Chapter 1 Why Are You Wearing a Dress? #2
Being years away from presenting, his sense of smell wasn’t great. But as an omega, he could still pick up some things. He tried to pick through the damp smell of forest, the dry rot of trees, and the smell of dirt and hay coming off Peppercorn. Even his body odor.
He smelled fear.
“Jonen,” he called softly, looking over to see the smaller alpha had already noticed. Out of habit, he drew his knife. It would be useless against anything other than stubborn mushrooms, but it felt good to have in his hands.
He nudged his mare forward, reins draped over her neck so he could keep both hands free. Her movements were stiff and cautious, a far cry from their flight across the plains only a few hours ago. She was nervous, sensing the change in the atmosphere.
The smell grew in strength the farther north they traveled. As they drew closer, a new smell hit them, one both boys were intimately familiar with. Blood.
“Ridan,” Jonen hissed, his knife up and gripped securely. “We should go back. Get a hunting party.
Jonen was probably right. Not that Ridan would tell him. He wasn’t about to turn tail and run. Not as a Stone Blade, and not as the future chief. His mother might think he was too young for a proper weapon, but he would never turn his back because of fear.
Before them the trees seemed to thin, and the ground rose in a berm.
Dismounting, he moved forward without making a noise.
His father had taught him how to move across fallen leaves and thin twigs silently, and it was second nature to him now.
Knife up by his chest, he kept low, using his hands to ascend the crest of the berm.
When he got to the top he was hit with the concentrated smell—fear, blood, urine. The smell of killing. Looking down in the valley, he caught sight of what they called the Road.
Forbidden from coming this far outside of Stone Blade lands, he doubted there were many in the clan who had seen the Road with their own eyes.
The old folk say the Road used to come closer to the village, that people of the past would use it for trade, but when the walled city went up, the magic users destroyed it.
They wanted nothing to do with the savage, magicless Clansmen.
As far as he knew, the Road went from the city of Kaledonea to Brambleberry junction, then turned back on itself. No one from Kaledonea left their walls to travel this far south.
Or at least, he hadn’t thought they did.
“That’s a Kaledonean carriage.” Jonen’s words were nearly silent, carrying only as far as Ridan’s ear.
He couldn’t say if it was truly a Kaledonea carriage or not. Jonen was better with sigils than he was. But he did know that the men that had been guarding it were dead.
The carriage was on its side, dark wood smeared with dust and mud as the wheels spun uselessly.
The cart horse was standing a little way off, uncomfortable in its tangled harness.
Three gaunt men were looting the corpses of the guards, peeling off leather armor to find whatever personal possessions the men might have been holding.
“Clanless,” Ridan hissed.
Jonen’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Clanless were a real problem, often trying to sneak into clans under false names or pretenses, hoping they could outrun their past digressions.
A man with no clan had no honor, nothing to base his word upon.
The Clanless were less than the insects beneath them.
They were dingy and bedraggled. Life was hard without the support of a clan.
Their eyes met, the two boys agreeing without words. As one, they slid their knives into their mouths, clamping down on the hilt so they could use their hands to pull their slings loose.
Considered a child’s weapon, no Stone Blade could take up the bow unless they could hunt with a sling alone.
Jonen and Ridan had long since perfected the crude weapon, practicing under the strict supervision of his mother and Osmond.
While their aim with the bow was still uncertain, with the small sling, it was unbeatable.
“I’ve got the guy by the wheel.” Jonen selected a smooth river stone from one of his pockets, hefting it in his palm to test its weight before settling it between the flax wheat strings.
Ridan grunted his assent, pulling out his weapon.
He didn’t have a stone with him, having used his last one on the broken clay pots they set up for target practice.
But a moment of digging through the loose soil beneath him had him unearthing one.
It was a little bigger than he’d like, but he didn’t have to sling it far.
Jonen held up his fist, and Ridan nodded, beginning to count in his head.
Eyes trained on his target; he felt his heart rate slow. Blood thrummed under his skin. His fingers tingled. He could practically feel the muscles coiling and uncoiling as the stone left his sling, hear the whistling of air, and the solid thunk of earth meeting his target.
Just as Jonen lifted himself, Ridan was moving.
He took two steps to crest the little hill, leaving enough space between him and Jonen for his arm to move.
With his weight on his back foot, he stepped off, throwing his entire body into the throw.
The stone sailed from the sling, shooting through the air until it met its target.
They didn’t wait to see how true their aim was. Ridan bit down on his knife, feeling the leather crush between his teeth as he fell. Landing in a roll, he threw his entire weight into the third thief, tightening his arms around his neck so he could take him down. The man cried out, caught unawares.
He hit the ground with a thud. Ridan wrapped his elbow around the man’s neck before they stopped rolling.
With all his strength, he squeezed, ignoring the pain of nails raking into his arms. The thief made choking noises, spit dribbling out of his open mouth as he gasped for breath.
As the man began losing strength, he tried to swat at Ridan, arms flailing around his head.
Ridan just held tighter, pressing until the adult beneath him stopped moving.
With a grunt, he rolled away, spitting out his knife. He checked that all three thieves were down before pushing to his feet.
“What kind of idiot doesn’t set a lookout?” he examined the scratches down his arm. He kicked at the closest body—the man groaned.
“Lucky for us,” Jonen mumbled distractedly, looking at the carriage.
Ridan didn’t care for the carriage, too busy looking at the surrounding carnage. The thieves had pulled chests out, hacking through the ornate wood rather than dealing with the metal lock. Clothes, gold, and even shiny gems sprawled across the dusty road.
He nudged at a useless looking piece of clothing. With his toes, he lifted it, noticing how the sun streamed right through it.
“S’pose this is for?” he asked distastefully. “Wouldn’t even keep the sun off you.”
But Jonen wasn’t looking, he was staring at the carriage.
With the doors yanked off their hinges, the inside looked like a black hole.
His sling had been put away, but his knife was still in hand.
Head cocked, his curls fell over his face as he studied the interior as if he’d suddenly had SnapJaw sight and could see in the dark.
“Hey,” Ridan called for him. “Forget it. We’ll never get that clunky thing back home.”
The carriage was a loss. But the horse…
A big thing. Its coat was dirty, but the animal underneath was well made.
Good legs, and a strong back. Its eyes were rolling in its head, the smell of blood and death putting it on edge.
Now that Ridan was looking, he could see it was trapped in its harness, unable to flee.
With his knife, he began cutting and hacking at the straps, trying to keep what he could of the good leather.
Iylah’s horse was getting on in years and she’d been talking about finding a new one. This animal would be perfect for her small cart of medicine, trundling around at a leisurely pace. She could probably even reuse the harness if he cut carefully.
Crooning to the horse, he tried to calm him with a steady hand on his shoulder as he extricated his legs from the tangled straps.
“Ridan.” Jonen’s voice was tense. Ridan dropped the strap he was working on, turning just in time to see Jonen stumble back off the carriage where he’d perched to look inside.
“Th-there’s someone inside!” he cried out, eyes wide.
Just as he finished talking, a head popped out of the open carriage doors. Slender, pale fingers curled over the broken hinges as the person hoisted themselves up.
The first thing Ridan noticed was hair. There was so much of it! And it was unlike any hair he’d ever seen before. A mix of red and blonde. It was almost the same color as his pony.
Surprise or not, he did not know if this person was armed. “Get back!” Ridan shouted, flipping his knife so he could throw it. “I’ll pierce you through if you so much as make a move.”
Those slender fingers rose in the air, lifting high above the mess of hair.
Light eyes—so light Ridan couldn’t tell their color from this distance—peeked out from behind long bangs.
They were sunken in, framed by hollow cheeks and skin so translucent it looked like a poorly hatched egg.
Ridan could practically see the blue of veins pulsing under their skin.
“I am unarmed,” the person said, voice strangely accented.
Now that he spoke, Ridan could see masculine features. The man was young, perhaps even close to their age. Behind his mass of hair, he looked thin. Face sullen and angular.
Jonen managed to get his wits about him, sheathing his knife. He climbed back aboard the tipped over carriage, offering a dirty, calloused hand. “Here, let me help you out. Are you hurt?”
The boy shook his head, giving a tentative hand to Jonen.
He helped him out of the carriage, struggling with the sheer volume of the man’s clothing.
He was wearing some kind of dress. The thing was obscene, worse than the flimsy garment Ridan had kicked at a few moments ago.
There were layers to it, and it wasn’t even cold!
The thing was rigid against the man’s chest and up his neck. It must be stifling.
Standing on solid ground, his curious eyes flicked around the bodies. He seemed to be in shock, hands curled up against his chest, fingers twitching.
“My name is Jonen Bright Fur,” Jonen introduced himself, flashing a reassuring smile.
“Corric,” the man said, turning his attention back to the alpha beside him. “Corric Tylock.”
Jonen shared a look with Ridan. They knew that name.
“What the hell are you doing so far from Kaledonea?” Ridan asked sharply. “The Tylocks don’t leave the walls. Not when you have soldiers to do it for you.”
“Ridan!”
“I was betrothed to a man named Ellaro Bargrave. He lives with his men on the Torn Coast.”
Betrothed? Ridan didn’t need to smell this omega to confirm he hadn’t presented yet. What kind of person promises a child in marriage?
Ridan tried to cover his curiosity by crossing his arms. “You’re a long way from the coast.” He turned back to the horse he’d been trying to free, working it loose.
Jonen seemed to make it his mission to make this weird kid comfortable, fussing over him to see if he was injured and if he needed any help with his skirts.
Despite that, Ridan could feel Corric’s eyes on him.
They bore into his back, cataloging his every move.
He felt his shoulders stiffen under the scrutiny.
When he finally got the horse free, he jerked the reins loose, stroking the horse's muzzle until his eyes softened.
“You’re an omega.”
Ridan made a face. “Obviously.”
His quick answer seemed to surprise Corric. He took a step forward, almost like he needed to touch Ridan to believe him.
“B-but you’re dressed like…” his eyes dropped to Ridan’s bare chest, his thick belt, and loose pants. They lingered on his bare feet.
“I’m not wearing that.” He jerked his chin at the monstrosity Corric was wearing. “Why are you wearing it?”
“Ridan!” Jonen chastised him. “Don’t be mean. Maybe he likes it.”
He raised a pale brow at Corric, stepping closer so he could poke at one of the lacey bits hanging off. “Well? Do you?”
Nearly white eyes widened at Ridan, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. This close, he could see that Corric was a pretty man. His lashes were long, lips plump and quivering. Some alpha would spill blood for him when he’d presented.
“I…I’ve never had a choice,” Corric admitted, eyes locked on Ridan. “All omegas wear dresses.”
“Dumb,” Ridan grumbled, stepping away from the petite omega. “How do you even ride?”
“I’ve never been allowed near a horse.”
Jonen spluttered at that, catching himself when a blush colored Corric’s cheeks rosy. Ridan was done with the conversation. Turning on his heel he whistled for Peppercorn. A moment later, the two ponies picked their way down the packed dirt, weeds hanging from the corner of their mouths.
Ridan introduced the new gelding to Peppercorn; she pinned her ears at the strange horse but made no more fuss. He smiled as he stroked her neck, jumping up to her back with ease. He settled, getting the new horse close enough he could pony him back to the village.
Jonen had his hand on Brownie’s neck as he spoke to Corric. “We can probably take you to Brambleberry Junction. There’s an inn there. You can stay there until your family can get you.”
“Or we can leave you here,” Ridan called back, a wicked smile.
Jonen ignored him. “It’s your choice.”
Corric looked between them. After a moment, he lowered his hands, his face solemn. “Can I go with you?”