Hollen the Soulless: A Fantasy Romance (Dokiri Brides Book 1)

by Denali Day

  Hollen returned, food in hand, with a stranger walking alongside him. It was the scarred man she’d seen with Soren. The right corner of his mouth stretched into a gruesome hash that trailed through his dark beard and up the side of his face, disappearing into his hairline. Despite the man’s apparent youth, the injury was old.

  What could have happened to a child to cause such a horrifying disfigurement?

  Hollen took his seat next to her and nodded up to the new man. “Joselyn, this is Ivan the Bold, our middle brother.”

  He looked almost exactly like Hollen. He featured the same deep-brown eyes and serious expression. His dark hair was even clasped into a high bun just as Hollen seemed to prefer. His gaze upon her was direct and, on instinct, Joselyn leaned ever so slightly into Hollen’s side. She licked her lips.

  “So it’s Hollen, Erik, you, Magnus, and then Sigvard?”

  “Only by birth, mu Saliga,” Ivan said as he held out a horn of wine to Joselyn. She took it, working hard not to stare at the freakish pull of his scar as he spoke.

  “By significance the order goes Hollen, Erik, Magnus, me, and then Sigvard . . .because that little podagi outranks no one.” He winked at her.

  Joselyn’s mouth quirked. So he had a sense of humor. But then, had she also detected a hint of bitterness?

  “How are you adjusting to your life in Bedmeg, mu Saliga?”

  “Well enough for a temporary stay.”

  “Oh? How temporary?” Ivan’s eyes sparked with interest.

  “As temporary as possible.”

  There was a moment of silence as Hollen and Ivan exchanged looks.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure something out, though it might take you a while.” He leaned back on his heels and scanned the ceiling above. “I’d give it a year tops.”

  Beside her, Hollen cleared his throat, eyeing his brother. Ivan returned his gaze with a tight smile. She’d been right. There was definitely something going on between the two men.

  Ivan turned back to Joselyn. “I hope, for your sake, either time or your unhappiness passes quickly, mu Saliga.”

  Joselyn nodded, and the scarred man walked away. Hollen took her gently by the arm.

  “You’ll not discuss leaving with Ivan again.”

  A flash of temper and hope danced in her belly. “Why? Because he might be the only man in this place to take me seriously?”

  Hollen’s face went hard as stone. “No. I swear to Regna he’d be the last person to take you from me. But he won’t hesitate to make things harder on us.”

  “You mean,” she took a guess, “on you?”

  A muscle in his jaw tightened.

  I see.

  Maybe Hollen was telling the truth. Maybe. He’d sworn on Regna, his sky father. Joselyn had sensed the antagonistic glint in Ivan’s eyes, but was it strong enough to inspire betrayal? She would find out. For now, she changed the subject.

  “How did he get that scar?”

  The set of Hollen’s shoulders eased. “A gegatu.”

  “He must have been young.”

  “Yes. Barely more than a child. He didn’t respect the danger they presented. Let that be a warning to you where the gegatu are concerned.”

  Joselyn thought of Volo and Brodie’s questions from a few days prior. “Must each of your men wait to marry until their older brothers have claimed a hamma?”

  He shook his head. “Not strictly. But it would be an insult to do otherwise. Why do you ask?”

  Yes, Joselyn. Why do you ask? Why do you care?

  “Your brothers often remark on how long you waited to claim your bride.”

  Hollen grunted, chewing another bite. “Yes, some of them”—his eyes flicked across the fire to where Ivan stood with Soren—“are quite impatient to claim brides. I assure you; they’ll survive.”

  “How old are most warriors when they claim a hamma?”

  “It depends. Most of our boys complete the Gegatudok, the ‘wyvern mastering,’ when they are sixteen to twenty years old. That’s when they become men. Then they complete the Veligneshi, the ‘slaughter,’ whenever they get the opportunity.”

  Joselyn recalled what she had been told on her first morning in Bedmeg. “And that’s when your warriors are named by their fathers?”

  Hollen nodded and gave her a smile.

  Beautiful.

  Joselyn’s breath caught as the intrusive thought crossed her mind. Her gaze fell into her cup as he answered.

  “Yes. Once they’re named they are recognized as true Na Dokiri. Then they may claim a bride, but most riders spend a year or more adding to their idadi before doing so.”

  Joselyn counted to ten in her head. “How old are you?”

  Hollen didn’t answer right away. The space in the conversation prompted Joselyn to look up, only to see Hollen focusing very hard on shredding his meat into narrow strips. Finally, “Twenty-six.”

  Joselyn’s lips parted. That was a great deal older than the usual age of claiming. Hollen glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

  “I’d already waited longer than most warriors when I was preparing to search for a hamma.” Joselyn nibbled at her food, staring more at his shoulder than his eyes.

  “But then my mother didn’t wake up the morning I meant to leave.”

  Joselyn stopped chewing. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather into the fire at the center of the room. She remembered what he’d said about his father falling ill the day his mother passed. That he’d slowly deteriorated over four long years.

  “I knew the elders meant to name me as my father’s successor.” In his hand, Hollen’s food was now a mess of stringy sinews. “It didn’t seem right to bring the next Saliga to Bedmeg while the prior’s mate slowly died for the absence of her.”

  “And so you waited.” Joselyn masked her awe with the smoothness of her voice.

  Hollen nodded. “And so I waited. As did my brothers.”

  Despite their mutual teasing and mockery, Hollen’s brothers must possess a strong sense of respect for him, that they would all await their own right to claim a wife. From everything Joselyn had seen of the Dokiri people, their family units were the source of all joy and pleasure. Surely Hollen’s brothers had been eager to establish their own households. And what of Hollen’s own restraint? He’d denied himself not only for the sake of his father’s grief, but also for his mother’s memory. Joselyn’s heart swelled. Loyalty was no insignificant trait. Despite herself, her opinion of Hollen rose.

  “And now you have a bride who’s vowed to escape you,” she said.

  Maybe he deserves happiness. Just not at House Fury’s expense.

  Hollen shrugged. “She’ll come around.”

  “Do you regret waiting so long?”

  He shook his head. “Everything happens for a reason. If I hadn’t waited, I wouldn’t have met you.”

  He’d said it like it would have been the gravest of misfortunes. As if claiming someone else would have been his sole regret. Even now? After everything? Joselyn’s stomach fluttered. Where could she take the conversation after that? She fidgeted with her horn of wine. “Will you not have some?”

  Hollen smiled softly. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

  Joselyn eyed the contents of her horn, even more wary of the “mushroom wine.” She took a tentative sip. Her eyes widened.

  “How can you not? This tastes divine.” She licked her lips, savoring the sweet aftertaste of the fermented fungus.

  “Yes. It does. But a Salig cannot afford to have his wits dulled.”

  Joselyn regarded him, incredulous, which only seemed to heighten his amusement.

  “Not even on a feast night,” he added, inclining his head toward the stone dais where Magnus and the other drummers were taking their positions.

  Joselyn’s mouth dropped as all around, the women began unthreading the ties of their outer dresses and stripping down to their white under-shifts. Their faces shone with excitement as they scurried to surround the great fir
e where the men had been dancing. Joselyn scanned the perimeter of the cave. Now only the men and their wives’ cast off clothing occupied the stone benches.

  Joselyn’s ears echoed with the rising pulse of the drums. The Dokiri hammas joined hands, their faces to the fire, and began skipping in time with the beat, changing directions in perfect unison so that they appeared as one living entity. Hair of every color and texture whipped back and forth as they danced, and the echo of their laughter rose above the din.

  All at once, their hands broke apart to perform a pair of sharp claps as they turned out toward the men. Bangles clattered together, adding to the music. They smiled as they rejoined their neighbors and began the circle anew.

  From the sidelines, their husbands watched with avid enthusiasm, toasting and calling their approval. Joselyn peered at Hollen from the corner of her eye. Was he affected by the sight of so much feminine flesh?

  Apparently not.

  Hollen was finishing the last of his food, sucking the meaty flavor from his thumbs as he always seemed to do. He turned to face her, and Joselyn jerked her horn to her lips.

  “I’m thirsty. Do you want water?” He stood.

  Joselyn shook her head and Hollen started in the direction of the water trough.

  When the music changed, the women broke off from one another. A new instrument that Joselyn hadn’t yet heard began playing in the background. She followed the sound to a trio of men sitting on the ground below the drum line. In their laps sat shallow wooden boxes with strings stretched tightly across the middle. Each man held a sort of bow in his hand, which he drew across the strings. The enchanting melody sent the women into passionate displays of rhythm.

  Hollen was heading back with a new horn when Rosemary threw her hands upon Joselyn’s arm. Joselyn jumped, nearly spilling her drink. The brunette pressed her smiling lips to Joselyn’s ear.

  “Come, mu Saliga.” Her breath was sweet with wine. “Let’s show them what we Morhageese women can do with a little music to move about to.” Rosemary tugged at Joselyn’s sleeve, half pulling her from the bench.

  “No, Rosemary. I’m sorry, I cannot.” Joselyn pulled against the other woman’s shockingly firm grip. She broke free and plopped back into her seat.

  Rosemary reached for the sides of Joselyn’s overdress. Her drunken fingers fumbled with the laces. “Too damn hot in here for all this nonsense.”

  Joselyn gasped as her freckled hands shot to stop the other woman’s. “Rosemary, please!”

  The brunette laughed as though they were playing some coy game, barely managing to untie the leather cords hanging at Joselyn’s hip. Purple liquid splashed onto the ground as Joselyn was forced to release her horn in favor of retaining her clothing.

  “Bad luck, mu Saliga!” Rosemary laughed, still wrestling with her. “Not supposed to put a horn down before it’s empty. That’s Dokiri tradition, it is.”

  One you must observe with religious fervor.

  Hollen stooped over Rosemary’s shoulder. “I believe atu hatu is searching for you, Rosemary.”

  Rosemary paused long enough for Joselyn to snatch the cords of her own dress away. From across the cave, Ragnar stood from the bench. His sharp gaze flitted away from Hollen and fell upon his wife. Rosemary turned, spotting her husband, who began crossing the distance.

  “He’s so impatient.” Rosemary huffed, with a pleased glint in her eye.

  Ragnar was there in seconds. He reached for his wife, catching her about the hips. “Come, mu hamma. Let us dance.”

  Rosemary swayed and planted a hand against his broad chest. “It’s too early. Let me dance with mu Saliga first. You can wait like everyone else.”

  Ragnar tangled his hand in her brown waves and pulled Rosemary close enough to whisper something in her ear. The woman grinned, revealing deep dimples in either cheek. She leaned her head away, pushing the side of her neck into his lips. Joselyn stared while still trying to catch her breath.

  “She’s too fancy for us anyway,” Rosemary muttered while staring dreamily into her husband’s eyes. He ushered her back into the throng of dancing women.

  Even as she was grateful for the peace, Joselyn’s chest stung at Rosemary’s comment. She’d never had friends before. She had maids and attendants. But no friends. Her position in the hierarchy of court had put her too far out of reach for things like that. It had been a lonely way to grow up, devoid of connection. But maybe it hadn’t been all bad. She’d also been immune from mean, dismissive comments. Ones that reminded her just how alone she was.

  Hollen took his seat next to Joselyn, bending down to retrieve her wine horn from the ground. “I’ll get you more.”

  “No.” Joselyn smoothed the wrinkles from her dress. She inhaled, scraping her composure back into place. “Thank you.”

  Hollen watched her a moment, his lips pursed. Joselyn turned her attention back to the crowd, ignoring the concern etched on his face. Eventually, he too went back to watching the dancers.

  One or two at a time, the men from the benches rose to join their brides around the fire until Ragnar and Rosemary were only one of dozens of entwined couples. Joselyn sat straight with her hands folded neatly in her lap as she watched the scene before her.

  They were practically mating as they moved. The men pulsed and hovered over their brides, sometimes from before and sometimes from behind. The women were led by their own hips rocking in time with the mighty beating of the drums, their hands swaying along with the lilt of the stringed instruments.

  Joselyn’s gaze locked upon Lavinia, whose back was pressed firmly into Soren’s bronze chest. A ‘v’ of her own golden-brown skin glistened with sweat beneath the precariously open front of her shift. Soren’s chin hung low over her shoulder, and Lavinia pressed her parted mouth into his temple as she swung her hips beneath his petting hands.

  Was this normal? She looked around. No one else seemed the slightest bit discomforted. Even the children casually occupied themselves with games or third and fourth helpings of ram meat. Her eyes returned to the couples locked in sensual revelry.

  For the briefest of moments, an image of herself swaying wantonly in Hollen’s embrace projected itself in her mind. A surge of nerves tingled down her chest and deep into the hollow of her belly. Her skin went warm, and she licked her lips, regretting her refusal of a drink.

  A sense of nakedness washed over Joselyn. Hollen’s eyes were upon her. She stiffened, her toes curling in her boots. Surely he didn’t think she would ever participate in such a carnal display with him. That she even could.

  Did he? What would that be like?

  Her skin went even warmer. She had to get away.

  “I’d like to walk.” Joselyn’s head whipped to face Hollen, whose gaze darted away from hers before returning.

  “I’ll go with you.” He stood.

  “No.” She yanked him back down. Hollen looked at the place where she gripped him. His brow rose in amusement.

  “No, thank you,” she repeated, a bit softer. She rose from her seat and skittered away from the ring of benches.

  She spent the next hour milling about with the children and unmarried men, observing her surroundings at a relative distance. She glanced from time to time at Hollen, who’d been joined by Erik and Sigvard. The corners of his eyes creased as he laughed with them in easy companionship.

  Once in a while, some of the men would approach and ask him to join in a game of vokmadi, which, from what she could tell, was a sophisticated version of tug-of-war. Each time, he’d glance around, searching for her. Joselyn would take care to appear busy, and Hollen would go with the men. He’d won every game he played. Not that she was keeping track.

  An hour went by, and one by one, couples broke off from the crowd to return with clasped hands to their boks. As Hollen had predicted, more than a few made their way down the tunnel leading to the private springs. The youngest Dokiri children also began disappearing as the night grew late.

  The music dampened and Joselyn y
awned. She was uncertain which had been more exhausting, her entire day or the past few hours of such a wild night. She pressed a palm to her forehead. Large hands covered her shoulders and Joselyn spun to see Hollen.

  “Come, Joselyn. Let’s go to bed.”

  Joselyn’s heart skipped a beat. She knew what he meant, but those words, after watching men and women join all but their most intimate flesh, sent a wave of heat curling in her belly. She wondered if the wine was laced with an aphrodisiac. It would account for the clan’s lascivious behavior and her body’s own inexplicable reactions.

  She nodded, allowing him to steady her as they traveled up the winding path that led to his bok’s tunnel. Hollen didn’t bother to build the fire. Instead he set the torch into the wall, stripped, and tumbled into the furs of his bed.

  It was on the tip of Joselyn’s tongue to demand he exit so she could change into her sleeping shift. But after their time in the springs? It seemed silly. She watched him a moment, noting his peaceful expression as he closed his eyes and propped an arm behind his head.

  With her mind made up, Joselyn went to the chest and pulled out the thin white gown. Hollen’s heavy lashes never fluttered as she changed, and she was grateful to be falling into the bed that much sooner. Her hand slid beneath the pillow, ensuring that the gneri blade remained where Hollen had bid her leave it. She fingered the ridges of the celestial scene he’d carved into its hilt.

  For the first time since being sequestered to this gods-forsaken mountain, Joselyn slept with an empty hand.

  13

  Huntress

  The fir pine forest was awash with golden light that streamed between ancient branches, bowing beneath the weight of freshly fallen snow. With every step Joselyn took, the earthy aroma of their snapping needles wafted into her nose.

  She and Hollen had risen early. They’d stepped around more than a few sleeping figures in the common area whose lips were stained purple with wine. Before departing, Hollen had gone to the forge, which doubled as an armory, and selected for Joselyn the shortest bow he could find. Her ears had burned hot when she realized the weapon was meant for children. Even so, her captor was forced to rewind the bowstring so that she’d be able to draw it back.