Chapter 17
Soren still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed it, nor what convinced her in the end; nevertheless, sitting with Maeve before the fire and eating a simple, hearty midnight meal fed both his body and soul.
As they tucked into their buttered toast topped with salted pork and apple jam, Soren decided it didn’t need thinking about, only savoring.
There were too many other things to notice and admire.
He couldn’t say why exactly, but the sight of Maeve curled up in his rocking chair, a blanket wrapped around her and one of her small feet poking out, was perhaps the most precious thing he’d ever seen.
The small crescents of her pink nails gleamed dully in the firelight, the shadows playing off the hollow of her shapely ankle.
He could catch just a glimpse of her lower calf and the hem of her shift before it all disappeared beneath the blanket, leaving him wanting more.
Soren tried to busy himself with eating, and while the sweet and salty meal did please his tongue, he found he’d rather be feasting on her again.
Ibás, there was nothing quite like the taste of her.
If she allowed it, he’d happily spend the rest of the night lapping between her legs.
Even more than he craved her touch on his greedy cock, he wanted to feel her come around his tongue again.
He hoped she didn’t mind his staring—he didn’t think he was capable of looking anywhere else. It was like the focus he had when hunting, all senses narrowing to a single point. A similar rush of excitement and determination heated his blood, and his turuk was thrilled with their pretty prey.
His turuk had been insufferable since she’d told him she liked what he did. That his actions were not only welcome but desired.
That she came to him demanding more…it gave Soren the dangerous hope that maybe he did have something to offer a mate. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Dangerous, dangerous thoughts, those.
His turuk, of course, disagreed. What could be more natural than pleasing our mate? it wanted to know.
Well…nothing. He’d no argument for that.
Exactly.
Smug bastard.
After finishing his meal, Soren reheated cider for them over the fire, pouring her a steaming mug as she ate the last bites of her supper.
Seeing her curled up, comfortable, safe, and fed, warmed him more than the cider.
Caring for a mate was a calling for most mantii males, and it fulfilled Soren in a way he’d never felt.
Dangerous. A man could get used to it.
Feeling so…happy, so good, didn’t come naturally to Soren.
He feared at any moment it would end, and he’d be worse off for having had it at all.
Wasn’t that why he’d forgone it in the first place?
This was a tangled knot he found himself in now, one he didn’t know how to unravel or whether he wanted to at all.
Surely the end of it would bring only heartache—so best to enjoy what he could while he could.
Taking a sip from her cider, Maeve hummed with delight. Soren took the sound into his memory greedily, wanting to remember it always.
“You’ve traveled a long way to be here, yes?” she asked softly. “Will you tell me about it?”
“About our travels?” Curious—why would she want to know?
Maeve nodded. “What’s your favorite thing you’ve seen so far?”
Soren blinked, surprised by the question. “I…” He’d never really thought about it that way. They’d been settled in the Darrowlands for over two years now, and honestly, much of their journey here had been unremarkable. A lot of walking. Teaching Kiri and exercising his weak leg.
She looked at him so expectantly, though, and Soren didn’t want to disappoint her. He cast his mind back, remembering those years of travel. There hadn’t been just one remarkable thing but many, and when he told her this, she insisted she wanted to hear about everything.
Set an even harder task, Soren supposed the only thing to do was as she said. Tell her everything.
There were many storms, he said, storms along the southern coast that ripped rocks from the cliffs and swallowed whole beaches.
It was no wonder the Droplets, a set of islands where many of the dragons lived, were so pitted and stark.
They had traveled along the coast for about a year, fishing sometimes.
There was one place, a windy cliff that overlooked the sea, where the afternoon wind was so strong, it could lift even a human man without wings. They helped Kiri learn to fly there.
Another year they spent wandering the great southern lands, full of tribes of humans, mantii, harpies, sirens, and even a few outposts of dragons.
The Irynian Delta, with its lush grasslands and towering obelisks, had been particularly impressive.
But, everywhere they went, the presence of Pyrrossi soldiers kept them moving.
As large and diverse as the southlands were, many tribes had been conquered and claimed by the Pyrros’s vast army.
Now called the Conquered Confederation, the southland tribes had been too disparate to ultimately resist.
Ultimately, Balar decided to leave the Pyrrossi pall, and they followed the rivers upstream.
To the north, in the mountains that bisected the Pyrrossi heartland, they’d seen the great volcano Lupatian spitting fire.
Pyrrossi legend said that Lupatian had created their continent, and as his first people and chosen followers, the Pyrrossi were inheritors of his lands.
The whole area was a black, barren landscape that rumbled underfoot and smelled of sulfur and ash.
Along the borders of orcish territory, they’d seen canyons deeper than a mountain was tall, so deep, fog collected along its floor far, far below.
The orcs along these borderlands were secretive, sometimes hostile, and so they never tarried long.
They eventually found a mighty river they now knew was the Southern Shanago River, and followed it, journeying through the Griegen Mountains, the Gray Knolls, and finally into Eirea.
“Your land is rich in lakes,” said Soren. “We thought for a time that we must have found the Intersea, if not the great ocean they say lies in the north.”
It was in a larger town, a place called Briggan, where they heard of somewhere welcome to otherly folk looking to settle. By then, Kiri was no longer so small, and all of them had grown weary of travel.
“It was time to plant our spears and make a new home.” That’s what Balar had said.
A sweet smile touched Maeve’s lips as his words came to a close. He’d been talking for a long while now, far longer than he was used to, and he worried he’d bored her.
It was a relief, then, when her smile widened and she said, “That sounds like an adventure.”
He didn’t know what else to do but shrug. “We knew no other way but forward.”
She seemed to like that, nodding enthusiastically. “I want to see amazing things, too. Not spend my whole life in one place.” Wistfulness touched her expression. “You’re lucky to have seen all that.”
Was this why she planned to leave? To seek her fortune?
He supposed it wasn’t so strange; many harbored a wanderlust that could only be satisfied by adventure and newness.
Soren thought there was nothing better than a stable home, but then, he’d had his adventure already.
He couldn’t begrudge someone else theirs, certainly not Maeve.
She was still so young, so vibrant. There was a world of things to see, people to meet. And all of them would be the lucky ones to have met her.
The thought was bittersweet, and so Soren kept it to himself. Instead, he said, “It is the way for mantii men sometimes, to have to leave their pride. Barzi, we call it.”
Her smile slowly fell, and Soren held his breath as he watched her attention focus on the wicked scars across his face. He knew before she said anything what she would ask next.
“Why did you have to leave?”
Soren gritted his back teeth, casting his troubled gaze into the fire.
Kud, he didn’t want to tell her. He couldn’t be sure what all Kiri might’ve told her, nor what she may have heard from someone else, but he doubted she knew the whole truth.
Soren didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes.
Perhaps this will end whatever we have. He didn’t want that, but it was likely better to get it over with, right?
“I was exiled,” he admitted through stiff lips.
“Exiled?” she murmured.
Soren nodded once, unable to bear looking at her and seeing her disgust.
Her touch, then, was a surprise. Gentle fingertips came to rest on his face, just at the inception of his scars.
Those cool, slender fingers traced the white scars that stood starkly against his tawny fur.
He couldn’t help shuddering at her touch, and before she could finish running her fingers down the lines that his erēz had made, Soren clutched her hand to his cheek.
“How could that be?” she asked, sounding…outraged?
Soren dared to glance up. Indeed, he found her frowning, but her anger didn’t seem to be at him. Rather…dare he hope…for him?
“There was a fire. I was blamed for it.”
“What? But was it even your fault?”
“No.” He wouldn’t say more. It no longer truly mattered whose fault it was, and Kiri didn’t deserve the burden of it.
“Then how could they do that to you? Was there a trial?”
Her genuine indignation made him happy and ache at the same time. He didn’t deserve her outrage, but he was glad to have it nevertheless.
“That’s not how it is for mantii. The word of the erēz is final.”
“Well, that erēz sounds like a miserable hag.”
A shocked laugh caught in Soren’s throat. “Yes,” he coughed, “I suppose she was.”