Chapter 7
Seven
Kalyndi
I pinched off a browning leaf from my prized aloe plant, tucking it into the pocket of my apron. The greenhouse air wrapped around me like a warm blanket, heavy with moisture and the green smell of growing things. This little glass sanctuary was the only place I truly felt in control anymore.
"There," I murmured, adjusting the small pot on its shelf. "Much better."
The careful rows of medicinal herbs of chamomile, feverfew, echinacea, stood in perfect alignment, each labeled in my neat handwriting. Order in chaos. Control in a world where I had so little of it.
Since the Conjunction five years ago, when the monsters had emerged from their realm and claimed dominion over our territories, my life as a terramares healer had become increasingly constrained. But here, among my plants, I could pretend I was still free.
The door to the greenhouse banged open, sending a shock through my system. My sister Amara stumbled in, her face streaked with tears, chest heaving.
"Lyn," she gasped, using my childhood nickname. "They've matched me."
My stomach dropped. I knew immediately what she meant. The monster-human pairing system. I'd been dreading this day.
"Who?" I asked, my fingers gripping the wooden workbench until my knuckles went white.
"Gristholm of the Fanghorn clan." Her voice broke on the name.
My blood turned to ice. The Fanghorns were notorious even among monsters, brutal warriors with a reputation for treating their human mates like possessions rather than partners.
"When?" I asked.
"Two weeks. The binding ceremony is scheduled for the full moon." Her slim shoulders shook as she collapsed against me. "I can't do it, Lyn. You've heard the stories. Their females barely survive the first year."
I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her trembling against me. Amara was barely twenty, five years younger than me, too gentle and soft-hearted for the life that awaited her with a Fanghorn.
"Listen to me," I said, pulling back to look into her red-rimmed eyes. "You are not going to marry that monster. I won't let it happen."
"But how? The matchings are final. No human has ever successfully challenged one."
I squared my shoulders. "Then I'll be the first."
The words left my mouth before I fully processed their meaning, but once spoken, I couldn't take them back. Wouldn't take them back.
"I promise you, Amara. I will find a way."
After she left, I paced the greenhouse, racking my brain for solutions. There was only one person who might know a loophole in the monster laws, one monster, actually. The thought made my stomach clench.
Redmon.
The mapinguari warrior assigned as my mate six months ago, though we'd maintained a cold distance since the matching. He was high-ranking within the monster hierarchy, and unlike most arranged pairs, he hadn't pushed for more than the bare minimum contact required by law.
I wrapped my shawl tighter around my shoulders and headed for the dwelling assigned to him on the border of our terramares. The path there felt impossibly long, each step heavier than the last.
His home loomed before me, a stone and timber structure that dwarfed our human buildings. I knocked on the massive wooden door, my heart hammering against my ribs.
When it swung open, I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
All eight feet of him filled the doorway, broad-shouldered and imposing, his reddish-brown fur catching the late afternoon light.
The distinctive facial features of the mapinguari made him look perpetually fierce: prominent brow, small eyes set deep, and a mouth that could open unnaturally wide to reveal formidable teeth.
"Kalyndi." His voice rumbled from his chest, surprise clear in his tone. "What brings you here?"
"I need your help," I said, the words bitter on my tongue. We'd barely spoken ten sentences to each other in six months, and now I was at his door begging for assistance.
He studied me for a long moment before stepping aside to let me in. The interior was sparsely furnished but surprisingly clean. I perched on a chair that was too large for me, my feet barely touching the floor.
"My sister has been matched with a Fanghorn," I blurted out. "Gristholm."
Recognition flashed in his eyes. "That is... unfortunate."
"Unfortunate?" I repeated, anger flaring. "It's a death sentence. You know what they're like."
"I do," he acknowledged, his expression unreadable. "But what do you expect me to do about it?"
"There must be some way to stop it. Some provision in your laws, some challenge that can be made." My voice cracked. "Please. She won't survive a Fanghorn mate."
Redmon crossed his massive arms over his chest. "Our laws on matchings are absolute. They're determined by the Council based on genetic compatibility and population needs."
"So you won't help?" My hands clenched in my lap.
"It's not a matter of willingness. The laws of non-interference between clans are ancient and binding." He sighed, a surprisingly human sound. "Even my position doesn't grant me authority to intervene in another clan's matching."
Desperation clawed at my throat. I stood, moving closer to him despite my instinctive fear.
"I'll do anything," I whispered. "Anything at all."
His eyebrows rose slightly.
"If you help my sister, I'll… " I swallowed hard. "I'll be a proper mate to you. In every way."
The words hung in the air between us. We both knew what I was offering. Despite our match, I maintained distance, refusing to engage in anything beyond the minimal legally required relationship. Now I was offering my body, my future, my life.
Redmon's expression darkened. For a terrible moment, I thought he might accept my desperate bargain.
"No," he said finally.
I blinked, confused. "No?"
"I won't help you in exchange for... that." His voice was tight. "If I help your sister, it won't be because you've traded yourself like merchandise."
Now I was completely lost. "Then you won't help at all?"
"I didn't say that." He moved to a carved wooden cabinet and pulled out a thick, leather-bound book. "There might be another way. A challenge ritual so old most have forgotten it exists."
Hope flickered inside me. "What kind of ritual?"
"I'll help you, Kalyndi. Without conditions." He met my eyes steadily. "Not for your offer, but because no female, human or monster, should be bound to a mate who will harm her."
I stared at him, suspicious. "Why would you do that?"
"Perhaps I have my own reasons." His mouth curved in what might have been a smile. "Sit. We have much to discuss if we're going to invoke the Ancient Right of Contested Claim."
For the next hour, Redmon explained the ritual, one so rarely used it had fallen out of common knowledge. According to monster law, any clan leader could challenge a matching if they had reason to believe it violated the fundamental protective covenant between monsters and humans.
"But I'm not a clan leader," I pointed out.
"No, but I am." He tapped a claw against the ancient text. "And as your matched mate, I can act on behalf of your family's interests."
"So you'd challenge Gristholm directly?"
Redmon nodded. "It would mean combat. Traditional, ritual combat."
My stomach twisted. "He'd kill you."
"Your confidence is overwhelming," he said dryly.
"I mean, the Fanghorns are brutal fighters."
"And mapinguari aren't?" Something like amusement flickered in his eyes. "We have our own strengths. My kind is known for endurance and tactical skill."
I frowned, struggling to believe this could work. "And if you win?"
"Then your sister's matching is dissolved, and she cannot be matched to any Fanghorn for seven years."
"And if you lose?"
His expression grew serious. "Then I will have challenged the will of the Council and failed. The punishment is severe."
"How severe?"
"Exile. Or worse." He said it simply, without drama.
I felt my chest tighten. "Why would you risk that for someone you barely know?"
"You assume much about what I know and don't know." He closed the book. "I observe more than you realize, Kalyndi."
I didn't know what to say to that. He'd been watching me, learning about me while I'd been doing my best to ignore his existence, was unsettling.
"This is too much risk for you," I said finally. "The Fanghorns are vicious, and Gristholm is one of their strongest warriors."
"Do you want to save your sister or not?"
"Of course I do!"
"Then stop telling me why I'll fail and start helping me prepare." He nodded toward my apron, still stained with soil from the greenhouse. "You're a healer. Your skills could be useful."
Over the next hour, Redmon outlined the ritual with the ancient words that needed to be spoken, the formal challenge that had to be delivered before witnesses. My skepticism gradually gave way to tentative hope as I watched him map out each step with methodical precision.
"You really think this could work," I said, more statement than question.
"I wouldn't suggest it otherwise." He rolled up a parchment where he'd been sketching the ritual circle. "But we have much to prepare. The challenge must be issued within three days to be valid."
Three days. It seemed both too soon and not soon enough.
"I still don't understand why you're doing this," I admitted.
He was quiet for a long moment. "Perhaps I believe in choice. Perhaps I have my own reasons to dislike the Fanghorns. Or perhaps… " his eyes met mine, "...I simply wish to see if you might look at me differently, when this is done."
The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. For the first time, I really looked at him, not as the monster I accepted as a mate, but as an individual with his own thoughts and motivations.
"I need to prepare," I said, rising from my chair. "If you're going to face a Fanghorn, you'll need protective tinctures. Their claws carry bacteria that cause festering wounds."
He nodded. "I'll come to your greenhouse tomorrow. We can continue our preparations there."
The next morning, I was elbow-deep in herbs when Redmon ducked through the greenhouse door. The space seemed to shrink around his giant frame, yet he moved with surprising care among my plants.
I'd spent the night brewing protective salves and tinctures, my mind racing with everything I'd learned. The ancient challenge ritual. Redmon's willingness to risk everything. The possibility of my sister's salvation filled my thoughts.
"These need to be applied before the combat," I explained, showing him the various preparations laid out on my workbench. "This one prevents infection. This strengthens the skin against punctures."
He leaned closer to examine my work, his breath warm against my cheek. "You've been busy."
"I couldn't sleep." I picked up a jar of thick green paste. "This should go on your vulnerable areas, neck, chest, inner arms."
I hesitated, then dipped my fingers into the paste and reached for his forearm. His fur was softer than I'd expected, with a silky texture between my fingers. I felt the hard muscle beneath as I worked the salve into his skin.
Redmon went very still. I realized this was the first time I'd willingly touched him since our matching ceremony.
"Is it working?" he asked, his voice rougher than usual.
"It needs to absorb fully." My voice sounded strange to my ears. "You'll feel a warming sensation if it's penetrating properly."
Our eyes met, and something electric passed between us. His powerful hand came up slowly, covering mine where it rested against his arm. The contrast was stark with my dark brown skin against his reddish fur, his fingers nearly twice the size of mine.
"Thank you," he said simply.