Boasting a warm smile, he shakes his head. Like he’s wrestling with some kind of disbelief. “Kholu …”
“Yes,” I say, cutting a glance around all the silent, wide-eyed onlookers. “Folk keep saying that.”
Again, he looks at the female beside him. They press their heads together, both relishing in some form of relief I can see clear in their expressions.
The male cups the head of their babe and plants a kiss on its brow—
I pull my attention from the intimate moment that’s strangely painful to watch, looking skyward, noticing the vast domed ceiling is strung with toothy skulls. Enough for me to come to the swift realization that these folk have no qualms in killing.
We’ll get on fine so long as they don’t try to kill me.
The maybe-King stands—slow. Everyone in the room bar the white-haired female pounds their fists against their chests before dropping into a bow so low their mouths meet the floor again.
I should probably do the same. Don’t want to piss anyone off, given the fact that I’m incredibly outnumbered and still bound in a shackle of iron.
I clear my throat, drop to my knees, then dip my head, holding the stance for a long moment.
The male steps down from his throne, looking between me, the Fate Herder, and the two males who plucked me from the river—both now standing off to the side. “Hagh toth?” he asks, pausing.
The male with the bird tattoo responds. “Rivuur Ahgt at nei del ayh.”
“Rivuur Ahgt … uh surt?”
“Ahn …”
A stretch of silence before the crowned male speaks again. “Teni asg del anah te nei. Tookah Téth ain de lei … Sól aygh tah Kholu!”
My mind drifts, clawed fingers scrambling to cling to the now.
The present.
It all begins to remind me of a different place, a different time. When I was just as confused about what the hell was going on, my vocabulary failing to stretch further than a few huffing grunts I’d use to try and explain my needs.
I recite my calming song internally as the maybe-King moves back to his throne, a tall female stepping free of the parting crowd. She’s clothed in lashings of copper body paint and a black-beaded cloak that clatters as she strides toward us in long, hip-swaying steps. Her feet are bare, russet hair so long it smothers half her cloak.
My gaze lifts to her eyes, and all the breath flees my lungs.
They’re white.
Unseeing.
She looks my way, and I feel the opposite of unseen—shafted through with the sense that she sees far too much.
“Kholu,” she whispers, smiling before raising both hands skyward. “Kholu haf comá. Haf de neil da nu … Tookah te!”
The skull erupts with victorious yells and the pounding of fist to flesh, thumping hard like my rallying heart before the crowd becomes a bustle of motion—an energy about the space that prickles with anticipation.
“What in the Creators have you gotten me into?” I grind out to the beast at my side, who simply curls into a great mounded ball of fur, tucks its face beneath its tail, and appears to fall asleep—oscillating between its solid form and smudging at the sides.
Hmm.
Maybe if I ignore it for a bit, it’ll smudge out of existence entirely. Then I can leave.
Two hulking males push free of the bellowing crowd, the larger of the pair so massive his hand could thread around my throat and crush it with a single squeeze, his hair the color of clay and reaching down between his shoulder blades. When he turns to bow at the folk occupying the thrones, I see his back is littered with dots, the image of a serpent coiled around his muscular frame more whole than blotted in places. The smaller male has brown hair and tawny, freckle-dusted skin, bearing a faunycaw with its wings reaching up, draped over the warrior’s shoulders.
Both turn to me, dipping into an even deeper bow.
I frown, my attention drifting to the female sitting on the throne, seeking answers in her eyes. All I find is a soft, comforting smile that makes me want to growl.
I don’t want comfort. I want cold hard truths so I can work out what this Fate Herder has gotten me into and how I can remove myself from the situation the moment the creature drops its guard.
Clopping sounds come to me from behind, and I look over my shoulder, seeing a big leathery six-legged creature being led down the path between the crowd. It has no ears and three sets of beady black eyes that are clustered on either side of its long face, its jaw rocking as it chews something tucked between its molars.
My frown deepens. I think it’s a colk, but the ones I’ve seen have a thick, fluffy pelt. The creatures look so strange … naked.
It makes a snorting sound, settling between myself and the two males watching me with intrigue.
The milky-eyed female steps between me and the peaceful, masticating beast. With one swift motion, she rips a curved bronze blade from a sheath I hadn’t noticed strapped to her leg and slits the animal’s throat faster than I can track.
My lungs seize, heart hammers.
The poor animal lets out a shrill honk, its spilling blood caught in a bowl while my head goes light and airy. The beast is gently lowered to the ground, settling into a kneeling position that mimics my own. But still.
Dead.
I waver.
I’ve killed folk in the same manner. But seeing this poor, innocent creature loosen its final, gurgling breath jostles something inside me. Makes me feel sick to the stomach.
Fuck this.
I’m out.
I push to my feet and spin, stalking for the exit when the Fate Herder leaps in front of me, snarling. The crowd gasps, murmuring while I bare my teeth and growl back.
It drops its head lower, prowls closer, urging me back toward my starting point.
“I’m growing less and less fond of you,” I grind out, then shake my head and turn, storming back, toiling rage whipping at my ribs like ribbons of icy water.
This verbal barrier is growing deeper by the second. If I don’t find out what’s going on soon, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.
The male and female on the thrones frown at me, passing each other wary glances as I pick at the skin down the sides of my nail, watching the two warriors get painted in colk blood like it’s something to be proud of.
I try not to look at the dead animal. Hard when it’s right there, still bleeding out in a bowl.
A group of females converge around me like a fence, breaking off my view of the poor colk. Rows of them, until I’m hidden behind a circular wall of shapely, silk-garbed folk, most of whom have their backs turned.
Every cell in my body stiffens, my eyes darting left and right. It takes me noticing the nervous glances being passed between the few folk still facing my way for me to realize I’m snarling.
One dons a soft smile and steps forward. “Eh tah Saiza. Téth en. Aygh ne.”
“I don’t understand. Any of this.”
She lifts her hands. “My name is Saiza. It is okay. No hurt.”
Saiza’s peaceful words do little to soothe my hackles, though I do wrangle my upper lip down over my teeth, thankful somebody can speak my language.
This is good. I can work with this.
“Please tell me what’s happening.”
“We have need to cleanse your body,” she says, and my brows fly up.
“Because I got vomit in my hair? I assure you, there’s a very easy solution to that. Just lead me back to the river and toss me in.”
A small smile picks up one corner of her mouth, her sunburst eyes warming, reminding me of Ruse. “Because you are Kholu,” she whispers, pointing to some colorful marks painted on the leather beneath my feet, crouching to touch a black slash. “Your hair is like the eyes of the faunycaw—in your common tongue,” she says, then points to an azure squiggle. “You came to us on the eternal ribbon of blue—the River Ahgt.”
Debatable. It looked pretty muddy to me.
She traces a dark-red line that coils around these markings like a rope binding a bouquet, spearing off to the right, cradling an impression of three moons.
A Sabersythe.
A Moltenmaw.