The Centaur Queen

by Jovee Winters

  Not relishing the thought of sleeping beside his corpse, I started to roll him toward the snare bush when she stopped me.

  “Wait.”

  “What, Tymanon?” I glared at her, crossing my arms and trying desperately to ignore the sight of blood and gore lingering on my blade.

  She didn’t seem bothered by my anger. Instead she pointed to Wulfric. “We need him still.”

  “What? He is dead, what could he possibly—”

  She shook her head. “I... I... just want a souvenir.”

  I frowned, and she fidgeted, kicking out her foot and not looking at me. That was so unlike Ty that all my anger fizzled away. What was she about? Tymanon was a warrioress. Death did not bother her. She’d probably not have made filth like I had after killing Wulfric, but she’d never been so bloodthirsty about death, either.

  “A souvenir?”

  She shrugged. “His polydactyly.”

  “His what?”

  “His extra finger,” she said.

  If she were anyone else, I would think she’d cracked, lost her mind in this terrible and foreboding place. But this was Tymanon. She had her reasons, even if I couldn’t fathom them.

  “His finger?” I said again, slowly.

  She nodded. “Aye.”

  I did not want to hack into him again. In fact, I’d hated killing him. Though rationally I understood I’d given him a mercy, with him thrashing about, it hadn’t felt that way. But this... this was desecration of a body. It was unnatural. Foul.

  “I can do it,” she offered.

  I sensed no censure in her words, but they stung all the same. I did not want Tymanon to ever think me a burden. For some reason, what she thought of me mattered.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Turning back to it—I had to dehumanize him if I was going to be able to do this—I knelt, lifted up its hand and with a quick snick, severed the finger. Again, I had to fight the bile threatening to claw its way out, but this time I managed to hold it down.

  Ty grabbed some bits of dried grass and clumps of weeds and, walking over to me, took the finger from my hand and cleaned it off as best she could. Then she dropped the deformed pinky into her pouch. Blowing out a heavy breath, I wanted to ask her why we’d had to do that, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, either.

  Needing to get rid of the body, I turned back and began to roll it toward the right. Without asking, Ty joined me, and together we rolled the solid weight toward the outer reaches of the snare bush’s domain. Not even a second later, snake-like, thorny brambles shot out, sinking deep into the carcass, dragging it away.

  I turned and headed back toward the only safe area in this place. It was the size of a large boulder, and there’d be room enough for the two of us to sleep so long as Ty remained in her human form.

  Neither of us spoke after settling down for the night. We had no fire to build or shelter to make. There was no food here. I had very little stored in my pouch, and I needed to hang onto it in case I found nothing else tomorrow.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d gone to bed hungry.

  Tymanon was munching on a bit of smoked meat.

  My stomach growled. I was hungry enough that I even entertained the idea of meat tonight. As if she’d read my mind, she tipped her piece toward me in a silent offer.

  I shook my head. “I’m well.”

  She needed the food more than I.

  Shrugging as if to say “Suit yourself,” she stuffed the rest of the meat into her mouth, chewed slowly, swallowed, and then said, “So tell me when you visited Gnósi last.”

  Chapter 6

  Tymanon

  Petra looked startled for all of a second before his shoulders flagged and he ruffled his shaggy hair with his fingers. “I should have known you’d figure it out.” His sigh was deep and tinged with a hint of sadness.

  I didn’t want to overstep, especially after what’d happened tonight. I’d angered him, and it bothered me more than I cared to admit, if I was being honest with myself. It really shouldn’t trouble me what he, or anyone else, thought.

  But it’d been all I could do to ignore his look of disdain after I’d asked him for the finger.

  I had my reasons, ones I could not speak out loud. To do so could very likely be catastrophic to our end game. I’d had a thought today, somewhere between the tenth and twelfth mile. I wanted badly to let Petra in on what I suspected was happening, but I couldn’t. Not without altering the delicate threads of fate.

  And so I had to weather his censure, whether I liked it or not.

  “Did you fail, Petra?”

  His nostrils flared, and right then, I knew he had.

  “And yet you would go back to Gnósi. Why?” I pressed.

  He blinked. “I should think that’s obvious, Ty. For Kingdom, of course.”

  Aye, for Kingdom. True enough. But there was more to it. He’d been spry this morning, hopeful. There was so much more to this.

  “Will you betray me? Leave me to follow your own quest once we arrive?” I asked, eyeing him steadily.

  A muscle in his jaw twitched, and I knew he’d considered it. I’d suspected as much about the same moment I realized he’d visited the Fates before.

  “I could lie to you, but I know you’ll see right through me,” he said, voice wooden and dejected. “I do seek something there, something of great value to me.”

  I nodded, glad he’d not tried to deceive me. Petra and I, our relationship was built upon a solid foundation of truth. It wasn’t the most romantic of notions, but I wasn’t a romantic soul. I was real, honest, and I demanded the same from those I surrounded myself with.

  To some, a quest might seem romantic, a time for knights and valor and victory. For me, this was merely another way for me to explore and better learn my world. Above all else, I was a scholar first. There was always something to learn, if you kept your eyes peeled and your mind open.

  “What is it you seek?”

  “Myra. My... my—”

  My heart squeezed like a fist within me at the note of longing and desperation in his voice.

  “—twin.” The last came out in a heated tremble.

  A flare of relief zipped down my spine, making my insides topsy-turvy, and I couldn’t quite understand the sudden and heady feeling of it.

  “You have a twin?” I asked, voice sounding breathless and rushed. “Why did you never tell me?”

  His eyes closed, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing hard enough that his knuckles whitened. I couldn’t begin to explain the feelings coursing through me in that moment, like I wanted to take that pain away from him, wanted to hold him to me and whisper that he would be all right again.

  I bit my bottom lip and refused to move an inch from the spot where I sat. I did not know if I liked these feelings. In fact, I was rather sure I did not like them at all. And yet, I was becoming more and more obsessed with them with each passing day.

  Had I begun to come down with something? Centaurs were hardy, but we could sicken.

  He looked at me with those hypnotic moss-green eyes and again, I experienced the sensation of falling. It was dizzying and breathless, and I had to look down at my toes to make it stop.

  “I did not tell you because I feel shame for it.”

  I shook my head. “Shame that you have a twin? Or shame for the reason she is trapped within the Fates’ realm?”

  “You say so little, yet you see so much.” He said the words with an air of exhaustion but also a hint of something more.

  Frowning, I forced myself to meet his gaze, hoping that strange sensation had passed, but it hadn’t. Again, I fell into a darkness that seemed perpetual.

  I sucked in a shaky breath at the obvious threads of pain now reflected back in every wrinkle of his face. I found myself moving without thought. I was on my knees and crawling toward him, my tender human skin abraded by the rocks beneath me. But I did not stop until I reached his side and hugged him.

  I’d hugged all o
f one person in my life, and that’d been my mother, and even then, only once. Centaurs, as she’d said, had no need to practice human affection. We were above that type of feebleness of character. My kind did not require touch to thrive. At least, my herd didn’t. I’d heard of other herds who practiced touch, but they’d been mocked and scorned among my people. I’d grown up believing the same as them.

  Yet the moment Petra wrapped his arms tight around me, I leaned into them, marveling at the strength of them, the breadth of them, their steely hardness against my feminine softness. Petra wasn’t as furry as most of his kind. His chest was smooth and nothing but hard lines of muscle.

  When he breathed against me, I found myself matching his tempo. We breathed in and out as one, together. I could smell his naturally masculine scent mingled with that of the night and the wild.

  His grip tightened and his hand splayed out on my back. His callused fingertips began to trace smooth circles against me, and I felt fire wash through my veins and move through my bones, making me feel soft and languid.

  We’d never touched like this before. I did not think he would like it, not from me. After all, I was not one of his nymphs.

  I frowned, because the feelings inside me were changing again, turning sharp and bitter, causing me to tense up.

  Immediately he sensed it and pulled back, his pretty eyes searching my face.

  I had not much cared for Petra’s looks when I first met him. His ears were rather big and the nubby horns on the crown of his head had been distracting. But I saw none of that now.

  I only saw his kind eyes and his nice smile. I saw him for who he really was.

  A queer sensation rolled through me, and it was now imperative I release him, place some space between us, because all I could seem to think was that I wanted to kiss him again, and this time I wanted him to remember.

  I’d had sex with males in the past, only three in my life, and more out of curiosity than anything else. But I could remember none of their names, and I’d never wanted to kiss any of them, nor had they tried to kiss me.

  Sex had been clinical, a way to release our need, but also a task I undertook more as a learning experience than anything else. What I’d found was that I did not have the taste for it and could not understand those ruled by their baser needs. At first, I’d thought I’d done it wrong, or perhaps my partner had. So I’d tried twice more. All three times produced lackluster results, killing off any and all desire for me to try again, which was fine. Someday I’d breed, have my one foal so as to pass on my knowledge, and leave it at that.

  And yet, my breasts felt suddenly heavy. The nipples were puckered into fine points, and my mouth tingled. I had to bite down on a lip and force my knees back until several yards separated us.

  But I felt Petra’s gaze move over me like a heated brand. Lately, he’d been looking at me differently, not like he had in the games. Then, we’d been friends. Things had been light and easy.

  Why did my skin feel as if it were on fire, especially at my back where his fingers had rubbed light circles on me?

  Gods above, I hoped I survived this journey. A sick feeling of dread was twisting me all up, because I was pretty sure that whatever this was, I might never recover from it.

  “Petra,” I said softly, though he’d still not looked away from me.

  “Hm?”

  “I will do whatever I can to help you find your sister. My bow, my arm, my vow to you.”

  His lashes flickered like the black tips of a paintbrush along his sun-darkened skin. When he looked back at me, relief burned like a bolt straight through him.

  “She is the only thing that had ever truly mattered to me.”

  Past tense. Had. Meaning something else mattered now. But I would not ask. Because I knew it could not be me.

  Right? Or wrong?

  Why was this so difficult now? Why could I not read his motives as clearly as I once had? I could read anyone like a book, just as I had Wulfric. I knew what he was about. I knew he meant to take me down with him, thinking me weak and just a stupid, silly girl.

  What I’d not expected was Petra rushing in to do the task for me. He was a satyr, not a warrior, not like my people. His kind lived to frolic, not fight, and certainly not kill. He would not even eat meat, for the gods’ sakes, but he’d not hesitated even a moment.

  I’d been awed by him then. In a way I hadn’t been before.

  I’d assumed Petra to be more of a beta male, and yet, he was not at all. He was placid and calm, but I was learning he was very potently male when he had a mind to be.

  Petra was no weakling.

  “But before we can see to Myra,” he said, “we must fix Kingdom, for the sake of us all. That magic hasn’t just twisted the lands, but some of the people too.” He pointed behind us, toward the snare bush still digesting Wulfric’s remains.

  “I know. I do not like this new world. I am a creature of habit, taught that all knowledge can be found in books. But there are no books for this new Kingdom. I feel... lost.” I admitted weakness to him when I would to no other.

  But I trusted the night and my companion to keep my secret.

  He nodded. “Books cannot teach you everything, female. You must live life to learn it.”

  “Says the satyr,” I teased, causing him to grin. “And how many nymphs did you roll around with before you became so wise, again?”

  It was said as a joke, but that odd feeling of bitterness returned, punching me in the belly, making me feel grumpy and irritable.

  “Far too many,” he admitted softly. “But then, I’m only a satyr, right? A cock with legs.”

  His words came out as bitter as my thoughts, and I frowned. What was wrong with me that I continued to jab at him in this way? I did not do this to anyone else. I’d always prided myself on seeing others as they were and accepting them, flaws and all. And yet with Petra, it was bothering me for some reason.

  But it shouldn’t. It wasn’t his fault he was who he was. I inhaled deeply, rolling my wrists.

  “I did not mean to cause offense, gída. It was said as a joke, but obviously poorly done. I fear I have not the gift of gab like some.” I gave him a crooked smile.

  Releasing a breath that sounded half like a chuckle, he said, “It is not you I’m angry at, ómorfo álogo.”

  I shook, because he knew. He knew I called him goat, and he’d never said anything to me about it. He could speak the old tongue, and I’d taken it for granted that he wouldn’t have known. So very few knew the old tongue that it was mostly a dead language now. He’d just called me “beautiful horse.” He thought I was beautiful. I fought a grin and lost.

  He smiled back, revealing his slightly-crooked front tooth, and my heart felt as though it suddenly had wings. My face felt flushed. I didn’t want to stop looking at him. What’d once been off-putting to me, the horns and ears and his legs, now weren’t.

  I loved his legs. In fact, I’d been studying them the entire climb up. Even in his trousers, I could see how strong they were. How easily and gracefully he moved. No, he was no centaur, but he moved with a polish all his own. And there were some centaurs up in the northern climes who did have shaggier coats. The Galacian herd was rather prideful of their curly hairs.

  I’d been the weak one this evening, and he’d not once held it against me. He’d not punished me for it. He’d simply pretended to be tired, like I had for him earlier.

  When had this ugly male become beautiful to me? The epiphany was so startling that I could physically feel my pulse on the back of my tongue. My heart beat so hard in my chest I was surprised he couldn’t hear it.

  “It’s been some time since I’ve sullied a nymph, Ty. Many months now, in fact.” He said the words so softly I had to lean forward to hear them. His gaze was nervous, flickering toward my face then back down to his feet over and over again, like he expected me to judge him for the confession.

  Outwardly, I projected a calm that inwardly I didn’t feel. My thoughts were in chaos,
my head a jumble of questions and emotions I’d never experienced before, a seesaw of feelings I didn’t know how to handle. But I didn’t want him thinking there was something wrong with me, so I pretended it away.

  “Why would you choose that? To be something other than what you are? A satyr lives for the chase and his nymphs. To be parted from them must be excruciating for you.”

  He was silent for long moments, and I knew he was formulating a response that would make it impossible for me to argue with him.

  “Is that how you see life, álogo?”

  My insides fluttered again at the rolling way in which he called me horse. Truly, there could not be a more uninspiring pet name, and yet I’d done the same. It was oddly compelling in its blandness.

  “How do you mean?”

  “That we either are or we aren’t.” He gestured with both hands. “I am a satyr, therefore I live only to pleasure nymphs. You are a centaur, so you live only to learn.”

  I nodded, because it obviously made sense to me. And for once, I was stumped as to where he was going with this.

  His lips thinned. “But what if we’re meant to be more, Tymanon? What if I can be all that a satyr should be and still be more? Still want more?”

  I frowned. “Why would you want more? What greater pleasure can there be for you in life than to thrust into the willing body of a beautiful woman?”

  His eyes sparkled and glimmered with heat as he raked his gaze down my form, causing me to shiver. When he looked at me like that, I felt as though he saw me as one of those beautiful women.

  I’d never been vain about my looks, though I knew I was considered handsome by my species. But what was beautiful to one wasn’t necessarily so to another, and it’d never bothered me before now.

  I bit the corner of my lip. His eyes dropped to the movement before a slow curling grin stole the corner of his mouth. “Aye, you are right, of course. There are few pleasures greater than slipping into the wet and welcoming body of a comely lass.”

  My nostrils flared, and I grit my teeth as I imagined said comely lass.