Storm Lord's Bride (Rite of the Raknari Book 1)

by Alana Serra

To the Raknari’s credit, it wasn’t a commune. Just a small dwelling meant for one person. Lightly furnished, with a single bed that was currently made, a chest of drawers that didn’t feature anyone else’s clothes when Imara looked, a table with a couple of chairs, and a wood-burning stove that must have been the reason for the chimneys. Maybe they’d let her decorate it. Maybe she didn’t care if they let her or not. She’d decorate it and redecorate it if they took things down.

  She refused to be a captive here. She hadn’t done anything wrong. But apparently she was carrying out some kind of sentence.

  “Drotun Rheor will expect you this evening. Someone will be by to ensure you’re washed and given proper clothes that don’t reek of sweat as those rags do.”

  It was the most either of the women had said to her, but Imara almost wished they’d gone back to using one-word sentences. The one who’d spoken so coldly about her apparent stench was surprisingly beautiful. Built like a warrior, yet with the face of someone who’d lived a softer life. Delicate lines, a gently sloping jaw, elegant brows. It made Imara strangely aware of her own plainness.

  “Sorry if my smell after traveling the mountain for days is offensive to you,” she said, stepping deeper inside the room.

  The bed called to her, and once her escorts left, she stood beside it, testing the mattress. Part of her had expected there was just a slab of stone beneath a pallet, but this was soft and cushioned. When she lay back on it, she felt like she’d been embraced by the clouds, her body melding into the mattress and the blankets beneath her. It was several long moments before she even worked the bedding out from beneath her. As soon as she burrowed into the thick, warm spread, she drifted right to sleep, some part of her mind back in her childhood home. Warm. Safe.

  Definitely not awaiting preparations to serve a Storm Lord’s every desire.

  Chapter 9

  The Raknari hadn’t exactly been gentle in waking her up before, but the ones who roused her this time were merciless.

  She’d been dreaming of spring meadows. Endless fields of wildflowers, the rustling of a young doe darting through the tall grass. Her family gathered around the table, their bellies full, their hearts fuller. Nothing loomed but the distant mantle of responsibility she knew her father wanted her to adopt, and even that was more nebulous than Imara ever remembered.

  But she was ripped from it by the feeling of falling and she opened her eyes to find the floor rushing up to meet her. Instinct alone had her jutting her hands out in front of her to break her fall, her knees managing the rest of that feat. She was partially tangled in the blankets still and she thought she’d thrown herself off but for the harsh voice that came from above.

  “Lazy. You’ll need to rid yourself of that habit now if you’re going to be the Korun.”

  “The what?” she asked groggily, pushing herself into a sitting position.

  The woman who’d come for her wasn’t like the two who’d brought her here, a comparison Imara was only able to make as her mind returned to her present situation. The deal her father had made. The perilous mountain. The little cottage with the very comfortable bed. And, of course, the humorless, beautiful walls of muscle who’d dropped her off.

  This woman was thinner. Almost too thin, considering how tall she still was. Her skin was bluer than some of the others, and it didn’t seem to be from that ice armor they wore. Thin veins followed her arms and legs, wrinkles piling at her joints, though not as much in her face. Perhaps because everything there was pulled so tightly, arranged into harsh lines that were uncomfortable to look at for more than a few moments.

  Despite having no idea as to how Raknari aging worked, she assumed this one was older than most. How much older was anyone’s guess, and she wasn’t about to ask.

  “It may not happen tonight. The Drotun is tired from his trip, and likely from having to babysit someone who freezes when the temperature drops below a balmy breeze,” she quipped, ushering Imara to her feet, “but you must be ready nonetheless.”

  “Now I’m curious what exactly a ‘balmy breeze’ is to you,” she muttered, a gasp leaving her as the woman very rudely started at the ties of her leathers. “I can manage it, thank you.”

  “Manage quickly,” she fussed, padding over to a large tub that hadn’t been there before.

  Imara’s eyes widened as she looked at it, at the steam curling from the water as the woman filled it. She could anticipate that warmth seeping into her muscles and almost went boneless just staring at the tub before she realized she was meant to be undressing. In this very cold place, in front of a woman who was a stranger to her. She’d certainly been naked under more embarrassing circumstances in the past few days, but it still gave her pause.

  “’Balmy breeze’ is enough to turn your nipples hard as stone, but not enough to where you can’t feel your cunt.”

  It was said so casually that Imara just stared at the woman, feeling a blush creep over her face. Especially as she’d just finished unwrapping her bindings and her hard-as-stone nipples were on full display. She might have crossed her arms over her chest, but the directness of that statement, the crassness of it just made her guffaw. Deep belly laughs tore through her, unable to be contained.

  And to her surprise, the old woman looked at her over her shoulder, a glint in her eyes and a smirk on her lips.

  “Do all women here speak as… directly as you?” she asked, finding it oddly refreshing.

  She’d been taught from a young age that there were certain things she shouldn’t do, both as a woman and the daughter of a chieftain. That wasn’t to say she didn’t do them, but she’d been careful about who she did them around.

  The woman snorted, adding more water to the tub. “No. Not all of them. They should, but they don’t.”

  At least some did. It was silly to be comforted by such a fact, but she was. Enough that she stripped off the rest of her clothing without feeling self-conscious. At least until the old woman looked over at her and scrutinized her nude form.

  “You’re so… pink. Everywhere is pink and soft.”

  Imara felt the sudden urge to hide herself, but she pushed it down and just walked toward the tub. Testing the water with her fingers, then the tender flesh of her palm, she lifted a leg over the side. It submerged almost to her knee and she shuddered as that warmth instantly suffused her.

  “Humans usually are,” she remarked, stepping fully into the tub. “At least until we’re dead. Then we look more blue-gray. Like you.”

  The hint of a smirk tugged at her lips and she looked at the Raknari woman, her heart speeding when she didn’t immediately react. Her fears were chased away when the woman burst out with an unflattering laugh.

  “Your tongue will serve you well, little human. There are some who say the Korun should not challenge their Drotun, but they are weak, simpering little whores who think they exist only to serve the men they let command them.”

  Good God, she loved this woman. It was a sudden, visceral reaction that immediately relaxed Imara just as much as the water did when she sunk down in the tub. She felt at ease with her, like she could be herself. Say what was on her mind without worrying about repercussions.

  And while the threat of her parents’ disappointment or the Storm Lord’s wrath hadn’t stopped her before, it was still nice to feel some measure of freedom.

  “What’s your name?” she asked as she settled into the tub.

  “You can call me Nava.”

  “It’s good to meet you, Nava,” she said sincerely, a sentiment the old woman just answered with a grunt. “My name’s Imara.”

  “Don’t be offended when I just call you ‘human,’” Nava told her.

  Imara laughed, tilting her head back so that her neck settled against the rim of the tub. She let out a languid sigh as the water reached every aching muscle in her body. There was more than enough room for her. Too much, in fact, and she had to use her body’s natural buoyancy and her grip on the side of the tub to keep herself from just sink
ing down completely. Her eyes were closed and she breathed in the steam, clearing her mind of all her worries.

  Until she seized on something the woman had said again. “What is a Korun? Is that a fancy way of saying ‘Storm Lord’s whore’?”

  The woman scoffed, an ugly, scraping sound in the back of her throat. Imara heard her messing about and opened her eye to see she’d set a wooden box atop one of the chairs and was removing a coarse brush from it, along with vials of something she couldn’t identify. She uncorked one of the vials over the tub and dumped it into the water.

  “What is that?” she asked, instinctively drawing away from it.

  It left a splash of blue in the otherwise clear water, and when Imara pulled her legs up to her chest, the water swished and spread it around. Wonderful.

  “For your Roinim. All of the old skin, all of the dirt needs to be scrubbed away, and this helps.”

  “Korun. Drotun. Roinim. I have no idea what these words mean,” she said, not bothering to mask her agitation. “You’re going to have to explain. My little human brain doesn’t magically comprehend your language.”

  “And yet I know yours,” she said with a huff. “Hard to say. Leaves a bad taste in the mouth. Everything’s so harsh. There’s no rhythm to it at all.”

  Imara was tempted to just submerge her whole body—including her head—beneath the water. This was the downside to someone who said whatever they wished. Fortunately, the woman seemed to come around to being more cooperative a moment later, as she dumped the contents of the other vial into the brush and a cloth.

  “The Drotun can fuck anyone he pleases. He doesn’t need whores. What he needs is a Korun. Someone who can share a place at his side and accept his powers unto herself. Roinim.”

  She said it as though she were describing the most mundane thing in the world, as if it were something every living person should be familiar with. Imara just stared at her, gaping until she took notice.

  “Now you look like a pink fish,” she said, forcibly closing Imara’s mouth by pushing two fingers beneath her chin. “Do I need to explain it more slowly?”

  “No,” she said, flustered. That fact alone earned her an oddly sympathetic look.

  “Did he not tell you? He’s never been much of a communicator. Not with words, at least.”

  “I’ve noticed.” Her mind was still reeling, but she kept a wary eye on that brush as it was brought closer and closer to her body. “You’re not seriously going to—”

  The brush, made of thick bristles that could have come from an ox for all Imara knew, scraped her skin like a cat’s tongue. Her companion was not gentle, scrubbing away, leaving behind pink splotches that she muttered about. It felt as though she was trying to clean every last hint of her previous life off of Imara’s body, and to say it was an unpleasant experience was an understatement.

  “Could you maybe be a little gentler with that?” she snapped.

  “No. Gentle doesn’t get the job done.”

  For as uncomfortable as the experience was, it at least distracted her from her chaotic thoughts. The Storm Lord had asked for someone as payment for services rendered. He hadn’t come to their village looking for a… partner. A Korun. And someone to… Imara’s eyes widened as she realized the implications.

  “I can’t learn magic,” she sputtered. “And I don’t want to. Not something like that.”

  “You don’t learn through Roinim,” she scoffed. “You’re offered Kiova’s blessing and you take some of the power she’s bestowed upon the Drotun into yourself. You share it, burden and blessing alike.”

  For as no-nonsense as this woman was with her words, she spoke about this as if it was something romantic. And maybe on some level it was. Imara’d always assumed she’d one day be matched with a man who tolerated her wild streak—at least enough to put up with it so he could have closer ties to her father and eventually Elora.

  This was… something else. This was sharing a life. Sharing some kind of blessing. Powers. It frightened her, making something quake in the depths of her soul. She’d never wanted the responsibility of being chieftain to her own people. What was she supposed to do with ice powers and a role at the Storm Lord’s side?

  “And that’s going to happen when…?”

  The question trailed off, a blush rising in Imara’s cheeks. She wasn’t precious about many things, and certainly not delicate, but there was something about this that felt more intimate than she wanted to admit right now.

  “When he fucks you, yes,” Nava said, scrubbing mercilessly.

  That blush in her cheeks only grew and she considered just sliding beneath the water entirely. Nava would probably pull her back to the surface, though, so she just stayed where she was and let the woman continue her work. The scrubbing, the application of some kind of crisp soap, and a slathering of oil to top it all off once she’d been dried.

  She still talked to Nava, mostly getting a feel for the city and its inhabitants. Her companion was fond of gossip and gave her many tidbits about people Imara didn’t know by name yet. Tidbits she wouldn’t remember, because the entire time they spoke, her mind was fixated on what would happen later this evening.

  He would come to her. And if she let him, he would initiate this… Roinim. He might even do it if she didn’t let him, though everything she’d seen from Rheor said that was unlikely. He could have overpowered her many times, forced his will upon her. He hadn’t yet and she didn’t think he would.

  That meant it was her decision, and she was no closer to making it by the time Nava left than she was when she was first told she was more than some casual toy to be used and discarded.

  She’d have to deny him, until she sorted out everything that was in her mind and heart. Considering how keenly her body responded to him before, she thought that effort might just prove fruitless no matter how she felt.

  But she had to try.

  Chapter 10

  Parting from the human was more difficult than Rheor had anticipated. He had no bond with her, he’d not even claimed her body yet, but still he ached as she was ushered to her residence. He’d collect her later, have her brought to his bedchamber where he could slake his lust and hopefully rid himself of these strange feelings.

  Because if there was one thing Rheor was certain of, it was that he couldn’t bond to this female. He couldn’t bond to any female. His heart had long since been shattered by another, the pieces of it scattered and beyond repair. There was no place for Imara at his side, and he would not fool her or himself by keeping her as a constant companion.

  He would give her one night. The entire night, if he had any say in the matter. He would be attentive, sating her needs before his own. He would have her as many times as possible. But he would not mark her as his, and once she left his bedchamber, that would be the end of their association as intimates.

  No matter how difficult it would be in the moment, he knew it would be even worse if he allowed her to come back time and again. To seek more from him than he could ever give.

  It was best, then, that he keep his distance from her until the evening. There was much to be done besides, and he moved seamlessly into his role as Drotun. Rheor summoned his council and prepared what he wished to say to the other lords. They needed to know the Svag were acting more recklessly, with more aggression than before. He scheduled the meeting for the next day and sent messengers to ensure they all attended. Each of the Tempests’ Chosen would need to have a say in how they proceeded, as it directly affected all of them.

  So too did the storm that raged within Rheor. He could see it already. The Frozen Peak was colder, more unstable than before. Flurries of snow blew in from the north, stone that had existed for millennium began to crack, and he had the sense of the earth rumbling beneath his feet a few times. It was unsettling, not the least of which was because Kiova did not seem to recognize what he’d done for the humans. It might have made a difference, but it wasn’t the sacrifice she’d wanted from him, and he was at a lo
ss as to how to proceed.

  There was nothing he could do for the time being, however, so he checked in on Tiva and Loken after the council let out. Loken was diligently brushing out her fur, freeing it of all the burrs and tangles and any other debris that might have marred the pristine nature of it. Rheor sat beside his friend and helped him in his task, cleaning Tiva’s tusks and teeth, wiping her eyes, washing the blood off of her. Varuk did not leave his mate’s side the entire time and went so far as to gnash his teeth and snarl in warning when Rheor did something he didn’t approve of.

  Once it was done, the two men looked somberly upon the fallen Machai. Loken’s face was unreadable, deliberately schooled to keep his emotions from shining through. “What of the cubs.”

  It was not a question. They both knew what would become of the cubs if they could not properly nurse. “We will try to feed them, but if they do not take to the bottle, there is nothing we can do.”

  No other Machai were nursing. Tiva had gone into heat out of season, and thus whelped when the other cats were not yet producing milk for the offspring that grew within them. A small, sad smile touched Rheor’s lips. She had always done things on her own terms. If her cubs had a tenth of her strength, they would fight to survive.

  “I will feed them through the night. I would ask your help in this come morning,” Loken said, “I still have a scouting mission I must take care of.”

  Rheor would have been happy to permit the man time to grieve. Losing a Machai, especially one so closely bonded, was like losing a sibling or even a child. But he knew Loken would rather keep himself busy and do what he could to help their people in Tiva’s absence. To that end, he simply nodded and reached out to rest his hand on the man’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

  “I’ll see that it is done.”

  He left Loken to finish the preparations. Having the body of one’s Machai frozen was a deeply personal thing and he had no wish to intrude. With his mood successfully dampened, the fires that had raged in him earlier banked, Rheor was able to spend some time walking the Frozen Peak, checking in with his people. Nothing of consequence had happened in his absence, and everyone seemed well aware of the jobs they needed to perform, even in light of the changing climate.