Niam

NIAM

T haron shifted his weight from one foot to another behind my cushion. His proximity warmed my back, but his refusal to sit pricked at my nerves.

“I can protect myself,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” Tharon’s hand brushed my shoulder. “That’s why you’re falling over from exhaustion.”

“Enough, both of you.” Mahra clapped her hands. “We’ll discuss everything after food. You look half-starved, child.”

A servant materialized at the tent flap.

“Bring us the evening meal.” Mahra waved her hand. “And wine.”

Tharon pulled out the wrapped meat from his pack. “Take this to the kitchens,” he told the servant. “Share it with the camp.”

The smell of roasting meat drifted into the tent minutes later. My empty stomach and salivating mouth reminded me how long it had been since our last proper meal.

Two servants brought in steaming bowls of stew and fresh bread. The rich aroma of spices made my mouth water.

“My cooking skills don’t compare,” Tharon said, finally settling beside me. His leg pressed against mine as he reached for his bowl.

I froze with my spoon halfway to my mouth. “Did you just make a joke?”

“I’ve been known to, on occasion.” The corner of his mouth lifted.

The stew burned my tongue, but I didn’t care. The meat melted in my mouth, tender and flavorful. Far better than Tharon’s barely-cooked attempts over our campfire.

Mahra watched us both, her sharp eyes missing nothing. She balanced her bowl in one hand, rings glinting in the brazier light. What did she want? Could I trust her with our mission? With the truth about the Temple?

One more person to convince. One more risk to take.

But first, I had a bowl of stew to finish.

After long minutes, I set my empty bowl aside and bowed my head to Mahra. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Tharon squeezed my shoulder. His warmth seeped through my robe, grounding me.

“Now, child.” Mahra leaned forward. “Tell me what drives you across our lands.”

I stared into the brazier’s flames. How to explain any of this?

I struggled to speak, memories of the Temple's horrors rising up. “I don't know what you have heard about my people. We're not Frostlings, not creatures of legend. Simply people. But there is a curse that controls our city.”

The Temple, the drawing of lots. All those women sacrificed to feed the insatiable hunger of the machine.

A curse indeed.

My hand drifted to the scars at my neck where the jacks had been. “I escaped, but not unscathed.”

Tharon’s fingers tightened on my shoulder.

“This evil,” I continued, “has existed for generations. It has been part of our lives for so long that we no longer wonder why we must endure it.” The flames blurred before my eyes. “What I seek could end it. Must end it.”

“And what do you seek?” Mahra’s rings clinked against her cup.

I hesitated, then slowly withdrew the device from my robe. Its surface caught the brazier light, intricate symbols rippling across the metal. “A relic of my people’s past. Something lost when we first came to these lands.”

The device pulsed.

“The components of this relic were scattered across the Shakai lands, hidden.” I traced one of the raised lines with my finger. “This device guides us to the next stage.”

Mahra extended her hand, palm up. My fingers tightened around the device before I forced them to relax. I placed it in her waiting hand.

She turned it this way and that, the metallic surface reflecting the brazier’s flames. The guidelight cast a steady beam toward the mountains. “In all my years trading across these lands, I’ve never encountered its like.” Her rings clicked against the raised designs. “The craftsmanship...”

I held my breath. The silence stretched as she studied it, my heart drumming against my ribs. What would she make of it? What would she do with this knowledge?

“Here.” She handed it back, careful not to disrupt its orientation. “You should keep this close.”

Relief flooded through me as I tucked it away.

“Now.” Mahra fixed her stare on Tharon. “The camp needs fresh meat. Go help.”

Tharon’s hand returned to my shoulder. “I should stay.”

“Nonsense. Your mate will be perfectly safe here.” Mahra’s rings flashed as she gestured. “No one would dare harm a guest in my tent.”

Tharon and I rose together. His hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek, my breath coming short with his touch. “If anyone?—”

I placed my hand over his. We’d only been together for two days.

There was no reason for him to be acting like this. No reason for him to have come to help me at all.

So why did this bond between us feel so right?

“I know. Go hunt.”

He inhaled sharply, then forced himself to step back.

“Elder Mahra.” His voice carried an edge of warning. “Keep her safe.”

“Mind your manners, young prince.” Mahra’s rebuke carried the weight of years. “I’ve been guarding treasures since before you were born.”

A flash of shame crossed Tharon’s face before he ducked out of the tent.

Mahra called out to a servant just outside the tent flap. “Bring clean clothing and hot water for washing.” She turned back to me. “That one needs to be careful. His Valti nature rides too close to the surface.”

“What do you mean?”

“The beast within him grows stronger each day.” She poured more wine. “And I suspect you, my dear, are the cause.”

“The cause?” My mouth went dry. How could I have anything to do with this?

Before Mahra could explain, three Shakai women ducked into the tent carrying a wooden tub between them.

The women’s copper skin glowed in the brazier light, their long hair twisted into intricate braids - one silver, one deep blue, one a mix of both. They dressed in fitted leather pants and loose silk tunics that shimmered as they moved, cinched with elaborately tooled belts. Small spots trailed down their necks, barely visible against their skin.

Despite their delicate features and small frames, they lifted the heavy tub with practiced ease.

Two more followed with steaming buckets. The sharp scent of herbs filled the air as they poured the water.

I pulled my robe closer. The Temple had stripped away any modesty long ago, but these strangers...

Mahra waved her hand. “Leave us.” The women bowed and retreated. “No need to be shy, child. I’ve borne three children and buried two husbands. There’s nothing I haven’t seen, and I know how to keep a secret.”

Still, I hesitated.

“Come.” She stood behind me, her hands gentle on my shoulders. “Let me help you.”

The robe slipped away. Cool air kissed my skin as Mahra guided me into the tub. The water enveloped me in blessed heat, easing muscles I hadn’t realized ached.

Mahra’s fingers traced one of the scars on my back where the firewhips of the priests had marked me, brushed the newly healed skin where the access ports down my spine had been. “Has Tharon seen these yet?”

“Of course not.” Heat rushed to my face as I imagined his hands there instead of hers, trailing over the marks of my imprisonment. Would he be disgusted? Or would his touch be as tender as his gaze?

I dunked my head under the water. “Tell me about his beast. Please. What did you mean?”

“Ah.” Mahra poured sweet-scented oil onto my shoulders. “The warriors of the Shakai kingdoms are fierce. But there are some that carry something extra in the blood. The Valti are both blessed and cursed. Their strength, their passion - it comes with a price. The beast grows stronger as they age, until they find their true mate.”

“And if they don’t?”

“They lose themselves to it. Become nothing but the beast.” Her hands stilled. “Tharon has fought his nature longer than most. To be honest, I’d doubted he carried the Valti blood at all. But now...”

I turned to face her. “Now?”

“Now he’s found you.” Her grin widened. “His mate.”