“She won’t remember. She doesn’t,” Cadoc said. “I met her for a moment last night. Alma was insistent we take over a small gift to welcome her to The City, and only a fool would deny a woman whatever she wanted in the third cycle of her carrying.” He paused, as if considering something, his brows drawn. “Alma liked her but . . . there is something disconcerting about her eyes.” He frowned.
Any hope Aryan may have entertained that they weren’t speaking of Tiger Eyes was dashed. He glanced in Bojan’s direction and saw something that made his temper rise. He saw sympathy.
He couldn’t allow his men to pity him, to know of his obsession. She belonged to one of his warriors now. If that was not incentive enough to shake himself free of his infatuation, then he didn’t know what was.
“I shall have to congratulate him on his binding. I’m certain Mia will wish to visit with some gift also, once Ivor has returned of course,” he said.
“That’s what we were speaking of.” Earl said eagerly. “Hera has decided to hold a gathering to celebrate Victor’s return, and you’re all invited. We hope to turn it into a double celebration to welcome Valasea to the City.
Valasea. That was her name. Valasea. It sat on his tongue, dying to be uttered, but he swallowed it hastily. It struck him then that he would see her later. Would he look into those eyes and see a spark, or would there be only polite enquiry?
Earl continued to speak, but Aryan was no longer listening, instead he drifted to the rotation board on the pretext of checking their duties.
“Are you all right, Chief?” Bojan asked.
Aryan schooled his features into indifference before facing the warrior. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
Bojan raised a sceptical brow. Aryan stared back at him impassively until the brow dropped and his lips turned down.
“We should get to work.”
Boiler room duty was dirty, heavy work but ultimately satisfying. The fuel tunnels were long and winding, leading deeper and deeper into the earth. Aryan would never openly admit it, but the deeper they went, the harder he struggled to breathe. It frightened him, so he kept his peace, because it would not do for a warrior to be afraid.
It was close work, tapping the rock for blue fluid, chipping away until they uncovered the black rock. Tracks had been laid, atop which sat heavy crates. These they filled with rock. The fluid was poured into crimson skins that were laid atop the rocks. Once finished they would pull a lever to activate the cogs that would take the crates back up to The City, and directly to the boiler room.
Their quota was eight crates, which even to able warriors such as themselves seemed excessive, but they worked steadily, their bodies becoming slick with perspiration, their breath labored.
“Bojan, Cadoc, take a rest,” Aryan said.
“I’m fine,” Bojan said.
“Me too,” Cadoc echoed. “The sooner we finish the sooner we can get out of these tunnels.”
Fen laughed. “I for one can’t wait to get home.”
Aryan’s grip on his digger tightened, he exhaled and consciously unwound his fingers from the wooden shaft before transferring it to his other hand. Fen had joined them late and had done nothing but speak about his life-mate, regaling them with tales of her beauty and intelligence. Considering the fact that he had known her for but a day, he seemed sorely qualified to regale them with anything much, and yet he kept speaking.
“I didn’t realize how soft a female’s skin could be, how gentle her touch. I tell you, brothers, I am under her spell completely.” He glanced at Aryan. “I can only thank you for what you did, saving her, protecting her. I am sure if she could recall she would thank you too.”
Aryan dropped his digger, moving toward the crate, his back to his Hand. He needed to get away from Fen before he did something unwise, like strike him. Fen was not at fault here; the fault lay with Aryan himself, but the knowledge did little to temper his rising ire. He reached for a tap and hammer.
“I’m going to tap further down.”
“Good idea. This area seems to be dry,” Earl said.
Taking shallow, even breaths, Aryan moved deeper into the tunnels, down into the earth. The rock walls seemed to close in on him, but he pushed back with his mind. He was not afraid.
He found an untapped section of rock and began to dig.
He realized quickly that the rock was dry. He moved across and continued tapping. It wasn’t long before anxiety made him forget his fear of the tunnels, because after he had tapped two strides of wall, he had to accept that the whole left side of the tunnel was dry.
“Don’t concern yourself, Aryan,” Marduk said. He stared down at the papers on his gleaming ornately carved desk, clearly dismissing him.
Maybe Marduk didn’t grasp exactly what he was trying to say.
Aryan cleared his throat. “I don’t think you understand. My Hand tapped thirty strides of rock today, and all of it was dry. Black rock was scarce too. I’m concerned that we may have depleted our fuel supply.”
Marduk smiled indulgently at him, but there was an edge of steel in his gaze, and his earlier warning came to mind. “Of course, your concern is only natural and duly noted, but you have nothing to worry about. I have it completely under control. New tunnels are opening up as we speak.”
Aryan failed to keep the scepticism off his face, and Marduk’s expression hardened.
“You may leave. I’m sure you don’t wish to be late in welcoming home your only son.”
Aryan clenched his jaw, wanting to argue but knowing it would simply earn him a discipline mark that could possibly affect his rank. Instead he inclined his head sharply, and turning on his heel, left the enforcer’s office.
Bojan was waiting for him outside. “How did it go?”
Aryan shook his head. “Something’s not right, and I’m afraid that by the time we’re informed, it will be too late.”
“In that case we’ll have to do a little digging of our own after the conversion ceremony.” He stared at Aryan in anticipation.
“What?”
“Have to do some ‘digging’ . . . digging, not as in recovering information, but as in digging . . .”
Aryan rolled his eyes. “You seriously need to get some cunny.”
SEVEN
Aryan traveled directly to the great hall. Initiates would have been arriving all day, but as he had been buried even further underground in the tunnels, no news had reached him. Mia was already at the great hall, and bearing in mind the late hour, Ivor should be with her. His heart quickened with anticipation.
Bojan left him outside. “I’ll see you later at Earl’s for celebrations.”
Aryan cocked his arm and Bojan met it with his. The two men parted.
The great hall was filled with warriors and their females, most busy greeting their sons while others milled about looking anxious.
He searched the faces. Earl caught his eye and raised a hand in greeting. The other arm remained slung about Victor’s shoulders. His eyes were solemn. He jerked his head to the left. Aryan frowned, following his direction to find Mia. One glance and he knew that the news was not favorable. She caught his eye, her lip trembling. He pushed through the crowd to take her in his arms.
“He didn’t come back, he didn’t come back,” she said,
“Hush. There’s still time, the moon is not yet high.” He glanced up at the ceiling where an aperture had opened up showing the bright sky. The pale shape of the moon could barely be discerned, partially covering it. In a few minutes it would be hovering directly over them.
She looked up at him with a glimmer of hope, and he felt his gut twist. There was time, though so little that it was practically futile to hope. But he knew that hope was no slave to logic; it would nestle wherever it found space.
They both watched the entrance.
Time ticked by, and then The Voice filled the room. “All initiates enter the circle of divine light. Lifegivers, please leave the hall.”
Ama’s kissed
their sons good-bye, da’s patted them proudly on the shoulder, before moving toward the exit.
Mia was looking up at the moon, round and proud, signalling that their time was over.
Even if Ivor returned now, he would not be admitted in to The City. Aryan swallowed his sorrow, exhaled his grief, and pulling Mia firmly against him, began to move toward the exit.
“No,” Mia whispered. “No!”
Aryan leaned down so his mouth brushed the shell of her ear. “Hush! You will not make a scene. You will not shame me.”
Her body stiffened in his arms. For a moment he was afraid that she would disregard his words and break free. They weren’t the only ones who’d lost a son today. He noted several other lifegivers whose faces were etched with restrained grief.
He tightened his grip, and after a moment, she relaxed. Then they were passing through the doors, and stumbling on to the steps outside. Still, he did not release her.
They were almost home when a wretched sob tore from her throat, tearing at his heart. He stopped and pulled her fully into his embrace, allowing her to stain his furs with her salty tears.
“You never loved him. Look at you. Look at your dry eyes, your still heart. Look at you,” Mia said.
Her tone was even, simply stating a fact, and this frightened him more than if she had wailed and screamed.
“That’s not true,” he said.
“Isn’t it?” She studied him carefully. “I don’t blame you. I understand now why you withheld your affection. If I had known . . . If I had known . . .” She broke down, shoulders shaking with silent sobs and breath that would not come.
Aryan picked her up, cradling her in his arms. He carried her to their bed and lay with her.
He listened to her mourn their son. After an age her sobs subsided, her breath grew even. She was asleep.
Aryan slipped from the bed and retrieved his travel pouch. He unclasped it, reaching inside, fumbling until he found what he was looking for.
His fingers closed around it, hard and cool, and he lifted it from the leather pouch holding it up to the lamplight. It was a fox tooth, polished and gleaming, suspended on a twisted piece of black leather. The fox they had hunted together a week before the Forging. It was Ivor’s parting gift to him.
Aryan’s throat seized, his eyes stung, and his chest tightened. He pressed his lips together and slipped the tooth over his head. It hung between his collarbones, sitting coolly against his warm skin.
He would not dishonor his firstborn with tears. He would not . . . would . . . the shell binding his sorrow cracked, the dry-heaving sob that he held captive in his throat broke free. There was no stopping it, no going back, and so he rode the wave.
He mourned.
He knocked on Earl’s door and waited to be admitted. As chief he couldn’t neglect his duties, so he’d decided to attend long enough to congratulate Victor and take a drink with Earl. Then he would return home and crawl into bed beside Mia, who he’d left asleep.
It was Hera who answered, her pale face glowing with happiness that sobered instantly upon seeing Aryan. Before she could speak and unlock the dam in his chest he placed a smile upon his face.
“Congratulations on Victor’s safe return.”
Hera’s smile held too much sympathy, her gray eyes stormy, and he wondered again whether he would pass this night without breaking before his warriors.
“May I come in?”
“Of course, it is good to see you.” Hera ushered him inside.
Earl’s home was no bigger than his, and tonight it was filled with his Hand, their females. and Earl’s parents.
He greeted people, ignoring their empathic gazes and wound his way through the crowd toward Earl.
Earl, never one to stand on ceremony, pulled him into a full embrace. “Is Mia all right?” He asked in a low voice.
Aryan nodded. “Sleeping. I thought it best to leave her be.”
“I’m so sorry, brother.”
“I know. I thank you for your concern, but tonight is a celebration. How’s Victor?”
Earl frowned. “I’m not sure. He’s been somewhat subdued since his return. I’ve tried to speak with him, but he insists that there is nothing wrong.”
“Would you like me to try speaking with him?”
“There’s no harm in trying. Yes. That would be good.” Earl pressed a mug of red brew into his hand. “Courtesy of Bojan.”
Aryan took it gratefully. He had a feeling he would need many more before the night was done. Leaving Earl to mingle with his other guests, he went in search of Victor.
He found the young man in his room, sitting on a chair and staring at the blank rock wall.
“Victor? May I join you?”
Victor sat forward, his eyes widening when he saw Aryan in the doorway. His blue eyes darkened, his jaw flexed. “I’ve been waiting for you,” Victor said.
“For me? Why?”
Victor swallowed, his eyes misting. “I have a debt to pay.”
Aryan’s pulse leaped, he didn’t know how he knew, but he just did. “Ivor.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
Victor moved to sit on the edge of his bed, indicating the chair he had just vacated. “Sit.”
Aryan took the seat, his eyes never leaving Victor’s face.
Victor exhaled and began to speak.
“We met the second week of the forging. I stumbled across his shelter. It was a strong, well-made shelter, and I was impressed. I remember being envious that he’d made a home while all I’d done was move from spot to spot, hunting and living for each day, waiting for time to pass until I could return home. Ivor had settled in for the long haul.
“He took me in, let me stay. We settled into a routine. The companionship was pleasant, and to be honest, the Forging no longer seemed like a chore because we had each other.
“He should be here. I’m sure if it weren’t for me he would be. I can’t help thinking that if only I hadn’t found him, he would be alive right now.”
“What happened, Victor?”
Victor closed his eyes. “We were traveling back. We were almost back when the blizzard hit. There was a cave and we took shelter. Time was running out. I knew that if we didn’t brave the blizzard, then we wouldn’t make it back on time, we’d be shut out. I insisted that we continue.
“Ivor argued that we wait awhile. He was certain the blizzard would pass. He argued that it wasn’t natural, the blizzard, that we should wait. He seemed scared, and I made fun of him for his fear. We argued, and I left him. I went out into the blizzard alone. I knew immediately that I’d made a mistake. I felt it . . . something strange, it was watching me, stalking me. I wanted to turn back, but I was too proud. And then a scream filled the air, and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. I saw it come toward me, and I was powerless to do anything. In that moment I knew I would never see my da and ama again, and then Ivor was there. He attacked the . . . thing, I don’t know what it was, but he attacked it with his spear. He fought it and suddenly my paralysis was gone.” Victor broke off choking on a sob. “I saw it turn on him, it was huge, impossible, and I knew with certainty that we could never defeat it, and I was afraid. I saw it pin him, I saw it open its jaws, and I ran. I left him and I ran.” He was sobbing openly now, his head bowed, shoulders shaking.
Aryan stared at him, his mind processing what he had heard.
“I’m sorry, so sorry, please forgive me. Please.”
Ivor was dead, really dead, not just shut out dead but dead, dead. He had died protecting his friend. He had died fighting the impossible.
“You have to forgive me,” Victor said plaintively.
Aryan focused on the boy, for despite his return, he was still that, a boy. “There is nothing to forgive, for had you also fought, you would both be dead and there would have been no one to return and tell me what happened to my boy. You have given me peace, Victor. You have told me that Ivor died a man, and for that I thank you.” He stood and
turned away.
“But . . . I left him. I was a coward!”
Aryan paused but didn’t look back. “And that is something you will have to learn to live with.”
EIGHT
Aryan left Victor to his guilt and strode into Earl’s family room, his heart lighter than it had been all evening. He was eager to leave now, to tell Mia what had become of their son. He hoped the knowledge would afford her some peace. He wove through the people, pausing here or there to make small talk, his sights already set on the exit, when his hackles rose.
He froze, his head swivelling to locate the source of his hyperawareness, and there she was. Valasea. Her hair was twisted atop her head in the popular style, her tall, lithe body encased in a robe of deepest blue. He was torn. The exit was a stride away; he could leave now without confronting her, or he could introduce himself and see if those amazing eyes sparked for him.
His decision was made for him when she turned her head. Their gazes locked, his breath caught, and her face froze in its polite smile, her eyes flaring.
Aryan’s paralysis broke, and he moved quickly toward the exit.
He had to get away.
Outside in the tepid air pumped around The City, he stopped for a moment to collect himself. It was over, the moment was over. He would ensure that their paths not cross again.
But the spark.
Frack it! There had been no spark, just his overactive imagination. He had seen what he had wanted to see.
“Hello?”
His pulse leaped. He would know that voice anywhere. Why had she followed him? He composed his features before turning to face her.
Her sharp-edged face was etched in silvery shadow. Her eyes searched his with hypnotic intensity. He struggled to maintain his nonchalance.
“Why did you leave?” she asked.
“I must get home to my . . . life-mate.”
“Ah . . . I just . . . I thought.” She shook her head, tendrils of hair sweeping from side to side, caressing her golden cheeks.
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