A boxy, horned head bent, warm breath drifting across my nape.
“Find who?” Adelric was looking a little dazed, glazed eyes admiring my lips.
Liked them, did he? All dried blood and cracked? I didn’t understand why. They burned, streaks of stinging pain zipping across them, little strips of dried, crusted blood scabbing over the only thing holding the blasted things together, it felt like. I didn’t know why anyone would want me like this, or had even before then.
Bold, a hand lifted as mine did, our fingers smacking, clashing. When I froze his palm found mine, turning my limp fingers into his. Tingles zapped, stinging. We both jerked, jumped, and gaped down at our joined hands. Twin map markers. Fingers tangled, they remained entwined. That stinging zip was painful but quick to pass.
That had certainly never happened before, not like that.
“I love your brother,” I blurted, as if it wasn’t obvious with my insanity upon our arrival.
Glowing eyes bore into our hands, the map marks we both knew were there. “I know,” he mumbled right back.
His head dipped, leaning closer. My face tilted, wide eyes gazing up at him uncertainly. His nostrils flared, steam filling them. He bent closer and-
“I think this might fit you, I-” Suzaela came up behind Adelric, oblivious, holding up a silky soft looking robe for me to see.
Just like that the spell was broken, leaving both of us flushed and confused. I wanted him no more than I wanted to join this superfluous feast. My current state was his fault, after all, I reminded myself.
Pulling away, the imposing bull man cleared his throat, wiping that strange yet unreadable expression off his face, and glanced to his mother blandly.
“It’s a robe,” he drawled in a bored tone.
“It’s the only thing I had that would cover,” her hands came up to make the shape of breasts on my chest, “you know. All of her.” Large breasts nowhere near the size of mine, though hers were almost twice as small. She was doing it for me, trying to help me with my human conceptions of modesty.
“A skirt and a shawl would do well, I think,” I stated boldly, “if you have them to spare?”
“Well, yes, I just didn’t- I mean to say-” Her hands folded the thin, soft looking robe neatly, a pleased twist of her lips cluing me in I’d made the right decision. “Uhm, let me go and get those for you.”
Left standing there with Adelric, everything felt off. The world was off kilter, tilted. The male had unknowingly broken me yet again. Though, I’d admit, it very well could be the fever to blame.
“I’ll see you at the feast, then?”
Adelric made a chuffing noise. He appeared as uncomfortable as I. “Yes. Tonight. The feast.”
“Okay.”
“I must be, uhm, going,” he grumbled gruffly.
“Yes.”
“I’m going to go... now.”
A small smile tipped my lips, my eyes crinkling at the corners. I shouldn’t be so thoroughly entertained by his discontent.
At the look on my face, amusement sparking in my eyes, he grunted, a scowl slipping over his stern features, and turned, just in time to bump into Suzaela.
As Adelric departed with a word to his mother and a promise to come ‘collect’ me, he was off, leaving me aching in funny places and angrily confused.
I don’t want him, I told myself for what felt like the hundredth time.
I don’t.
The chief’s bonded assisted me back to my room, helping me bathe, redress my wounds, opting for a green paste she slathered along the top of every scrape, cut, abrasion, stating it was easier than the bandages if I was to be moving around. Used for dressing wounds when out on a hunt or in battle, made of several local plants, it was a vile, transparent green color with a smell akin to lavender, mint, and soil.
The makeshift dressing was more of a skin patch, allowing the wound to heal to it, with it, to fall off, keeping it closed, like glue. While it pinched and pulled, tugging on my skin, the wounds remained protected.
I smell like minty soap dirt, I thought with a grimace as I sat on a stool, shawl over my shoulders, skirt wrapped around my waist, emptying the cup full of Suzaela’s swill down my gullet.
I couldn’t do this, didn’t want to, but just like back at the maze and with everything else, I was going to go through with it.
“Suzaela?” My stomach roiled as the gathering villagers grew louder, just outside Suzaela’s little private hut. The Chief’s lady had her own hut, explaining when I looked perplexed at her assurances the Chief wouldn’t enter her space that they did not in fact share the same living quarters. Suzaela had hers and Ekodar had his. It had been this way for many years. Since Ekodar had denied Adelric and Vachel, I wondered.
“Yes, dear?” The high priestess glanced at me from the large, buffed, shiny dome of metal she used for a mirror.
Unable to stare at my reflection for more than a moment, I eyed my empty cup as she carefully combed through my hair with a brush made from thick animal bristles. My hair, to the middle of my upper back now, was cut at a funny angle, longer on my right side, shorter on the left. All that hair... just gone. My one bit of vanity gone in a moment. It would grow back, I’d been trying to tell myself. Just another loss in my losing battle.
How morbid, Riadne. Always the pessimist. Cheer up. Things could always be worse. You lost your hair. Still have your head, don’t you?! I could hear my sister’s voice in my head, picture her smiling her sweet, innocent smile, then telling me to get over myself. She didn’t care I was melancholy more often than not, the unfriendly, taciturn eldest. She knew me, loved me. Those exact words, she’d uttered them to me not four sleeps before she was taken.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure I had a single, positive thought left within me.
Nope. Not feeling nearly numb enough to go through with this yet. “I-ah, I think I might need a stronger brew.”
˜˙˜*˜˙˜
Gate uneven, if only a bit unsteady on my legs, I hobbled my way towards the revelers.
Not bothering to wait for Adelric to come for me, against Suzaela’s advice, I’d headed out, one stumbling step after the other. The slippers on my feet were a nice touch, my footsteps quiet as I shuffled closer.
Situated around a long, rectangular table put together with what looked like thick planks of smoothed wood and a combination of stacked rocks and wide chunks of wood, more chunks, stumps, were used for makeshift seats. The smell of meat and drink, strange dishes with odd colors and spicy scents, drifted my way. Sweet pies, meat pies, some sort of dark purple mash, crackling roast, fresh from the spit, and what appeared to be a large, boar-like animal, with thick bumps on its head, a long, rat-like tail, and razors for teeth. Not quite a pig, and definitely not a porcuswine, they hadn’t bothered to remove the bristly-haired creature’s head, or skin it, leaving its leather and bristle covered hide in all of its crisp, bubbly skinned glory on full display, sat in the middle of the table. Puck was sparing no expense this night. What, no apple-like fruit for its mouth?
I’d missed the dancing and singing vibrating the high priestess’ cozy house, arriving just in time for the feast itself. I doubted I’d have been readily accepted to the festivities of earlier.
Head held high, back straight, and pleasantly numb, if only mentally more so than physically, I approached the gathered villagers with an outward confidence that was all show and well-hidden false bravado.
My entire body was a dull, massive, aching throb now thanks to Suzaela’s concoction, pounding in time to my heartbeat. I was a giant pulse of barely numbed pain, a profusely sweating, achy-headed, shaking, dry mouthed, fever-induced shivering, mess, but I’d done as the King-chief Trickster had asked. The swill’s effects, no pains when I breathed, sharp jolts rattling me when I moved too fast, were better than nothing.
No one else would suffer for my disobedience this night.
One might think it a test, but the puckish devil was toying with me, j
ust one more excuse to get at me, and right under his Taurans’ noses.
How long would his antics last before others noticed? How long until they saw the man posing as their leader isn’t? What would they think, knowing they still lorded under the same false god who had abandoned them all those years ago?
More importantly, I wondered how far Puck’s antics deviated from those of the real Ekodar’s. If not by much, I feared he’d squash the talk of his odd behaviors, and then he’d never be uprooted. All those poor Taurans, to have to deal with such a creature overseeing them, if so.
My breathing was heavy, overloud, the steady, chuffing huff as I walked towards an empty chair near the middle of the long table giving way to my presence. How long would I last, should his efforts to tame me continue?
“The end,” that smug, all knowing tone commanded.
Glancing towards the opposite end of the table of that voice, I found the head seat empty. Somehow I knew taking it wasn’t an honor in Tauran society. Nonetheless, I did as the tyrant bid.
By the time I’d shuffled my way to my assigned seat, Suzaela had joined the gathering and taken her spot, seated alongside her pair bond. Smiling and gesturing happily, she talked amongst her people as if nothing was amiss.
Kvigor sat to Ekodar’s left, studiously ignoring anyone and everyone in favor of his food, myself included. I’d expected as much. It was better this way.
Adelric was seated towards the middle, closer to my end, his fellow guardsmen, all wearing the same thick, leather-like kilts as one another, a smart shade of teal more pronounced than Ekodar and Kvigor’s black, while most everyone else wore the soft skirts that wrapped around their waists, males and females alike.
There was a single female, taller than all the other females, near an enormous brute of a male, seated to my left, her fur and skin beneath a shining sable. Just as dark as she, the male’s horns were a flat, raven black, as inky black as the rest of him. They both donned purple and white plaids, their severe features and grunting replies uninviting. Outsiders not even trying to fit in, was the impression I got. They obviously kept to themselves. Smart, that.
My gaze kept surreptitiously going back to the giant. The male was the biggest Minotaur I’d yet to see. His arms bulged with muscle, thick frame taking up the span of two seats. While the base and middle of those massive protrusions from his head shone, a natural glossy shine, the ends were matte, dulled, like Kvigor’s after our fall between realms. I didn’t miss the way the massive male was trying to pretend he wasn’t admiring Adelric’s youngest sibling, dark orange eyes slipping to the object of his affection’s sweet face when he thought no one was looking.
A few others gathered wore small clothes that resembled tiny skirts, slit on the sides or the pieces on the front and back tied with a thick strip of animal hide, offering just enough modesty to cover their privates. As drafty as they looked, I imagined those things were much easier to move around in, and much more comfortable for them with all that fur in the warmer months.
Sliding into my seat, I spotted Vachel two seats down, the familiar yet foreign female Taurans, presumably from the unmated females’ hut, all more or less carefully looking anywhere but at me.
Soft, maroon eyes peeked at me from beneath a thick fringe of lashes. Bowing my head, I smiled a little, peeking back. The heifer looked troubled, unsure, but smiled anyway. “Good eve,” I whispered, keeping my voice low so others wouldn’t overhear.
Pretending to eat, Vachel mouthed the words back.
That was the end of my interactions for some time, everyone eating and chatting around me.
Wonderful, I’m to attend a mad tea party for a leper, and I’m the honored guest. How fantastically marvelous. If he’d wanted me to feel alone, isolated, Puck had done a wonderful job, but I saw through his ruse. I tried not to let it get to me.
Long after I’d sat, watching everyone surreptitiously partake of the wonderful smelling food—stewed vegetables and sweet looking cakes, crusty loaves of fresh bread, some sort of tea, ale, blue and purple meat dripping with juices, crispy on the outside, just come off the spit, gravy—I remained undisturbed, left to my lonesome.
Vachel looked like she wanted to speak to me but was afraid, her head lifting every so often, lips parting as if to do just that, but then her eyes went searching out that of her bastard father’s, to fall away, head dipping back towards her plate, or the conversation circling back around to one of the other ladies at the table.
“Do you not appreciate the feast I have made for you, wingless?” Ekodar’s deep voice boomed from his end of the table. Holding up a half-eaten bone thick with meat, he waved it at me, almost upsetting his goblet. There was a challenge in those darkening purple eyes. He was counting on me making a scene.
Making a show of looking around, I blinked. “Why, sir, you shouldn’t have.” Picking up a cup and pouring myself some water from a fat pitcher set out on the table, I slowly took a long drink.
Smacking my lips, I set my mug back down.
“All this for beating me? Oops! I mean taming,” I tossed him a wink, “what a... novel idea. One would almost think you felt guilty about something.”
Alright, so I was making a scene—maybe I was as unstable and wild as I felt, or maybe it was the brew I’d chugged fortifying me, who knew—but why not? Be it Suzaela’s drink, my current state of wellbeing, or what have you, it felt good, being unhindered, rather reckless.
What did I honestly have to lose at this point? I already felt like I was dying, wilting inside and out.
I had fucking nothing.
The table had grown silent, voices dying down. You could hear a pin drop.
“Milord,” I toasted grandly, “the festivities should really be for you, should they not? For your magnificent prowess as a hunter, your diligence as a leader, your unscrupulous morals, the things you do, laboring for your people, as you’ll always get the job done,” my hands lifted, arms spreading out wide, shawl slipping to bunch over my breasts, my hair, over my shoulders, attempting to hide my indecency this night, my bared skin, covered in green glop, exposing their King-chief’s handiwork, “and most of all,” lifting someone else’s mug in a toast, I grinned, “those wonderful violet eyes of yours!”
Tipping the drink back to chug, making a mess as it dribbled down my chin and farther, I realized belatedly it was ale I’d partaken of, not the spiced tea I’d been aiming for, wanting to merely pretend I was partaking of alcohol.
Ekodar’s eyes were wide as I watched him, slamming my drink down and smacking my lips nosily. I was counting on others knowing the real chief’s eye color, picking up on the difference. I could keep this up, long as I was able, until too many pieces didn’t fit.
All eyes were on their gracious leader, who was starting to look mad enough to beat me, again. As his anger grew, I saw it, the Trickster falling to the foreground, waiting on the fringes, while his counterpart took control.
Violet faded to dull amber right before my very eyes. “What nonsense is this?” a deeper version of the chief’s voice boomed over the crowd.
This was Ekodar? He was riled, snarling, but it was there, tingeing his voice, a tiny tremor that gave him away—his counterpart’d had a little chat with his accomplice, gave him a good talking to or something—the Tauran leader was scared.
“Your eyes,” Vachel breathed, “they were purple, but... your- Now they’re-”
“Insolence!” Ekodar shot up, tossing the hank of meat in his hand halfway down the table. “You’d buy into that wingless pestilence’s tomfoolery? Poison you against me, will she?!!”
Vachel jumped as the hunk of roasted meat landed, jerking back where she sat as if she feared a coming blow.
This was the great Ekodar. What was left of him, I corrected, watching as his frame, aging, sagging skin, thick around his middle, trembled with fury and the effects of drink. Whatever might’ve been the chief before, this was what his villagers had to look forward to now.
Picki
ng up a pitcher of amber to guzzle straight from it, his throat worked, like he couldn’t drown his sorrows fast enough. How he hadn’t gone mad long before now with that blot on his soul hitching a ride was beyond me. Just dealing with that cackling buffoon of a fae in the first place back in the labyrinth was enough to drive one mad.
Goblet rolling across the table, mug slamming to the tabletop beside it, the mad chief sneered. Amber eyes glowed with a menacing light. I had no doubt the male was a mean drunk.
“Maybe ye be needin’ a tamin’ too,” the Chief grumbled with a snicker. His eyes were glazed, wild, glowing that amber tinted gold that made me think of his abandoned son. “Don’ see fit to give any of the unmated males a go. Adelric babies you, treats you like you’re still on the teat. Think ye be needin’ a hand. Or be don’ with ya. Mm,” he belched between words, “pair you up and mate ye off, you ungrateful cow. Outta the way for good.”
As if thinking about him had summoned him, Adelric snarled.
I was already on my feet, if weaving about a bit—Suzaela had warned me not to partake of any spirits. “Like hell,” I growled defensively, right along with the guardsman. “You’ll do no such thing!”
Adelric, upsetting his place as he jumped to his feet, was poised and ready, his hand at the hilt of his sword, back straight, a stubborn tilt to his chin. His face was set, jaw clenching and unclenching.
“Have something ta say to me, boy?” Ekodar snapped with a snicker.
Suzaela’s jaw worked, eyes unfocused, hands fisted in her lap. Blinking, blanking her expression, allowing her face to transition into a pleasant enough smile, she placed her hand on her male’s gently. “Maybe you should have some food, love,” she said not unkindly, effectively drawing his attention away from us and onto her.
Purple swirled in that glowing gold, rimming the glowing irises. Puck and the great chief were both in residence. Closing his eyes until two narrowed strips of color barely showed, muted in the dim candlelight, he sneered, his upper lip curling, glaring down at his pair bond. “Maybe you should have less.” His gaze raked her frame, fit but weathered with age.
By the Horns Page 29