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Kiaran may be right. Or Taj. I don’t know.
“All I know is…” I lean to the side, brush my hand over his arm. “I’m grateful you are with us, Kiaran.”
He gives a slight nod, and I think his expression lightens, so I’ll take that as a good sign.
Nobody wants to act like a madman. Nobody wants to lose control.
But it seems that this bond between us, this thing building between the four of us, is all about giving up control and letting nature take its course.
The problem with letting nature take its course, of course, is spending a day in pure misery on the saddle, my blood boiling in my veins and my belly cramping again and again. It makes me antsy and cagey, angry at the world. Constant pain and discomfort can do that to you, and my worry about Finnen isn’t helping.
Is he all right? Has he managed to keep his smartass mouth shut or did he egg on the soldiers until they beat the smarts out of him?
We canter past more towns on top of hills, some of them spilling down to the riverside. We have finally reached the river Ekelon, into which most streams pour sooner or later to form the great waterway leading to the summer capital and from there to the sea.
Taj talks about that when we slow down to a walk in the afternoon—about the barges he’s seen during campaigns heading south, laden with barrels of mead and boxes of silk cloth and iron, about the noisy ports on the river as the country gives way from rock and forest to steppe and urban centers.
He says he’s come close to the border with the Rising Moon Lands but has never crossed over.
His voice is starting to sound distant, the voice of a storyteller sitting by a fire, and the fire is burning me, licking at my skin, at my breasts and neck, flowing down, between my legs. I’m so hot, too hot, and my eyes are misting over, black seeping into my vision.
“Barges?” Kiaran asks.
“Long, flat river boats,” Taj says.” The river flows through the capital and there is a great port there, called the—”
“—Tulfa,” Kiaran says, “for the old Temple there.”
“Funny you should know that,” Taj says, sounding thoughtful. “Memories returning?”
“Some,” Kiaran says.
“An old Temple, yeah, where gods and goddesses were worshipped by the Fae, now used as a market hall. Some say those gods will curse us and bring about our downfall for using their sacred hall in such a way.”
“Fools,” Kiaran mutters.
“You don’t think the gods might curse us?”
“They already have.”
Taj chuckles.
But it’s true, isn’t it? I think. We’re cursed—to carry the Fae blood and not to know what to do with it, how to deal with these instincts, these urges that humans barely experience.
I’m cursed—or blessed? It sure feels like a curse right now, with the pain and burning in my body, and…
“Ari!” Taj barks. “What’s wrong?”
“Hot,” I whisper, blinking black spots from my eyes. “Burns…”
“It’s her heat coming on,” Taj is saying, his voice growing distant again.
“She’s in heat?” Kiaran asks.
“Not fully yet. I heard omegas can go crazy with it if they don’t have their alphas to get them through it, but she’s definitely getting closer.”
“Don’t talk about me… as if I’m not here,” I rasp, clenching my hands on the pommel of the saddle. The world tilts. “I can hear you.”
“Great, then listen good: We’re making camp now and taking care of you, girl. Just hold on tight for a few more moments until we find a good place to stop.”
