by Denali Day
Her progress was slow. She was so tense it wasn’t long before she had to stop and strip off her outer dress. She was simply too warm.
“Are you all right?” He eyed her from his place on the bed.
Joselyn swallowed, nodded, and climbed back over. If she’d known how nervous this would make her, she might have insisted on a bit of wine first.
“What happened to your foot?” she asked, eager for distraction. She might as well satisfy her curiosity.
Hollen flexed his foot, which was hanging off the edge of the bed. “During the Veligneshi, Jagomri cast me off his back and into a frozen lake.”
“On purpose?” Then she rolled her eyes. What a stupid question.
Hollen chuckled beneath her. She drew the blade tip back, careful not to let him ruin her handiwork.
“Probably. That bastard’s been waiting for me to die since the day I mastered him.”
“How did you survive?”
“I didn’t,” he said flatly.
She’d been about to reapply the knife, but his words stopped her short. “What do you mean?”
Hollen pressed the side of his bearded face into his arms so he could see her from the corner of his eye. “I didn’t survive. My father and Erik pulled me from the water, but I wasn’t breathing, and my heart had stopped.”
Joselyn narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to be funny?”
Hollen grinned, flashing white teeth. The sight of his smile was welcome. It eased some of the tension in her chest. “No, mu hamma. Ask anyone. I’m speaking the truth.”
Joselyn sat back on her heels. She couldn’t even ask him to explain; she was so skeptical. Hollen needed no prompting.
“When the Dokiri die, their bodies are washed in the deadpools, a cold chamber set high in the mountain. The water there cleanses our souls from our bodies and returns them to Regna. My brothers carried me there to complete the rites, but while I was being washed, my body began to stir. My heart beat again, and I breathed new air into my lungs. It was the most painful experience of my life.”
Joselyn blinked. Could it be possible? No. Not naturally. Nothing short of a miracle would make it so. But then, which god had blessed him? And why?
“How?” she breathed.
Hollen shrugged. “I don’t know. The elders said Helig filled my veins with the sacred water. That she stayed me on this earth for a grand purpose.”
“What purpose?”
“Maybe we’ll find out one day.”
He rolled to his side and looked at her. His eyes held searching wonder, as if she might hold the answer. Joselyn brushed a lock of hair over her ear.
Could it be true? Had he really died and been resurrected? Perhaps there was a natural explanation for what had happened. She could think of none. It was no wonder that the elders had been set on naming him their next Salig. They believed him the carrier of divine purpose, and surely of favor.
Joselyn had taken his men’s loyalty for granted. It was apparent to her that Hollen was a fair and devoted leader, but there was more to it than that. They expected much from their Salig. Did the expectation ever overwhelm him?
“So that’s how you were named, then?” she asked.
“Yes.” He rolled back to his stomach. “It took weeks for my flesh to heal. I was burned even worse than you. I’m only grateful I didn’t lose my fingers. My toes weren’t so lucky. I plan to make a sacrifice to Helig in thanks that you haven’t lost any flesh.”
Joselyn didn’t know what to say to that. Animal sacrifices weren’t a part of her religion. Her gods weren’t so bloody. They preferred gold, and lots of it. The high priest, covered from head to toe in swaths of solid gold chains and jeweled decals, was a testament to her deities’ appetites. She supposed his plan was endearing, in the same crude and barbaric way the rest of Hollen was.
“Joselyn.”
“Hmm?”
“Be careful where you’re poking.”
She was pressing the knife dully into his shoulder, far from its mark. She cleared her throat and reapplied the blade.
The hide pillow felt warm and inviting when Joselyn pressed her cheek into it. Though she’d only been awake for a handful of hours, she was bone weary. The bok was dim in the fading light of the fire. Hollen extinguished the last remaining torch. Joselyn stared at the dried squares of cloth covering his fresh wounds. She’d done a better job than she’d expected.
Joselyn stretched and slid a hand beneath her pillow. She stilled when her fingers brushed cool ivory. The gneri blade. She drew it out from where it was tucked, as if it had never ventured outside Bedmeg with her.
Hollen stripped and climbed into bed next to her. Joselyn sat up as he settled, and he quirked a questioning brow. She crossed her legs beneath her and pulled the hilt of the blade up between them, eyeing the images he’d carved.
“Why the heavens?” she asked, without taking her eyes off the celestial scene.
Hollen’s gaze dropped to the knife. He wrapped his hand around hers and turned the blade so that the sun, with its sweeping rays, was facing her.
“For my father.” He turned it back to show the crescent moon and the five tiny stars within. “My mother, and her five children.”
Joselyn eyed the craftsmanship with new appreciation. She hadn’t imagined the scene was so personal to him. “It’s beautiful.”
“That’s only fitting. I made it for you.”
Heat crept across Joselyn’s chest. She’d been called beautiful before. Frequently, in fact. But it felt different coming from Hollen. Unlike when she’d heard it from Morhageese lords, Hollen made it feel significant and pure. She pressed the blade hilt into his palm. “Lavinia told me what this blade means.”
Hollen pursed his lips. “It only means something when the hamma to whom it’s given makes a choice to use it.”
He tried to give it back, but Joselyn refused it. “It’s her choice then?”
“Yes.”
Joselyn bit at the inside of her cheek. Her eyes fastened to his. “You stole me from my horse, forced me down upon your altar, carved your mark into my flesh, kept me sequestered on this mountain . . .and still you intend to give me a choice?”
He looked disturbed but nodded solemnly.
“Why?” She couldn’t make sense of it. Everything about this man confused her. A savage who would imprison her against her will, and yet would eventually chose to regard her as his equal? Worthy to accept or reject him according to her own will? He was an enigma.
“Because despite all that, if I can’t win your heart, I don’t deserve to keep you.”
Joselyn frowned. “Why don’t you simply court your brides? Trade for them?”
“Because we are Na Dokiri. And we conquer what is ours.”
Joselyn leaned forward. “Am I free, or aren’t I?”
Hollen matched her, stopping but a few inches from her face. “You are free.” He covered her hand with one of his. “And you are mine.”
Joselyn’s mouth thinned. She’d never been free. Not truly. She’d ever been subject to her father’s will. She’d left her home to subject herself to Dante Viridian’s will. Never once had she complained, ever considered any alternative. And yet, in that moment, she knew she’d rather be Hollen’s than free to choose between a thousand Morhageese lords.
“I know that doesn’t make sense to you, mu hamma. Give me a chance to reconcile it.” He touched his forehead to hers.
Joselyn sucked in a breath. Her eyes fell to his lips.
“Please,” he whispered as his pine scent filled her lungs.
Joselyn’s eyes fell shut. She closed the narrow distance between them and pressed her lips to his. Heat bathed her. He was soft, and solid. Calloused, but gentle. She grazed the curves of her mouth against his, reveling in the pleasure that glowed where she touched him.
Hollen drew in a haggard breath. His fingers drifted up her arm, making her shiver. The tips of his nails drew over her shoulder and played at the hollow of her neck. His
other hand came up to brush away her hair. Her lips parted on a sigh, and Hollen deepened the kiss, the tip of his tongue gliding sensually over the swell of her mouth.
Joselyn broke away with a gasp. Her wide eyes locked upon his.
Hollen’s hands fell away only to grip the furs of the bed much too tightly. He watched her, openmouthed, panting. Words caught in his throat.
Joselyn whirled in the bed, throwing her legs over the side and dropping her face into her hands. She heaved a breath, trying to regain control of her trembling nerves.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” But even as she said it, her head shook in her hands.
“I—” he broke off, his voice filled with uncertainty and wanting. Joselyn ran a hand through her hair. Her heart pounded. If only it would slow so she could breathe again.
I’m going mad.
Despite what Hollen had said, she wasn’t free. She never had been. After what seemed like hours, Hollen’s calloused hand touched her shoulder.
“Come to sleep, mu hamma.” The rumble of Hollen’s voice filled the bok, covering the soft crackle of the waning fire.
He gave her a little pull, and Joselyn forced herself to turn and look him in the eye. He regarded her with concern, his expression intense, his hand soft. “You’re exhausted.”
“Yes. I am.”
Hollen released her shoulder and patted a hand on her side of the bed. Joselyn lay down, but curled away from him as she did. She jumped when a heavy arm draped over her waist.
“What are you doing?” She stiffened.
He didn’t answer, and he didn’t move.
Joselyn twisted around to face him. He lay on his stomach and regarded her steadily. Joselyn looked at his muscled arm still lying over her. She blinked back up at him. “Let go of me.”
He shut his eyes as though he meant to sleep.
She pressed a hand against his arm. “Hollen, I can’t sleep like this.”
His eyes popped back open. “Are you going to run off again if I let you go?”
Regret pulled at her stomach. She imagined what he must have been thinking when he woke to find her gone. Thank the gods he’d come for her. She wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t.
“No.”
He responded immediately, “Swear it.”
Joselyn hesitated, taken aback at the intensity in his voice. “I’ve already sworn.”
“Do it again,” he murmured, his words half muffled by his pillow.
Joselyn sighed. “I swear not to run away from you.”
His thumb brushed languid strokes over her back. The sensation tickled.
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
“Now let me go.”
“Why?”
“Because I swore not to leave you.”
“And?” Hollen arched a brow and settled more deeply into the furs.
Joselyn hesitated. “And…and you said you’d let me go if I did.”
He huffed and drew her in even tighter. Joselyn’s belly arched into him, and her heart raced.
“I said nothing of the sort, mu hamma.”
25
Small Steps
“Are you angry with me?” Hollen took his seat next to Joselyn in the common area.
Joselyn shifted on the bench. Few people remained this evening. Most had gone off to the springs for the night. As for her, she was finally feeling well enough to get around on her own.
She looked at Hollen. His hair had been freshly pulled back. The dinner fires radiated heat, and the light reflected off his perfect idadi. As usual, he was shirtless. Damn him.
“Of course not,” she said.
“You're avoiding me.”
“I'm not.”
“You are,” he said.
She was.
For the past five mornings, they’d eaten breakfast together and then Joselyn would determine what Hollen was up to for the day. She’d made sure her activities always took place elsewhere. If she could find absolutely no excuse to be apart from him, she’d take off to the springs with some mention of her skin and how it pained her. She hadn’t thought Hollen was fooled, but he’d never pushed her. Not until now.
Joselyn crossed her arms and returned his unyielding look. “I am.”
Hurt flashed over his face. “Why?”
After a moment she said, “Because you unsettle me, and I’m unsettled enough.”
He was too close now. He reached out to take her hand in his. She let him, having grown accustomed to his touches. Though he’d given her a wide berth during the daytime, he’d still insisted on holding her each night. He worked a nightly balm into her snow burns and seized on every opportunity to give her a gentle caress throughout the daylight hours. Those touches made her shiver with want and, despite avoiding him, she counted the minutes between each one.
Hollen ran a thumb across her knuckles as he studied her. “I want you to come with me. I have something to show you.”
She licked her lips, tasting the remains of the smoked mutton she’d just eaten. “Where?”
Hollen tilted his head toward the entrance of the common area. Joselyn looked out at the darkened sky. “Now?”
He nodded.
She hadn’t left the caves since the night she’d tried to escape. She bit her lip and sent another darting gaze toward the entrance.
Hollen stood from the bench and gave her hand, still in his, a gentle tug. “Come.”
His eyes glinted with a hint of excitement. There was something else on his face too. Vulnerability. Joselyn raised a brow at him. He was up to something. How familiar she’d become with him, that she could read his expressions with a quick look.
She could refuse him. She’d done plenty of that lately. Each time the sting of rejection dimmed that light in his eyes. Weariness pulled her heart apart. She was so tired of seeing that look in her wild savage, of being the cause for it.
Say no, Joselyn. You’ll only cause more pain later.
She stood from the bench.
Fool.
Hollen rewarded her with a gleaming smile. They went to their bok for warm clothes and hurried back down through the common area. People nodded at them as they went. She sighed, her heart warming at their kind regard. Bedmeg’s goodwill was a luxury she was growing attached to. There was a routine in this place, a sense of rhythm that directed the cadence of each day. It wasn’t the hard-driven pace of a peasant's life, nor the strangling monotony of a noble’s. Rather, it followed the cycle of both need and pleasure. It was easy, natural.
Joselyn held her head high as they drew toward the exit, but with each pace toward the darkness, a sense of foreboding grew. A shiver worked its way through her. Hand in Hollen’s, Joselyn took a step out into the snow. Her eyes darted from one wall of the ravine to the other as she scanned the area. The night was clear and crisp, quiet but for the wind that never stilled in the mountains. What was she even looking for? Dread squeezed her insides together, making it hard to breathe.
Hollen squeezed her hand. She looked down at it. His thumb gave her a little stroke and he murmured, “It's all right, Joselyn.”
She exhaled. Apparently, he was learning her expressions too. A tentative smile turned up the corner of her mouth. Some of her anxiety abated. Together, they started down the ravine.
He led her toward the armory. A light burned at the forge. Rory stood where he always did, hammering at some piece of metal. Knowing what she knew now, Joselyn eyed him warily. She glanced at Hollen, who regarded him as he always had, with indifference.
Hollen bit out a few words in his language to the older man. Rory set down his work and started up the ravine. Hollen had never dismissed him before. When he looked back at her, Joselyn cocked her head.
Hollen stepped away from Joselyn and bent down behind the forge to pick up something large and bound in cloth. Even as he unwrapped it, Joselyn recognized what it was: a bow fashioned from scarlet-colored wood. It had been sanded down so that its varnish reflected the f
orge light. Lamb leather encased the grip, the bowstring was taut and new. What stood out most was its size.
“Come, mu hamma. I want to see how it fits you.”
Without taking her eyes from the bow, Joselyn approached. She ran three fingers along the arch of the weapon, reveling in its smoothness. Her eyes flicked up toward Hollen’s to see him watching her intently. He turned the bow vertical and motioned for her to take it. It was a perfect fit. Not just in length, but the width suited her slender hands perfectly.
“Who made this?” she asked.
“I did.”
Joselyn’s eyes widened.
“With some help,” he added.
“I've never seen this type of wood.” Joselyn studied the strong, flexible texture of the bow. It was so light. If she didn't know any better, she’d suppose it to be hollow. She’d not tire from carrying this weapon. And she’d never tire of gazing at its vivid color.
“It's wine-wood, found near the ocean shore.”
Joselyn's lips parted. The closest coastline was weeks’ travel on horseback from her lands. How had he managed it?
As if reading her mind, Hollen went on, “I've had the wood for years. I just never knew what to use it for until now.”
Emotion welled in Joselyn's throat. In addition to the time he’d spent fashioning something for her, he’d used precious materials that he’d hoarded for years. She swallowed. “This is the finest gift I’ve ever received.”
Hollen beamed. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
It may not have been the most expensive thing, nor the loveliest, but it was indeed the finest. Of the thousands of gifts she’d received in her life, none had ever appealed to her more. None had ever been given in such a spirit of generosity. Joselyn's throat tightened to think of how he must have been spending his time while she avoided him.
You’ll never deserve him.
“Thank you, Hollen.”
For a long moment they just looked at each other. The cry of an eagle punctured the air, breaking their gazes with its eerie resonance. Hollen took the bow from Joselyn, rewrapped it, and set it back behind the forge.