Chapter 4
Although Balar knew Orek to be as good as his word, he still hastened home for a quick rinse, throwing on clean clothes before hurrying back to the Brádaigh’s estate.
It was late into the afternoon by the time he careened around the great stables, only to be told by a surprised Sorcha Brádaigh that Imogen had left already.
Sorcha either didn’t know where Imogen lived or feigned ignorance. Balar trudged home again, dejected and no closer than he’d started.
It put him in a foul mood, the residuals of his headache lingering past suppertime. Usually the calm, reasonable one, his brothers were mystified when he barked and growled at them to quiet down long before bedtime.
Diar and Akila just snorted, not taking his warning seriously, and so when they continued to be loud, their voices grating against the inside of his skull, Balar bellowed, “Out with you! Shake your own timbers for a change!”
His brothers looked on in shock; he’d never exiled them from his cabin before.
When their otherly village was first established, many took to making themselves cabins around a wide cleared area.
Balar’s had been the first raised, and then Soren’s.
Diar and Akila had their own cabin, and Kiri alternated between Balar and Soren—but honestly, most nights, the five of them crowded into Balar’s cabin.
Mantii often lived communally, and after so many years together, it felt natural to do everything shoulder to shoulder. Tonight, though, Balar needed to be alone with his frustration and wounded pride.
Soren shot him a long look before leaving, and Balar waved him away. I’ll explain in the morning.
Immediately upon their departure, Balar’s loneliness sucked at his guts.
Sighing, he slumped onto his bed face down.
Ibás, what a mess.
He grimaced into his pillow to consider what Imogen must think of him. Balar had never imagined meeting a kigara could go so badly. Sure, there were plenty of ballads about ill-matched mates and humorous stories about badly met matches, but that wasn’t meant to happen to him.
Not after all the waiting and planning he’d done.
In a rumbling exhale, Balar promised himself that tomorrow would be different.
Tomorrow, he’d explain to his brothers and secure their help.
They’d search every inch of that blasted forest. If he had to travel north and get help from Allarion, he would.
He’d make the crafty fae any promise, if only he’d use his magic to help find Imogen.
That decided, Balar guzzled down the jug of water he kept near his bedside, rolled over, and commanded himself to sleep. Tomorrow, kigara. I’m coming for you.
“What are we doing here?” grumbled Diar the next morning, kicking a stick out of his way.
Planting his fists on his hips, Balar declared, “Yesterday, I woke up here to a wondrous sight. I have found a kigara.”
Soren frowned. “You slept in the woods?”
“That’s why you didn’t come home?” Akila laughed.
“A kigara,” Kiri marveled.
Pinning his ears back, Balar said, louder than the rest, “I saw her, clear as day, right where we’re standing.”
The others blinked before looking around the surrounding trees.
It’d been too much to hope that she would come this same way at the same time the next day, finding her exactly where she’d found him yesterday.
He’d waited as long as he could—his brothers were getting bored and mouthy, so it was time to go on the hunt.
“Then why didn’t you bring her back with you yesterday?” Diar asked.
Akila’s grin was insufferably smug. “Didn’t make a good impression on the side of the path, did you, akash-ab? Did she and the buzzards mistake you for carrion?”
If Balar’s scowl could create fire, Diar and Akila’s manes would’ve burned right off. They were trying his patience on purpose, of course, and on another day, he might’ve seen the humor in it. But not today. Not until he’d gotten his kigara to smile at him.
“I’m told—” Balar said over their snickering “—that she keeps a cottage in these woods, but no one is sure where. We will fan out and search.”
He expected argument. He expected jokes. What he got was a considerate question from Soren.
“How will we know it’s her?”
Balar thought a moment. A strange part of him was loath to describe her, to share what little of her he had with all his brothers—but he needed their help.
“She keeps goats, a donkey, and a dog, so search for their smells. She has long brown hair, brown eyes, and a red stain upon her face.”
“A stain?” repeated Diar.
“Kurun-inanda,” said Kiri, smiling. “A goddess mark. No wonder she’s your kigara.”
Akila blew out a breath. “Well, she must be beautiful, then.”
“And rich. Hopefully rich,” added Diar. “A real lady.”
“What she is, is mine,” said Balar. “That’s enough.”
All his brothers nodded, knowing how important a kigara was. It wasn’t just Balar who wished for a mate—rowdy Diar and laughing Akila also longed for good mates to love and spoil. Kiri was young yet, but he loved the stories of their people and was already a romantic at heart.
Only Soren seemed inclined to keep his cabin empty.
Still, though, all of them rallied, striking out into the forest with a single mind—to find Imogen.
Balar hadn’t counted on her being so damnably hard to find, though. He hadn’t expected it to take two days. Or three. Five days passed and still, there was no sign.
He and his brothers fought valiantly through the dense forests, battling their way through thickets of blackberries and ferns, surmounting fallen logs and rock escarpments.
Acre by acre, they searched, leaving marks on trees to signal where they’d already been.
Soon, the whole forest would smell of them.
And still no Imogen.
While Balar and Soren, and Kiri when he wasn’t in school, continued searching the forest, Diar and Akila traveled to nearby towns, asking their friends and contacts about possible leads. They staked out the Brádaigh estate to see if she’d return there. Balar asked Sorcha to send word on his behalf.
Still, nothing.
It went on so long, Balar began to wonder if he’d imagined meeting the mysterious maiden.
Before he was able to head out on another morning, he was intercepted by Maritza, the eldest sister and leader of her little flock of harpies.
A formidable female, Balar tried not to shudder as her sharp gaze looked him over.
Usually that gaze was full of lust for any male that moved—he knew Akila had already kept company with several of the harpy sisters—but today, it sparked with annoyance.
“Off again today?” she asked by way of greeting.
Balar nodded. He knew the continued absence of him and his brothers had aroused great curiosity, even suspicion. Not needing the gossip—or admitting to the orcs and the harpies that he couldn’t locate his own mate—he’d kept quiet about why he was so often away lately.
“Not for much longer.” He might tear out his own mane if so.
Maritza’s eyes, overlarge for her angular face, narrowed. Crossing her feathered arms, she snapped, “What about village business? We were supposed to have a vote to decide the name. And did you even secure the charter?”
With effort, Balar kept the grimace from his face.
The charter that he’d been so proud of, bearing Liege Darrow’s own signature, still sat folded in the inner pocket of his good tunic—which had gone unwashed and unworn since he’d begun his hunt for Imogen.
He hadn’t spared it a single thought since waking up to her face above him.
“I did. I will deliver it to you tonight, so all may see it.” The only thing left to do was fill in the name of their village.
With a charter, they could vote in larger elections that affected the whole of the Darrowlands, request public building projects and funds for other ventures, host guilds, and even set up a market.
It was an acknowledgement of their right to live, work, and be there, amongst the humans.
It was incredibly important, and Balar should’ve cared.
Except, right now, he really didn’t.
Balar made to turn, getting on his way, when Maritza said, “You’d better not be up to anything sinister, Balar. We could have another election and choose another mayor.”
Balar nodded enthusiastically, plopping his paw on her narrow shoulder. “That may be necessary, but for now, I appoint you my vice-mayor. I trust you to see that everything runs smoothly in my absence, Maritza.”
Those big harpy eyes went impossibly wide, and then she broke out into what Balar could only call an evil grin.
“An excellent compromise,” she crooned.
Balar swallowed hard. Hopefully he hadn’t just created a tyrant.
Although, she already oversaw her sisters—now it was just a few other half-orcs. It’d be fine.
He’d make everything right just as soon as he found his kigara.
For now, the hunt was on.