Chapter 12

He’samong those men in the distance, waiting for my arrival. The air feels good on my hide, the wind a familiar friend I recognized as soon as I took flight. I move faster and faster as I whip my body around Fallil Spire. It all locks into place as if I’d never left—the loud rush of air cocoons me, overpowering the noise of the outside world. I’ve missed this, I realize, but it’s not nearly enough to make me stay, and I know that’s what they want from me.

I told the other gazlas that I’ll only be taking one mate this festival, and that they should consider those that present me with their ullazo as prospects for their own nests. Only one man will ever be allowed to chain me, and his marks are already sunk deep all over my body, pulsing beneath my hide, ingrained in every muscle and scored across each bone.

None of them believe me. Not a single one.

I’m the oldest by far. I pull up higher, eager to leave them behind, those young gazlas who wish to show their prospective mates just how tightly they can navigate their turns, how prettily their markings ripple beneath the sun as they move.

I would’ve had this all six years ago if I’d stayed. The thought terrifies me.

Someone whistles below me, a reminder that this flight has a purpose and I’m straying from my intended course. I glance down. The gazla closest to me has broad, large wings, and the dark blue markings on his charcoal hide make him look like he’s been painted by the night sky. He’s handsome—I know that from speaking with him earlier. Handsome enough to draw Jace’s eye? I’m the only Lohnya he’d ever seen until today. I hope the festival won’t change anything, but a tiny blade of fear slips its way between my ribs, as sharp as any Fallil dagger.

The gathering awaiting our descent is larger than any I remember. It would be prideful to think that my presence here has anything to do with the size of our audience, but I can’t help but wonder if the two circumstances are connected. Maybe it’s not me at all, but Jhevase. Perhaps they’ve all assembled to inspect him in all his wondrous, human glory.

I work my wings harder, sweeping them in great, heaving strokes. I need to see him without any further delay. Now that I’m closer, I can distinguish the different groups ahead. They’ve separated themselves by the vossan markings they display on their bodies. It doesn’t escape my notice that more wear my red than any other color. Still, the majority of those waiting for us aren’t prospective mates at all, but the men who’ve come to watch the spectacle unfold, the annual reaffirmation of Fallil, Lohnyal, and everything our people revere.

“What is a gazla without a nest, without mates to guard and young to train? Nothing at all, Sohen. He is nothing.”

It was easy to tell myself it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought then. Easy enough to convince myself that I was the child they considered me—until I returned, that is. Now it’s all coming back to me, and the voices from my past are as clear as if I’d heard them speak this very day.

The blue marked gazla attempts to pull ahead, swooping beneath me to reach the waiting mates first, but I don’t let him. If this weren’t the start of the festival, I’d be punished for my poor behavior, but they’ll all assume my rudeness is due to the mating hunger, and they’ll chuff and smile as they excuse me for it.

I pass by closely enough to hear the other man’s low, enraged hiss as I drop down into his flight path. I’m bigger. Older. Desperate enough not to care. He does nothing to stop me.

I hit the rock feet first, letting myself skid forward before I attempt to ground myself with my talons. My wings flare out behind me, bringing me to a halt. I’m vibrating with the tension that’s built up, trapped inside my body. I snap my head up and forget to breathe.

He’s standing in front of the others, his naked body covered in the symbols of my clan. The red vossan is startling against his golden skin. It looks like flames licking across his limbs, curling over his shoulders and lovingly tracing the contours of his stomach. There’s a shine to him, the sheen of sweat. Small beads of perspiration roll their way down to nestle within the hidden spaces on his body: the little hollow at the base of his throat, the tiny dip above his belly button, the crease of his elbow. He looks good enough to eat. For this alone, I will be grateful to Illson; my father has done well.

The others are landing around me, finding their own prospective mates, but I don’t care to look at anyone else but Jhevase. This is what drove me to return—to see him adorned as my mate, to choose him in front of my people and my fathers so that there is no possibility anyone can deny our bond.

“Jhevase,” I breathe out, moving faster now that the shock of seeing him wearing the vossan has dissipated.

He frowns slightly, brow wrinkling up, and I don’t like it. “Sohen,” he says, and I like that even less. It sounds wrong coming from him. I can’t recall the last time I was only Sohen to him. I’ll break my own wing before I cease to claim him as Jhevase.

“I like you in my color, marked as one of my clan.” I curl my talons towards my palm and stroke the outside of my hand down the side of his arm. “You look beautiful, Jhevase.”

His lips twitch like he’s not sure whether to smile or scream. Then he pulls the ullaz over his head and holds up the silvery beads towards me. “I believe these are for you. I choose you, Sohen,” he tells me.

I bend my knees to lower myself and dip my head so he can easily put the necklace over my horns. “Thank you, Jhevase. I rejoice that you’ve chosen me.” The ritual words require no lies from my lips.

I want to pull him to me and spend the evening tracing each red line of vossan with my fingers and tongue until there isn’t a sliver of skin on him that I haven’t touched.

“I choose you, Sohen!” a voice cries out beside us.

When I look away from Jace, a semi-familiar face greets me—Zana Losla. Before I can say a word, he slips his ullaz around my neck. Sour saliva floods my mouth when I look at the way his beads tangle with Jace’s. I want to fling it away, but I can’t.

“I’m honored, Zana Losla, but you should reconsider. Many fine gazlas are participating in the mating festival this season,” I tell him, my fingers itching to pluck the necklace away from my chest. “I’ll take the mating flight with Jace, but we will not remain here afterwards to nest.”

I tell him exactly what I told the others, and he responds the same way. He blinks, stiffens, and then the tension releases as his lips turn up and his eyes sparkle again. He doesn’t believe me. He’s taken my words, dismissed them as foolishness, and hardened his understanding. No Lohnya would believe a gazla could deny his instincts to claim, nurture, and protect.

It isn’t their fault. If I were a proper gazla, they would be right, but my growth was flawed, my fate mapped crooked from the very start. I swallow the sweet air of my homeland, thrumming with desire, but my instincts only urge me towards one man, never many.

“I can’t choose another. I’ll prove to you that I have a place in your nest,” Zana Losla tells me, poorly hiding his smile.

“I also choose you.” Another man comes forward, almost as tall as I am, and he places another ullaz over the others.

By the time they’re done, every Lohnya wearing my color has made their intentions known. My chest is obscured, covered in silver, and I can barely turn my neck under the combined weight and heft of their ullazo.

My fathers stand nearby, watching me with approval. What will it take to make them believe me? To finally force them to understand? Leaving accomplished nothing.

“Sohven.” Jace speaks softly, quieter than normal, but at least he calls me by my proper name, the one only he will ever be allowed to claim. He’s still standing too far away, but he moved closer—close enough that when he stretches his arm, I can reach his open hand.

I grab it as quickly as possible, snatching it towards me like some rare prize. Finally, I feel like myself for a moment before I’m falling again, dizzy from the magnitude of the mess I’ve brought down on both our heads. He’s the tether, the anchor, the solid truth that keeps me from floating away, caught on the next wind. He won’t blame me too much when I admit this was a mistake.

“Sohen!” My father Illson strides towards us, fingers curled like he’s planning to rake my hide with his talons. He has the experience to back up the threat held in that single hand, and I have the marks to prove it. He stops right in front of me, and I take petty satisfaction in the fact that he’s forced to look up. “You haven’t been away from us long enough to forget that what you’re doing is forbidden. The festival has begun. Release him now!”

He’s furious, but he’s hiding it from the others around us, smiling as he hisses through his teeth. I don’t want to let go, but Jace drops my hand first, stepping away as he eyes Illson like my second father is a dangerous predator. I’ve always considered him to be especially perceptive.

“Hurry. Everyone else has already left. You’re making your prospective mates wait—the festival is just as important to them as it is to you. It’s dishonorable to spoil the opening rites in this manner.” Illson’s fingers wrap around my wrist as he tugs me forward.

“I’m coming.” I shake off his grip and tip my horns towards the group of men displaying red vossan that mimics my own markings. “I’ll go with them.”

Illson’s pupils narrow, showing more of his green slitted irises. “We’ll be watching. Don’t shame your nest,” he tells me before he walks away towards my other fathers.

“Well, that was intense,” mutters Jace. He’s back at my side again, but he keeps his arms close to his body, his hands balled in loose fists. “When will we get to be alone again? What comes next?”

I glance at him and see the rest of the men close behind him. “We walk to the feasting site, and then we’ll enjoy the hot pools before the trials begin in the morning.” I dip my head down and tap at the opening of my ear, but it’s no good. I could understand Pavok’s language when it came from Jace’s lips, but the translation device can’t make the impossible true—I can only remember the words of my own tongue and Trade, no matter how many languages I may be able to comprehend with its assistance.

“Something wrong?” he asks dryly, a little half smile curving his mouth. “Food and a soak sounds great, honestly. I didn’t really have much of an appetite this morning, and it was a long afternoon with your dad.” His eyes flash before he glances down, giving me a good view of the long, dark lashes that protect them. That may be their true purpose, but I’ve always found them fascinating, especially when he uses them to tease me as he’s doing now.

“Did he speak much with you?” The others are surely listening, but I can’t lose this opportunity to talk to him. I’m not ready to tell him that if we follow the eyrie’s rules, we won’t be alone together until the festival’s end.

“No, not much, but he seemed to tolerate me. I was the means to an end—I brought you home, so he’ll accept my presence.” Jace is smiling, but it’s fake.

“He didn’t touch you, did he?”

He lifts an eyebrow at me, and I frown. Human faces are so much more expressive than ours. He claims my wings give me an unfair advantage, that I have what he calls a poker face, but I disagree. He’s never seemed to have any trouble reading me.

“Well?” I press.

He shakes his head and laughs lightly, motioning towards his body. I take the invitation and look my fill all over again. I don’t know that I’ll survive days without touching him. It’s a good thing I don’t intend to follow my people’s rules—it’s not like I was ever good at obeying before.

“Stop that,” he says, a beautiful flush rising beneath the bold lines of the vossan on his chest as blood races towards his face. “You father painted my entire body with that stick thing. Of course, he touched me, but it wasn’t anything for you to be jealous over. This shit itches.”

“Don’t worry. That’s one of the reasons we go to the hot pools the first night. The water eases the discomfort.”

“Yes, one of the reasons,” one of the other men says. He’s inserted himself at Jace’s side, standing far too close, purposely letting his body sway towards him.

I bare my teeth at the man who interrupted us. “Who are you?” I demand.

He smiles at me like I said something amusing. “Vozu.”

“He told me one of his older brothers knew you,” Jace says, appearing frustratingly unbothered by his proximity.

“What’s your clan name?” I ask sharply.

His smile fades. “Saahsa.”

I almost stumble. I look down, expecting to see a loose rock or small crevice that caught my talons, but there’s no explanation for my clumsiness to be found on the ground. “Holan was your nestmate?”

“Yes. When the elders announced you were returning for the festival, I knew I had to meet you. Can you tell me how he’s faring?”

Suddenly I can’t swallow. “No. Forgive me, but I can’t.” I turn away, unable to face him.

“Why not?” Vozu’s getting louder, but I refuse to discuss this piece of my history now.

“This is the first festival night. I can’t.” That will have to be explanation enough.

Jace sighs, glancing up at the sky. “Everyone keeps saying that, but it doesn’t really look like night yet. Doesn’t it get dark here?”

My wings jump a little at the abrupt switch in topic.

“It doesn’t end until it’s night,” Vozu answers for me. “By the time we’re finished, we’ll have to follow the glow lines back to the sleeping grounds.”

Jace shrugs and nods at Vozu. “So what you’re saying is that we’re in for a long evening?”

“Hush,” I whisper under my breath. “Don’t antagonize them.”

My mate gives me a sharp look before he smiles so sweetly I know he must be imagining something horribly vicious. He starts walking faster, and I fluff out my wings as he pulls ahead.

“What?” he calls out when he glances back. “The quicker we get there, the sooner we eat, right?” Then he grins, and I can’t help but smile back at him, momentarily dazed by the brilliance of even that small expression.

“Right,” I echo.

I’m not the only one who watches him go. I hurry to fill the space behind him, ruffling out my wings a bit to block their view.

It doesn’t take our group long to reach the others. Half the groups have taken to the air to get to the feasting site faster, avoiding the narrow path between boulders, but those of us who’ve chosen to follow the traditional processional route must be patient. The long line of Lohnya winds through the rocks, and it must be a magnificent sight from above with all of the prospective mates adorned in the bright colors of their vossan.

We work our way along the twisting path, and anticipation pulses through my blood. This may be a mistake, but it will have a beautiful end—Jhevase in my arms, both of us embraced by the winds and the sweet, loamy smell of my world. He glances back, pale eyes gleaming, looking exquisite marked as mine. My worries recede. If this is a mistake, I’m hopeful the joy will outweigh any regret.