“Listen to me, Adel,” the older woman said. “I will ask nothing of you. You are your own woman. Please, hear my words.”
“Why? You think no more of me than he does if you would let him do this.”
“You cannot fight him,” Freia said, her voice weary with sadness. “You never learned this, but I have. These past years more than any have taught me that there is no reasoning with a man who has a dream. You will break yourself like water against a rock trying. The only way this ends for him is in victory, or in death.”
“Bargaining me away is no victory!”
“That is why we should be thankful that he has even considered it at all. This way, he keeps his honour. He would sooner die than give that up.”
“How can you be thankful for this? He is a coward! A beast!”
Freia remained silent for a moment. “Perhaps he is, but what can we do? You cannot change his mind, only soften his blow.”
A chill ran through Adel. She shook her head frantically. “I owe him nothing. He cannot make me do this.”
“No, he cannot,” Freia said, “but you may choose. Do what you will, my daughter. The spirits will not judge you for it. You have suffered enough.”
The sob finally burst from Adel's chest as the weight of her mother's words crashed against her. She squeezed Freia's hands hard, and the den mother squeezed back.
“I know, my daughter, I know,” she whispered.
Fleeing or staying, anger or sadness, it was all a choice. Adel could choose her own life, her own happiness, or the lives of the warriors who would die if she refused. A choice of virtue, or freedom. Whether he knew it or not, her father had set upon her a torment worse than all the nightmares of the spirit world combined.
“I cannot.” Adel shook her head, but even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. Her mother was right. It was a blessing her father had even bent this far. She could hate him all she wanted, but it would change nothing. All she could do now was choose.
* * * * *
Karel's footsteps faltered in the long grass. His feet wandered. His heart struggled to do the right thing. This was right for Adel. She had always been destined to be the mate of an alpha, not some nomad from the south. It was a kindness. The best thing for her, just as their father had said.
It would have been quick to take to the legs of his wolf, but for some reason Karel's body disobeyed. He crossed the plains on two legs, walking for the rest of the day and through the night, all the while rubbing anxiously at the handle of the copper knife with fingers that refused to remain still. He had killed before, but always in battle. Always warriors who would have taken his life had he not taken theirs. Always in the shape of his wolf, with the beast's single-minded instinct running through him. Never in cold blood. Never with a blade in his hand.
He tried to remember how the Sun People fought with their knives, but the images in his mind became a blur as he waded across the river, cold water splashing up around his thighs. Not far now. He would need to be careful and quiet. Even if Adel's lover was not there, there might still be a fresh scent to follow. If not, Karel thought, he would have to retrace the path he had seen them take downstream two years ago. What if he had to travel all the way to Alpha Neman's lands? What would he do then? How would he evade the alpha's scouts and get the man he had been sent to kill away from the rest of his people? Perhaps he could lie, and Ulric would never find out...
No! He had already shamed himself once. Karel beat a fist against the side of his head in an effort to drive out the cowardly thoughts. This was his chance to win back his honour. There was no question of squandering it.
His resolve strengthened, he gripped the handle of the knife harder and hauled himself up the river's far bank. Morning sunlight spilled across the plains, slowly shrinking the long shadows and waking the buzz of insects from the undergrowth. He dropped to his knees, placed the knife in front of him, and focused with all his might on summoning the body of his wolf. The beast finally came, sharpening his senses and stilling his doubts. Digging his claws in the earth helped to calm him. In the fresh morning air he could smell a myriad of scents already, Adel's among them. It was perhaps a day old, but he thought he could follow it.
Picking up the knife in his jaws, he prowled east with his muzzle low to the ground, sticking to the undergrowth wherever he could. She had come from the east, just as he suspected. The pool was only a short distance away now, and already Karel fancied he could smell his prey. The scent was strange and exotic, not at all like the comforting odour of his own kin.
Enemy.
His hackles rose, muzzle pulling back from his teeth involuntarily. His wolf knew what needed to be done. It would guide him without hesitation or doubt, and by the time he was ready to strike it would be too late for his misgivings to matter.
The scent became stronger. There was someone nearby, he was sure of it now. Slowing his pace to a crawl, he took on the poise of a hunter, sliding through the undergrowth like a serpent as he circled the small grove of trees up ahead. Noon was fast approaching by the time he was close enough to hear a soft splashing sound coming from the pool, but still he remained patient. When faced with open ground or tight foliage that would rustle when he stepped through it, he backed away again and looked for another way around. The strange tang of the copper between his teeth reminded him of blood, and as the day stretched by it seemed to fill his senses. Sometimes the splashing sounds stopped, and for a while Karel became anxious, wondering whether his unseen prey had noticed him. He froze up every time, straining his ears for the sound of movement, only to breathe an internal sigh of relief when the splashing resumed.
There he was. Standing at the edge of the pool, a handful of flat rocks cupped in his palm, braided hair tied back in a loose tail, dark skin bare from the waist up. He wore a faint smile on his lips, but his eyes looked troubled and anxious.
Karel had no time to stare in awe at the way the man made his stones skip across the surface of the pool, retreating back into the undergrowth between the trees instead. He circled half way around the grove, trying to get behind his prey. Each footfall was silent, as soft as a falling leaf.
Once he was safely hidden behind the trunk of a broad tree, he put the knife down and reverted from the shape of his wolf, holding his breath as he pressed up against the rough bark. Still the splash of the skipping stones continued. Now was his moment.
Sweat rolled down Karel's brow as he picked up the knife and stepped out from behind the tree, every muscle in his body coiled tight. He ignored the pain of the rocky earth digging into his bare feet, making every footstep as silent as the padding of his wolf. The man was just a few paces away, back still turned, eyes fixed upon the pool as he skipped stone after stone.
Karel's damp fingers fidgeted with the handle of the knife, flipping the blade to point upwards, and then down. One swift stroke. He did not need to know how to fight with this weapon if it sunk in deep with its first thrust.
Forgive me, Sister.
Letting out his breath in a long rush, he lunged forward and drove the knife into the man's back.
—21—
Heroine
What was that sound? The buzz of an insect? Jarek's hand shot back instinctively, ready to swat the creature away just as he felt its sting piercing his back. Reflexes that worked faster than his mind turned him away from the sudden stabbing sensation, sending it scraping across his ribs rather than sliding between them. Pain shot through his side, his handful of stones falling to the ground with a clatter as he spun, realising that this was no insect's sting. The palm that had been ready to swat against the phantom assailant slapped against his attacker's wrist, knocking the knife aside before it could stab at him again.
For an instant Jarek's eyes met with Karel's, a silent realisation passing between them. There was no time to think, only to fight.
With a gasp of pain Jarek threw himself forward, putting his body inside the reach of his opponent's arm before a second swing coul
d find him. He knocked the other man to the ground, grasping furiously for his arms as he crashed down on top of him. For a frantic moment they wrestled, palms and fingernails scraping against skin as both combatants fought to wrest control of the knife from one another. The point of the blade dug into Jarek's elbow and wrist, but he kept clutching at his opponent's arm to keep him from having room to make a proper thrust.
There was no time to take the shape of his wolf. The instant of vulnerability might cost him his life. In the chaos of the moment he lost track of where Karel's other arm was, and the side of his head burst with pain as hard knuckles cracked against his temple several times in quick succession. He rolled away, feeling the knife scrape his back as he crushed Karel's hand against the rocks with the weight of the movement. A grunt of pain answered from his opponent, but his fingers still remained curled around the handle.
Either Karel hesitated then, or he was still winded from the fall, for Jarek found himself suddenly free from the tangle of limbs, putting a knee out beneath him and staggering back to his feet. Karel darted upright as well, holding the point of the knife out in front of him with a twitching hand as he edged forward. The pair of them shook with adrenaline, quick and heavy breaths filling the silence between them as each man waited for the other to lunge.
Where was Adel? Frantic, disparate thoughts flashed through Jarek's mind. What had gone wrong? Why was her brother here trying to kill him? Why with this blade? Anger smouldered within his chest as he remembered Adel's bruised and swollen face the last time they had been here together—after this man who called himself her kin had beaten her.
For her sake, he had never allowed those darker feelings to surface. She had enough anger of her own without him helping to stoke it. But she was not here now, and for the first time he found himself face to face with one of those responsible for all her years of pain.
Baring his teeth, Jarek barked a cry of battle in his native tongue, lunging forward at the same instant. The sudden outburst startled his opponent, provoking him into a wild, flailing swipe with the knife. Jarek might not have been a warrior like his brother, but he fought with a passion Karel lacked. While the pale-skinned man flinched and panicked at the sudden attack, Jarek barrelled forward, ignoring the knife as he shielded himself from it with one arm while the other swung forward to drive a clenched fist into Karel's jaw. The blow connected with a crack, driving the man's head backward with reeling force. He staggered, grip faltering, and Jarek swung again, this time smashing the knife from his opponent's grip with a fierce strike to his fingers.
The blade clattered against the rocks, the soft tip folding over as it impacted point-first against solid stone. As soon as the weapon left his grasp, the last of the fight seemed to go out of Karel. Jarek grabbed him by the back of the neck, dragging him forward to drive a knee into his stomach, then sent him tumbling into the shallows with a backhand to the side of the head. Dazed and bleeding from the lip, the defeated warrior held up a hand to shield his face as he cowered in the water at the pool's edge.
Jarek's head pounded. The cuts on his back and his arm began to throb, but they were nothing compared to the terrible anxiety building inside him. Hunkering down, he gripped Karel by the shoulders and shook him fiercely.
“Where is she?!”
“Don't kill me,” Karel pleaded. “For her. Don't kill me.”
“I'm not like you.” Jarek shook him again. “I wouldn't kill anyone she loves, even if you deserve it. Where is she?”
“At the den.”
Jarek dropped him, taking a moment to bend the fallen knife in half and stamp it flat before tossing the useless tool into the water. Then he made for the trees, shaking off the sting of his injuries as he prepared to summon the body of his wolf.
“Don't go there!” Karel called out at the last instant. “He'll kill you.” Jarek looked back and saw the other man kneeling in the shallows, water dripping from his hair as he stared down into the mud. “She should not have to witness that.”
“Then I'll wait here,” Jarek said, pacing back to the edge of the pool, though every muscle in his body itched to run to her.
“She won't come. My father will make sure of it. And even if he lets her go, she still won't come back to you.”
Jarek forced a smile. “You don't know her very well.”
“I know her,” Karel panted, finally looking up at him. “She won't leave her people to die if she has a chance to stop it.”
“What chance?” Jarek felt his desperation growing. “Tell me what you mean.”
Karel pulled himself upright, but when Jarek took a step forward he held out a quivering hand in a gesture of submission. “She is to be Alpha Khelt's mate. She will bring peace between our clans.”
Jarek shook his head, refusing to believe it. “She would never agree. Not now.”
“She will. Our father means to fight Khelt to the death if she does not. If you think you know her, then you know she will not let that happen.”
“I will speak with her. I will hear it from her own lips!”
“If you are wise, you will forget about her.” Karel swallowed, giving the other man an imploring look. “If you care for your clan and ours, you will leave and never set foot in these lands again.”
“I will leave, and Adel will come with me!”
Karel shook his head again, his features scrunching up in anguish. “My father wants you dead! He will not let her be with you. What if— If you let me go, I will tell him I killed you, then he will send no one else to take vengeance upon your clan.”
Still Jarek refused to believe it. The fury of the fight lingered in his veins, making his head hot and his thoughts frantic. Just a few moments ago he had been skipping stones, waiting on his love, hoping they would be leaving together soon. Now, if what her brother said was to be believed, he was about to lose her forever.
“If you stay you will only make it worse for her,” Karel insisted. “If my father does not kill you then Alpha Khelt will. You think he will want to share his new mate?”
“Do not call her that!” Jarek clenched his fists, fighting against the urge to lash out. He wanted Karel to stop. He could not bear to hear these things any longer. “Go, run back to your father, tell him whatever you wish! Tell Adel I am waiting for her.”
Karel stood there in silence for a moment, but the expression on Jarek's face brooked no more argument. Edging sideways, as if afraid the other man would lunge for him again, Adel's brother crept to the edge of the grove, then took the shape of his wolf and bolted.
Jarek fell to his knees, head in his hands. What could he do? What in the name of the spirits was he supposed to do?! His fingers scratched rough furrows in the dirt as he clawed a handful of skimming stones into his palm, then sent them hurtling out across the surface of the pool all at once. They spattered beneath the surface without a single bounce.
* * * * *
Word came back with the runners two days later. Alpha Khelt had agreed to Ulric's offer, and was already on his way south to meet with them. Once she heard the news, Adel's attempts to chew through her bindings ceased. Her wrists and ankles ached. She had rubbed her skin raw, but to no avail. The last of her drive to escape sank beneath the heavy stone that felt like it had settled in her stomach.
Her last hope had been for Khelt to refuse. At least then, even if it meant the deaths of her father's warriors, the burden of choice would have been someone else's to bear.
She sat at the back of her hut, eyes frozen on the wall in front of her, refusing to eat the food the warriors brought in. Her throat was too tight to eat, her stomach too heavy with despair. Once or twice she desperately envisioned fantasies of Jarek appearing to challenge her father and wrest control of the clan from him, but those childish daydreams only made her feel worse, for she knew how futile they were. Jarek was not so foolish, nor was he any great warrior.
She hated warriors. All they brought was misery. She should be glad to let them die. It would be their own f
ault.
No tears spilled down Adel's cheeks, though her eyes grew dry and itchy from staring at the wall for so long. A day or more passed without her moving, save for when she sipped a little water and the warriors took her outside to relieve herself. Sometimes people came to try and see her, but the guards turned them away.
It was a grey, hazy morning when she heard the pack making preparations to depart, one of the first days heralding the onset of the wet season. A light drizzle had pattered against the hut walls the night before, and from the look of the light outside Adel expected to see a blanket of mist shrouding the plains.
It would happen soon, then. With the clan gathered she would have no more opportunities to slip away. If she refused to go with Alpha Khelt, would they make her leave with him by force? She could always run away afterwards. How long would Jarek stay waiting for her?
The smell of sizzling meat crept into the hut, but it did nothing to stir Adel's appetite. Only when her mother ducked through the entrance did she look up, the first hint of emotion creeping into her cold expression.
“Are we leaving soon?”
Freia nodded, kneeling down before her daughter. She began to saw at Adel's bindings with a flint knife, cutting her hands free first, then her feet.
“You could still refuse,” the den mother said. “Your father is gathering the whole clan to meet Alpha Khelt and his warriors. He would fight for your honour, and with an entire pack at his side he might win.”
“And then our young and old would die alongside the warriors. It would destroy both our clans.”
Freia nodded as the last strip of leather snapped free. “I fear so.”
The two stared at one another for a long moment. Adel tried to keep her features impassive, but a slight twitch of her nose and a creasing at the corners of her eyes betrayed her. Freia swept forward, taking her daughter into her arms and squeezing her tight. When she spoke, she sounded on the verge of tears.
Daughter of the Night: A Book of The Moon People Page 19