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She hadn’t exactly wanted to run into this man. That’s what all the sneaking had been about—avoiding him—but since they’re here … “Good morning, Father!”
The Patriarch whirls, his red vestments swirling around him in a tangle of fabric. Red is really not his color. It clashes with the blotchy red spots that break out over his face when he’s angry. Since he’s angry most of the time, he should factor that in.“Krista,”he snarls, her name grating out of him like a curse. His eyes drop at once to her swollen belly and go narrow and pissy. “What in theGods’names are you doing here? Are you attacking us? Is this an attack?”
Krista raises both of her brows, leaning around the Patriarch to stare pointedly at the trading booths where absolutely no attacks are taking place. “Why would I attack you?” she wonders. “Have you done something that you feel like you ought to be attacked over?”
“You have been exiled. You were told never to return.”
Krista flaps a hand. “Details. All water under the bridge. I don’t hold it against you at all.” She notes the Patriarch’s darkening expression and recognizes that she only has a few moments left to hook him. “I thought you might want to meet your first grandson.”
Give it a minute. Give it a minute.
“And his father.” Krista reaches for Thon’s hand, wrapping it tenderly in both of her own. “This is Thon.”
The Patriarch’s reaction is everything Krista dreamed it would be and more. First he staggers like he might go down, but then he catches himself on the corner of the onion booth while Volar casually edges sideways, trying to avoid being roped into offering assistance. After that, Krista gets to watch the Patriarch’s face move through a sequence of colors so alarming that she thinks his brain might break in half. He only stops when he’s so purple he’s nearly blue, a clawed hand seizing his heart over his vestments.
“Get out!” the Patriarch wheezes, trembling so forcefully with his rage that his teeth click together. “Get out. I’m calling for the acolytes.”
Krista smiles brightly, her mood absurdly buoyed by the superheated hand wrapped around hers. “Oh, your enforcers can’t help me, Father—”
“—Don’t call me that. Don’t youdare—”
“What will the acolytes do? You liberated me from your gods months ago,” Krista continues, simply ignoring the attempted interruption. The Patriarch draws himself up, thunderstruck. “That is probably the kindest thing you have ever done for me, so I wanted to come and thank you in person. I wanted to let you know that I have found happiness, despite what you intended. You sent me to die and I found the love of my life instead, so Idoowe you for that.”
“Remove yourself from my sight, you foul, obscene, depraved—”
“Oh no, not just yet,” Krista smiles, looping her arm around Thon’s waist when she feels him starting to go tense and dangerous. They discussed this beforehand and they agreed that she would handle it if it happened, but she did not expect to draw such inspiration from his horror. “You were wondering why I brought so many of my kin with me, weren’t you? Well, I wanted to share a little of my happiness with my former brothers and sisters in faith. You see, you’re so remote out here that the Harkurians never knew you existed. As a result, there has never been any cultural exchange, no understanding. People here believe the most unfortunate things about my family.”
“They believe what the Gods instruct them to believe, youinsolentgirl. To soil yourself with a lower life form—To evenstandin this community—your corruption—here—” The Patriarch moves to step forward, but he hesitates, his jaw tightening as he glares up at Thon with such hatred in his eyes.
“On the contrary, Father, your Gods have blessed you with an opportunity,” Krista counters. “Now that the Harkurians know about this place, they can bring venison and elk, even bear. Have you ever had a pair of gloves lined with rabbit fur? Those are wonderful. What about a warm coat or leather breeches? Tools crafted from bone? I do that now, actually. I’m a craftsman. And my new clan can provide all of these things. I think your flock will approve.”
Krista’s eyes float over to the scene behind the Patriarch, at the generalized commotion. Apart from Mrs. Flaud’s son, who now sits in the crook of Agor’s elbow stuffing an entire funnel cake into his sticky mouth, most of the commune still lingers on the fringes, talking behind their hands and waiting to see what the Harkurians will do. Krista sees more than one pink-cheeked young lady amongst the watchers. “In fact, I suspect some of your flock will approve quite … enthusiastically.”
The Patriarch whirls on his heel as though he expects to see one of his carefully groomed maidens bent over a booth right behind him, but his darting eyes find nothing untoward, only the Harkurians themselves. He turns on these with gusto. “No.No.I don’t carewhattreacherous little tricks you bring to us. We won’t have them. Our faith isstrongand we saynoto corrupted goods. Leavenow. And take your—your oversized vermin with you.”
The Patriarch storms off, loosely approaching the Harkurians and screaming his eviction notices from a safe distance away.
“Okay, bye, see you next month, Father! Kisses!”
Thon leans in, seriousness painted across his handsome brow. “Krista, are you—” he begins, but she flaps her hand at him, her chest bubbling over with laughter. She lets the whole commune hear it, everyone gathered and scowling and staring in shock. Their whole world has just been rocked and she’s standing in the middle of it in stitches. “It’s all so ridiculous,” she cackles. “What a strange, ridiculous place.”
Thon releases a slow breath through his nose. “And yet, you wish to return?”
“Trust me, I share your surprise. I came here expecting to wash my hands of this place, but I think … yeah, I think I do want to come back.”
“For revenge?”
“For them,” Krista nods to the gathered crowd, which includes her sisters. She’s lost track of them, but they’re in there somewhere, lost without even knowing. But then she grins. “Yeah. Also for revenge. We’ll saymostlyfor them just to keep things honest between us.”
Thon snorts. Krista tucks herself under his arm and they stand there for a moment, watching the Patriarch storm through the stalls with his hands pinwheeling and his face as red as his vestments as he shouts at all of the Harkurians to vacate. They respond the same way their enormous war hounds might react to being hassled by a tiny lap dog—unhurriedly. They joke and banter as they gather friends and complete transactions, mostly ignoring the idiotic screaming man and all of his flapping. The entire market has stopped to observe the surreal spectacle.
Gradually, the cousins conclude their business and amble towards the gates, deliberately slow without appearing deliberate. No one discussed this part of the plan, but they’re all performing beautifully.
“You know, we ought to come back here occasionally,” one of the cousins suggests, his thumbs in his pockets and a little swagger in his stride. Krista peers around him and finds none other than pretty, doe-eyed Rowena gazing over at them from one of the vendors’ carts, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Rowena raises a tentative hand, but does not approach them through the gathering chaos. To do so would walk her right past her raging father.
Thon’s cousin Bron raises his hand at the same time Krista does. Krista looks up at him. He looks down. His cheeks darken as their eyes meet. “We’ll be back,” Krista assures him. “Thank you for volunteering.”
“Krista!”
