by Denali Day
Joselyn nodded at those who greeted her and stepped gingerly toward the pool where Lavinia was soaking. Her curly hair was bundled high atop her head. She started to stand when she saw Joselyn.
“I’ll join you.” Joselyn dropped to her heels to slide into the water.
“D-don’t—” Lavinia broke off as Joselyn hissed and snapped her foot back from the too hot water. Lavinia frowned and continued to stand.
“Your skin is b-badly burned.” Lavinia gestured to the patchiness of Joselyn’s legs. “Come, let’s sit in a c-cooler pool.”
Joselyn nodded and followed Lavinia. She was pleased when the Ebronian woman took them to a more secluded area of the springs. Joselyn didn’t miss the tittering that was going on behind the hands of the other women as she passed. She couldn’t blame them.
Lavinia slid into the water at an empty edge of a much cooler pool. Joselyn sighed and settled in next to her. The water felt far warmer than it should have, but at least she was comfortable. Lavinia smiled and said nothing, pressing the back of her head against the stony bank as though she meant only to sit with her Saliga in companionable silence.
Joselyn appreciated that quiet. It promised that Lavinia wouldn’t press for answers. Eventually she found herself recounting the past day’s events. She glazed over the bit where she’d nearly been raped, but Lavinia’s averted gaze hinted that she’d already made the connection.
Ending her tale with Hollen’s rushing her back to Bedmeg, Joselyn waited for a reaction. The Ebronian woman said nothing, merely pursed her lips in thoughtful silence.
“Are you my friend, Lavinia?”
Lavinia’s brows furrowed. “I would like . . .to be, mu Saliga.”
Joselyn took a breath. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”
Lavinia shot her a wary gaze. “T-tell you what?”
Joselyn leveled her with a hard stare. “That they can’t keep us here forever.”
Lavinia sighed with a little nod. “We w-wondered how m-much longer he would keep you ignorant. Surely, after what happened, he’s . . .learned better of keeping secrets from his h-hamma.”
“Secrets that you all helped him keep.” Joselyn frowned, allowing the hurt to show on her face.
Lavinia grimaced and touched a hand to Joselyn’s arm. “We did. I’m sorry, but it was n-necessary.”
Joselyn’s skin tingled where Lavinia touched her, but she didn’t move. “Necessary? How can it be necessary?”
“For anyone to interfere in the b-bonding between a hatu and his hamma would be to rob the Na Dokiri of his victory in winning her himself. It is a great s-sin against a man, forbidden by the g-gods. And it would be a sin against you . . .as well.”
That got Joselyn’s attention. “How so?”
Lavinia smiled half-heartedly as she pulled her hand away to rest on the bank. “Would you be content to choose or reject a hatu who had his true nature distorted by those around him?”
Joselyn had to think on that. It was difficult to answer because she’d never thought to seriously consider Hollen as a potential spouse. Even had she been aware that the choice was hers, she had been too focused on escaping to give Hollen any real consideration.
“It w-was up to your hatu to decide if he would be h-honest with you, and when. Now you may judge his . . .character for yourself.”
“So he finally take her gneri blade away, then?” Both women jumped as Rosemary plopped down into the water on Joselyn’s other side. “About damned time if you ask me.”
“N-nice of you to join us, Rosemary.” Lavinia eyed her friend with censure.
Unperturbed, Rosemary settled comfortably next to Joselyn, making it clear she had no intention of being left out of any further conversation.
“What do you mean, take it away? Why?” Joselyn remembered the woman’s odd behavior the night of her welcoming feast when she had first mentioned Hollen giving her the knife.
“The gneri b-blade is a rite in and of itself.” Lavinia hesitated. “Did mu Salig tell you what h-happens when a hamma chooses to stay?”
Lavinia was testing. Ensuring she wasn’t overstepping her bounds. Joselyn’s eyes dropped to the other woman’s tanshi mark. “She places her mark upon him?”
Lavinia smiled, nodding. “With the same blade her hatu used to mark her. The blade then becomes hers, a . . .symbol of her union.”
Rosemary tsked. “He should never have given it to you to begin with! Cheapens the rite for the rest of us. What could he have been thinking? Probably wasn’t. Men hardly do.”
Lavinia shot Rosemary a reproachful look. The brunette huffed, unrepentant.
Joselyn thought of her first night in Bedmeg. How she’d stolen the blade and snuck it into their bed. She remembered how Hollen had given her the opportunity to kill him, even correcting her form. Now she knew why he hadn’t permitted her to carry it outside the bok.
Joselyn tucked her chin and stole glances at the women on either side of her. “He did it to ease my fear. Did your hatus . . .do something similar?”
Rosemary and Lavinia exchanged looks from across the water.
“Fear of what?” Rosemary asked.
“My fear of him.” Joselyn bit her lip. If Hollen had been lying to her, this was the surest way to find out.
“Ah,” Rosemary said.
Lavinia stretched out her neck. “Well, by now you see there’s n-no cause for fear. Soren slept on the ground by the fire for the first month of my y-year.”
Rosemary gaped. “He didn’t! Poor Soren! I let Ragnar in our bed, but I slept with so many furs wrapped around me that I needed the springs worse in the mornin’s than at night. Thank Helig those days are over with!”
Lavinia laughed.
Suspicion settled hot in Joselyn’s gut. How could they be so certain that Hollen hadn’t taken any liberties with her? Unless there was a law preventing him from taking her. If that bastard had lied to her… “So that’s it then. They aren’t allowed to…to…”
The other women waited for Joselyn to finish. Her cheeks flushed as she trailed off.
“To plow us?” Rosemary offered.
Joselyn flinched but nodded. They didn’t answer right away.
“Is that what mu Salig told you?” Lavinia asked in a careful tone.
“No,” Joselyn admitted. She wished the women would speak more freely.
Lavinia’s face softened. “P-perhaps you ought to ask him.”
Joselyn gritted her teeth. “I have. He says that it’s his right to have me if he wishes.”
The other two women exchanged satisfied nods. Rosemary spoke. “Good, seems he’s through with the lies then.”
“But that makes no sense! Why wouldn’t they simply take us if it’s their right?”
“The same reason our boys don’t throw themselves onto the backs of wild gegatu.” Rosemary snickered. “I mean, they could do it, but they’d die for the tryin’.”
Joselyn arched a brow. She thought of the hulking masses of muscle that made up the Dokiri male populace. “I doubt they fear meeting their fates at the hands of women.”
Lavinia raised her dark brows. “Some fates are worse than d-death, mu Saliga.”
“Yes, you’ve met Rory, haven’t you?” Rosemary asked.
“Rosemary!” Lavinia hissed, shaking her head at her friend.
Joselyn wrinkled her nose, curiosity pricked. “The old man at the forge?”
Rosemary ignored Lavinia’s warning. “She’ll ‘ear about it sooner or later. might as well be from us, and the poor girl’s got a right to know.”
Lavinia sighed and gave a shallow nod.
Rosemary turned and leaned into Joselyn. “It happened long before any of us got here, but Rory forced himself upon his hamma the very day he brought her back to Bedmeg.”
Joselyn stifled a gasp. She’d spoken little to the man at the forge, but had seen him often during Hollen’s knife fighting instruction. It had struck her odd that the man never seemed to leave, his schedule apparently empty
of pursuits outside smithing. It hadn’t crossed her mind until now that he was always there because he had no family of his own.
“What happened?” Joselyn murmured.
‘The whole clan could ‘ear her screamin’, but no one was allowed to interfere, see. He tried it again and again at the start before realizing what a fool he was. But by then it was too late. She never did warm up to him. And at the end of her year, she was beggin’ anyone and everyone to stand witness when Rory took her back to the lamb pasture he’d plucked her from.”
Joselyn shivered, imagining how she would have felt in the woman’s place. “And Rory?”
Rosemary frowned and pressed her back against the stone bank. “Well he took her back, of course. What else could he do?”
“Was he punished?” She hoped so. But then, that would mean Hollen had lied to her. In spite of everything, Joselyn didn’t want to doubt Hollen’s honesty.
Rosemary’s lips thinned. “For what? What he did with his hamma was his own business. I’ll bet some of the other riders were eager to bash some sense into his head, though.”
Lavinia broke in. “He was punished. Living without a hamma is a . . .sentence that lasts a lifetime and long after. Without a hamma, one has no legacy, no sons to ride beside him in the . . .skies beyond life.”
“Unless he can get a Dokiri gritu to have him. ‘Course, Rory’s never been so lucky.” Rosemary said without pity.
“A Dokiri gritu?” Joselyn asked.
Lavinia explained. “A w-widowed hamma. A rejected hatu may still marry the bride of a deceased . . .rider, but his chance to claim a bride of his own is forever forfeit. It’s not an attractive alternative for our r-riders.”
So it was true then. All of it. Hollen really did have the right to force her and no one would gainsay him. And yet he’d abstained, for no other reason than to win her heart. Out of hope that, when the time came, she’d choose to give herself willingly to him. Joselyn worried her lower lip. How did she feel about that?
“Do many women reject their hatus?”
“It d-doesn’t happen often, mu Saliga. Most of our riders know better than to mistreat their . . .brides.”
Joselyn shook her head. “I meant how often do women who are well treated decide to return home?”
Rosemary scoffed. “Return home to what? I don’t know what Ebronian men are like, but compared to the Morhageese, Dokiri men shine like the sun on gold.” She shot Joselyn a resentful look. “Well at least, my breed of Morhageese men.”
“It’s r-rare. In nine years, I’ve seen it h-happen once.” Lavinia said.
“And their hatus just accept that?” Joselyn frowned, thinking of Hollen. “Why don’t they try again with different women?”
Rosemary waved a dismissive hand. “Something about their silly gods. Ask your husband.”
“Do you think it’s right what they do? Forcing us here against our wills?”
“Yes.” Gentle Lavinia was suddenly fierce. Conviction flashed in her golden eyes. Joselyn’s own eyes widened.
Rosemary laughed. “Don’t get her started. The ones who’ve been here longest are the fieriest. You’ll have the stutter-stark’s tongue twisted in knots.”
Lavinia swallowed, looking self-conscious. Her next words came softer. “My s-sons will bleed to protect the ones I left behind. They’ll give e-everything in service to the world below. I may outlive them. My own children. If my claiming was an imposition on my f-freedom, I’ll count it the lesser sacrifice.”
Joselyn shifted in the pool. She forced herself not to look away from the Ebronian—no, the Dokiri hamma—as she spoke.
“The Na Dokiri are n-noble. Heroes. But even heroes need mothers. Wives. I’m both. In a way, it makes me a hero t-too.”
Joselyn went still. Was that true? Was giving up one’s freedom to marry and birth the men who protected the lowlands tantamount to heroism? A startling thought occurred to her. Wasn’t that what Joselyn meant to do with Lord Viridian? Surrender her freedom for the sake of her people?
If only Dante Viridian were half so noble as Hollen.
Joselyn swallowed and managed a small smile for Lavinia. What a passionate heart her sweet temper concealed. Kinship bloomed in Joselyn’s chest for the woman. For all the women in Bedmeg.
She looked around the torch-lit springs at the bathers communing contentedly with one another. There were no slaves here. Only women in love. Women who’d made sacrifices for those they’d left behind. By leaving them behind. And their husbands? Joselyn’s mind whirled as she tried to absorb all she’d learned.
“So you mean to tell me that by choice, none of the Dokiri bed their wives for an entire year?”
Joselyn jumped when both Rosemary and Lavinia burst into laughter. Curious onlookers stared at them from across the springs. Lavinia wiped at a tear that had slid from the corner of her eye, and Rosemary slapped the surface of the water.
“Oh, sweet lady!” Rosemary said. “If you’re stubborn enough to hold out for a year, then I think you’d be the strongest among us!”
24
The Soulless
As Joselyn stepped into the bok, Hollen snapped his gaze up to her. Shirtless, he sat hunched on the edge of the bed, his elbows propped upon his knees.
“What are you doing?” Joselyn asked. She fingered the dampened end of her braid. He held one of his many knives. The blade of this one was short and thin, its point needle sharp.
“Considering where to mark myself.” He stood, tapping the flat of the knife thoughtfully against his palm.
Joselyn frowned. “For what?”
“For the men,” he muttered. His gaze slid toward the fire.
Joselyn’s breath caught. He meant her would-be-rapists. The memory of that violence made her shudder. Had killing ever given him pause? She scrutinized the web of scars on his body.
“Where did you decide?”
“My back, but—” Hollen shot her an inquisitive look. “I need help.”
Joselyn blinked at him. Then her jaw dropped. “Me? You can’t be serious! You saw what I did to the storen.”
Hollen grimaced, but seemed undeterred. “As Saliga you’ll be expected to mark warriors when they master gegatu, and on other occasions. You might as well learn while marking me.”
“No. Mark your front, or get one of your brothers to help you.”
Hollen fidgeted with the hilt of his blade. Dread rolled through Joselyn’s stomach. “You haven’t told them, have you?”
His jaw worked, and he gave a little shake of his head.
Understanding struck her like a bolt. She swallowed hard. “Have you killed men before?”
He looked at her. “No.”
Hollen had shed blood for her. Human blood. He was so tense, his arms plastered to his sides. Joselyn searched his face for shame, pride, for whatever a barbarian might feel after taking human life for the first time. His mouth tightened.
“I don’t regret it, mu hamma. I just…I don’t want to be reminded of it every day. I thought my back would be best.”
Sympathy welled in her chest. She nodded. What else could she do? He’d shed the blood of five men for her. She could shed a few drops for him. Joselyn took the knife from his hand and examined the razor-sharp point.
“The Dokiri hammas, where do they put their marks when they decide to stay?”
Disappointment clouded his eyes. “Afraid I’ll try to trick you?”
Joselyn’s lips thinned. If she was wary, it was his own fault. She waited.
Hollen pointed to his tanshi mark. “The same place. The hamma only adds to what her hatu has already carved.”
Joselyn nodded. “What image does one carve for slain men?”
Hollen leaned down and traced his finger in the furs of the bed. “Five of them.”
Joselyn studied the little image. It was plain enough. Still, she doubted her ability. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
A corner of Hollen’s mouth twitched. “I promise not to cry.”
“It’s going to look ugly.”
Her eyes took in the relative beauty of his idadi. She hadn’t been able to appreciate it at first. But after comparing Hollen’s marks with those of his clansmen, and passively learning what each meant, Joselyn couldn’t help but be impressed each time she appraised them.
“Then it will be a fitting memorial. Here.” Hollen handed her a pile of rags from the bed. “Just keep the blood mopped as you work so you can see what you’re doing.”
Joselyn took the rags in her free hand and sighed. Fine. She put a hand on his arm and guided him to turn. As he did, Joselyn looked down at his bare feet and noticed, not for the first time, that he was missing his three outer toes on the right. She moved her focus back up to his broad back.
“Where do you want them?”
Hollen pointed over his shoulders. “Above the row of hashes across my shoulder blades.”
Joselyn fingered the area. “Hollen, you’re too tall for me.”
Without a word, he climbed onto the furs of their bed. He lounged on his belly, resting his face against his folded arms.
Joselyn stared at him. She’d slept in his bed with him every night since arriving. But to crawl up next to him and work her fingers into his naked flesh? A thrill of excitement rushed through her.
Ridiculous.
Joselyn climbed onto the bed before she could think too much. She settled in and leaned over the center of his back. It was so broad she had to support her weight with her free arm by propping it against his ribs. It would be far easier if she were sitting astride his waist. But, no. That wasn’t happening.
Joselyn lined up the blade and said a quick prayer before pressing the tip into his skin. Blood rose and she cringed. How had she allowed herself to be talked into this?
“You need to cut deeper, mu hamma. They won’t scar if you don’t.”
Joselyn took a breath and obeyed. He must be in pain, but he didn’t tense. He lay perfectly still as she worked, relaxed even. More blood welled up around the knife point and Joselyn had to switch rags often to keep up with the mess.