Chapter 23 King Krait
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
KING KRAIT
Ridan scented the jackrabbit fur a final time before wrapping it in leather. It was a fine fur. Thick and cream in color. Big, too. Ridan had hunted the rabbit himself. It pained him to part with such a nice piece, but it was for the best.
The fur was destined for the Torn Cove. It wasn’t a grand gift, but what did he give to the chief who had domain over mines full of gems? Areine was many things, but she would appreciate a good practical gift. And she’d recognize it for what it was.
More than a gift, it was a gentle reminder of what they’d spoken of at the festival. Ridan needed help, and he knew it came with a price.
He handed off the fur to the messenger. She was a young warrior with bronze skin and a leggy black mare. Gustall trained her personally. She took the bundle and stuffed it into her small saddle bag. Turning back to face him, she knuckled her chest in deference.
“I won’t fail you, Chief.”
“Of course not,” he huffed imperiously. “You’re Stone Blade. We don’t know the meaning of failure.”
She grinned, white teeth flashing in the dawn light before mounting. Ridan watching until she was a speck on the horizon before turning back to his tent.
Since Corric’s attack two days ago, he’d been busy preparing for the inevitable. Previously, he’d been preparing for an attack from Kaldonea. They thought Krait Tylock would be coming to free Sinestrus—they had no idea Sinestrus might be with him.
In fact, they had no idea what Sinestrus was doing at all. Buzzard believed he needed to find a body, but how hard could that be? Couldn’t the magician simply use one of his many sycophants? Or thrall someone into giving him their body.
There was so much he didn’t, couldn’t, understand. Magic was as foreign to him as the lands beyond the sea. Even Buzzard, who was born from the stuff, could not give him the answers he needs to succeed.
What Ridan does know is that, body or not, Sinestrus posed a genuine threat.
With that in mind, he told his people to ready themselves to leave.
They were horrified to learn that not only had magic been performed in their clan, but that it was merely a precursor for what was to come. Despite this, they still trusted him.
“Is it wise to send our people so far without confirmation Strong Leg will take them?” Gustall asked tiredly.
“We don’t have a choice,” he answered. “Sinestrus has shown his hand. Which means he either has nothing left to play, or everything. Either way, he won’t wait, and I want our people as far from battle as possible.”
Gustall hummed. His attention was on Osmond and Niklas.
The couple was getting Tia ready. The child was petulant, stomping her foot and demanding to stay with them.
Osmond smiled at her antics, tugging her cloak on a little tighter before hugging her.
What he said was inaudible, but it seemed to placate the child.
She hugged both Niklas and Osmond tight before following Gustall’s mate towards the horses.
Ridan knew his advisors were in disagreement. Henroen was on board. He was always ready to strike against Kaldonea. Gustall preached caution. He wasn’t sold on any of it. Believing Ridan was acting on information that could not be trusted.
He was right.
If you told Ridan that he would go to war based on magic visions, he’d have sneered in your face.
Until you told him it was Corric who had seen them. For whatever could be said about magic, thralls, and snarky birdmen with no respect, he trusted his packmate. Not necessarily the words he said, or even the things he said he saw. Eyes couldn’t be trusted. But the fear he felt? That was real.
Corric had been charged by beasts. He’d fought warriors twice his size, and he’d survived living under Krait Tylock. Corric did not scare easily.
“How is Corric?” Gustall asked.
Ridan wished he hadn’t.
Corric hadn’t left the nest. He spent the last two days alternatively curled up in a ball or clinging to Jonen, breathing in his scent.
Schok and Buzzard had stayed with him, irritatingly quiet and far too close to Ridan’s nest for his comfort.
For Corric’s sake, he allowed it. Besides, Schok was the only one who could melt Corric’s ice.
It wasn’t a conscious thing, but when Corric had any sort of heightened emotion, he iced. Sometimes it was just the barest hint of frost across his palm. Other times, it shot out in huge icicles, deadly and sharp.
The size didn’t seem to matter. Just seeing the ice had Corric burying his head in shame. Jonen suggested trying to practice with it, to gain some kind of control over his magical abilities.
Corric had given him a look so severe, Ridan thought stabbing Jonen might have been kinder.
He wanted nothing to do with magic and refused to accept that he had any kind of ability at all. Despite all of that, he was getting better. At least he stopped asking Ridan to kill him.
“He’ll be fine,” Ridan said because he would be. He would make sure of it.
Without waiting for Gustall’s answer, he left in search of Brune. He didn’t particularly need him, at least not for anything specific. He just wanted to see him.
And wasn’t that new? Ridan had never, in his life, believed that what he wanted should supersede what he needed.
What the clan needed. But Brune was different.
When so much of Ridan’s life was filled with have to and needs.
Brune was a want. A treat at the end of a meal.
A nap under a shade tree in the middle of summer.
A pretty flower in the middle of a line of crops.
Someone Ridan didn’t need to survive, but chose to have in his life.
He found Brune with Corric and Jonen. Somehow, the tall alpha had cajoled Corric out of the tent and to the stables. They were petting his new horse, the one Corric had yet to name, and laughing. Corric was laughing.
Because of anyone, of course, Brune knew Corric was happiest with his horses. He knew Ridan needed to get angry, and he knew that being reminded of what his alpha went through for a courting gift would be the thing that reminded Corric who he was.
Brune was happiness. Even when he was thrust into this new life, struggling with rules and people he didn’t know, he found joy in the simplest things. In washing his clothes or discovering that snakes didn’t have legs.
Just seeing him, lips curled and teeth on display, hay in his hair and a bandage on his arm from where Ridan bit him, was enough to wash Ridan free of his burdens.
As long as his eyes were on Brune, the weight of his responsibilities abated.
They weren’t gone completely, because Ridan would never be free of them, but they were lessened.
With Brune at his side, Ridan believed—in himself, in his clan, and in victory. Brune was a shining of example of why they couldn’t lose.
Limbs heavy with exhaustion, but heart light, Ridan walked up to Brune. Without saying a word to his packmates, he grabbed the alpha by the wrist and dragged him to the other end of the barn. Before Brune could question him, he spun him around and dropped them both into a pile of hay.
Brune laughed as he fell, wrinkling his nose when the hay tickled him. Ridan slipped his hand off his wrist and threaded their fingers together.
“You made Corric smile.”
“I didn’t do anything except get him outside,” Brune protested. “Jonen has been the one to—”
“You made him smile when no one else could,” Ridan repeated.
“You gave Jonen the confidence to court Corric. You stood with Osmond so he could court Niklas on his terms. You freed Buzzard from his chains.” Ridan wiggled closer to Brune, close enough he could smell him over the heady scent of hay and horse.
“And you saved me. In more ways than one.”
Brune shook his head. “Ridan, those things were just…I wasn’t trying to do anything. I was just…”
“Being you?” Ridan teased, inching closer so he could nuzzle against Brune’s jaw. “Please don’t stop.”
Ridan heard Brune sigh in contentment, throwing an arm around him and tugging him close.
The hay was uncomfortable. It itched, stuck into his skin, and somehow got into his pants.
Yet Ridan had never been happier. Leaning back, he reached up to card his fingers through his hair. He pulled Brune’s lips to his.
This time, Ridan let himself purr as loud as he wanted.
He couldn’t breathe.
A searing pain choked off his lungs. They couldn’t expand. Struggling, he tried to throw himself back, only to land with a hard thud on his back. The pressure on his chest eased, and he inhaled greedily, only to have his throat burn.
Noxious smoke filled his chest, cutting like blades as he gagged. Clawing at his chest, he caught a sliver of light. It came with warmth. Blinking through tears, he finally managed to get his bearings.
It wasn’t light. It was flames.
With a whoosh, it was like someone had lifted his head from underwater and he could hear again. Breaking wood and the distinct sound of crackling fire.
“—idan!”
Brune was at his side, face worried and covered in soot. Blood trickled down his face from a cut hidden in his hair. He grabbed Ridan roughly, looking him over.
“Are you hurt?”
Ridan didn’t know. Everything was spinning. Shakily, he reached out and grabbed Brune. The contact seemed to steady him.
“What happened?” he shouted. His voice sounded far away.
“We’re under attack! Can you get up?” Brune’s eyes were wide, bright in the smoky light.
His words were like a slap to the face, and the fog in his mind cleared. Using Brune, he pulled himself to his feet and took stock.
They were in the stables. Or what was left of the stables. Half the roof had caved in, and fire licked across the exposed beams. Smoke was quickly filling the space, sucking up any light the flames might have given them.