The longhouse Rowan was taken to must've been the one furthest in the sky. A cascade of moonflower vines was hanging down from the roof like curtains. But she was too out of breath to enjoy the fragrance after the punishing climb she'd just endured.
Her legs were about to buckle under the weight of a crippling exhaustion. Instead of sympathy, though, she was getting disparaging looks. Thrax shook his head while they waited for his knock on the door to be answered.
She, meanwhile, stood panting under the eave. He could shake his head at her all he wanted, he wasn't the one dying here. "I'm not used to such exertion," she said, wheezing.
"It's called exercise. Best you get use to it," he snapped. Then, "I don't see your maid complaining."
Indeed, Meera looked no worse for the wear. In fact, the exercise had brightened her eyes and brought color to her cheeks. Meera gave a sympathetic shrug.
"Don't you have stairs in your castle?" he asked in a scathing tone.
He knew very well Black Bridge Castle had staircases. A lot of them. But she'd never been marched up steep stairs like a godsdamned soldier, and that after a sleepless night. Her legs felt like raw meat and she was tired of being barked at! Rowan muttered a miserable retort under her breath as the door opened.
A tall warga with blond braids wrapped around her head stepped out. A broad smile lit her face. She exclaimed something in wargish and kissed Thrax on the mouth before hugging him hello. It wasn't a romantic kiss, but the act so surprised Rowan because anyone brave enough to kiss that surly mouth deserved her curiosity. Following the direction of Thrax's angry gaze, the warga stepped away. Her smile turned appraising as she eyed the two women standing beside him, her nostrils flexing. She barked a laugh suddenly, her eyes darting between Thrax and Rowan in some sort of understanding. "Vot?" she exclaimed. Then, "Twerfoot...blah blah blah...Warrow...blah blah blah." She was speaking too rapidly for Rowan to catch every word—not that she understood the ones she did catch. "Er kani? Vo snem?"
"Ja." Thrax answered with a grim nod, plucking a stray feather from the warga's hair. Then he switched to Wrasian, nodding from Rowan to Meera as he introduced them. "And this," he said, gesturing to the warga, "is my sister, Thesta.
"Nu vo skat," said Thesta, studying Rowan with a keen look and a half smile.
Rowan bristled. "What's she saying?"
But Thrax shifted in what seemed like discomfort and wouldn't answer.
Thesta chuckled. "I said you're very pretty."
"Oh." Heat pooled into Rowan's face. "Um, thank you."
"You left for Warrow," the warga said, turning to her brother. "I didn't expect you to claim your human mate so soon. I thought you were going to wait a few years more." Her eyes shifted between the two women before settling back on Rowan.
"I hadn't planned on going to West Gate," Thrax muttered, scowling at Rowan. "But the girl went and got herself wed."
"Ahh." Thesta nodded. They were now both staring at her with sharp looks.
Rowan stiffened. "She didn't know it was any of your business what she did. And stop looking at me as though I'm a sow you've just purchased."
Thrax's eyes flicked skyward as his jaw clenched.
His sister chuckled, "forgive me, I'm just surprised."
"Excuse her prickly tongue," said Thrax. "She took a piss in a golrag den and managed to get nettles up her arse after all."
Rowan folded her arms. "If you wanted someone docile, wargrex, you should have snatched yourself another...mate." Gods, that word was infuriating.
"Maybe so," he snapped.
"It's my brother's manners that surprise me," Thesta interposed calmly, stepping hurriedly between them. "Despite how it seems, Rowan, he wasn't raised by golrags, I promise you."
She raised a dubious brow. "Maybe I'm better off with the golrags than with him."
"That can be arranged," he snarled back at her.
Rowan wanted to rail at him for being a beast, but his teeth looked incredibly sharp just now—more so than the golrag's had—and she wasn't feeling suicidal. She'd poked him enough, it seemed.
Thesta touched his arm lightly. "Be patient, Brother. Much has happened, give her time. You've known of her for ten years, but she has not had that same advantage."
His jaw flared, drawing Rowan's eyes to his mouth.
To Rowan Thesta said, "Try not to take offense, Har Kani—"
"Just Rowan," Thrax snapped. "She hasn't earned that title yet."
Rowan shot Thesta a suffering look. She planted her hands on her hips. "Impossible not to take offense when all he does is insult me."
Thrax flayed her with another scowl. His mouth was hard and unyielding, his silence somehow more imposing. Expecting at any moment for him to bark something mean at her, she watched his mouth. But his brooding silence only made her all the more aware of his lips.
Suddenly, all she could think about was how warm those hard lips had been when he'd kissed her. She turned away with a blush, appalled at the sudden shift inside her. The flames of temper banked to a warm glow in the pit of her belly. Saliva pooled in her mouth as his scent filled her nose.
Thesta's glance bounced between them. "It is the warg way to be blunt, Rowan, and it is the human way to be..."
"Always offended?" Thrax offered. It earned him two glares. Three, actually, but Meera's was more subtle.
Thesta pinched the bridge of her nose and tried again. "You must both stop taking offense and giving offense, lest all you be left with are high fences and a vast distance between you." She sighed. "The goddess works in mysterious ways, we must be thankful to her for this mating."
But Rowan wasn't thankful, she was choking on resentment.
Shaking her head, Thesta steered her brother towards the stairs. "You may leave your mate in my care, Brother. Go now. Take your rest, and mend your temper."
He gave a terse nod, the flames in his eyes licking over Rowan in a devouring way. If it'd been all wrath, she'd have withstood it a little better, perhaps, but there was something else in the look. Something that set her cheeks afire.
Instead of taking the stairs, he took a step backwards. Then another. There was no railing to stop him as he dropped from the landing out of sight. Rowan gasped and scurried forward to peer down. It was no small distance to the ground. The drop should've broken every bone in that prodigious warg body. Yet there he stood below, glaring up at her, whole and haughty, his feet planted firmly in the earth. Growling, he took off and vanished from sight beneath the house.
"He hates me." Her limbs felt like lead as she backed away from the edge.
"I wouldn't say that." Thesta's response caught her off guard.
She grimaced as she faced Thrax's sister, silently berating herself because she'd spoken aloud when she hadn't meant to. "Oh?" she said, recovering with a forced laugh, "does he look at everyone that way? And here I felt special."
Thesta clucked, unamused. "He'd not have brought you home if he hated you."
"I don't care if he does."
"Yes, you do."
Her fingernails gnawed her palm. "You don't know me." She glared over to where she'd last seen Thrax. "Nor does he."
"But the gods have the knowing of these things. We must trust in them." Thesta held the door open with a pointed look. "Let's get you out of this cold, you humans have frail constitutions." She eyed Meera thoughtfully as the girl obeyed, hurrying inside. "Well, some of you anyway."
"You wouldn't say that if you knew my mother." Rowan hugged herself as she stepped past the curtain of moonflowers.
The log cabin was long and spacious inside yet still managed to feel cozy. There was a wooden table besprinkled with chopped thyme and pitted with knife marks. Atop it lay a brace of fat grouse, one of which was half plucked, its backside featherless.
The oil lamps set the cabin aglow in muted gold, and an iron wood stove was throwing so much heat into the cabin that Rowan's bones were sighing in gratitude.
"I thought wargs could see in the dark," she said, turning to Thesta. "Why light lamps at all?"
Thesta smiled. "We are only half animal, Rowan. We drink ale, sleep in beds, and enjoy many creature comforts that you humans do. And, anyway, cheery lamps on moonless nights keep inquisitive grendels away."
Cold fingers prodded up Rowan's spine. She didn't like to think of all the monsters creeping in the darkness. But Thesta was chuckling to herself as she moved about her kitchen. So Rowan relaxed a little, letting the warga's calmness chase her fears back. She let her gaze wander.
There were thick animal pelts on the floor, some she could name and others she could not. Her throat bobbed as she studied a strange dark leathery hide that was prostrate on the floor. It was terrifying and large, too large to be a boar's hide. The cabin was very cheery and cozy save for that awful...rug, was it? She pointed at it with a wobbly finger. "What's that?"
"My first saber troll." Thesta barely looked up from the cooking pot. "A beauty, isn't it?"
Erm, no. With a choppy sigh, she continued her exploration of the house, leaving the chatter to Meera. There were beds neatly made and benches along the walls with rugs and blankets strewn about. From the rafters hung a myriad of fresh herbs that crisped the air and infused the senses. Sprigs of rosemary were even now being scattered into the pot bubbling on the hob. It smelled so good, Rowan's belly gurgled in anticipation.
She and Meera both answered with eager nods when Thesta offered them a bowl each of the rabbit stew. Her hands cleaved to the warm bowl as she huddled into a chair nearest the fire. She only half listened as Meera plied the warga with questions. She was grateful for Thesta's quiet efficiency and calm manner. Most of all, she was thankful for the hot meal filling her belly.
"Does Thresh have a mate?" asked Meera, drawing Rowan's gaze.
Thesta's brows knit. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason, I'm just curious."
The warga shrugged. "Best you find a different warg to be curious about." And that was the end of poor Meera's curiosity.
"There's no harm in an innocent little question," said Rowan.
"The subject of Thresh is neither little nor innocent, believe me. He's not for gentle maids." Her gaze flickered back to Meera. "Cast your pretty eyes to Torgon, rather. Or, better yet, a human male. We have those here, too."
"You do?" The cogs in Rowan's head whirred at the possibility of humans aiding her escape.
"Of course. It is they that serve us."
"Your...servants?" She was on the verge of temper when the answer suddenly dawned on her. "You're talking about criminals. Those exiled from West Gate."
"Ja," said Thesta, nodding. "They either die in the outland or they stay here and serve us. Simple."
Rowan's shoulders slumped. "Oh." She would rather face a thousand golrags than seek the help of some rapist. She glanced at Meera, but the girl was staring at her stew in consternation. Still mooning over Thresh by the look of it. Gods, of all the creatures in the world to catch the girl's eye. Rowan pulled a face. Thesta was right to curb Meera's curiosity, no use in getting attached to anyone here. Not when they'd be leaving soon.
Other than Meera brooding over Thresh, the atmosphere of Thesta's home was restful. It made Rowan almost forget the past few hours of emotional upheaval. In truth, the longhouse was far more comfortable and warmer than the cold and drafty stone walls of her mother's keep. All that was missing was a nice sweet treat to finish off the light meal.
"Have you any cake, or honey tart?" she asked hopefully, looking towards the kitchen.
"You'll not find such things here, I'm afraid." Thesta was ladling up a second helping for herself. "But you're welcome to harvest some honey for yourself if you don't mind a few bee stings for your trouble."
Rowan's stomach clenched.
"The outland supplies us with all we need," Thesta was saying, "and we don't trade much with humans. There's plenty of game out here, but very little else save for herbs and hardy root vegetables in the upland where I forage."
Rowan dropped her gaze to the empty bowl she sat clutching on her lap. So nothing to make life here a little sweeter? As if she didn't have enough reasons to leave.
"I noticed you brought nothing with you," said Thesta casually. Too casually. "No possessions. Not planning to stay long, hmm?"
Rowan shifted in her seat. It was Meera that answered. "Milady did pack...some things. But I...um...dropped everything along the way." She then turned to Rowan, a look of feigned contrition on her face.
Rowan's mouth twitched. "Nothing I packed would be useful in Carthyrk anyway." And it was true. They weren't lying, exactly. She remembered a legend about how wargs could smell a lie.
She looked up to see Thesta studying her. She needed to distract the warga somehow. She set her bowl away and licked her lips. "Is it common practice for a warg to take a human mate?"
"No, it's...unusual," said Thesta.
No, unnatural was what it was. Her stomach rolled as her eyes fled towards the closed door. "The goddess must've made a mistake, that's all."
Thesta huffed. "Maeda never makes mistakes, girl."
Rowan's shoulders began to quake. She was afraid to speak, afraid the ice in her chest would whither her voice.
Meera was beside her in a moment, leaning down to hug her. "Milady, what can I do to ease your suffering. Draw you a bath, perhaps?"
Thesta snorted. "There's no cistern here. You won't be drawing anything tonight unless you wish to trek to the bathhouse."
Meera squeezed her shoulder, her gaze troubled
Rowan pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to rub away the heat prickling behind her eyelids. "I miss Merritt." She could feel Thesta's frown like a cold gust. "And I wish Striga were here. I miss her, too."
"Who is Striga?" asked the warga.
Rowan brushed her hand across her nose and sniffed. "My pet dergle."
Thesta cocked her head, looking impressed. Not surprising that a warg knew what a dergle was, they were distant cousins, after a fashion.
Dergles were extremely rare and expensive. The only true shifter in existence other than a warg, except it was both parts animal, unlike a warg. Striga had been a gift from her father. A father she barely remembered now.
"Well," said Thesta changing the subject, "if you want that bath, the bathhouse is on the outskirts of the village. It's a small hike, but well worth it. It's fed by a hot spring."
"No, thank you." Rowan's legs felt too heavy to move, her chest too tight. Maybe her stench would keep the wargrex from mating with her. The thought teased a small smile to her lips and she sighed. Speaking of the beast... She glanced around the hall. "Where does Thrax sleep?"
"Not here," his sister replied. "In three days you will move to his hall."
Her eyes swooped back to Thesta, her breath hitching. "What...what happens in three days?"
"The new moon happens."
Rowan wet her lips, swallowing loudly. "Is that when...?"
"Yes." Thesta gave a slow nod. "The new moon is the Mating Moon."