tacky bread. It was hard not wonder if this was what the Raknari always ate, or if it was just some kind of travel ration. But she wasn’t going to complain. She’d offered herself into this situation and she’d endure it until she had a place among them—if she ever did.

  Rheor was quick to suggest she ride Varuk today, and Imara voiced only minimal protest. The great beast seemed capable of carrying her and the fallen cat. In fact, his muscles barely twitched under her weight, as if she was of no significance at all. Looking at Rheor’s broad, muscular formed, she assumed she weighed as much as a leaf compared to him. Maybe a pile of leaves when she was soaking wet.

  It felt strange to ride when Rheor walked beside her, but she quickly adapted. So much so that she began to understand the movements of the creature beneath her. She was able to adjust her posture, ease her thighs into the correct position, and avoid many of the aches and pains she’d experienced throughout the first day, even as they continued up the steep mountainside.

  At one point they stopped, the wind howling against the stone walls on either side of them, blessedly kept at bay lest they all be blown off the mountain. But one of the men disappeared—the scout who’d gone ahead earlier—and returned not with a report of encroaching danger, but a plump elk draped over his shoulders, its antlers showing a maturity of several years.

  Delight filled Imara as she thought of stalking that elk herself; bringing it down with a well-placed shot from her bow. “There are forests nearby?” she asked, unable to contain her excitement.

  Rheor regarded her with amusement, and something else she couldn’t quite place. “Yes, there are forests. We live atop a mountain. Did you assume it was nothing but frozen tundra? Perhaps glaciers?”

  She scoffed at that. “How am I to know? We’ve traveled for days. The spot we’re at now is hardly visible from my village.”

  She had assumed it would be barren up here, though, and the food they’d given her thus far only served to reinforce that idea. Despite months of struggling, she’d not yet grown accustomed to eating roots and bark and flavorless, dense bread. She’d always hoped for better when things returned to normal. Even just the occasional taste of meat, the freshness of vegetables from Mother’s garden, and sweet God above, a proper stew. Her mouth watered just to think of the rich, thick broth.

  It’d been easier to tell herself she wouldn’t get that with the Raknari. It helped her stay what she imagined would be her eventual disappointment. But the fact that there were woods and elk meant there was something for those elk to eat, and other creatures that would make a meal of the elk themselves. Plenty of opportunities for hunting and good, hearty meals. She looked forward to traveling beyond the mountain’s peak to bag game of her own.

  As they continued, though, Imara felt a pang of guilt. It was reassuring to know she wouldn’t have to subsist on the same “foods” her people had eaten for the last year, but what would they eat? The storm was pushed back, the land thawed. The farmers would plant new crops and the trees and gra
ss would grow back, summoning deer and rabbits and other creatures. At least… that was the hope. History said that when villages returned from this kind of devastation, it wasn’t immediate. It would take time for plants to grow and animals to return. The older members of the village, the weak and infirm, might not make it to that point.

  But what could she do? The Storm Lord demanded a “sacrifice,” and her father had agreed to it. She was helping her people by going with the Raknari, as small a comfort as that was. The thought bred resentment in her, and it was harder to maintain the willful ignorance that had gotten her to this point. This wasn’t some grand adventure she’d return from soon. This was her life now. Strange and terrible and different from anything she’d known before. Nothing about it was going to be good, no matter what her treacherous body told her.

  She maintained those thoughts and that mood as they continued, right up until the point where they reached the outskirts of the Raknari settlement. At first she just noticed a few trail markers. From a distance they looked like iced-over stakes, but when she came closer, she saw they were ice—ice that encased the energy of the storms. Bright lights of shimmering reds and blues and purples and yellows lit within a frozen orb at the top of the marker, casting a beautiful, dancing glow over newly fallen snow, and that was only the beginning of the spectacle.

  The path they tread now wound through a dense, wintry forest. Instead of the spiny, drab trees she usually associated with the cold, there were lush, towering trees with foliage in deep purples and blues, their trunks a blue so light it was very nearly white. She was able to spot a family of elk in the distance, heard their call as they alerted others to danger, saw plump little birds take wing as the elk darted toward cover. It was teeming with wildlife, along with the foliage to support them. Just riding along at an even pace, Imara saw blooming bushes, berries, and so many other plants that likely shouldn’t have survived in this kind of climate.

  And then she began to see signs of civilization.

  When she was a girl, Imara had stumbled upon an old storybook with illustrations of a frozen palace amid a land of whimsy and wonder. She’d always wanted to go to that place, convinced it would be far more interesting than doing chores at home. But she’d grown out of that desire, recognizing it for what it was: A children’s story meant only to momentarily capture the attention of a restless girl. And yet…

  The palace she saw before her wasn’t like the one from the story. It was designed more for power than whimsy, she was sure. The spires made that very clear, along with the massive gate surrounding it. But the staircase that glittered in the sunlight, the windows that gave off the same shifting, multi-colored lights as the trail markers, the impossible shape of it did capture some of the wonder she’d felt as a child, and she just stared in awe, missing for several moments the fact that the ice palace was perched atop the mountain’s peak and there were yet many other features to ogle along the way.

  There was a wide, central path the Raknari who accompanied her traveled along. Buildings lined it, shops and tradesmen, she gathered from the signs, and further out from those she could see residences, branching off of varying pathways that ran through the entire settlement. The design of the buildings was like nothing she’d ever seen before. That pale blue wood comprised much of the building material, yet they also seemed to be reinforced by crystalline ice. They bore slanted roofs with a chimney that stretched above. The doors and windows were large, with rounded edges that lent everything a welcoming appearance.

  It honestly looked as though she’d stepped into some distant winter village where the residents welcomed her in for a steaming bowl of soup and some of the finest tea she’d ever known, all while she sat wrapped in a blanket in front of a roaring fire. After months of endless cold—and a pervasive frost that still seeped into her bones despite the fact that she was growing more used to it—Imara found herself yearning for that the way a starving man yearned for the tiniest morsel of food.

  It was such a strange sensation, especially when she actually looked past the quaint facade of the buildings and the majesty of palace. Her heart saw one thing, but the people walking about clearly painted another picture. They weren’t human. Not in the slightest. This wasn’t some warm, cozy little village. This was the top of the world, so far from who and what she’d been that she might as well be in another realm. Everyone who milled about, those who came out of their homes and businesses, were built like Rheor and the other Raknari. Even the women were tall and broad, their legs impossibly long, their hair a shimmering white or silver or blue.

  They were all pale, but in an almost ethereal way. Some had that same sheen of rime worn like armor over their bodies, but none of the prominent runes like Rheor. Their faces were hard lines, their ears surprisingly long and elegant, their eyes pale shades of blue and purple. Eyes that were all fixed on her. Every single set of them, without fail.

  Imara had never liked being seen. She wasn’t shy—far from it—but the attention afforded to her because of her birth was bad enough. Now she was buried in it, like an avalanche tumbling from this very mountain. Every one of the Raknari regarded her, all with so many shades of judgment that she couldn’t even begin to process it. She felt the sudden need to be small, to shrink away from them, but that desire warred with her own sense of pride and stubbornness.

  So she held her head high and looked straight ahead, letting Rheor lead his cat toward the palace that now seemed to loom above the rest of the settlement rather than float there as her silly thoughts from earlier had imagined.

  Many different Raknari came up to him and the others. They touched bracers with him, some sign of respect or greeting, and spoke a language Imara didn’t understand. It was one she hadn’t heard them speak since a brief conversation at her village, and she found herself wondering if Rheor had instructed his men to speak a tongue the lowly humans would understand. Why he cared about her ability to understand him or the others, she didn’t know, but the Raknari who spoke with him now certainly didn’t.

  She listened just the same, though. For as much as it had some rough, guttural notes, their language was strangely melodic. There was a rising lilt to it, a pattern that was incredibly pleasing to the ear. And when Rheor spoke it…

  He voice was normally deep, a rumbling sound that came from his chest rather than his nose or throat. But there was a roughness to it as he said her words, whether intentional or otherwise. That roughness disappeared when he spoke his own words, easing into something smooth, like honey poured in sinful patterns. The sounds blended together, one into the next, and Imara found herself caught up not in trying to understand it, but just in listening and experiencing it.

  The spell didn’t last long, however. Cold eyes turned toward her again, Rheor gesturing her way, and she knew she was about to be taken to wherever she was going to stay. Was there some special area for… what was she, even? The Storm Lord’s whore. He probably had several. She hadn’t thought of that before and the feeling made her sick. Would she have to live with them? Wait around until he decided he wanted to fuck her? Would he make her watch while he fucked the others?

  God, why hadn’t she thought any of this through? She never thought anything through and it always cost her. Her father had told her so many times that the path to understanding and happiness was in considering the outcomes and choosing the best that could be managed. Yet Imara just charged forward like a bull, oblivious to what waited on the other side.

  “You will be taken to your home,” Rheor said, more curtly than she was comfortable with.

  She didn’t know him well enough to get a true feel for his moods, but this distance was something she’d seen from him early on. Was that hint of warmth in between something she’d imagined, or just a lapse in his normal personality? She supposed it didn’t matter. She was his property now. He’d set her upon a shelf and only pull her down when he had use of her.

  “What about Tiva?” she found herself asking as she slid down from Machai
’s back—with Rheor’s unasked for aid.

  The Storm Lord gave her a curious look before his gaze rested on the cat. She was being seen to by the man who’d ridden her before, the ropes that held her body carefully untied. Others gathered around, and once he was free of the makeshift harness, Varuk was there by her side, too.

  “Her body will be frozen in accordance with Kiova’s greatest rites, and the shards will return to the lands she called home. She will be honored as a protector and a warrior, for that is what she was.”

  There was something firm in his voice, as though he was daring her to somehow challenge this. She wouldn’t. She hadn’t seen the battle or the blow that ultimately killed Tiva, but she had no doubt the cat had put up a fight. And as much as everyone seemed to care about her—as affected as they were by her death—it didn’t surprise her that there was some ritual behind it.

  She almost wanted to ask if she could attend whatever ceremony might happen, but it wasn’t her place. So instead she just nodded and quietly said, “Good.”

  Rheor gave her another curious look, but she was soon being shepherded away from him. Two women reached out for her and with rough, callused hands urged her along.

  “Come,” the taller of the two said, her eyes pure ice.

  If she’d hoped to find some kind of camaraderie with these women, that hope was immediately dashed. Instead Imara focused on keeping up with their long legs and masking her own surprise when they didn’t continue to the palace, where Rheor surely resided. Of course she wasn’t going to live there. Lords didn’t keep their whores in the house with them. They summoned them, used them, and sent them back to the gutter where they belonged.