by Denali Day
His leg caught on something, and Hollen folded to the ground, taking Joselyn with him.
“No!” she cried out, as though she’d been expecting this to happen.
Hollen tried to bring himself back up, but the momentum of his fall continued, dragging him the rest of the way down. He turned his eye upward, and the stars began to spin. He squinted, trying to slow them down. It didn’t help.
“Joselyn. Do you know where we are?”
“I can guess,” she said. She seemed further away than she’d been only moments ago. He searched, but he couldn’t find her face.
“You have to get somewhere safe, mu hamma.”
“We will.”
He swallowed dryly. “Now. Without me.”
Silence. Had she gone already?
After what seemed like many long minutes. “Yes, Hollen.”
Those words gave him hope and crushed his spirit. He should say something else. An apology? For failing her. For pulling her off her horse and away from her life only to lead her here. To this.
A declaration? That he loved her. That she was the culmination of all his dreams. His every hope. That, despite it all, he’d have chosen no other.
Perhaps a simple goodbye.
“Loragi, mu hamma.”
Farewell, my only.
Silence filled his ears. His body was limp, paralyzed by the cold. Time stretched out in a warped daze around him. She hadn’t said goodbye. Or had she, and he was simply too cold to remember?
It made no difference. The only thing that mattered was that Joselyn was free. For that, Hollen would die grateful.
Helig, protect her.
Though he was sure he hadn’t closed his eye, the sky above went totally black.
41
A Beacon of Hope
“Erik!”
Joselyn would have run weeping to Hollen’s brother if the man were not still atop his stark white gegatu. She stayed where she was, draped over Hollen’s half-naked body and squeezing his hands beneath her breasts. He was cold as death. His breathing had grown shallow and slow. Joselyn had lent him her heat, done everything she could to preserve him. All the while she’d filled every second of silence with fevered prayer. The gods had heard.
She looked up into the sky as another dark figure descended through the opening of trees.
Jagomri.
Joselyn had never been so happy to see the wicked creature. As he landed, he fixed yellow eyes upon her, or rather, upon his master. His forked tongue slithered past his lips as he hissed.
Erik, free of his saddle, leapt to the ground. He dashed across the clearing and skidded to his knees, kicking up snow beside them.
“Joselyn!” The blond man’s voice cracked with fear. “Is he alive?”
“Yes, but Erik, he’s so cold!”
Erik unpinned his coat as Joselyn scrambled off Hollen. She could feel the heat of Erik’s body radiating from the fur garment when he swung it over his brother. He pressed a hand into Hollen’s throat. Checking for a pulse? Erik’s gaze locked on the blackened area where Hollen’s eye had been.
“You have to take him to Bedmeg.” Panic gripped her insides. Every second felt like another hour, pulling her savage closer to his doom.
Erik grabbed Hollen under the arms and hauled him off the melted ground. Grunting, he threw his older brother over one shoulder. It was a good thing Erik was larger, if only slightly.
Instead of taking Hollen to his own mount, Erik approached Jagomri. Joselyn watched with a mixture of suspense and fascination as Erik slowed and calmly navigated the gegatu’s space. With easy grace, he managed to get Hollen properly lashed into the saddle, throwing an extra leather cord over his back for good measure.
Erik jumped down and hurried to his own mount. He extended an arm toward Joselyn, a question in his eyes.
Joselyn didn’t hesitate. She darted across the snow, grabbed onto his hand, and let him lift her onto his mount’s back.
“Jagomri will follow?” she asked. What if they'd come this far only for the stubborn beast to fly elsewhere with his master freezing upon his back?
“He will,” Erik confirmed, buckling his legs into the stirrups.
Sitting upon someone else’s gegatu sent dreadful recollection through her mind. “Sigvard?”
“He’s fine.”
Joselyn listened to Erik work as his mount shifted its weight from one foot to the other, causing them to sway. They’d made it. Almost. Gratitude ached in her heart.
“Erik?” Joselyn asked, her voice so quiet he might not have heard.
He grunted in response.
“I thought the Dokiri were forbidden from interfering in matters between a hatu and his hamma.” Hollen had explained the reason none of his men had accompanied when he’d rescued her from the hunters.
When the last buckle had been secured, Erik swung forward to press her into the leather of his saddle. His weight, that of an ally, was like a blanket of relief over her soul.
“Va, it’s not the first sacrament I’ve broken,” he muttered, raw bitterness in his words.
Joselyn’s brow furrowed, trying to make sense of him. His arms slid past her and he took hold of his steed’s ridges.
“Regna help me; it won’t be the last.”
The fires of the common area burned hot and bright. The glow stretched outside like a beacon of hope. It was too late at night for such, but Joselyn quickly discarded the thought as she tumbled from Erik’s mount only to race through the snow toward Jagomri.
“Joselyn, wait!” Erik called after her.
The black beast hissed in warning, and instinct stopped her dead in her tracks. Her heart was pounding. She needed to go to him, to assure herself that he was still alive. Erik blew past her with his long strides.
Joselyn watched as Erik worked at Hollen’s saddle. In moments, other Dokiri men stood by her, all watching and calling out in their language to Erik, probably pelting him with questions.
Within minutes, Erik had Hollen down and was rushing him toward the caves. As soon as he was away from Jagomri, Erik was swarmed by other riders who helped carry Hollen in. Joselyn jogged to keep up with them, never letting herself be crowded too far out. There were so many people awake for this hour. What had been going on before they arrived?
As they stepped under cover of the common area, the sudden heat sent a chill up Joselyn’s spine. Hollen was brought to the ground near a fire, and Joselyn had to elbow her way through the gathered men.
“Joselyn,” Erik called. His blue gaze landed upon her as she fell to her knees at Hollen’s side. “Where all has he been injured?”
“I don’t know.” Joselyn fought hard against the edge of hysteria growing in her mind. “He was walking before. But he was badly beaten. And—” Her gaze fell to the singed crater in his skull, unable to speak the words.
“He’s just cold then.” Magnus said, pushing into the ring.
Ivan, was there too, his scarred face grim but calm. “And exhausted. Let’s get him to the springs.”
“The private springs.” Joselyn said, her voice full of command. Women were forbidden from the men’s springs, and she’d be damned if Hollen were taken somewhere she couldn’t go.
A few of the men shot questioning glances in her direction, but Hollen’s brothers were already carrying him off in the direction she’d indicated. Women hovered at the edges of the crowd, and more roused from their boks by the minute. Where was Lavinia? Joselyn craved the older woman’s calming presence. There was no time to go searching.
They were at the springs in minutes. Joselyn paced as Magnus and Ivan lowered Hollen down to a shirtless Erik, who was waiting for him in the first pool. Only Hollen’s brothers had come. There was too little space to navigate the narrow tunnels and tight alcoves. That suited her just fine, as she began shedding all but her wool under-shift. A month ago, she’d have paled at the thought of doing such a thing, but now?
The water wasn’t as cold as she’d anticipated. Perhaps
because her own skin was teetering at the edge of snow burn. Still, she gasped as she waded her way over to Hollen and took his head in her arms. Erik was supporting the rest of him on his knees, much as Hollen had done for her when she’d nearly died.
“Will he live?” Joselyn demanded of no one in particular. Her gaze was fixed on Hollen as she brushed blood-dried strands of hair from his face.
Ivan spoke from where he crouched at the pool’s edge. “The cold tried to take him once, and Helig sent the bastard back. He’ll be fine.”
“I don’t like the look of those knots on his head,” Magnus cut in, his voice far less reassuring.
“And what of our Saliga?” came a feminine voice from the tunnels.
They all turned. It was Rosemary, her expression soberly fixed on Joselyn. “She’s not going to collapse on us now, is she?”
Joselyn’s grip on Hollen’s face firmed as all three men suddenly focused on her. It was clear by their stunned and somewhat flustered expressions that they’d not noticed the blood on her body, nor the bruises around her throat. She hurried to reassure them.
“I’m well.” It didn’t feel like a lie. Compared to what her savage had suffered, her injuries were inconsequential.
“Maybe you should go with Rosemary?” Magnus suggested.
Beside him, Ivan nodded. He reached across the water and wrapped a hand around her arm to tug her away. Joselyn snapped out of his grip. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Leave her be,” Erik said, adjusting his grip on Hollen. “I’ll watch over them both.”
Joselyn stared at Erik as more gratitude swelled in the form of tears. She blinked them back and resumed stroking Hollen’s hair.
“We need to get back out there,” Magnus said.
Ivan stood. “Joselyn, will anyone try to follow you?”
Joselyn froze. Would anyone follow? Attempt to recover Lord Fury’s daughter? A gory image of Dante’s lifeless body flashed. Lord Fury hadn’t been able to assassinate his blackmailer since Dante had arranged for his secret to be sent to every corner of the kingdom in the event of his untimely death. After tonight, there would be hell to pay, and the price would undoubtedly be charged to Marcus Fury.
Faced with the thought of her Lord Fury’s execution, Joselyn felt nothing but the satisfaction of divine justice.
She ran a thumb along the edge of Hollen’s jaw. “No.”
Her savage was warm again. Under the furs of their bed, Hollen glowed like the summer sun. He wasn’t fevered. That was just Hollen. She’d finished rewrapping his head, and was curling into his side. She’d chosen the one with less bruises, careful not to bump into them as she settled herself against him.
He’d yet to waken, and fear was an ever-present vermin, gnawing deeper and deeper into her mind. After spending the night and half the morning in the springs, Erik had assured her he would wake, but it wasn’t enough. It was evening again, and still, he’d barely stirred.
Joselyn traced her fingertips along the edges of his tanshi mark, humming a song that Tansy would sing to her when she was ill. They’d largely been left alone, though Rosemary periodically checked in on them. Joselyn had requested to see Lavinia, and it was then that she’d learned the reason for the unrest last night. Her and Hollen’s ordeal hadn’t been the only tragedy suffered these past days.
Lavinia was now a Dokiri gritu. In mourning for her husband, Soren. The day of Joselyn’s disappearance, every rider had been called out to answer a veligiri threat. It had been so unusual, the men were still arguing over what to make of it.
A multi-species pack of underdwellers, at least five different varieties, had descended the mountain in a group, as though drawn together by some common purpose. With one exception, The veligiri didn’t travel together nor form alliances. The Na Dokiri hadn't been prepared, and they’d suffered the consequences.
Five riders had been washed in Helig’s pool. Five riders had been burned. Joselyn prayed Hollen wouldn’t be the sixth. Her heart ached for Lavinia. For Volo and Brodie, her young sons. When Hollen finally woke, she’d go to them.
“Joselyn?” a male voice called from the tunnel of their bok.
She sat up, shifting her gown to ensure she was covered. “Yes?”
At the entrance, Sigvard limped into view. Joselyn tensed. A jumble of emotions cascaded through her. She’d been told he was alive and that he’d heal from his injuries. But seeing him up and walking released a knot of worry in her chest.
“Sigvard,” she gasped.
Joselyn threw back the furs, climbed out of the bed, and rushed across the room. Standing on her toes, she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed.
Despite his wavering balance, likely owed to his bad leg, Sigvard went rigid. He didn’t return her embrace. Joselyn released him and took a small step back, searching his eyes.
He wasn’t looking at her, not directly anyway. “I came to see that you were as well as Erik says. Both of you.”
Joselyn glanced backward at Hollen. “He hasn’t woken yet, but his body’s warmed and we’ve managed to get some water into him.”
Turning back to Sigvard, Joselyn caught the auburn man’s eyes on her throat before they skittered away. He swallowed hard. Joselyn lifted a hand to her neck. How terrible must she appear?
“As for me,” she said, “I’m not any worse for wear.”
Sigvard’s coppery gaze flashed, meeting Joselyn’s. All at once she wished he’d go back to avoiding her eyes. His expression was so livid, she took a tentative step back. This was not the silly, carefree Sigvard she’d known only a few days ago.
“No worse?” He scanned her up and down, making Joselyn wish she had a robe, or maybe Hollen’s coat, to hide herself in.
Joselyn crossed her arms over her chest. Her shoulders came up a bit closer to her ears. Sigvard seemed to notice, and suddenly his expression morphed from one of rage to one of anguish.
“You both nearly died. Hollen might still—” he broke off. “It’s my fault. All of it.”
Joselyn blinked, then forced her shoulders to relax. “Sigvard, what happened down there, it wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t it?” he countered. His eyes bored into hers.
Joselyn opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.
“Can you tell me that any of it would have happened if I’d left you alone that morning?”
Joselyn stuttered, uncertain how to answer.
Sigvard gave the smallest of nods, and his gaze slid down to the floor.
Joselyn bristled. Sigvard was barely more than a boy. He couldn’t shoulder the evil of Morhageese lords. Neither of them could have anticipated what was to come. Even so, flying out that morning had been a lapse in both their judgments. The responsibility was not entirely on him. She started to tell him so, but Sigvard held up a hand.
“Don’t, Joselyn. Please.”
The grief in his voice made Joselyn’s heart clench. Her words caught in her aching throat.
“I can’t make things right. I know that. I won’t ask you to forgive me. I don’t deserve it and I never could.”
Joselyn shook her head. “Sigvard, we’re alive. We’re safe.”
Sigvard’s expression darkened. Tears welled in his swollen eyes. “Not everyone.”
Grelka. Erik had told her what had happened. Sympathy curled in Joselyn’s chest. Sigvard was looking at Hollen again, and Joselyn knew he was studying the bandages over Hollen’s missing eye.
“It should have been me,” he murmured.
Hand outstretched, Joselyn took a step forward. “Sigvard—”
He spun, wobbling hard on his right leg. “Just have someone tell me when he wakes.”
He was gone before she could think of words to stop him.
42
Knitting Scars
Joselyn.
Hollen could hear her voice, could feel her presence.
“No,” he groaned through cracked lips.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not with
him. She was supposed to be somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. But then, Hollen was warm now. His body was heavy, like the weight of the mountain was pinning him down. And yet, he was in total comfort.
His eyes scraped open. Or at least, one did. The other was still shut. Was he lying on his side? He didn’t think so. Hollen scanned his surroundings. The flicker of firelight caressed the smooth, rounded walls. He was in a bok. His bok. He tried to sit up. His muscles tensed, but didn’t respond. Something stirred beside him.
“Hollen?” It was her voice.
“Joselyn.” Could it be? Was she here? Were they both in Bedmeg? Together?
“Oh Hollen!”
She came into view, and her red hair spilled down around him as she lowered herself to cover his mouth with her own. Her hands went to his beard, stroking him like he were made of fashioned ice.
She was alive. She was here. And so was he.
“Joselyn,” he choked.
Sensation eased back to his limbs. He swung an arm over her, and pulled her body to his. It hurt, but he didn’t care. She was soft and warm and everything that was good in the world.
They lay like that for a long while, tangled up in each other’s arms, their tears mingling with their lips. They reveled in the feel of one another’s bodies, their joint presence. They’d escaped. They had survived.
Hollen slipped in and out of consciousness several times before he gathered the awareness to ask questions. He’d slept a night, a day, and another night. They’d been recovered by Erik. Sigvard had survived his wounds and Hollen had lost five riders in the time he’d been gone.