Chapter 22 #2
“I’ve only heard that name used twice before.” She looks at the clip in my ear, back to my eyes again. “What’s your middle name?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Last?”
“She doesn’t remember,” Kaan’s quick to answer, resting his hand on the Chieftess’s shoulder. He shakes his head the slightest amount.
Siharna’s eye twitches, lips pinched like she’s trying to swallow the rest of her interrogation. She clears her throat, dips her head, fist to her chest as she looks at me from beneath long lashes. “Well, Raeve. It’s an honor to host you in my village.”
I’m about to offer my slaughtering services as payment for her warm hospitality when a giggle comes to me on a twirl of wind.
I turn to see a youngling scamper down the stairs of the hutchkeeper’s hut, wearing a smile brighter than the sun. Reaching the flat, she dashes across the snow, yellow smock flicking around her ankles, brown curls bouncing. Seeming oblivious to the massive Sabersythe watching her every step.
A fae scrambles after her, puffing hard, her long gray hair bedraggled. As though the child dug her little fingers through the braid, yanking it in all directions.
Siharna sighs, then looks at Kaan, both hands resting on her pregnant belly.
“I’m terribly sorry. I know you’re tired from your travels, but she’s had her nose pressed against the windowpane since you left.
We had to drag a pallet beside it just so she’d get some sleep.
Four phases old, and she refused to leave the hutchkeeper’s hut like a Creators-damn protest.”
“Don’t apologize.” Kaan drops one knee to the ground and catches the youngling’s hurried approach, squeezing her against his chest—almost the perfect ruse for the fact that his leg actually gave way.
Almost.
“There is no greater gift to return to,” he murmurs, tucking her wild curls back from her face, his smile warm.
Genuine.
Soft words pass between them, and something flares behind my ribs at the sight. An uncomfortable ache that makes it hard to draw breath. Something that feels a lot like … like—
Sadness?
Such a strange feeling when all I see are smiles …
Siharna’s eyes thin as she studies Kaan, her posture stiffening. “Are you well?”
“Perfectly,” he murmurs, still smiling at the youngling—the lie tumbling from his lips so easily my brows almost jump off my face. “Raeve, this is my cousin Korie.”
That’ll explain the resemblance.
Siharna’s frown deepens.
She moves around Kaan, poking at him with her pointer finger. It only takes three jabs before he flinches, like she just plugged one of his wounds.
I slowly drape my cloak over my bleeding thigh as Siharna yanks at Kaan’s collar, looks down past it, then mutters something in a language I don’t understand.
She lifts Korie, passing her off to who I suppose is her puffed minder.
“Please take her home for her middae nap,” she says, still leering at Kaan.
“I’ll be down soon, once I’ve had a word with my nephew. ”
Kaan hangs his head.
Dipping into a curtsy, the minder carries Korie past the Moltenmaw, toward a stairway carved in the cliff—all the while hushing the youngling’s boisterous objections.
The moment they’re out of earshot, Siharna prods Kaan in the shoulder again.
“Lie to me again, Kaan Vaegor, and I’ll throttle you black and blue. ”
Well.
Kaan sighs, puts his fist against the ground, and presses his weight forward, using it to help him up. “I didn’t want Korie to know I’m wounded,” he drudges out. “She’s been through enou—”
“If I wrap her in feathers, she’ll never survive this world. It’ll beat her down until she forgets she has a spine and a voice and the power to use it.”
Kaan drops his gaze in silent submission, and I realize there’s a weight here. Something I don’t know the shape of. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have presumed.”
Siharna hisses, dashing her hand. Like she’s physically shoving the topic aside. “I’m guessing your carter was left behind?”
“Unfortunately. I’ll need to—”
“I sent a lark the moment Rygun leapt from the burrow. Not long after you left, to be fair. Couldn’t stop him if we tried. He obviously anticipated something would go wrong, which”—she screws up her face—“based on the filthy, bloody state of you both, I see that it has. What are they? Pins?”
“An inconvenience.” Kaan folds his arms, probably trying to hide the fact that his hands are shaking. Have been since those cracks around his eyes smoothed. He lifts his chin. “Unfortunately, I’m now a liability to this village. I fear the Tri-Council will not rest until my head is on a pike.”
They’ll have to get through me first.
Kaan’s gaze whips to me, hitting with all the might of an erupting volcano—eyes aflame, jaw stiff, his chest and arms seeming to swell like he’s fresh off the battlefield. All the while, Siharna regards me from beneath an arched brow.
Realizing I said the words aloud, I avert my gaze, the tips of my fingers flaring with so much itch I have to do exactly what Kaan’s doing.
Cross my fucking arms.
“Well, there will be no head-piking on my watch.” Siharna juts her chin at me. “Nor hers, it seems. You’re still more than welcome here while you wait for the Moonplume.”
My heart hitches as I realize she’s speaking about Líri … making this the village Kaan mentioned in his lark.
“I’ll scatter extra patrols to ensure nobody accidentally stumbles upon the place.”
Kaan dips his head in gratitude. “We’re happy to take some of the spare rooms in the hutchkeeper’s hut so we don’t cause a stir.”
Siharna blanches, looking at Kaan like he just caused her a mortal wound. Or offended her, which in this case, I think might be worse.
“The hutchkeeper’s hut?”
I wince.
She shakes her head and turns, charging toward the path her daughter was just carried down with a boisterous amount of sway. “You’ll stay with us at the family roost or on a path in the snow,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Your pick!”
I decide Kaan’s correct. We are safe here.
Nobody’s getting past the Chieftess, and if they do, I’m confident they’ll regret it.