Ravenous (Taint of the Gods #1)

65. EPILOGUE

The first grain harvest came early. The mill could officially open, and I would finally be able to make a cake from our very own flour for the birthday celebrations.

“You know you can’t use all of it?” Rhydian reminded me over breakfast when I’d started making a list of items to bake for the party. I’d smiled, then snatched the piece of toast in his hand claiming it as my own. I bit into it before speaking. “Sorry if I want to make the party memorable.”

“You know he isn’t going to remember it,” Rhydian noted, offering me a hot mug of kharee in exchange for his toast.

“Obviously.” I added strawberry pie to the menu with a smile. “But we will.”

It was the first cause for celebrations we’d had since Eleen and Oric had married four months ago. Happy to admit that I won the bet on that one. Not even Rhydian believed a relationship between a water and fire wielder would last. But Oric’s temperament suited Eleen.

I headed into the village right after breakfast, since I knew Rhydian had more work to do in his office that morning. The Lycoan Government was still loath to provide an exception for Gerhold to be recognised as his family estate since the sanctions that forbid Devolved Humans from owning property were still being enforced by the Imperial City. Even with all the documentation that Rhydian had obtained from the library on the train—the last king had been meticulous with his records of land titles and deeds—Rhydian still had to prove he was the sole inheritor of the estate. The Lycoan military disliked this immensely. They’d objected on logistical reasons. Gerhold was only five miles from the Armistice Line and they intended to turn it into a military post, a thought which had not occurred to them in the last five centuries it would seem.

So when Rhydian had been able to acquire a piece of Pre-God Fall Monarchical Kensillan Bio-Tech from a collector in Athus thanks to Hentirion’s connections, and regardless of his Taint—Hemopaths were still feared in most of our continent of Idica—he’d finally been able to make an agreement with the government. They would make Gerhold a Protectorate-Under-The-Crown. We would govern ourselves whilst abiding by Lycoan national law outside our borders, and we would allow them to build a military post on the edge of the estate—on a leased term for obviously economical reasons. As it turned out we owned quite a portion of the land in this area. Today Rhydian was finishing those agreements. I’d be lucky to see him before dinner.

The castle was always so quiet this time of morning. We’d taken in so many after the train had been destroyed. Every room accommodated more than five people at a time, though most were unbothered by the sharing of space. Yet in the time it had taken Rhydian and I to return from Deos, the village had doubled in size and nearly every family had a home to call their own. I’d grown used to the constant noise of the train that when the quiet finally set in after they’d all moved out, I’d found I missed it. Today, that was not the case.

Villagers had come up to the castle to use the kitchens for the upcoming banquet and were in the midst of cooking when I reached the door. Lily who had taken up charge of the castle when we left was busy ordering around the volunteers. Little Henry with his father’s dark waves was wrapped around her back looking wide-eyed at the commotion around him.

She’d done remarkably well since Jae’s passing considering the circumstances. There was a stone on the hill beside her mother’s statue with his name carved in it that I’d seen her visit regularly. She volunteered at the bakery once a month when someone could watch Henry for her. The party had been her idea.

She brought a spoon to her lips as I passed the doorway, Henry’s chubby little hand striving to obtain it.

Down the hall, under the close eye of Filora, the Village Head going on two months now, villagers were moving furniture between the two banquet rooms. We were planning to accommodate nearly half the village just inside our walls and we didn’t have nearly enough furniture, so Si’mon and a few of the other Talons had been making trips up and back to the castle carrying freshly fabricated tables and chairs.

As it turned out, when she wasn’t required to use her blessing to save someone’s life, Sal found she had quite the knack for phytotechnics. She’d grown every piece of furniture in the castle from the forest on the estate and still found time to tend to the growing botanical garden on the castle grounds. It was there Wade had built her a cottage with his bare hands. Something she could touch. They married the day he finished it.

“Lady Imaris,” the villagers greeted me as I made my way down into the village. I’d called this place home for a year and I still couldn’t get used to them calling me that. I was constantly fighting the urge to inform them they were mistaken until I remembered whose bed I slept in. Though he hadn’t made the title official yet regardless of the way the rest of Gerhold saw me.

I passed by the smithy where I recognised the sound of Jordry smashing his hammer on the anvil. Since we hadn’t an Alchemist of that nature to tend to the metal work the village required, he’d been the first to volunteer for the position and had become our resident blacksmith. Our collection of Kensillan vehicles was substantial but for the foreseeable future, horses and wagons would have to do for short distances. And if Jordry was working, Amida wouldn’t be far behind. The melancholy that had begun to effect her on the rail had vanished since she had taken to patrolling the skies above Gerhold.

All the Runners had in fact chosen to stay in Gerhold after leaving the train, most finding that their old jobs were just as useful in this new world as the old one. Lera and Lex in particular had been excited to discover that the Lycoan Military was willing to employ them for their particular skill set on a case-by-case basis.

The only Runner who actually seemed unsettled in Gerhold was Jonah. Rhydian had asked him to stay until at least after the party, and he’d agreed on account of Kris, but we both knew the day was coming. At the bottom of the castle stairs, face looking like a rather shrewd fox, Kris greeted me.

“No company this morning?” she asked as we began to descend into the village square. I linked my arm through hers, noting the way in which her hand rested on her stomach. She was twenty weeks along and not at all impressed with her desire to eat anything she found that smelled remotely edible. “They’re in the bakery.”

She’d found out a few months back when we three had gone hunting. Taren had told us of his intended Pilgrimage to The Hetra in honour of his survival and Kris’s immediate response was to burst out crying, which scared away the elk we had spent three hours tracking. She spent the rest of the trip home claiming the incident had been a clear indication of her pregnancy.

Accompanying me on my morning walks had been her way of apologising for leaving me so soon. She and Jonah were planning to reach The Hetra and hopefully, Keltjar before the baby was born. She’d promised to deliver a letter while they were there. To Engar, inviting him to Gerhold for a vacation. They would then depart for the Tahzi Tribelands in Deos. A trip I did not envy.

But I was not afraid to say that I would miss her presence when she was gone. If it hadn’t been for her suggesting that we play drinking games on that night in Keltjar a year ago, I would not be here today.

“Will you stop looking at me like that?” she scowled, her face looking more like that of a small child than an expectant mother.

“Pregnancy becomes you Krisenya.”

“It does not!” she said, stopping mid-stride, shaking her head in disbelief. Turning into my gaze she added, “I have swollen feet, sore tits, I can’t smoke my pipeweed.” Kris squeezed the strap on her belt from which the smoking pouch I had finally gifted her now hung. “And yesterday I cried because someone gave me a flower. A flower Rieka.”

I gently pulled her along, hoping the scent of the fresh bread I knew would be baking right that moment would distract her. It did. We arrived outside the small brick building that had once been the location of an inn but had since been repurposed for a bakery.

Though I would have come up with it eventually, it hadn’t been my idea. It was Rhydian’s.

Outside, because he had been forbidden from entry on account of the owner’s preference to not have her customers find fur in their baked goods was Tiny.

Or as the wolf called himself now. Spirit Runner.

How he’d returned he’d never been able to entirely explain. Spectrals of shadows and being born under a new moon to a pack of strong wolves had been the extent of what he had understood.

His memories of his life with me had remained, but he was no longer the grumpy old wolf who’d accompanied me across the continent.

Spirit was young, thirteen moons from what he could recall. His fur was a golden brown, his eyes a bright yellow and whilst Tiny had been mine. Spirit had claimed another upon his return. Though that was a story for another day.

As we approached, he raised his head from his paws. When our eyes met, a spectral of his former self rose out of the yearling’s body and ran to greet me. Sometimes, as he brushed past my hand, I could still feel his fur between my fingers.

I swung the door open and the most beautiful laugh I’d ever heard danced through the doorway. Fast heavy footfalls pounded on the tiled floor accompanied by the sound of even smaller feet pattering out from the kitchen and towards me.

“Mama!” my son squealed giddily as a giant man brandishing a whisk and a mixing bowl on his head, came to a sudden abrupt stop when he saw me.

His cheeks quickly flushed red in embarrassment. “Rieka!”

“Papa,” I said, greeting my father with a smile then wincing when the mixing bowl he’d worn for a helmet was suddenly smacked by my mother.

Orion giggled into the back of my leg where he’d fled to.

“I love you darling but if you keep using my good crockery for your knight play, I’m going to have to start punishing you.”

A shiver ran down my spine at my mother’s words. Their flirting was becoming notoriously frequent that I’d requested they cease all thoughts about one another in my presence. When I’d been a girl they had limited that type of behaviour in their children’s presence. I blamed this reinvigoration of their youthful love squarely on the shoulders of my son. In the years they’d cared for him in secret, hiding his existence even from The Servitors, the smile that had vanished from my father’s face the day I was named Treasured One had returned in full force. Bright and exuberant and had been on full display the day Rhydian and I had returned to Deos to retrieve my son.

My mother had been the one to need convincing to leave. It had been Rhydian’s taint that had changed her mind. They’d never told me what he had shared with her, but my mother had packed a bag that night and had made the arduous journey to Lycoa with us. The night we left Deos, my mother committed the last sin of a Devoted. She burned her pesai.

My mother raised up on her tiptoes to give my father a peck on the cheek before turning her attention to me and offering the spoon she held in her hand for me to taste. “Try this.”

It was a concoction of torberries, honey and spiced sugar, my brother’s favourite. “Is that the syrup for the pie, Mama you said you’d wait?” Orion pulled on my pant leg in a request to be picked up.

We still hadn’t found my son’s namesake. My brother had left Aronbok without a trace with the intention of hiding from the Celestial Offices. And he had done the job well. To date, even after searching for him for the last six months, our resources could not find him. Rhydian had called in a favour to a recently acquired acquaintance but we had yet to hear word back. But oddly, even without my gods, I had faith. I knew he was alive and out there somewhere. I would find him.

“I know but you were—” She hesitated, glancing at my son as he wriggled in my arms, reaching for the spoon she held.

“You were busy with Rhydian. She didn’t want to interrupt,” my father answered in her stead, leaning over to kiss my cheek.

I should not have been mortified that my parents caught me having sex with my husband in my own home but I could not stop the flush reaching my cheeks. Thankfully there was a loud crash from in the kitchen, followed by a growl to change the subject. Orion let his own puppyish one escape in reaction as “Miss Malori!” was shouted from the kitchen.

A few seconds later, S’vara with her wondrously and usually red curls walked out of the kitchen, head to toe covered in brown liquid. The scent on the air told me it was sweet bean syrup.

My mother tilted her head in only the way a mother could. Like she knew this was going to happen. “Did you close the lid before you turned it on?”

S’vara went to open her mouth to answer then quickly shut it.

“How can someone who can rig a ship not know how to cook?” Kris commented from beside me, a look of amusement on her face as she looked at S’vara’s ridiculous state.

S’vara’s throat gave the smallest of rumbles. “Same reason you can’t swim. Avoidance,” she jabbed back. It had been quite fascinating to find that they had become friends in my absence. Kris had always assured me I was the exception to her rule of tolerating arashon—southerners. Their personalities were so alike that I’d half expected them to be unable to exist in one another’s presence. As it turned out, they were both very fond of pipeweed.

“Best go clean off before we start on the pastry,” my mother suggested to the red wolf.

“I’ll take her,” Kris offered, running a hand down her belly. “If I stay in here any longer, this one will kick a hole through my stomach just to reach those scones.” She looked with a heavy gaze at the tray behind my mother. The smell said she’d only just finished them.

S’vara took off her apron and headed out of the bakery beside Kris, Orion moving his hand in the Seja gesture of farewell as they passed him. It was miraculous how he was taking to Rhydian’s language. It was only the hand gestures at the moment, but he already knew half as many words in Seja than he did in Deogn. And his Lycoan recognition was proceeding at quite the speed that it wouldn’t surprise me if he was able to speak all three languages by his fourth birthday.

Suddenly reminded, I shouted back to the two of them to have Hentirion send someone to collect the schoolhouse lunches before midday. S’vara waved a hand over her head that signalled she’d heard me and continued to chat with the white-haired Terrestrial, likely about her own trip. S’vara would be returning to Igran in the spring, to set up a trade agreement with some of the merchant houses there on behalf of the new Lord Imaris.

Only half of my bunkmates chose to remain in Gerhold after the train had been destroyed.

Aside from the obvious teaching position, Hentirion—who I’d been joyous to learn had awoken within the week of being in Gerhold—had decided to go public with his papers. The decision had drawn the attention of a mysterious backer who was willing to fund his research into our kind and protect him and in essence me from persecution for being T'eiryash. So he spent every free moment he had on turning his notebook from the train into a paper on the existence of our kind and their impact on small communities. He was planning a trip later this year in fact, to visit the Rinnisar Mines in Athus hoping there might be some evidence of T'eiryashta in the old ruins of the isle.

Saska and Emil had left within days of my return from Deos, though a letter from Emil a few weeks later informed me that whilst they loved one another, they sought very different things in their lives now that they had their freedom. Another letter postmarked Syn City had arrived only a week past from Pazgar. Something about the business card inside with a rather distinct metallic pair of wings stamped on it told me Saska was fine.

And thanks to Hentirion, Emil had been put in contact with another scholar in Prea who was looking for an assistant. He’d been living in Athus for three months now studying under the eye of an Engineer at the School of Mechatronics.

Farox had been the last to leave. His letters indicated he’d reunited with his sisters in Torvar and was in the process of wooing a wealthy Technocrat after opening a rather lucrative fighting club.

Tira was the most unexpected one to settle in the Gerhold. Since a large portion of the Deni’Henpina Commune had been rescued in the raid on the slave compound and brought here, we expected her to join them in their pursuit of finding a new home. But instead, she had encouraged them to settle in Gerhold. It had taken her weeks to convince them since they had grown to fear everyone who was not one of their own. In the end, it was the youth who had turned the vote. They saw how Tira prospered in this new world through her education under Hentirion and they chose to stay. It was now rare to see her out of her metamorphic state, informing us that it had always been her preferred appearance.

It would likely be her or Frey who came to retrieve the school lunches today.

The sensation of my hair being pulled drew my attention to a pair of gold-ringed eyes. Orion stared up at me, the braid over my shoulder clamped firmly in his chubby little hand as his other stroked the dark strands.

How I had ever lived without him I would never know. The number of times Rhydian had had to pull me from his crib because I’d refused to go to bed in fear that I’d wake up and find him gone—we’d lost count.

When he caught my eyes he pointed to the tray on the counter, and the scones, indicating he wanted one.

“Later,” I told him, causing his little nose to squish up in disappointment. “Mama will give you one later.”

No sooner had the words left my lips did one leave his own.

“Atraagniyai.”

The nearest scone vanished from the tray and appeared in my son’s hand and before I could stop him, he’d shoved it in his mouth, the fresh cream smothering across both cheeks.

A tentative sigh escaped me at the sight.

“Orion!” my mother cried wearily. “You know better than that, what did you promise Grandmama?”

My son gave a big gulp as he guilty looked at my mother. “Not use god tongue, cept for helping uvers.”

My mother’s hands rested on her hips. “And who were you helping just now?”

He whined. “Me.”

These were lessons my mother had imparted to my son in my absence. Lessons she’d never taught me because I’d been too afraid to speak of Gods’ Tongue aloud for her to know I needed them. But Orion was different. He was rambunctious and adventurous, he wanted to be friends with everyone he met and he was as careless as he was caring. The perfect three-year-old. I knew her concerns already. Orion speaking Gods’ Tongue so young was a danger. It may have saved him a few months ago, but it would only draw attention to the village.

Orion then turned to me and offered the rest of his scone. “Mama, do you want some?”

When he’d been born his hair had been as black as pitch, like mine. But since coming to Gerhold, probably even before that—since he’d met Rhydian—Orion’s hair had become a dazzling golden blond. I brushed aside one of the strands that clung to his cheek amongst the cream.

“How about you finish it and then when you're done you can help me bake a cake?” Orion nodded with a smile that was so like Rhydian’s, it was easy to forget he was the son of another.

He was of no help though. Orion spent most of the time it took me to make the mixture shoving his hands in the mixing bowl and licking his fingers. By the time I’d made a single batch which he hadn’t touched, he was covered in it. My father, who’d been just as bad having finally conceded on threat of death from my mother, had excited Orion with talk of watching the real knights fight.

Mal and the other Runners still conducted daily sparring matches in the town square on account of our proximity to Kensilla, matches my father occasionally participated in and won. They left for the village hall, a scone in my father’s hand, my son’s clamped into the fur of the wolf who’d declared himself my son’s sworn brother.

The villagers didn’t even flinch anymore when they saw Spirit walking through the town square with my son.

My mother and I fell into our usual rhythm soon after. For so long I’d clung to baking as a crutch, a way to control any semblance of my life that I could, believing that it was the only way I could still be close to her. Only when we were finally back together again did she remind me exactly how much of baking was for her and how much was simply because I loved it.

Hours passed by without my notice. The scent of egg, flour, and sugar became my world in that small building. It wasn’t until I caught the scent of pine trees and freshly turned soil did I notice the time.

I kept kneading the dough as his scent teased my senses. Mother had made her leave of the kitchen moments earlier, so I knew we were alone when he approached me from behind. He pressed into my back, his chest firm as his hands roamed the skin of my arms, grazing down to entwine his fingers through mine.

I breathed in his scent as he took charge, attempting to knead the dough whilst still holding me.

I’d always wondered why a Hemopath, a Current by any other definition, who should smell like the sea had smelled so distinctly of the earth, like the rich soil my wolf craved beneath my feet.

Soft lips pressed into the curve of my neck, the tip of his nose stroking gently towards my ear. “Because I was made for you,” Rhydian whispered as he buried his face in his favourite place.

He is more wolf than I am.

“Mogya,” he mumbled into my hair.

“What makes you think you deserve that title?” I said coyly, musing over how sweet the phrase sounded when he said it.

I breathed in sharply when Rhydian abruptly spun me around and lifted me onto the countertop. Hand cupping the back of my neck, he held me firm as he stared at my lips.

His hand slid from my neck around to my clavicle where he lightly drew a line down to the crimson shard that hung between my breasts. With the ease of an artist, he traced the runic whorls that inked my skin, his fingers gentle in their examination of the Sul that now marked my own body. Ghosting over the Lycoan rune Me’laina that claimed me as bound to him.

This is why , his actions said.

“My mistake. I thought one needed a ceremony to make it official,” I said in a shuddering breath as his lips kissed my chest.

“Should we make it official then?” He kissed me again, lightly sucking at the skin.

“And when would we have the time?” I asked jokingly, bringing his lips up to mine. He tasted of honey and spiced sugar.

He ate one of the pastries from the warmer.

I felt his hand slip back down to mine, then something warm was slid over my fourth finger. When I looked down to the hand that already bore my Deogn marriage band, the familiar sight of a steel blue metal collar was there in the form of a ring. The metal nearly identical except for one thing. Its scent.

“There’s an old Kensillan saying that says the gods tied a red thread to this finger and attached the other end to the person they were destined to be with.” Rhydian opened his hand revealing a second ring and floating between the two of them, tethering one to the other and only visible when the air around it shifted, was a thin red line.

“Emil had never worked with bio-organic tech before so it took him some time to break down the collar you gave him before he could send these. It’s why it’s taken me so long to ask you.” He then hesitated, his scent shifting to uncertainty.

“They are linked. Should one of us ever need to find the other, we need only follow the path of the thread. Once on, they cannot be removed. Not even with our deaths. I want you to be my wife Rieka, in any way you’ll have me. As your husband, your lover, your partner. To share your soul. I want to be the father of your son and any other little Brutes that decide to come our way. If you wish it, I would claim you as mine.”

Once upon a time, I would have had to beg him to show me how he felt. Now, everything I was, was entwined with this man. His every breath felt as though they were breathed by my lungs, my heart beat in union with his own. Effortlessly. We were as he said.

Made for one another.

I picked up the ring, and on the same hand that I’d tied him to me in the Deogn way, the leather string still knotted around his wrist, I threaded the ring over his finger. The tether connecting them, a dazzling scarlet pulsed with every beat of our hearts. Clasping my hand in his, Rhydian brought it to his lips and kissed it.

When I looked back up to his face, tears were trailing down his cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” I asked across our bond as I kissed one away.

“Love,” he replied when I kissed away the next. “Thank you for loving me.”

I moved to kiss away another and found his lips instead. Strong and steadfast, he kissed me until I’d forgotten my name and that there would be a tomorrow.

But there would be a tomorrow. And a day after that. Because that was Rhydian’s final condition. That he would be there, right beside me. Always.

The wolf and her bloodhound.