Chapter 2
Two
UTTIN
Ipaced the village center, eyeing the road my clan brothers would return on. Any time now.
It was usually me who went to pick up the tributes.
I’d always led the company to the towns closest to us within a few days’ ride.
We met with others like me somewhere in the middle to discuss which tributes would go where based on the needs of the clans.
At least until the year prior, when clans began sending their tributes to us first to learn the language from Finn.
We still met in the middle, but it was mostly so we could travel together to our clan to better protect the tributes.
This year, I was forced to remain behind.
Orthorr would be stepping down soon. There was always a tournament to see who was best suited to replace the clan leader, and he wanted me here to participate.
He’d been grooming me to take over for a while now.
I wasn’t always sure how I felt about that.
I wasn’t Orthorr. I clashed with my clanmates often and had to go to him to end the disputes.
I didn’t feel like I was the best for the role.
It was my desire to serve my clan that kept my mouth quiet.
I eyed the road anxiously again. They were late. They should have been here yesterday. What if there was a problem? Those we sent along were strong, but I was more experienced and—
“Uttin. Calm yourself,” Orthorr demanded. “They will be here soon.”
Forcing myself to take a deep breath, I nodded, only to end up pacing again.
Was it possible the other clans would blame us if the tributes were injured or taken?
Back when the tributes were dispersed by us, the blame could only be on the men moving them.
Now that the tributes were put in our care, the blame could be on us for not protecting them well enough. It could start a war and—
A figure appeared at the top of the hill, and after he raised a hand in greeting, I let out a breath. I recognized the man as one of our scouts. He would be only a short ride ahead of the rest, ensuring the way was clear for them. Which meant the rest would be with us momentarily.
Spinning around, I headed for the cooking tent, ducking in long enough to inform Patrick and Yamileth of their arrival.
They had to cook extra for all the new tributes and required warning so they could get started.
After that, I called the guards to attention.
They would remain close to discourage any tributes from attempting to run.
It was too dangerous in the forest alone.
We kept them here for their protection. I sent a few others to call for volunteer protectors to care for the tributes.
In that time, the group crested the hill, and the dust kicked up behind them signaled their imminent arrival. I was running through what needed to be done when Orthorr put a hand on my shoulder.
“We will need a few to assist in setting up the visitors’ tents. Have you delegated this task?”
I grimaced. I’d forgotten about that. After the conflict with the Ilvos clan last year, some clans refused to leave their tributes here without their own protectors from their clans.
We agreed in order to ease the tensions and promised to care for them while the tributes were being trained in our language and culture by Finn.
Those clan members would bring their own tents for the journey, but setting them up while caring for a tribute would be difficult. It would be faster if they had help.
My eyes cast over those already gathered in the town center, settling on Tavik who stood near the cooking tent. I assumed Saneth wasn’t far, as the two had been attached at the hip even before their bonding. Those two were strong and fast in tent setup. They would be useful in this task.
Tavik straightened when I headed in his direction, his expression apprehensive.
Probably because those two knew better than to bother Yamileth and Patrick while they were prepping for the tributes’ arrival.
That wouldn’t be a punishment I would dole out, however.
Yamileth was capable of doing it herself.
“Tavik, my brother. I need your assistance.”
“Of course. What do you need?” he said with a heavy note of relief in his voice.
I didn’t know why, but chose to ignore it.
If I chose to inquire about every instance of my clan brothers acting strangely, I would forever be chasing them like toddlers.
I learned early in my training to pick my battles.
“Tents must be set up for the visiting clans’ members. Can you and Saneth assist in this? You can gather others as well.”
Tavik’s gaze darted to the cooking tent again, then away. It was getting obvious that something was going on. He was horrible at keeping secrets. “I, uh… I am happy to assist. Saneth is…”
Saneth darted out of the cooking tent with a cackle, running headlong into Tavik, who had abandoned his post to talk to me, putting him directly in Saneth’s path. Thankfully, Tavik was sturdily built and only swayed when catching his bondmate against his side.
“Tavik! What are you—” Saneth began, only to be cut off.
“You little shit!” Yamileth snapped as she hobbled out of the cooking tent, Patrick’s cane as her weapon. I could only watch in shock as she went after Saneth, who spun out of Tavik’s arms and darted away again with a laugh.
Yamileth was never going to chase him far, she was too old for that.
I could have warned Tavik that she would go for him in his lover’s stead, but the last time someone pissed her off, she poisoned their food and gave them the shits for a week.
I was unwilling to go up against her for Tavik’s sake, especially if he was involved in whatever upset her.
She swung her attention our way and whacked Tavik in the ass with Patrick’s cane. He yelped and jumped away, eyes wide.
“I didn’t—”
“Oh, don’t you start. I know you were part of this! Tell that little brat to bring back my snowdrops this instant!”
I knew when Tavik’s eyes got all soft like that, he would be no help. I shot a questioning look at Patrick, who had joined us, an amused smirk on his face.
“Yami said no treats for a few days while we settled the tributes and attended to them. Saneth wanted something for Tavik, and when she said no, he stole them. I warned you that he would if he saw your stash,” he told her with a grin.
“Don’t sass your mother,” she snapped at him. “Go fetch my snowdrops.”
“Later,” I insisted, finally stepping in. “They have a task to perform, as do you.”
Yamileth shot me a dirty look, but I wasn’t going to make the hungry and terrified tributes wait for a meal because Saneth stole her treats.
Patrick could always make her more when he had free time.
He was the one who’d introduced the clan to the tart little candies, and he had to make them year-round to keep up with the demand.
Tavik, who had slowly been edging in the direction Saneth had disappeared, froze when I called his name.
“If I were you, I’d cook my own meals for a while, unless you want a repeat of Yamileth’s last punishment. After you help put up the tents. Now go.”
He flashed me a sheepish grin and hurried away to find his bondmate. He caused much less trouble now that he was bonded, but that didn’t make him perfect. He and Saneth still pulled pranks and caused trouble enough to irritate me.
Yamileth went back into the cooking tent, grumbling to herself. Patrick was still grinning. He shook his head and patted my shoulder as he followed her. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Thank you, Patrick.”
He waved over his shoulder and disappeared inside again. I turned around just in time to watch the two carriages of tributes pull into the town center. My mouth fell open.
“How are there so many?”
Bhortis, who had acted as the leader in my stead for the journey, slid off his stallion and came to join Orthorr and me, a dark look on his face. He put his fist against his chest, bowing in greeting to Orthorr, then clasped forearms with me in a warrior’s greeting.
“Clan leader, brother.”
“What– Who–” I was at a loss for words, still gaping at the second carriage.
There were a total of fifteen towns in this country.
Only two did not have a treaty with the clans.
The rest sent only one tribute per year to join us.
The carriage we used could fit all thirteen, though it was tight.
There should not have been a need for two carriages.
Bhortis scowled. “We were informed by one of the towns that if we did not take them, they would be killed. We did not know what to do except take them with us.”
Orthorr and I shared a look of concern before hurrying over to the second carriage. I nearly swallowed my tongue when I saw who was inside.
“Children!”
I could count six hidden amongst the blankets, though there could be more. All looked younger than ten.
“Which town was this?” Orthorr demanded. “Where did they come from? Where are their parents?”
Bhortis drew a scroll from his pack, offering it to Orthorr. “I was unable to read it, but I couldn’t even think to leave them behind.”
Not many could read the town languages. Even I struggled. I jerked around, scanning the crowded town center again. “Sebastian! Get Finn! Now!”
The young boy’s head had whipped up when he heard his name being called. He darted off without a word, hopefully to get Finn as quickly as possible. As our town scribe, it was he who would translate the scroll.
“There’s something else, clan leader,” Bhortis said. I almost groaned. This was more than enough to deal with on the eve of the tournament.
“What else?” Orthorr asked, though even his expression was strained with worry.
“One of the tributes can speak neither the common tongue nor our mother tongue. He has been… difficult.”
Orthorr looked over his shoulder at me. “Simon?”
I shook my head. “He won’t be back for another week.”
He grimaced. “Well, then. It seems we have our hands full.”