CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

I've never tried to find my village from this direction, never needed to. Since we came from one of the blank regions of the map, we've been traveling without landmarks for some time. Our location is approximate at best, and that inaccuracy has never mattered more.

We cross a creek, Storm's hooves splashing in the bright, fast water. Do I know this creek? It looks like a hundred others, only a few feet wide, burbling happily as it rushes around moss-capped rocks worn round and smooth.

I have a good internal compass—early orientation training proved as much—but any such skill atrophied years ago when my father insisted I focus on warrior training and nothing else. By the goddess, how I regret that now! We could pass Moon Blade Village by a matter of miles and not know it.

Right as I'm ready to call a halt so I can scale a tree to try to get the lay of the land, a voice calls out, "Krivoth!"

Mist appears as Storm slows to a trot. "Who's that?"

"Krivoth!" The voice comes again, louder.

"Branikk!" I yell. "Branikk, is that you?"

Then my best friend in the entire world runs out of the trees, his huge hunting bow bouncing on his back.

He's seven-feet tall like most orcs, but his build's a little leaner than mine since his life as a hunter focuses on the strength of endurance instead of the explosive strength of battle. Instead of a warrior's braid, his long hair flows free, with only the front part tied up out of his way. My friend can fight—most orcs can—but the thrill of the hunt calls to him more than the thrill of battle, and unlike me, his family's happy to have him follow his passion.

"By the goddess, Krivoth! You've got a unicorn mount! And is that a human?" As he runs up to me, his face splits into one of his easy grins, all tusks and happiness.

"Yes, the goddess blessed me with a moon bound bride," I say as quickly as possible. "But she's hurt, and I need to get her to Gerna as soon as possible. Which way to the village? And how far are we?"

"You're a couple of hours away."

Relief rushes through me. When I saw him separated from his unicorn in order to hunt, I worried he was on one of his long hunts, far from the village. But his words indicate we're close.

Concern creases his features as he turns and points in a direction a few degrees to the side of the one we'd been traveling. We might indeed have missed the village without his help.

"Thank you! We must hurry, but thank you!" I dig my knees into Storm's side, and he leaps forward.

"Of course!" Branikk yells as we race away. "I'll follow as fast as I can to help!"

His words warm my heart. Never has anyone had a truer friend. He's the only person besides my sister I ever told any of the truth of my family to. Ever since Mother died, he made sure to have me over to his family's house at least once a week for dinner full of cheer and love.

I hadn't quite let myself feel how much I missed Branikk, the good of his friendship buried under the burden of my father's expectations.

As if our confirmed direction has given him new purpose—or perhaps it's the knowledge that we're finally close—Storm runs faster than ever.

I hold Taylor to me with one arm and lean forward. Gripping his mane, I let my ass rise from the saddle, to make things easier on all of us. "Don't hurt yourself," I call out. "She wouldn't want that."

"I know my limits, orc," Storm says, as grumpy as ever. Yet here he is, running himself into the ground for Taylor. For me and everything she means to me.

"You're a true friend."

He snorts but doesn't disagree, which might as well be unicorn for "yes."

A ragged breath of relief huffs from me when the pines finally give way to the wide heart trees of Moon Blade Village. Branches emerge about twenty-feet high on each tree, spreading wide and covered with plate-size waxy heart-shaped leaves. The bottom of each massive truck shows windows and doors, hinting at the cottages within. The village woodworkers sculpt them from the living wood without harming the trees, using magic to do amazing things, the most amazing of which is that each cottage is bigger on the inside than the outside of its tree.

I use my knees to guide Storm as we weave around the wide curving trunks, only stopping when we get to Dravarr's cottage.

Mist appears while I'm still dismounting and thumps her paw on the door.

When I shoot her a questioning glance, she gives me one of her wide smiles. "It was obvious, orc. You're no puzzle." Then her eyes go to Taylor, still in my arms, and all of her feline amusement falls away, leaving only concern.

Dravarr swings open the door, his stern expression unchanging as he takes all of us in. Being calm under pressure is one of the things that makes him a better warlord than I ever could have been. It's freeing to admit that.

"I need an empty cottage," I say quickly, "and Gerna, now!"

"Follow me." Dravarr takes off without asking me a single question. He has his own moon bound bride and understands exactly what I'm going through. But I'm still shocked that he takes me completely at my word. Had all of our past rivalry been one sided? Had I been the only one to feel the threat?

We pass a couple of youths, and he yells at them to go and fetch my sister. They take off at a run.

Then he swings open the door on the old Rashurr cottage, which has been empty for several months, the elderly couple having passed quietly in their sleep, holding one another. All of their personal effects have been removed to prepare for a new family, leaving the honey-colored wooden interior stripped back to the basics of the built-in furniture.

"This is where the king stayed during his visit," Dravarr says.

I well remember. I tried to approach King Aldronn here in the village, but the moment never presented itself, hence my carefully planned idea to catch him as he left.

I hurry through the living area, ignoring both the couch and the dining room table. Whether she felt it or not, my poor bride's ridden for two days. She deserves nothing less than the comfort of a bed.

As I push open the bedroom door, Dravarr says, "Everything's been cleaned since then."

I nod as I lay her on the soft furs of the bed and smooth her wild hair out of her face.

Gerna runs into the room, her medical bag in hand. Her face flashes with joy as soon as she sees me. "Krivoth!" Then her eyes immediately fall upon Taylor, and she stills, becoming coolly professional. "Tell me everything."

"This is Taylor, my moon bound bride, and she breathed in a new type of deathsleep the sluagh made specifically to work on human witches."

"Fuck," Dravarr mutters, surely thinking of how many times the soul stealers attacked his bride.

I remain focused on my sister. "I have the violet trifolia in my saddlebags. Can you make the antidote?"

"I can."

Hope blooms anew in my chest.

Dravarr sends to the closest village for their healer, and Drake, the dragon youngling, flies off to ask if any of the dragons know anything about deathsleep variations.

My sister works tirelessly into the night on the antidote, and I assist her as best I can. I often helped when she practiced making tinctures and potions during her herbalist training, and we fall back into the old rhythm of it.

Mist stays in the bedroom, and the two other human witches take turns sitting with Taylor. Ashley's about the same height as Taylor, but far plumper, with fiery red hair and pale pink skin. Olivia's the tallest of the three, her build somewhere between the two, though her long brown hair and tan skin are similar in color to my bride's.

Branikk returns, stumbling into the cottage with fatigue. Yet the first words out of his mouth are, "Can I do anything?" When I convince him he can't, he collapses onto the couch and falls asleep immediately. He must have run all the way back, so he'd indeed been on a short hunting trip without his unicorn.

The person who notably doesn't appear is my father, and it's a blessing.

Dawn lightens the windows by the time Gerna finishes.

"This is it, the antidote." She holds a small glass vial up to a glow stone until the light shines through the purple liquid within. "It looks exactly as the dragons said it would."

"So it'll work?" I ask.

Her lips pull down in a frown. "It'll work on regular deathsleep, so hopefully it'll work on this new type of deathsleep, too."

She doesn't say anything more, but I hear the rest of her thoughts—if this doesn't work, we don't have anything else to try.

This is our only hope.

I follow my sister in to the bedroom, and Ashley stands up and leaves without having to be asked. She's good at reading people—it makes her a good match for Dravarr and a good mate for a warlord.

Gerna drips the purple solution into Taylor's mouth with the kind of patience I don't have, massaging her throat and getting her to swallow.

Nothing happens.

"Is that it?" I want to tear out my hair. "When's it supposed to work?"

"The notes say it's immediate."

"Immediate! Then she should be awake already!" All of the hope I've been clinging to starts to unravel.

Gerna presses her hand to Taylor's forehead, but my sister's not a healer, per se. Her magic works with plants, not bodies. Then she turns and takes my hands. "Taylor's human, and this was a different kind of deathsleep. This doesn't mean the antidote won't work. It might simply take longer."

I nod, grasping at any last thread of hope.

"You should rest," she says.

"No." I shake my head. "I'll stay with her."

"But—"

"I'll stay." King Aldronn himself couldn't drag me from my bride's side. "Thank you, Gerna."

She gives me a quick hug and leaves.

I sit in the chair beside the bed and pick up Taylor's hand, pressing a kiss to it. It's the first time we've been alone since the cave, and I'd give anything to be back there now, loving a fully awake Taylor.

I've spent so long focused on all the wrong things—becoming warlord, becoming a king's guard. By the goddess, I didn't even listen to what Taylor tried to tell me of the kind of life she wanted. I hadn't wanted to hear her ideas, too caught up in my dreams of glory.

I've been such a fool. Nothing in my life is more important than her.

"Please come back to me, my bride." I squeeze her hand in mine. "We'll live wherever you want. We'll do whatever you want. Nothing is more important than your happiness."

The words are still warm on my lips when footsteps sound behind me and a familiar weighty hand clamps onto my shoulder. "Come, boy. The king summoned you."

I glance over my shoulder at my father. "King Aldronn's here?"

"Of course not. Don't be stupid." And there it is, the look of derision he always gives me, his eyes hard, his lip curled into a sneer that frames one tusk. "He's in Raven Steel Village. A messenger returned. The king wants you to join him there."

I hadn't realized Dravarr had sent a message to the king, but of course as warlord he had. I should have as well, but I had far more important things to focus on.

"No." I turn back to Taylor.

"No?" Father's grip tightens, his fingers digging in like daggers as he tries to force me to face him. "You don't say no to me, boy."

I resist for just long enough to make it clear that he can no longer move me if I do not wish to be moved. I'm no longer a teen to be pushed around, either physically or with words.

Lunging upward, I spin and plant both hands on his chest, shoving him away from me. We are not going to do this where it might disturb my bride's recovery.

His mouth drops open in shock, and he sputters. He looks so much like me, only worn with age and marked by hatefulness. Why can no one else see the way disapproval has carved deep lines into his face? I keep shoving, driving him across the living area and out the front door.

Branikk bolts off the couch and shoots me a knowing glance, ready to lend a hand if I need it.

I do not. Several years' worth of pent-up frustration fuel my muscles.

By the time we're outside, the confusion in Father's eyes has disappeared under a wash of rage. "You'll go to the king and maybe finally make something of yourself. You're my son. You represent this family, and you won't bring dishonor on my name!" He pokes a finger into my chest with each sentence, his lips twisted in a snarl. "Though knowing you, you'll probably fuck it up like you do everything else."

Shocked gasps come from around us. This is the first time he's ever slipped in public, but he's too angry to care.

"No." The word encapsulates everything I feel. I won't leave Taylor, even for the king. I won't fail in the only way that truly matters.

I won't fail her ever again.

"No? No!" he spits at me, getting right in my face. His finger continues to prod me with every statement. "Is that all you can say? Have you become even dumber than before?"

Grumbled murmurs come from all around us. I don't take my eyes off him, but I can feel my clan mates gathering and filling the spaces between the wide, curving tree trunks. Only a few weeks ago, it would have been my greatest nightmare to have all our dirty laundry aired in front of everyone. Now I realize it was never my nightmare—it was Father's.

Why have I never seen how broken he is? And how much that brokenness needs to break me, too, so that he can feel vindicated in living as he has.

But he will not break me. The cracks in my soul have been filled in and made strong again by Taylor and her belief in me. I will never stop loving her, never stop putting her first, never stop trying to be a better man for her.

"You will go to the king!" he yells. "You will become a guard and bring pride to my name!"

This is taking too long. What if Taylor wakes and finds me gone?

"No, I will not. It's not my duty to bring pride to your name. And I have a higher mandate than that given by the king." I point to the cottage. "I have a moon bound bride, gifted to me by the goddess. Taylor is my priority."

Father's hands ball into fists.

In all these years, he's never struck me, but this is also the first time I've defied him. If I fight back, he wins—he'll have made me the same as him, all twisted up inside by anger and fear. I won't do it. I won't become him. I stand unflinching, but I do not raise a hand to him.

He pulls an arm back—

Branikk steps forward and hooks his elbow through my father's, stopping the punch. In a flash, he twists my father's arm up behind his back in a controlling lock. My friend shares a look with me, a gleam of satisfaction filling his eyes. He's the only person outside the family who's known how my father treats me, and I get the feeling he's wanted to do something like this for years.

Dravarr strides from the crowd. "Take him to his cottage and make sure he stays."

"Yes, Warlord," Branikk says.

The warlord's arrival finally snaps Father into an awareness of the crowd around us. His head swivels, taking in all of their disapproving looks. A look of horror crosses his face. This is his worst nightmare and more punishment than I could ever give him—people judging him, thinking poorly of him. And he has no one to blame but himself.

"No, wait! Dravarr, you don't understand! Krivoth's always been difficult. I do this to make him better! I do this to—"

"Oh, I think I understand perfectly," Dravarr's deep voice slices through the air like a moon steel blade, cutting off my father. "Now go and wait for my arrival."

As Branikk marches him away, Father throws one last desperate look back at all of us, but his eyes skip right over me, his son, to land on Dravarr.

It should hurt, and yet it doesn't, because it simply confirms something I never wanted to realize before. It doesn't matter what I achieve—I'll never be enough for my father. I could labor all my life under the lash of his expectations and never make him proud.

Which is the exact opposite of Taylor, who offered me her respect within hours of meeting her.

Dravarr's serious eyes meet mine. "I swear to you I did not know. My mother didn't know." She'd been clan warlord before him.

"I didn't want you to." Molded by my father's twisted expectations of my greatness, I couldn't allow myself to see Dravarr as anything but a rival. Showing him any weakness had been unthinkable.

Gerna steps up to my side, her hand finding mine just like when we were little. "Father's been careful to keep it hidden."

Dravarr's sharp gaze lands on her, and his frown deepens. "He does this to you, too?"

"No," she says. "Not as bad."

And that simple statement sends a ripple of shock through me. I always thought my sister the favored one, the loved one. Around me, Father did nothing but sing her praises. But how did he treat her when I wasn't around? The tense line of her shoulders says it wasn't good. By the goddess, why had I never realized?

Because I'd been too caught up dancing to my father's tune to think of anything but finally winning his approval. It's the same trap I fell into that led to Taylor getting hurt.

As Dravarr moves away to give us some privacy, I wrap Gerna in a hug. For years, I let my envy of how Father treated her put up walls between us, and I tear them down now. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize he was also hurting you."

"I'm sorry, too." Tears fill her voice, and she clings to me for several long moments. When she finally pulls away, it's to offer me a soft smile. "I love you, you big goober."

A bark of laughter escapes me. It's the childhood nickname she used to call me when we were young and happy and Mother was still alive. The one I called her leaps to mind, her love of plants having begun young. "I love you, too, moss girl."

As happy as all of this makes me, a deeper discontent still twangs across my nerves. Moon Goddess, I whisper in my mind. Please. Please give me the chance to make things up to my moon bound bride, too.