Chapter 12 The Festival #2
It was Brune who saved his life. Brune, who enjoyed learning how to do laundry. Brune, who found him at his lowest and didn’t ask. He didn’t put the burden on Ridan to answer, to tell him what he needed. He just gave. Brune, who took his hand and grieved with him.
Brune, who should be a stranger, but has become such a big part of Ridan’s life he could scarcely remember a time without him.
Still staring, Ridan reached down and touched the small lump in his pocket. His fingers brushed over it, like they’d done a thousand times before, and he cursed himself for being such a coward.
Osmond stiffened as Niklas stepped into the light of the fire. He had his bow on his back, confusion crossing his features as he took in the scene in front of him.
“What’s this?” he asked quietly.
With another deep breath, Osmond reached for a package at his feet, bringing it with him as he approached Niklas. It was lumpy, hastily wrapped in what looked like rabbit pelts.
The beta looked at it questioningly, hands still until Osmond prodded at him.
Niklas took the gift, pulling at the cords holding it together.
The pelts dropped away to reveal a magnificent bow.
The wood was stained so dark, in the firelight it nearly looked purple.
A craftsman had painstakingly carved designs into the shaft, the swirls and filigree a lighter shade of the wood. It shone with lacquer; string tight.
Furs dropped to the ground, completely forgotten. Niklas stared at the bow, trembling fingers running over its curves. Eyes shining, he tore his gaze from the bow and looked at Osmond.
“I don’t understand.”
Osmond took his hand, holding it between his calloused fingers.
“I agonized over this bow for weeks,” he admitted sheepishly.
“I spent my nights huddled over the fire, trying to get it just right.” He huffed, a smile lighting up his face.
“But then I realized…it was impossible. Because I’ve seen perfection, and it can’t be recreated. ”
Niklas was speechless, chinks pink, mouth opening and closing, but words wouldn’t come.
“I can’t recreate the way the sun shines on your hair.
The way your ears turn pink when you’re embarrassed.
The way your shoulders flex when you pull the string.
Or the gentle way you hold my sister’s hand.
And I would be a fool to try.” Osmond brought Niklas’s fingers to his lips, kissing the back of his knuckles.
He closed his eyes, breathing in his scent.
From this far, Ridan couldn’t smell Osmond’s scent, but he suspected it would be tinged with anxiety and hope.
“So, Niklas, would you stand by my side? Allow me to bask in your perfection so that a little of it may rub off on me?”
Tears slipped down Niklas’s cheeks. His lips were trembling as he looked into Osmond’s eyes. What he saw there, Ridan couldn’t say, but it had him nodding quickly.
With a chuff, Osmond dragged him into a hug, picking him up and twirling a spluttering Niklas around the fire. Brune and Henroen whooped, grins on their faces so wide the fire sparkled off their teeth and their eyes disappeared under the force of it.
Ridan found himself smiling, too. Dropping back against the tent, he rested his head on the crate.
He didn’t need to see to know what was happening—poor Niklas was probably red as a sunset, eyes watering as Osmond clung to him.
Brune and Henroen were no doubt celebrating with them.
At some point, Henroen would pick them all up and shake them.
He was happy for them. Their joy was infectious, and it was a reprieve from the sadness he’d been feeling.
Losing his mother had been a cruel blow, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting it.
To pick up a blade is to know you may meet your fate at the end of one.
His mother knew that better than anyone.
Ridan allowed himself to grieve in the mountains, but the moment his feet kicked Stone Blade dust, he locked it away.
The clan didn’t need Ridan, grieving son. They needed Ridan, Chief of the Stone Blade. And that’s who he would give them.
He ignored the ache. Kept his eyes down to avoid anyone seeing the pain in them when he looked at his mother’s horse, or her weapon hanging in the spot his father’s sword used to be. She lingered for longer than Iylah thought she would, stubborn even in death.
But this? This happiness seemed to warm him like a fire after a long winter’s day. Slowly but surely, the thaw hurting a little as blood rushed back to frozen limbs, followed by sweet relief.
“You could have joined us, you know?”
Ridan’s eyes snapped open. Brune was hanging over the crate, leaning on his crossed arms as he looked down at him. Joy was still clinging to the curl of his lips and the twinkle in his eyes.
“How did you know I was here?”
Brune waggled his eyebrows. “You’ve been here the whole time,” he said, pushing himself off the crate to drop his shield and sit beside Ridan.
Bristling, he crossed his arms. “You smelled me.”
“Maybe,” Brune drawled, watching Ridan out of the corner of his eyes. “Or maybe I just have a Ridan sense.”
He punched him in the arm—not as hard as he’d hit Jonen—but he fell, grabbing his arm like it was broken, groaning in mock pain.
Ridan ignored him, looking away so the idiot wouldn’t see him smiling. He refused to look back at him until he pulled himself back up, body turned so he could look at Ridan head on.
“Why didn’t you come out?”
He shook his head. “Why would I?”
“Because it was fun,” Brune suggested. “Would have been better with you.”
Cheeks flushing, he wrinkled his nose at the notion. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Brune shrugged. He didn’t feel the need to justify himself. Ridan’s hand dropped back to the lump in his pocket.
“Maybe I was afraid.”
“You?” a small eyebrow rose to his hairline. “You’re not afraid of anything.”
I’m terrified of you.
But Ridan couldn’t tell him that. There were a lot of things he couldn’t tell him, things he wouldn’t even admit to himself. Tightening his arms over his chest, he grumbled.
“Of course not,” he snapped. “I was testing you.”
Brune’s eyes were bright with mirth, but he nodded sagely. “Of course.”
There it was again: the urge to purr. To nuzzle under Brune’s jaw and breathe in his rocky scent straight from the source. Maybe even mark him with his own sweet pepper scent, feel his thick fingers curling through his hair when he did it, that heavy alpha rumble shaking his chest.
Ridan had never felt that way before. He wasn’t a fool—he knew what it meant.
That there was a part of him who thought of Brune as more than just another alpha.
And in another time, if he was another omega, he might pursue it.
Ridan had nothing to give Brune. He couldn’t even give himself.
He didn’t know how. Ridan had only ever loved his pack, and they were given to him from birth.
There was no trying, no prying himself open to look at all his emotionally stunted parts.
With what little he had left; he had been raised to give to the clan.
And Brune deserved so much more. Ridan was just…using him. A flower turning towards the sun to soak up its rays without giving it anything in return.
Gritting his teeth, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small leather bag. With a grunt, he slapped it to Brune’s chest.
“Wha—?” he asked, scrambling to catch the palm sized bag before it fell to the ground. Lifting it so he could see it better, he tried to get Ridan’s attention, but he was resolutely staring at the ground between his legs.
Giving up, Brune pulled the little strings and let the necklace fall out into his hand. It took him a moment to see it in the gloom, but when he did, Brune gasped.
“The Snap Jaw’s teeth?”
Ridan hummed, finally looking down at the necklace pooled in Brune’s meaty fist. He’d tanned and conditioned the leather string himself, so it would be strong and soft against Brune’s neck.
The teeth were hung with the largest in the middle, separated by glossy red beads that he thought would look good against Brune’s skin.
It was a simple thing, but it was the best he could do. He was no artisan. But you couldn’t tell by the way Brune was gaping down at the piece of jewelry. He acted as if it was some treasure.
“When did you…? I thought I traded all the teeth.”
“You did,” Ridan grumbled. “These are the ones you knocked out with the hammer.”
He jerked his head up, eyes finding Ridan’s in the dark. “You picked them up?”
“It wasn’t hard,” he bristled, uncomfortable with the look Brune was giving him. It made his heart beat harder in his chest and his fingers itch to do something. Like touch him.
Chewing on his lower lip, Brune held it out to him. “Will you put it on for me?”
“What, are your arms broken? Do it yourself!” he objected, heart about to slam right out from between his ribs.
“Please, Ridan?”
If asked, Ridan would say it was a fit of some sorts. Probably some kind of latent Kaledonean magic clouding his senses. Ridan got up on his knees, taking the necklace from Brune and sliding it over his head, listening to the beads clink against the teeth as they settled on his collar bones.
Brune snagged one of his hands, squeezing it quickly before letting Ridan jerk it back. He held it to his chest, resisting the urge to check and see if some of Brune’s scent lingered.
“Thank you.” His smile was blinding.
“It’s not—I j-just didn’t want you embarrassing the clan with a bare neck at the festival,” he groused, clinging to the lie he told himself from the moment he started meticulously drilling holes into the teeth.
Scrambling to his feet, Ridan dusted off his pants and tried to scrounge up what was left of his dignity. Brune joined him, effortlessly swinging the shield onto his back.
“Can I walk you back?”
“I know the way, Foreigner.”
“But it’s dark,” Brune pointed out. “You might trip.”
“I’m not going to trip!”