She can speak my language, then.
She can also speak with Clode.
Interesting.
“I do not choose this,” I seethe, the ruddy silk bound around my waist ruffling in the wind, my entire body taut with the urge to move.
To fight.
My gaze drops to my Fate Herder, now watching me through slit eyes that are far more solid-looking than the rest of its body.
Though it’s still coiled, I sense its welling unease in the air between us. Like it’s waiting to see what foot I’ll step out of line next. But if this is my fate—if this is what it was leading me to—I don’t accept it.
Not one single bit.
Over the last few aurora cycles, I’ve cradled my Essi while she slipped away, said goodbye to Nee, been shot with an iron pin, and received so many lashes I passed out from the pain. I’ve been fed to a thunder of dragons, nearly swallowed, been turned down by the only male who’s ever made my heart skip a beat, was swept off a cliff, and I am at my wit’s end.
I am not accepting this male’s málmr, no matter how exceptional his battle skills are. I’d rather slam the small disk so far into his skull it cleaves through bone and punches into his squishy brain than bear this male’s children.
I have no idea who he is, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to grow a child—first and fucking foremost. If I have to go to war with the Fate Herder to avoid this, I will. Beautiful, mythical beast or not.
A dribble of Hock’s blood slithers down the line of my nose, my upper lip peeling back. “I will fight for myself.”
My words hiss across the crater.
The Oah-ee swallows, leaning toward her male, whispering something against his ear. He looks at me, gaze shifting to Hock, to my sleepy Herder, then back to me. He says something to his Oah-ee, and she releases a shuddered breath, gaze dropping to her babe nuzzled amongst folds of gold silk.
Silence beats by.
She sweeps a hand over the youngling’s brow, then clears her throat, though her words still come out choked as she looks me in the eye and says, “So long as the Fate Herder does not prevent you from entering the ring, we will not oppose your decision.”
Saiza paints me in more parchment-thin streaks of blood while I stand statue still. While I watch Hock stalk back and forth across the sandy battlefield, his gaze firmly cast on me as he sucks and shoves deep breaths through bared teeth like a ferocious, meat-eating animal chomping at the bit to launch forward and chow down on his prey.
I sigh, nudging my shackle into a more comfortable position on my arm.
The escape plan was simple: climb down the cliff and follow the river to the wall, sticking to the shade as best I could. Charm a Moltenmaw. Hunt Rekk Zharos and torture him to death. Now I have to behead this male only two steps from the starting line.
I cut another glare at my near-invisible Herder, currently little more than a rumbling metallic smudge, cursing the moment it leapt into my life.
Saiza swirls another streak of blood across my midriff. “You don’t like the male who won for you?”
Won for me …
That’s not what this was.
“I do not choose this male,” I rebuke, and she frowns, confusion swirling in her pretty sunburst eyes.
She drags the brush down my nose, over my lips, chin, and neck. “He has hunted many wild gruuc—great, tusked beasts almost impossible to bring down. His tent is large, wrapped and lined with many of their pelts. Proof of his famed strength. You are Kholu. Your offspring will tether moons to the sky and bring great peace. Do you not want a strong sire?”
I bristle.
How much clearer do I need to be?
There is no reality where I lift this silk and let that male into my body. No reality where I step a single fucking foot in his impressive tent. No reality where I bare my throat to him—the tilt of deep, primal respect.
I’d rather him slit it from ear to ear.
“I don’t want this male, this title, this anything,” I growl, cutting another sharp stare at the smudge of metallic air particles beside me, hoping the Fate Herder is paying real good attention. “My body is mine, and I will do with it as I please. Nothing more.”
Saiza’s face blanches, and she drops her eyes, dipping her head in submission. “I understand, Kholu. We cradle different values. I apologize for overstepping.”
“It’s okay.”
I just want to be done.
Gone.
Saiza passes me a small smile, then paints more swirls down the length of my arm while I continue to observe Hock’s movements—studying the way his body shifts. The way he eases his weight from foot to foot. The damage already inflicted on his hulking form.