Storm Lord’s Bride

by Alana Serra

  Maybe she was deluding herself, but if that was true, she’d exist in her fantasy a little while longer.

  Returning her focus to the pedestal, she watched as people came up, one by one, and placed offerings into the bowl. Ice blue petals from the flowers she’d seen growing around the mountain, each of them frosted over yet as hardy as ever. Petals filled the bowl, one atop another, and when the line reached Rheor, he handed a petal to her, nodding his encouragement.

  Imara nodded back, drew a deep breath, and walked up to the offering bowl. She felt something inside of her hum with resonant energy as she grew close, but her focus was fully on the bowl and completing this obvious ritual. She placed the flower, then looked at Tiva. Her body had been preserved by ice, her fur brittle with it, but otherwise she looked peaceful. Feeling the sting of tears in her eyes, Imara reached out to stroke the side of her face.

  “Thank you for saving us,” she whispered, bowing her head.

  Loken caught her eye as she lifted her head again and he gave her a grateful smile. She smiled back, then returned to Rheor’s side, watching the rest of the ceremony. There were no words spoken for the dead. No heartfelt talk about what Tiva had meant to Loken. That would have felt out of place here, at the heart of something that seemed so primal. Instead, Loken beckoned her and Rheor close, and Imara approached the pedestal once more.

  “Will you assist me in returning Tiva’s body to Kiova, Korun?”

  She opened her mouth to say she was unsure how to do that and what was required of her, but Rheor was quick to assist.

  “It is the task of Kiova’s Chosen to freeze the body completely and then shatter it so that the shards can reach the goddess. It is the only way to lay one of Kiova’s children to rest with the honor they deserve.”

  She couldn’t imagine it. Shattering this proud, majestic cat. Turning her into nothing more than a tangle of ice shards. But this was their tradition, their belief, and she was a part of it now. So, placing her own feelings aside—another thing her father had always tried to get her to do—she followed Rheor’s lead and stepped around to the other side of the pedestal, placing her hands on Tiva.

  Closing her eyes, she channeled the magic that was inside of her, focusing on the task. A delightful chill worked its way from her heart, pumping through her veins to get to her arms, then her hands, then her palm and the very tips of her fingers. She felt an itch on the surface of her skin before it was soothed away by the presence of frost. It spread outward over Tiva’s body, joining the same patches Rheor was making. She concentrated harder, forcing the magic to go deeper, visualizing the breadth of Tiva’s body in her mind’s eye. There was something almost soothing about it, systematically checking off every organ, every limb, making sure the cold reached each of them.

  When Tiva was completely frozen, thick ice encasing her body, she took a step back. “I don’t think I can…”

  Rheor looked at her, his brow furrowed. Was he disappointed? She couldn’t quite tell. “I will finish the ritual.”

  She watched, feeling like a bit of a failure as Rheor worked with the magic. He channeled it with such grace, such confidence that for a moment she forgot where she was and what she was doing. He was beautiful, etching invisible runes into the air with his hands, the temperature dropping in the area around him. When his hands finally touched Tiva, there was a sudden, violent ripple that etched a line through the thick ice. Then it shattered, and Imara shielded her face with her arm on instinct, expecting to feel the piercing pain of ice shards embedding into her skin.

  Instead she felt a gentle, cold mist. When she opened her eyes, the beauty of Rheor using his magic was surpassed tenfold by the shimmering, crystalline shards that temporarily hung in the air like a fine powder. Tiva was gone, yet what remained almost seemed to be the essence of life itself. Imara’s mouth was open, her eyes wide as she observed with a quiet awe. She watched Rheor direct the tiny shards toward the bowl, mixing and binding them with the flowers. She gasped at the glittering display they made, and began to understand why the Raknari did this. It was an offering, and a beautiful tradition that put her own village’s to shame. And really, it was no different than a pyre. The result was just something far more lovely than ash.

  Loken reached for the bowl, holding it aloft with one hand as he placed a final flower into it. Larger than the others, more robust. It covered the shards and the other flowers as if blanketing them in some kind of otherworldly protection. Then he took the bowl to the edge of the cliff, walking the length of the snowbanks to get there. Saying a few words Imara could not understand, he turned the bowl over and the shards scattered, the flowers falling lazily after them.

  “Goodbye, my friend,” Loken said softly. “I hope you find peace at the goddess’ side.” Turning to the gathered crowd, he raised his voice to be heard. “We will hunt in her honor. Tomorrow, we will scour the mountain and bring back all that we find.”

  A cheer erupted through the crowd, and even Rheor joined in, lifting his closed fist in support. A hunt. Excitement bubbled within her, Imara’s mind racing toward the thought of using her bow, stalking her prey, bringing down something that was practically twice her size. Providing for her people. It was something she’d taken pride in back in her village—the only true skill she’d had. To be able to do the same here would make her feel that much better about her place among the Raknari.

  She wondered if she should volunteer, but it seemed Loken had other ideas. He was looking right at her.

  “Korun, it would do me a great honor if you would lead this hunt in Tiva’s name. You have ensured her legacy will live on, and it seems only fitting that you join us.”

  That struck her, surprise evident in her features. Her mouth worked, but no words came out for several moments. She glanced up at Rheor and he gave her an encouraging smile. That was evidently enough to bolster her and make her feel more comfortable accepting such a position.

  “I would be honored,” she told him, another round of cheers rising from the crowd.

  Loken approached her, his smile broad. He bowed his head to her, then placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. An answering smile spread across Imara’s face. She’d never felt so included in her old home. Everyone respected her because she was the chieftain’s daughter, yes, but this felt like something else.

  “I have an announcement as well,” Rheor said, and all attention turned toward him. Imara expected he might move to the pedestal and take up a more authoritative position, but he stayed among the Raknari, by her side. “As I am sure you have observed, Imara has undergone Roinim. She is now my Korun.”

  She flushed at that, the sudden attention unexpected. Especially when cheers erupted from the crowd. Louder, more boisterous, and genuinely excited that she was the new Korun. That bolstered her, as well, and she lifted her head, feeling some measure of pride. These people were strong, cunning, and had a culture she was only just beginning to understand on a surface level. That they welcomed her into their group as someone of importance made her actually feel somewhat worthy of that status.

  “We will have the ceremony under the Glacial Moon in five days’ time, but I expect you all to treat her as you would treat me regardless.”

  Imara smiled brightly as hoots and cheers continued, the Raknari lifting their fists into the air. But that smile fell away as she understood what he’d said. A ceremony? That must have been something like a wedding. A strange, warm tingle made its way through her body as she thought of committing herself to Rheor and this life. It should feel limiting, as if she was being caged. But it was something she thought she could meet with open arms. She was already his Korun. Making it official wouldn’t change anything. It certainly wouldn’t change how she felt.

  But… there was something missing. She always thought when she was married she’d be surrounded by her family. Left with her sister beforehand to talk about how much she absolutely hated whatever frilly sack they put her in. How she felt like she was property being sold off
at the market. Elora would tell her it was her duty and that she should be honored. She’d optimistically say Imara would learn to love her new husband, or at least the children she would have with him.

  It wouldn’t be that much of a comfort, but knowing she’d always have Elora’s support had made all the difference in facing that inevitable future. Now that she was “marrying” someone she’d chosen to be with, it just felt hollow without her sister there.

  She’d thought of Elora often, of course, though whenever those thoughts began to take her over, she’d tried her best to push them down. She knew Elora wasn’t meant for a place like this, and even if she was free to return to the village, she had no idea how she’d be received now that she was a Korun herself. Even still, she desperately wanted to see her little sister again—to tell her everything that’d happened and work out all of her hopes and fears as she’d always done.

  This conflict must have shown clearly on her face because Rheor placed a gentle hand upon her back, leaning down so he could speak only to her.

  “Does this displease you? I know I did not mention it before.”

  Imara shook her head, then turned to look up at him. “No. I’m fine with the ceremony, I just… I wish my sister was here to see it.”

  It felt selfish to ask for something like that. She had the impression that she’d been given far more than Rheor had ever intended. But she was his equal now, wasn’t she? That’s how it felt. And if she couldn’t ask him for this without feeling bad, she had no business asking in the first place.

  Rheor was quiet for several moments, the silence deafening despite the din of other Raknari around them. She worried she’d offended him, but held her ground. It wasn’t an impossible request, and she hadn’t asked much of him up to this point.

  When a slow smile curved his lips, she let out the breath she’d been holding. “Then she shall be. I will send someone I trust to fetch her.”

  A lump caught in her throat, the idea of seeing Elora again hitting her with such force that tears began to fall, unbidden. Rheor gave her a concerned look, but she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his hard torso, burying her face against his chest.

  She was going to see her sister again. And maybe she could even convince her to stay a while. It would hurt more when she left—Imara knew she’d have to, she had too many responsibilities. But right now, that didn’t matter. Nothing in the world could dampen the sheer joy she felt.

  Chapter 21

  The hunt began at dawn.

  Imara was roused by Rheor, his lips skimming the back of her neck, his hands all over her. She’d had to resist him, deny him, because she knew if she let him continue, she’d be late for the very hunt she was leading. That in itself was something she needed time to wrap her head around. As she dressed for the day, she considered what she would do and how she might lead the group. She had no idea what they preferred to hunt, so she supposed it would all start by talking to Loken. Then she could lead them in tracking and direct their attention to the intended quarry. With any luck, they’d have more success working together.

  Otherwise she was just going to be herding cats and end up with nothing at all.

  She didn’t let herself feel that doubt, though. She was still riding high from the knowledge that Elora would soon be here. Rheor had met with the Drotun from the Molten Peak again yesterday and he’d volunteered to go, wishing to see more of the human lands. It was a strange thing to Imara, since they were all so sequestered on their different mountains. As far as she understood, Brunyr had some dominion over the deserts to the south, along with a series of volcanic islands well beyond anywhere Imara could conceive of traveling.

  But Rheor trusted him implicitly, and that was enough for her. Of slightly more concern was the fact that he wouldn’t be attending this hunt.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go?” she asked him again as she sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on a new pair of boots.

  He’d watched her the entire time, lounging with one arm behind his head, his gaze hungry. It softened a bit now. “I do, but I want them to see you lead without my presence. And I want you to see that they will follow you because they respect you, not because I have told them to.”

  She flushed a bit and looked away. How was it that he could see into the depths of her soul and know her insecurities? Had Roinim given them some special psychic powers that she hadn’t managed to tap into yet?

  “Thank you,” was all she could manage, twisting her body so she could give him a single, grateful kiss.

  Pulling on her gloves, Imara went to retrieve her bow and quiver. Excitement thrummed through her. She hadn’t been hunting since she’d arrived, and it was one of the few places where she truly felt in her element. As soon as her fingers wrapped around the smooth wood of her longbow, she felt more at ease with herself and what needed to be done.

  It helped that Rheor had such faith in her, too, and she carried that with her as she went to meet the others.

  A touch of daylight stained the sky, a hunting party gathered at the slope of the peak, Raknari and Machai alike. There was a mix of men and women, something that brought her even more peace. She’d not seen them treat the women here as inferior—despite what she’d always been told about Raknari—and it was good to be joined by them on this hunt.

  Loken was with them, of course, and he approached her with a smile. “Do you have everything you need?”

  On instinct, her hand touched the strap of the pack she’d brought as well as the strap that held her bow and quiver in place. With a quick, mental inventory she went through her supplies. Food. Water. The means to start a fire and keep it burning. Some rope to lash sticks and logs for a lean-to if she needed some kind of shelter. Her skinning knife to use for field dressing.

  “I do,” she said, looking at the assembled group. She almost asked after their weapons, as none were armed. Then she remembered Rheor’s ability to summon a weapon as if from nothing. Another thing she’d have to learn to do, but for now her bow would serve her just fine. “Am I to ride with you?”

  “No, Korun,” he said with a smile. “The Drotun has arranged for you to ride his mount. Varuk knows what you have done for his mate, and he will be cooperative in every sense.”

  She looked toward the large cat she’d ridden before. It was different with Rheor guiding him. He seemed to be under control, or at least able to be reined in. She wondered if she’d have the same luck. He was so incredibly large, the top of his shoulder higher than her head. She had no idea how she was supposed to mount him without help, but she was determined to try.

  Walking toward him, she offered a hand for him to sniff. He butted his head against it, a purr rumbling in his throat that helped ease Imara’s nerves. She smiled and approached him from the side, reaching for the horn on the saddle to hoist herself up. It took a few tries, but she finally managed it, swinging her leg over Varuk’s broad, muscular form.

  “Let’s head out, then. On the way you can tell me about this area and what you like to hunt,” she told Loken.

  He mounted his own beast and walked beside her, down the sloping mountain path and into the snow-covered forests. Listening to him, Imara learned a great deal about the kind of hunting that took place on the Frozen Peak and the mountainous lands surrounding it. The forests were home to two species of elk, foxes, hares, a few large winter birds, and the occasional brown bear that was never hunted these days, merely avoided. And sometimes cursed, Loken explained, as they had a habit of forcing their way into camps and taking kills.

  All of that was strangely comforting to Imara. It was the same selection she’d found back home before the storms became too severe. She’d always avoided the bears, as well, keeping well clear of their dens and the river where they liked to fish. But she’d tracked elk for hours, had smoked foxes from their dens, and had managed to bag hares even in the dead of winter, so she knew what she was doing.

  Hopping down from her mount and instructing the oth
ers to do the same, she found fresh tracks from a group of elk, as well as the shavings from a tree that had been stripped of its bark by antlers.

  “There’s at least one young male in the herd. Probably more. Be on alert,” she whispered to them, drawing her bow.

  Because it was no use for all of them to stalk the same target, she had them fan out, a good twenty feet or so between each member of the hunting party, and many trees and bushes separating them in the densely packed forest. She gave signals as she would at home, sharp whistles that could be mistaken for birdsong. One meant they should spread out further. Another meant they should come close. The last—quieter than the rest—meant she’d found the quarry she was personally hunting.

  She’d decided to track the buck who’d made those markings on the tree. Maybe it was overconfidence, but she was feeling good about her abilities as she followed his hoofprints through the snow and hard-packed dirt. Approaching the edge of a thicket, she could see him standing with the herd. He was lingering by a female, nudging at her, occasionally moving behind her to try and mount. Another buck let out a sound like a bugle, charging straight for him, and Imara used that moment of distraction to take her shot, letting out a whistle as she did so.

  It was clean, piercing into the elk’s neck, but he didn’t go down with just one. He started to flee, and she nocked a second arrow, the shot going wide. She pursued while the other hunters did the same, arrows flying past to strike at the easier targets in the herd, Raknari with spears rushing forward, throwing them like javelins.

  To her right she saw an icy spear pierce an elk and immediately freeze it in place, ice spreading over the coat, locking the legs. Of course. She wasn’t using the full extent of her powers. Summoning her magic, she imbued the next arrow with it and let loose. The buck was fleeing still, darting through the thick cluster of trees. She managed to strike his rump and just like the doe, he was paralyzed almost instantly. Imara closed the distance, pulled her knife free from her belt, and struck a clean and merciful deathblow, holding the large creature as he slumped to the ground.