Successor

by Rae Miles

  A nervous laugh scuttles up from my stomach. “I think that’s way above my skill level. I was thinking you could show me how to handle a staff. I know the bow is what you use, but I’d be worried I’d shoot you in the foot or something. I have terrible aim.”

  His aim, on the other hand, is exceptional; I would be missing a toe if it wasn’t. The corner of his mouth lifts in a tiny, wry smile, and I can tell he’s remembering my first night in the center.

  “You do have a penchant for drawing bad luck.” I narrow my eyes and his smile grows a bit. He nods. “As you wish.”

  He leads me past the sparring pairs to the center segment of the yard, where several stuffed bags are propped up on stands. A couple racks of staffs stand off to the side, most of them taller on end than I am. I follow Ren to a rack with several shorter pieces closer to my height.

  “The children use these when they first start training.” He pulls one of the tallest staffs from the rack and measures it against me, the top end level with my eye line. He nods and holds it out for me to take.

  “You don’t trust me with an adult one?” I test the staff’s weight with both hands. Heavier than I expected.

  “That would require a grown adult to use it.” I scoff and his grin returns. “It is for your height. A trait inherited from your father, I assume.”

  My mouth drops open in mock astonishment. “Am I to understand that you, Ren, have a sense of humor?”

  His eyes tighten. He moves past me to the rack holding the taller staffs and chooses the one he wants. “You will learn a few basic moves to start. Once your technique is sufficient with the individual strikes, you will combine them. Today we will concentrate on offensive moves. Tomorrow we will work on defense.”

  Back to business. I blow out a deep breath, tightening my grip on the staff. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  For the next couple of hours, we go over proper grip technique, stance, and balance. He shows me effective ways to gain power through momentum, no matter how the staff is being held. I discover he’s well-suited for his post. He’s a natural teacher and leader, and his instructions are easy to follow.

  As we move into the first few basic strikes, I have a little trouble smoothing out my technique. At best, I look like I’m trying to chop wood. When I don’t follow through like I should on a rotation, Ren steps in to assist, going behind me so he won’t get hit.

  “Keep your elbow high. It will lend you better control. Go slow at the start.”

  He places his hand on my elbow as I begin the move, urging me to maintain the correct form. Flutters roll from my stomach to my chest at his touch, and I clench my torso to quell them. When I try the strike a second time, the flow is much better, but something is still off.

  Ren seems to sense my frustration. “Think of the staff, not as a weapon, but as an extension of yourself.” He touches the fingertips of his other hand against my lower back, sending a shiver up my spine. “Let the energy of your body flow through to the ends.”

  Okay, concentrate. Visualize. I can do this.

  Taking a steadying breath, I focus on the stuffed bag in front of me.

  An extension of myself, like…really long arms.

  Imagining how I would do the move without the staff, I try again.

  Yes! The flow is much more organic this time.

  “Again,” Ren commands, his hands falling away.

  Able to focus a little better, I do as he asks. The smoothness of it sends an excited rush through me.

  “Faster.”

  My pulse speeds with adrenaline, fueling the push and pull of the muscles in my arms and back. My shoulders start burning.

  “More power.”

  I grunt from the exertion. It’s coming easier now.

  Ren moves out from behind me to watch from the side. “Stronger.”

  I tighten my arms, the movements turning succinct. I would not want to be on the other end of this.

  “Take out the target,” he orders.

  I step forward and strike out, not needing to think through the movements anymore. Each hit is on point, the bag jolting from the impacts. I reach the last move in the sequence, and without realizing what I’m doing, swing the staff around and down with such force, the bag splits down the center. I freeze, my breaths heavy.

  Whoa.

  How long I stand there, I don’t know, but I become aware of Ren next to the bag, studying me.

  “You were not taught that move.”

  From the assessing tone in his voice, I’m not sure if he approves or is thrown off by my impromptu addition to the routine. I hadn’t expected it, either.

  I straighten, dragging the end of the staff across the ground back to me. “I don’t know, I just…” I shake my head, unable to keep the smile off my face. “It came to me at the last second, so I went with it.”

  He peers at me with an unreadable expression.

  My brows lift high and I huff out a deep breath. “Is that not a real move?”

  His head tips the tiniest bit. “Have you seen it somewhere before?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, maybe. Like in a movie or something.”

  “A movie?”

  “Yeah. Ones with kung fu and stuff.”

  He stares at me, his face going blank.

  No movies here, dummy. “Um, they’re kind of like…moving pictures. It’s a form of storytelling back home.”

  His expression shifts. “How do they tell stories?”

  I stand the staff up in front of me, both hands on the end as I rest my temple against them. “Well, there are people who play the characters. They act out what’s supposed to happen and how those characters deal with the events.”

  “Do these movies always involve violence?”

  I shake my head. “Not all. A lot of them do, but there are other genres that don’t.”

  “What is that?”

  “A genre?”

  He waits, his interest now piqued.

  “It’s a category something fits into. Pretty much every art form back home has different genres. With movies, there’s action, comedy”—I gesture with my hand as I list off the ones I can think of—“horror, suspense, roman—” I stop short, wishing I’d applied a filter to my thoughts before letting my mouth take over.

  “Roman?” He frowns.

  Damn. “Uh, romance.” I clear my throat, but it doesn’t help.

  He still looks confused, waiting for elaboration.

  “It’s just a word for a love story.” Please let that be the end of it.

  His features smooth. “I see.”

  “I like action and comedy, myself,” I continue, lifting the staff to distract him. I swing it around, mimicking what he taught me. “Horror is good, too, if I’m in the right mood.”

  He glances at the end of the staff as I drop it to the ground. His gaze lifts to mine, a subtle gleam in his eye. “Do you require a certain mood for romance, as well?”

  My stomach flips. Did he really ask that? He’s asking about movies, idiot.

  Something in the way he’s looking at me makes me wonder, though. Maybe I wasn’t reading too much into last night’s conversation after all.

  My stomach flips again as a small thrill moves through me. Crap. Not good.

  “Um…” I move behind the staff, peeking around the side at him. “Sometimes.”

  He smiles the tiniest bit, and we regard each other until a loud, long whistle pierces the air.

  I jump, twisting to see what’s going on. Is there another intruder? The scouts and sentries don’t look concerned about it. They stop sparring and start walking toward the center.

  “What’s going on?”

  Ren pulls the damaged bag off the stand, inspecting the tear. “The preparations are done. It is time for everyone to get ready.”

  I frown. “You’re supposed to get some rest before then.”

  He walks toward me, taking my staff and placing it back on the rack. “There is enough time.”

  “There b
etter be.”

  His gaze lingers on me a moment, then he bends down and grabs my bag from the ground. I opted to take it off earlier to make training easier. The ball had been a few yards away, but I still hadn’t liked being separated from the Link.

  Ren hands me the bag. “I will meet you at the healing lodge before the ceremony.”

  I pull the bag’s strap over my head and settle the ball at my hip. The contact is soothing, but it does nothing to calm my nerves. “See you then.”

  Heading toward Kirahl’s place, I go against my better judgment and risk a glance over my shoulder. My stomach flutters. He’s watching me leave, his hands planted on his hips. I look forward again and take a deep breath, steeling myself for the night ahead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  My nose starts itching, making it hard to sit motionless as paint touches my temple. Tonight’s ceremony requires everyone to wear different henna-like designs, and Leila and I aren’t exceptions to tradition. Kirahl had been working on Leila when I returned from my session with Ren. Now it’s my turn.

  The leaf bandages are okay to remove now. Whatever’s in the salve Kirahl put on my scrapes, it works like magic. She’s placed simple scrollwork on the back of my left hand that travels up my arm, swirling around the top of my shoulder in an uncomplicated flourish. Now she’s adding the last touches to the design on my face, which sweeps from my right cheekbone and up my temple to the hairline. I wish I had a mirror to see it.

  Leila’s perched on the chair next to me, taking tiny nibbles of bread as Kais places small flowers and leaves throughout the braids he made in her hair. It’s endearing to see a stoic man like him do such delicate work.

  “That won’t do your willpower any good.” Leila’s eyes widen at the news of Ren’s new role as my personal bodyguard. She smiles, laughing a little. “I don’t know if I should feel bad for you or excited.”

  “Opt for bad.” I’m grateful Kirahl and Kais don’t understand English. “It doesn’t help he told the elders it was a good idea.”

  “Given the current threat, it is.”

  “I’m not denying that, but in the grand scheme of things it’ll probably work against me.”

  Leila eyes the bread in her hand, pulling off a small piece and squishing it flat between her fingers. “Keep your libido in check and you’ll be fine.”

  I sigh and glance at her without moving, not wanting to mess up Kirahl. “My brain isn’t listening to itself.”

  Leila looks up from her food, the corner of her mouth quirked. “Chemical reaction. See?” I give her an irritable glare, and she hands me the rest of the bread. “Maybe you should talk to him about it. He might give you some space if you ask.”

  “That’s not exactly possible with the new arrangement.”

  Kirahl tilts my jaw to assess her work, nodding in satisfaction before trading the paint for leaves and flowers. She proceeds to add them to my hair.

  “You know what I mean. But if you’re too chicken to say something, then you’ll have to try harder not to be affected by him.”

  Something behind me catches everyone’s attention, and in the following silence I know Ren is here. With a furtive breath, I steel myself as the new protection detail officially kicks off. I look to Leila for support but find her staring at him with a dumbstruck gawk. When I turn around, I see why.

  A clean breechcloth has replaced Ren’s muddy leggings, his muscular legs on display. As usual, he’s without a shirt, though he’s come prepared for duty with his quiver strapped to his back and the bow slung over a shoulder. The change of attire itself is noteworthy, but it isn’t why Leila and I are staring.

  Like the rest of us, he’s wearing paint for the ceremony. His design, however, is far more intricate than any of ours. Starting above his left brow, the scrolling moves down the side of his face and neck, blooming at his collarbone to cover his shoulder and entire upper arm with swirls, the organic flow enhancing the definition of his muscles. The design covers the left side of his chest and sweeps down across his torso, wrapping around his right side to his back. The piece is striking, and I have the urge to take a closer look.

  “Girl…you have your work cut out for you.” The others don’t need to understand English to catch Leila’s blatant appreciation.

  My pulse quickens, and I swallow my nerves as I stand and face him. His steady gaze wanders over the design down my arm and at my temple. Heat fills my stomach when he meets my eyes.

  Damn chemicals.

  “It suits you,” he says, his admiration clear.

  My gaze wanders over his design again, my brows rising. “Yours is…amazing. Very detailed.” I cock my head to one side and narrow my eyes. “Enlighten me as to how you had time to get that done and rest.”

  A hint of a smile touches his mouth. “Diligence.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  His smile grows and he turns, lifting a hand toward the entrance.

  A glance back to Leila. “Ready to go?”

  Her gawk turns to me. She bites her lower lip but fails to hide her smile. “Almost as much as you are.”

  Thankful once again the others don’t understand English, I let out an annoyed huff and flick Lei on the tip of her nose. She jerks back with a snicker. Ren’s lips twitch, and he leads me from the lodge toward the center. Kirahl and Kais chuckle as they follow with Leila between them.

  The setting sun silhouettes the trees as we reach the center. The bonfire burns high, torches marking the center’s perimeter with thick garlands of flowers and vines linking them. The finished gazebo stands in front of the wall of trees surrounding the council garden, vines threading through every possible opening. The elders stand beneath it with two pairs of men and women. If I had to guess, they’re the parents of the mates-to-be.

  Ren guides us through the crowd toward the front until we come to the edge of a makeshift aisle leading from the bonfire to the gazebo. The people talk in low voices, providing a soothing murmur to the proceedings.

  I peer up the aisle toward the gazebo, surprised when I spot the intended mates.

  “Tavahni and Leksoi? They’re the ones this is for?”

  “Their pairing has long been expected,” Kirahl replies.

  “Huh. I didn’t realize they were together.” Shows how observant I am.

  As large as the center is, the clan almost fills it. The area closest to the gazebo is crowded, no more than a foot of space between one person and the next. Heat emanating from Ren touches my side, and I risk a peek to study him. The painted design covering the left third of his face is beautiful, the scrolls swirling over his cheekbone and jaw. His scar is almost invisible, and yet I can’t imagine him without it.

  His head swivels my way. The corners of his eyes tighten a tiny bit as he peers at me with a curious look.

  I lean in a fraction, my voice quiet. “I was admiring your design. Did you do it?”

  He studies me before he leans, mirroring me, and responds just as quietly, “No.”

  “Oh.” I blink, taking a shallow breath and straighten again. Makes sense—no mirrors. Then who?

  “Zaeza draws the marks for much of the clan,” he says, seeming to read my mind.

  She’s with Gilahn, I remind myself, irritated by the hardening in my stomach. “She has skills. It looks good on you.”

  A look of deliberation forms around his eyes and mouth. “Would you like me to tell you about the ceremony?”

  I smile. “Sure.”

  His attention turns back to the front of the group, and I follow his gaze. The three elders stand beneath the gazebo decorated in ceremonial paint of their own. Without preamble, Maemon lifts her hands before her, acknowledging the clan from what I can tell. Then the crowd starts to hum, filling the center with a low vibration. It’s the same song Kirahl hummed this morning.

  With the commencement of the song, the ceremony begins. My interest piques as the elders and mates-to-be go through the traditional motions. Ren guides me through it all, his voice warm, reson
ating in my ear like a melody. I finally learn the other elders’ names, too. Yisen, the woman, and Cettol, her mate. Toward the end, Maemon brushes long leaf fronds over the kneeling pair’s connected arms, shoulders, and around the backs of their necks.

  I stretch to reach Ren’s ear. “What does that do?”

  When he turns to answer, his face is a few inches from mine. He blinks at my sudden closeness. His eyes darken.

  Dazed, I hold my breath and draw back out of his space. I damn the chemicals again.

  “She is sealing their pledges to one another.” His gaze holds mine, intent. “With their blood, they promise to keep the other in their thoughts and hearts.”

  “And the kneeling?”

  “The man offers his dedication and fidelity to the woman. He can make this offer but once in his life. If the woman accepts, she reciprocates the gesture. It signifies their devotion to the other person, and to that person alone.”

  “For always?”

  He inclines his head. “Until death and beyond.”

  Maemon addresses the rest of the clan, speaking for the first time. “To our people, a new connection is formed, and through that connection, the strength of the Laraek grows. Embrace that strength, and we shall not falter.”

  The clan’s applause and cheers fill the air. Tavahni and Leksoi are all smiles as they stand. The crowd converges and disperses as the people start mingling. Several go to speak to the new mates while many zero in on the tables of food. Music rises over the crowd, and the celebration has officially begun.

  “Looks like it’s time to party.” Leila looks tired but overall enthusiastic.

  I laugh. “You’re on the bench for this one, slick.”

  “Fine by me.”

  Ren notices my attempts to spot the musicians through the crowd, so he offers to take us over there. Tables line the perimeter of the center, and we choose one near the players. A group of five or six people sit in a circle, each with a different instrument. My gaze fixes on the players in admiration, and the ball vibrates in my bag. It seems the Link appreciates music, too.