Chapter 6
Rykr
A sharp smell woke me from a deep, unsated slumber. My arms fought against a cool bedsheet, and something warm and damp against my eyelids. A cloth. I flung it away, jerking back, and squinted.
Daylight filtered through the seams of a small, dimly-lit tent, its walls made of patched, weatherworn canvas fluttering in the wind.
A wood stove glowed in one corner, filling the air with the scent of smoke.
The pillow beside mine on the bedroll had a blanket neatly folded on top, and a low wooden table nearby held an assortment of jars, pitchers, and strange tools.
The floor was layered with rough furs smelling of damp earth, and faint voices stirred outside, muffled by the thick tent walls.
A young woman sat beside me, holding a jar close to my nostrils.
Smelling salts?
No, something else. Strong enough to rouse me, but unfamiliar.
The woman I recognized. I’d encountered her in the Dreadwood …
The wolf-like creature.
I searched for my sword.
She lowered the jar, her gaze intense. “How do you feel?”
Dark, long lashes fringed her large, striking eyes—light brown, pupils rimmed with green and blue … eerily reminiscent of my family’s lineage.
I pushed aside my fascination, keeping my expression neutral. “Where’s my sword?”
Amusement sparkled in her eyes. “Really? That’s your first—”
“Where am I?” I sat up despite the ache in my limbs, the effort sending a wave of dizziness through me. My body screamed for rest, but something raw and restless simmered under my skin. My hunger was sharp, nearly unbearable.
She leaned back, studying me. “You’re in the Viori territory. My tribe’s encampment.”
Viori. The word stirred my rage. Outlaws. Rebels. Enemies of Lirien. They claimed to stand against the Bloodbinding, but their cause had long since rotted into raids and slaughter, leaving border villages burned, innocents dead.
And now I was their prisoner.
My expression remained impassive, though my pulse quickened.
She set a cool hand on my forehead. “Your fever broke this morning. I didn’t want to risk waking you before then.”
My lips were raw, my mouth parched. “How long have I been here?”
“Three days. I’ve been trying to heal you. The vuk poisoned you when it bit you—in addition to the wounds it gave you.”
The vuk. The memory rushed back—the beast’s massive jaws clamping down, the searing pain as its teeth sank into flesh.
I shouldn’t have survived.
I stared at her. “Why?”
Her brows knit together, confusion flashing across her face. “Why what?”
“Why save me? Your kind kills Liriens on sight.”
Something flickered in her expression—guilt, maybe. “Because you saved me first.”
She tucked her feet beneath her and settled back more comfortably. When I’d first come across her, I’d noticed she was small and lithe, but there hadn’t been time to really look at her.
She was striking. My nursemaids had raised me on stories of wretched, hideous forest dwellers, but I’d seen enough Viori women to know those tales were lies. The ones I’d encountered in battle were as rugged as their male companions—short hair, faces painted for war.
She wore a fur-lined leather vest over her shirt, the sleeves cut to expose her shoulders.
A complex tattoo of knots and runes wound from her left wrist to her elbow.
A tanned complexion spoke of days outside, and her dark brown hair was plaited in a long braid over her shoulder, streaked with golden blond I hadn’t noticed during our encounter before.
Nor had I taken in the curves of full breasts, or the hint of cleavage above the lacing of her vest.
She’d noticed my appraisal and quirked a brow. “You have a name, Lirien?”
Her composure unnerved me. I wanted to see her as a threat, a captor, but the way her gaze softened when she looked at me made it difficult to hold on to my anger. She was beautiful, yes, but it was more than that. She was steady, utterly unafraid of me.
“Rykr West … haven.” Idiot. I shouldn’t use that name right now. Damn breasts, distracting. “You?”
“Seren.” She leaned over to a squat table near the bedroll and poured water from a clay pitcher into a cup. “Drink this.”
I hesitated.
She rolled her eyes. “If I was going to kill you, I would have done it by now.”
Fair point.
I brought the cup to my lips, the cool relief of water welcome. Downing it in a few gulps, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
What the fuck?
Dark hair covered my forearm. I hurled the cup across the tent, where it landed with a dull thump against the canvas.
I shot up, only to realize I was completely naked. Swearing out of fury rather than modesty, I yanked the blanket around my waist, then glanced at my arms and legs.
The hair on my body had turned dark. All of it.
Seren watched me cautiously as she stood. If she thought I didn’t notice her gripping a dagger in the folds of her cloak, she was a fool.
“What in Nyxva did you do to me?” My voice cracked, betraying the fear I tried to suppress. This isn’t normal. This isn’t my body.
Before she could respond, the tent flapped open. A hulking man stepped inside and grabbed me by the shoulders, shoving me backward. He was young, but taller than me by several inches, which was saying something. And broad. An ox of a man with short, red hair.
“She saved your life,” he snapped, grey eyes flashing. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you the rules of the Dreadwood?”
Seren stepped between us, cutting him off with a hard look. “That’s enough. I don’t need your protection, Ciaran.” Her tone brooked no argument. “I made the decision to save him, and I’ll handle the consequences.”
Ciaran’s expression made things clearer. He was here to protect her—cared about her. Maybe more than that.
Seren flicked her calm gaze back at me. “I had to use blood magic to save you. Your hair changed because of it. Magic like this always leaves its mark.”
Seren moved a few paces away, lifting a small, hazy mirror. She held it up for me to see.
My hair was dark.
I snatched the mirror from her, barely recognizing my reflection. My face was the same, though the scruff of my jaw was as dark as my hair. A long, thin scar with puncture points marred the right side of my neck, healing unusually fast, given what had happened.
A large tattoo had formed over the scar, spreading from the wound on my neck over my right shoulder onto my chest, an intricate design of runes and knots …
just like the one on her left arm. Combined with the Seal between my shoulder blades and on the back of my neck, I now had black and crimson tattoos swathing most of my upper right torso.
The dark hair and tattoo disgusted me, not because of how they looked, but because of how I felt—like a stranger in my own skin. Something about me, something deep and irretrievable, was missing. A presence hummed in my mind that I couldn’t decipher, pressing into my thoughts.
“I want to know exactly what happened. Right now.”
“The vuk attacked and somehow you killed it.” Seren’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “I’ve never seen a vuk attack. Or heard of anyone killing one successfully. They’re immortal. Impossible to kill.”
“What happened then?”
Ciaran took a menacing step closer. “Then she should have let you die. Or killed you. The Viori code forbids us from allowing Liriens in the forest to live, except the first day of the Harvest Moon, if they seek refuge.”
“But the first day of the Harvest Moon is approaching. Wouldn’t I be admitted to your people by your own laws?”
“The first day only. Anyone who comes outside that time must be killed.”
“So, you’re just murderers?” I challenged his glare. “You kill all Liriens, regardless of the threat they pose?”
“I can handle myself, Ciaran,” Seren said firmly, then stepped between us, her face darkening at me.
“If you’re done with your tantrum, I’ll answer your questions.
Before you throw any more accusations, though, you might want to remember that I chose to save you, even at the risk of breaking the code.
You never should have been in the Dreadwood to begin with. ”
Dalric. Thorne.
What had happened to my friends?
I had no idea if they were dead or alive. Or how to help them.
“The Dreadwood belongs to Lirien. My reasons for being there aren’t your concern,” I snapped. “Now tell me what the fuck you did to me, and why—if it was your duty—you didn’t let me die?”
Seren sheathed her dagger. “Because in my family, a debt of a life is always paid with a life.”
I studied her. “Your family is from Pendara.”
She nodded.
Somehow, that comforted me slightly.
“Am I your prisoner then?”
Seren turned toward Ciaran. “I need a few minutes alone with him.”
The ox didn’t take his eyes off me. “If he causes trouble—”
“He won’t.” Her voice held quiet authority. “Stay outside. I’ll call for you if I need you.”
His jaw tightened, but he obeyed, retreating with a sharp glance my way. “I’ll be close.”
As the tent flap fell shut, I crossed my arms. “Your lover, I take it?”
“Ciaran is a friend. Nothing more.” Seren frowned.
I doubted he saw her that way.
I sat on the only chair, which groaned under my weight. Shifting the blanket over my lap, I felt the weight of her analytical gaze, studying me. She’d been calm and confident up until now, but her demeanor shifted, her eyes darting away from mine.
Seren pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re not my prisoner. But when I brought you back, the leader of our tribe wanted to execute you.” She extended her wrist, displaying her tattoo. “I took a blood oath in order to claim you as Viori.”
“So … blood magic?” Even the words made my gut clench. I’d been subject to it before, with the Seal. I arched a wry brow. “Are you a sorceress?”
She shook her head.
“Priestess?”
“I’m Unbound, born with spellcraft gifts. But my mother is an Ibarran priestess.”
“What kind of blood oath?” If it had changed my appearance, it had to be powerful. And why had that stopped the Viori from executing me?
“The Oath of Bryndis.”