Chapter 2

W alking from the tent, I make sure my back is straight and my head is held high, taking the path I've already memorised specifically for this occasion. The feathers in my hair catch in the gentle breeze and brush against my face, but I don't push them away, I simply keep walking. There is no need for the neutral mask I'd been practising in the mirror, as the Mother has filled me with an inner light that assures me I'm doing what I need to. Some may assume it's confidence, but it's simply belief in my goddess.

Tor follows a step behind me as my ‘guardian' for the ceremony, hence the matching clothing. As the high chief, Revna will be conducting the ritual today, thus she was unable to present me, so Tor offered to take her place as my guardian. It's unorthodox, but then nothing about my situation is normal.

It's a slight incline up to the meeting point, and as we weave our way through the rows and rows of tents, it's almost completely silent, since everyone is waiting for us at the top. It's not a far walk, but it has my heart pounding as I climb a short, jagged staircase cut into a boulder and the waiting tribes come into view. Thanks to weeks of travelling, my body is used to such conditions, so I'm no longer out of breath from actions like that as I would have been when we first escaped.

Reaching the top, I pause briefly as they notice my arrival, hearing their whispers and seeing their pointed fingers. Tor is just behind me, his presence steadying me, and I take a moment to remember why I'm here. I can't see Revna, my elves, or the sacred stones, thanks to the sheer volume of people who are gathered.

"I thought only the chiefs had to attend." Glancing over my shoulder, I see Tor gazing out at the sea of tribespeople with an odd expression. It almost seems like he's worried, but just as I think it, his face is wiped clean.

"They were the only ones who had to attend, but it's open to everyone, and because all of the tribes were here for the high chief's announcement anyway…" Shrugging, he brings his eyes back to mine, and I hear the apologetic tone in his voice. He knows I struggle in situations where I'm watched by large numbers of people. Nothing good has ever happened to me in those times. Memories flash through my mind of being dragged into the chapel in Arhaven as a slave when they declared I was to be killed before the Great Mother blessed me and Grayson saved me. Or when I denied the King of Arhaven publicly before turning and walking away from him, only to run and free his enemy. Of standing up to the elf queen in front of her people and defending my mate. All of those occasions have had consequences and led me to where I am today, so I understand they needed to happen, but they could have all gone disastrously wrong, and I still have nightmares about them.

"You're all as bad as Naril for gossip." I try to pass off my discomfort with a small laugh, but I know he sees through it. "When is Revna going to do her announcement anyway?" Trying to change the subject, I start to walk again. There's no point in putting it off for any longer. I'll only make myself more nervous. One person or one hundred people, it doesn't change what I'm doing.

"I'm not sure, but it makes sense to do it when everyone is gathered together," he replies, his voice low behind me, and I begrudgingly have to agree that he's right. As the high chief, only she has the power to call together all of the tribes, some of which have travelled from the far reaches of the mountains to get here. Now that they have all finally arrived and learned of the attack on their people, on their sacred holy place, they are angry and want answers. It makes sense Revna will tell them today after the ceremony, seeing as they're already gathered.

We stop talking as we reach the edge of the crowd. The weight of their stares is heavy, which is nothing new, but the variation is unusual. I'm used to being looked at in disgust, fear, and awe, but I hadn't expected to see those expressions on the faces here. Just what do these people believe about me? I've heard a couple of whispers about ‘the lost child,' the parable told of a child blessed by one of their goddesses that was lost to them, and it was said that whoever was to find the child would bring great honour to their tribe. However, the looks that are being sent my way have to be about more than just a story told over a campfire. I try not to let the stares get to me, but as we get closer, my eyes run over a particular group that's standing together but slightly apart from everyone else. They must be from the same tribe, as they are all dressed alike. The three red painted slashes across their faces from forehead to jaw make them appear ferocious, but the narrowed eyes and clenched fists as they watch me walk past make them look fiercer. The tribesman who I assume is the leader stands at the front, his hand resting on the hammer at his side, and a sneer adorns his face as our eyes meet. I don't know what I've done, but for some reason, this tribe hates me.

I don't need to look at the tribesman behind me to know Tor is glaring at this mystery tribe. I can practically feel the animosity rolling off him, a low growl rumbling from his chest. There's a moment where I see the chief of the tribe write me off as unthreatening, as just a little girl, and the corner of his mouth twitches up.

Oh, really? My anger awakens, and I make a decision. It's not part of the plan, in fact it's so far off of the plan, I'm probably breaking about five hundred tribe rules, but Tor told me I needed to show them I'm strong, that I belong here. I'm not going to fight them, I know I wouldn't win, not against someone like him, but I won't back down against a bully. Stopping in my tracks, I turn and stare at the tribesman. Tor instantly halts at my side, not asking any questions at my deviation of the plan. He simply crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at anyone who would dare look in our direction. I pity anybody who ends up on the receiving end of that scowl.

Realising something is happening, the chief of the painted tribe looks back up, and a flash of shock crosses his features before he glares at me again. His gaze briefly flicks to Tor as if assessing him as a threat, but it quickly returns to me, which surprises me. If you were to ask me who was more threatening just by looking at us, Tor or me, I would pick the towering mountain man. Which means he's going on more than just physical appearances. Although I'd love to place my hands on my hips and give him a meaningful look, I simply hold his gaze. The sound of shuffling feet and muttering voices reverberate around us, and I know we're making people nervous, but I keep holding the chief's gaze. Something changes then as he tilts his head to one side with a pondering expression on his face. He still hates me, that much is clear, but I've surprised him. The corner of my mouth flicks up in a semblance of a smile as I spin on my heel and start walking towards the meeting place once more.

People are gathered in groups on either side of the path, so I can't quite see the stones yet, but above their heads, I can view the large tents that are erected to the side of them. I hear the crackling of the fire now, and as we get closer, I see the familiar faces of the tribespeople who reside here permanently and care for the sacred place. As I follow the curved path around, the tall, pillar-like stones come into sight. They stand in a circle, covered in carvings with sacred stories and teachings of the tribes' histories, and in the center is a large fire. Beyond the stones, the rock falls away, revealing a view of the rest of the mountains. It's beautiful, and even though I've seen it several times now, it never fails to take my breath away.

Standing in front of the fire, dressed in an outfit similar to mine but ten times more ornate and covered in feathers, is my aunt. She's wearing a headdress made of antlers, feathers, and what looks like fangs from an animal. Her arms are mostly bare to show off her tattoos, except for leather straps wrapped in complicated knots at the top of both arms. Her cape, like mine, is decorative, but from what I can see, hers is far longer, extending back and draping on the ground. On either side of her stand a group of tribespeople of varying ages, but they all hold themselves in the same way. They're the chiefs, I realise, my eyes flicking over them, doing a quick mental count. Tor informed me that there were twelve official tribes, and including Revna, there are eleven chiefs before me all watching me with varying levels of interest.

The painted chief chose not to stand with the others , I muse, my gaze taking in the hungry expressions of a few of the chiefs. Was he protesting against me, or slighting the others? I wonder, covering the last couple of steps until I'm just before Revna. Kneeling, I lift my right fist and cross it over my chest to my left shoulder in a show of respect, bowing my head. Although I would never usually greet her this way, Tor explained I have to show that I can follow their rules and protocols, that I respect how they do things. So I bow and wait, even though my back tingles and my palms sweat as I leave myself in such a vulnerable position.

"Rise, Clarissa." My aunt's voice is steady and carries so all can hear her.

Gratefully, I push up into standing, keeping my gaze on her no matter how much I want to search the crowd for my friends. Vaeril is near, I can feel him, so I know Naril will be close by. I don't know if Eldrin decided to show up, and I don't really care either way. Liar. Even I don't believe that.

Something like pride shines in Revna's gaze, but it quickly hardens as she pulls her eyes from me and addresses those gathered around us. It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and even the golden hawks that fly overhead are uncharacteristically silent.

"Clarissa has been returned to us," Revna exclaims, her eyes glowing as she gazes around the gathering. Low mutterings and calls to their goddess fill the air, and I can't tell if they are pleased praises or curses, but I don't want to look around in case it gives away my insecurities. Instead, I keep my back straight and channel Tor's strength and Vaeril's calmness. "Today, we are going to induct her into the tribes, to make her one of us so she can take her rightful place and have a home among us." There was no secret what this ceremony was about, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise to anyone, yet there are several cries of outrage. I have an inkling of who may be behind it, and throwing a look over my shoulder, I see I'm right. Leading a small group towards us is the chief of the painted tribe.

The group is made up of nine people, predominantly of men, but there is one woman in the group too. I'm surprised they're not all from the painted tribe like I'd expected. One of the men near the back has his eyes down, only glancing up occasionally. He's a little younger than the others and unremarkable in appearance. I wouldn't have noticed him if not for his strange behaviour which is so at odds with the cocky attitude of the others. When he does look up, our eyes meet, and an intense expression of hatred crosses his face so strong that it makes me start to take a step back, but I'm stopped by a hand on my shoulder—Tor. The male's eyes flick to Tor, and he visibly flinches and looks down, shifting behind one of the others as they continue to make their way over. But not before I catch a glimpse of the tattoo on his arm, the one of two fists in an embrace, the same tattoo Tor has. They're from the same tribe. They know each other. Despite not having completed our bond yet, I can sense the betrayal Tor feels towards this man who is standing against me. I wish I could reach up and hold his hand or turn around and tell him it's okay, but instead, I push an image to him through our connection. I'm not sure how clearly he'll see it, but I'm hoping he'll feel it. It's of the night we first kissed in the courtyard in Arhaven, and all of the feelings of hope he brought with him.

The painted chief walks straight past me and up to the high chief, his followers close behind him. "Her mother was banished." Although he needs to convince the chiefs, he turns and addresses the watching tribes, his arms spread wide. "That means any children she has have no place here either, it's not right ," he snarls, his followers murmuring their agreement. "She knows nothing of us, comes parading back here with elvish mates, and brought an attack on our people." This comment brings muttering from those watching, and I feel my nerves grow. Are my fears about to come true after all? "Why should she be allowed a place among us?" He finally points at me, his disgust clear in his eyes.

"Ragnar," a tall tribesman warns from the back of the group of chiefs. He's not as bulky as most of the tribespeople, but one of the tallest I've seen, and he reminds me of the stories Tor told me of how they're descendants of giants.

"She's the lost child," Revna informs him with a single raised brow, as if daring him to question her authority. Most of the gazes of the crowd, and several from the chiefs, turn to me with reverence in their expressions. Suddenly, I get the feeling Tor left out a lot when he was telling me the story of the lost child.

The painted chief, Ragnar, turns his attention back to the high chief. "Do you have any proof?"

Revna's eyes go cold as she stares down at him, taking a threatening step forward, and I'm suddenly reminded there's a reason she was elected high chief. "Do you doubt me, Ragnar?" All around us, I see hands go to weapons at their waists, waiting on the word from their chief and the painted man would be cut down before he could even blink. However, even in the short time I've known my aunt, I understand that's not how she wants to lead.

"Ragnar," the tall chief speaks again with a frown, his expression making it clear he doesn't approve of the man's behaviour. "You never met the girl as a child. There were signs, even then." He turns to face me now, and something kind shines in his eyes. "The goddess favoured her." Although I have no memories of ever meeting this man, I have the strangest feeling— the same I had when I met my aunt for the first time—that somehow, I knew him.

"Erik is right," Tor agrees, releasing my shoulder and stepping up to my side so we are arm to arm, facing the chiefs together. "This is her. I knew it as soon as I saw her." He glances at me, and there's a look in his eyes like he's asking for permission. Am I ready for everybody to know? We weren't going to announce to everyone about our connection just yet, not while all of the tribes were here and they were still getting used to the idea of me having an elf for a mate. We weren't quite sure how they would take me having several mates. It doesn't take me long to come to a conclusion, but seeing him here surrounded by his people, I know how much it would mean to him for me to accept him as my mate.

Nodding my head, I return his smile as it spreads across his face. It's impossible not to, his happiness is infectious. Returning his attention to the chiefs, he tries to make his expression more formal, but he struggles to contain his smile completely, which pulls at the corner of his mouth. " Ematus formed between us. It is fated."

Ragnar growls low in his throat as he takes a menacing step towards me, but that's all it is. He's not going to hurt me, this is all about intimidation. My friends, however, don't appreciate this. A rush of wind and the flutter of the feathers in my hair is what alerts me to the elves' presence. Glancing to my left, I see a scowling Vaeril, and beyond him is a crouching Eldrin, who is growling.

He came. Pushing the frenzied thought aside, I notice that on his other side is a very bored-looking Naril, but I can see from his stance that he's ready to move in a second's notice and is keeping a close eye on his feral twin. Tentatively reaching out for our bond, I'm relieved to find that although angry, Vaeril is fully in control right now. The last thing we need is for a fight to break out between the elves and the tribespeople.

"Look, at the first sign of trouble her elves jump in to save her," Ragnar shouts with disdain, gesturing at us again, his other hand tightly gripping the handle of his hammer which I know he's eager to use. "She knows nothing of our ways!"

"That can be taught," a familiar voice calls from the crowd. Turning, I see Vida stepping forward, and a couple of her fellow stone keepers whom she had been standing with nod in agreement. "She knows the ways of the goddess." As one of those who dedicates her life to the care of the sacred meeting place, people trust her words and look to her like they would a priest back in Arhaven. I would put far more faith in Vida than I would in the corrupt human priests, however, and I've only known her less than two weeks.

Somehow, I need to convince them that I belong here. Tor and Revna thought blood and history alone would be enough, but I know action and strength is what these people value. Looking inside myself, although I can always see it, I search for all the things Vaeril, Tor, and Grayson value about me, the reasons the Mother picked me. That is what I need to show them. Taking a steadying breath, I step forward, and knowing my companions are behind me helps strengthen me.

"I know you don't know me, and I know your first impression of me was that I brought a fight to your door." My words are met by silence, and I turn from the chiefs so I can address those gathered, praying to the Mother that my voice stays steady. "My only memories are of slavery. But I survived when others didn't, and I put that down to the mix of elvish and fierce mountain tribe blood pounding through my veins." There are some cheers at the mention of ‘fierce mountain tribe blood,' which brings a quirk to my lips, but I keep going. "Whenever I felt like giving up, curling into a ball and succumbing to the pain, something in the back of my mind would demand that I get back up and keep going with one foot in front of the other, and I know that was because of the warrior's heart in my chest." I turn to the chiefs, knowing that, ultimately, it's them I need to convince. "So I may not know your customs, I may not know how to fight like you or the best way to catch and skin a mountain hare, but I know how to survive, and that's not something you can teach."

"The girl is right," a deep voice agrees, making me shudder. It's the kind of timbre that sounds like it belongs to someone who doesn't speak often, and as I find the owner of the voice, I shudder again. He's another one of the chiefs, but like Eric, he is thinner than the average tribesman. However, unlike the giant chief, this man looks lethal, every inch the predator. His braided hair and eyes are dark, and almost every inch of his skin is tattooed, making him blend in with the shadows.

Ragnar frowns at his fellow chiefs, and I can tell this is not going how he imagined. His eyes dart over to me, narrowing as his expression twists into something bitter. "You need all twelve chiefs to agree to induct her, to reverse the banishing." While I may be able to convince the others, there is nothing I can do to convince this man. Tor's low growl at my side confirms it, and I feel a flicker of fear as a thought occurs to me, remembering what he had told me about the challenge. He wouldn't challenge Ragnar to make him agree, would he? You know he would. Ragnar isn't the chief of his tribe for nothing. Besides, he looks lethal, I wouldn't trust him to make it a clean fight. My eyes widen as Tor takes a step forward, dread lining my stomach. No! Think, Clarissa, you have to do something.

Stalking forward, Ragnar completely ignores Tor and keeps walking until he's almost pressed right up against me. He's trying to intimidate me, but I hold my ground no matter how much I want to step back. "I do not recognise Clarissa as one of us," he sneers into my face, and Vaeril starts to move, but I hold out a hand, resting it gently on his chest, and he instantly stills. Ragnar watches with a disgusted expression but doesn't stop his little speech. "And it's an offence that she bears our marks on her skin."

With speed almost as fast as an elf, he grabs my tattooed arm, a dagger glinting in his free hand. Several people cry out, but it's like they're moving in slow motion as the blade comes down and slashes over my skin, cutting across my tribal tattoo. Pandemonium ensues. Jerking my arm away, I stumble back in shock, my elves converging around me while a snarling Eldrin and Tor restrain the painted chief.

"It used to be an honour to get our tribe marks, and now it seems that anyone can waltz into camp and be given them!" he shouts, spittle leaving his mouth as he tries to break free. I can barely hear myself think as tribespeople bellow and howl their disgust, either at me receiving my tattoo or at his sudden attack on me, I can't tell.

A sudden wave of anger so fierce it physically knocks me to my knees surges through my body. Except it's not my anger.

That is enough!

My wrist glows so brightly it hurts to look at it, and as the Mother shouts in my head, I'm suddenly aware of everyone falling to their knees, watching me with expressions of fear, glee, reverence, and devotion.

I feel different, powerful in fact. It's almost like I'm having an out of body experience as I get to my feet and look down at the cowering people around me with a strange sense of detachment. Even Tor and the elves are bowing, wearing varying expressions of wonder on their faces. Magic rolls over my skin, and all pain and weariness disappear, the presence of the Great Mother stronger than I've ever felt before. Joy fills my soul at being so close with my goddess, and I feel her caress in acknowledgement of my devotion, but there's a reason she's here, and I shrink away from her simmering wrath. The Great Mother is barely in control of her fury, she's on a warpath.

My head turns, scanning the kneeling tribespeople before us. Raising my arm and seeing the blood dripping from the cut, my eyes narrow and the dam that's holding back that fury breaks. It suddenly occurs to me that I'm not in control of my body right now, but only a vessel for the goddess.

"How dare you mark my beloved?" Although it's my mouth and my voice saying the words, it sounds nothing like me. The power behind it makes the hair on my arms stand on end. The mountains tremble around us, and several people cry out in fear, calling out to the goddess for mercy. Although I know this is aimed at Ragnar, she continues to look around at all those gathered as she speaks.

"You doubt me, your goddess?" She doesn't shout, yet her voice seems to carry, her disapproval clear in every word. "Your faith in me weakens, which is why I sent Clarissa to you. Yet that is still not enough, you require constant proof." My voice deepens, and although it's still early morning, the sky seems to darken around us, clouds forming out of nowhere. The land falls silent. Birds fly back to their nests, their songs muted, and even the wind seems supressed, the sound of the breeze blowing through the tall grasses absent. With a snap of my fingers, we turn to face the painted chief as sound suddenly returns. When he attacked me, he'd been dragged a few steps away, but we now close the distance until we are looking down at him where he kneels on the rocky ground.

A wave of the Mother's almighty magic rolls over him, and I see his eyes widen and his body shake as he comes to the realisation of what's happening. "Is this proof enough for you, Ragnar?" The venom in the goddess' tone makes him wince, and frankly, I don't blame him.

Dipping his head in a show of respect, he looks back up and meets my eyes. "Yes, mighty Shea. Please accept my apologies." We pause for a moment as we regard the painted chief, and although his hands are still quivering, he keeps eye contact with us the whole time. A hum of approval goes through me, and I get the impression the Mother thinks his apology is genuine. Does she trust him not to try and hurt me again?

I do, my beloved , she whispers to me. He wouldn't dare harm you again, I can see his intentions. Her voice fades from my mind as she turns her attention back to the watching tribes. Her eyes land on each of the chiefs, and she nods her head slightly when she meets the high chief's gaze.

"There is a great evil infecting the land, and my beloved will need your support if you are all to survive this," the Mother addresses everyone, her voice carrying once again, and I can feel magic in the air which explains how she's doing it. Murmurs sound from the watching tribespeople, and there's a sudden rumble of thunder overhead in the gathering clouds, effectively quieting them. "The future is bleak if she is to fail her task, so it benefits you all to aid her in this." Face grave, I look around the crowd again, my eyes landing on certain people, and from their shocked expressions, I get the impression they had been having doubts. Somehow, the goddess knew and was able to find them in the throng. Finally, with a deep sigh, I look back to Revna, the high chief, and walk over to her, holding out my hand for her to take. Still kneeling, she reaches up and places a kiss on the back of my hand, beaming brightly up at me. Smiling down at her, I cup her cheek gently before turning and addressing the rest of the tribespeople once more. "Do not disappoint me."

As everyone mumbles assurances and praises, they lean forward, pressing their foreheads to the ground.

You did well, my beloved , the Mother whispers in my mind, her voice suddenly little more than a breath of wind. At that moment, I regain control of my body as the Mother leaves me, and I collapse to the ground.

Arms catch me before I land on the hard, rocky terrain, and I'm instantly surrounded by familiar faces. Voices call out, but they all blur into one. A wave of bone aching fatigue washes over me, making my eyelids heavy, as if my energy has suddenly been depleted.

"Let's get her inside," a familiar male voice suggests, but I'm so tired I can't place whom it belongs to, only that something in my chest flips at the sound of him being so close. There are hums of agreement, and the next thing I know, I'm weightless as I'm raised into the air. I try to open my eyes to see what's happening, but a hand rests on my shoulder and I instantly settle, feeling stronger already.

A name instantly comes into my head, and I know who's touching me—Vaeril. His strength flows through our bond, and I'm able to open my eyes as I'm being lowered onto a bench. Everyone backs away save for the elves and Tor, who are kneeling by my sides. Vaeril is frowning, his hand pressed against my bare shoulder, and I vaguely wonder what happened to my cloak. Tor has a perplexed expression on his face, but he doesn't look particularly concerned. In fact, his eyes have an excited gleam to them. Naril and Eldrin are crouched at my feet. The former has a restraining hand on his twin's shoulder, as if he's holding him back from coming any closer.

Frowning, I reach up and place a hand against my temple, rubbing my fingers against the skin there, already feeling a headache coming on. "What happened?"

Movement by the tent door catches my eye, and I see Vida take a step forward, her smile wide and eyes revered as she takes me in. "The goddess was here, you were her sacred vessel." The way she looks at me makes me uncomfortable. I hoped we could be friends, but if she only sees me as a ‘sacred vessel' and watches me with those eyes, then she will never be able to be honest and open with me like a friend would be.

"Do you remember anything?" Tor asks, calling my attention back to him.

Sighing, I lie back and look up at the tent canopy as I think of my response. "I remember everything, but after…" I gesture a ‘poofing' motion with my hands, hoping they understand what I'm trying to say.

"You collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut," Naril interjects, filling in the blanks, his brother silent at his side. "We brought you in here, but as soon as Vaeril touched your skin you seemed to respond better."

"It's their bond, he strengthens her," Eldrin murmurs, but the way he says it sounds like he's saying a dirty word, and he's still not actually speaking to me but about me. He's not spoken to me in days. Vaeril bares his teeth with a low warning hiss at his temperamental friend, and had he not been giving me some of his strength, I'm not sure what might have happened.

Needing to defuse the situation, I clear my throat. "When the goddess left, I just felt exhausted, like all of my energy had been drained."

Revna snorts a laugh and walks to my side, leaving a healthy distance between her and the elves, choosing to stand next to Tor. I've noticed that although most of the tribespeople respect the elves, they seem to be pretty wary of them. "Did you feel the magic rolling off her when the goddess was here? I'm not surprised she's exhausted," she says with a tight smile, addressing the rest of the chiefs in the tent. I can see the tightness in her shoulders, and although her expression is neutral, there is concern in her eyes. The mask of the high chief. "Rest, we will reschedule the ceremony for another day."

Something doesn't feel right about that statement.

"No, we need to finish this today." Taking a deep breath, I gather all of my remaining energy and swing my legs off the side of the bench, much to the displeasure of the guys around me, if their disgruntled grunts are anything to go by. Exhausted just from that small movement, I roll my head to look at Revna. "You need to make the announcement today too." I don't know why, but I just have a feeling it's important we set everything in motion today. "Help me sit up?" I glance at Vaeril as I speak, his eyes softening as I ask. He knows how much it costs me to ask him for his help. As he leans forward to wrap his arm around me to help me up, I lower my voice so I can whisper to him. "Keep touching me, please?" I'm not sure if I'll manage to stay upright if our skin-to-skin contact was to break right now, and thankfully, he seems to understand this.

"Of course." Glancing at Tor, Vaeril frowns, a slightly pained look crossing his features, but when he looks down at me, it passes quickly. "It might help if you were touching her too," he suggests.

Tor raises his eyebrows, surprised the elf is the one to suggest it, as he's been quite territorial since we bonded. While Vaeril agreed that I didn't have to choose between those I had a bond with, he was finding the actuality of it was far harder than the theory.

Nodding, Tor shuffles closer, placing one hand on my arm and sliding his other hand under my arching lower back. As soon as his hand is on my skin, I release an embarrassingly loud breathy sigh. Someone storms from the tent, I'm pretty sure I can guess who, but I'm so focused on how good their hands feel on me that I can't focus on anything else right now. It's not sexual, although in a different context it probably could turn into that, but right now, it's like they're soothing all of my aches and pains, giving me back strength and easing my sore muscles. Gently, they help me sit upright, and I look at the two of them with wide eyes, wondering if they felt the same thing I just did. Vaeril is actually smiling for once, his pupils blown wide, and as I look at Tor, I see he's grinning at me in a way that promises trouble and makes my insides clench.

A loud cough has my head snapping around, my gaze landing on Naril, who's watching us with a lazy grin. Sudden realisation dawns that we're being observed by the very people I'm trying to convince to let me become one of them. Fighting the urge to apologise, I simply roll my shoulders back and swallow my embarrassment, smiling slightly at the pride in Tor's eyes. Spotting my aunt, I know I should stand to greet her, but I'm not strong enough right now. However, if I conserve my energy, I should be strong enough in a few minutes, I can feel my vigour returning swiftly thanks to Vaeril and Tor.

"High Chief, would you be willing to continue the ceremony?" I inquire from the bench, my mates on either side of me. Revna pauses for a moment, her lips pursing,and I know if we were alone, we would be having an entirely different conversation. However, with the attention of the tribe chiefs on her, I've backed her into a corner.

Turning from me, she directs her heavy gaze on the others in the room, saving the last for Ragnar. "If we got the backing of all of the chiefs, then yes."

Ragnar winces as everyone turns to look at him, but to his credit, he straightens his back and holds his head high. "I will follow the will of the goddess." His eyes meet mine. For a second, they flicker with a flash of fear, and I know he's remembering what it felt like to have that much power and magic focused on him. "I won't stand in your way, you have my blessing." Dipping my head in understanding, I lean slightly against Tor's shoulder, using him to help prop me up and hoping that no one notices. While I don't think Ragnar and I will be friends anytime soon, I believe we may have come to an understanding.

Revna has been watching the whole exchange with her arms crossed and a neutral expression on her face, so I know she's not happy. "Any other objections?" After the Great Mother's display, I know no one will stand against me, but I get the feeling she was hoping that someone would say something. Not because she doesn't want me to complete the ceremony, but because she's seen how exhausted I am. Any sign of weakness in the tribes is frowned upon, so she's trying to spare me any embarrassment by not raising the subject more than she already has. Realising I'm not going to let it drop, she sighs and rubs a hand over her face, nodding her head. "Then let's do this. Please return to your places," she addresses the chiefs, directing them outside the tent.

As they start to file out, she catches the arm of one of the passing tribesmen. He looks much like any of the other tribesmen. His beard and tattoos make him look intimidating, but it's his golden hair that causes him to stand out. It's probably fitting then that he's the Chief of the Golden Hawks Tribe.

"Arne, are you ready?" Revna queries, and from the way he rolls his eyes, I get the impression they've had this conversation many times before.

Grinning, he reaches out and grips her shoulder. "Yes, Revna, I know what to do." She reluctantly grins and nods her head. The chief steps away from Revna and turns to me, his expression sobering, but there is still a curious, friendly gleam in his eyes. "I look forward to welcoming you to my tribe, Clarissa."

I smile at him in return, too exhausted and anxious to say anything, and thankfully he accepts this with a nod and leaves the tent. When Revna spoke to me about accepting my place amongst the tribes, there had been the difficulty of deciding which tribe I should belong to. Apparently, I couldn't be accepted as a tribesperson without belonging to a specific tribe. When I asked why I couldn't be in the same tribe Revna was in, she explained they weren't technically a tribe, but more of a group of tribespeople who had left their tribes to look after the sacred stones and meeting place like a religious mission. Although Tor has been working on greater equality for women in his tribe, he hadn't wanted me to join the Eternal Brothers. It may have been the Golden Hawks who had banished my mother in the first place, but my aunt has assured me that Arne is nothing like the old chief and ways are changing. Besides, there is something nostalgic about belonging to the tribe that both my aunt and mother belonged to, and it makes me feel closer to them.

Now that everyone but my friends and Revna have left the tent, my aunt walks towards me with a frown, crouching in front of me. Concern flashes in her eyes, and I see her hands flutter on her knees. For a second, I think she's going to reach out to me, but her jaw tightens and she grips her knees instead. "Are you sure you're ready for this? You just collapsed, no one will think less of you. You were just a vessel for a goddess." Although she says this, we both know that's not true. There will be some who will judge, who will see a weak female who can't cope with the job the goddess has given her.

Meeting her gaze, I give her a tight smile. "I'll be fine. Just give me a minute and I'll join you." Making a noise of displeasure in the back of her throat, she shakes her head and pushes up to standing before turning away and stalking from the tent, her cloak swishing behind her.

Feeling like I've been run over by a wagon, I drop my head into my hands, groaning as someone rubs my back in slow circular motions. The pounding in my head is slowly fading thanks to the contact with Vaeril and Tor, and I'm gradually starting to feel semi human again. Wait, can I even say that anymore? Semi half human? Semi half elf? Snorting, I lift my head, feeling dizzy as everything that just happened begins to dawn on me. Fantastic, I'm going hysterical.

"So," Naril drawls, drawing my focus from my near breakdown. Glancing over, I see he's looking down at his nails, using his dagger to sharpen them into claw-like points. Feeling my eyes on him, he lazily rolls his head around so he's facing me. "What was it like to be possessed by a goddess?"

There's a second where I feel Tor stiffen next to me, and I wonder if he's going to try and hit the elf for his insensitive question, but I snort another laugh, and I feel him relax. "Shut up." Rolling my eyes at the elf, I lean back into the tribesman as Vaeril just shakes his head at his friend. I know what Naril's doing. His obnoxious behaviour and rude questions are a front, and he knew I was losing it, so he was trying to bring me back.

Sighing, I shift my weight on the bench, and Vaeril turns his attention back to me. He doesn't insult me by asking if I'm okay or telling me not to do this, he knows I have to, he can feel it through our connection, but that also means I can feel his concern. Leaning forward, I press my forehead against his, letting him know without saying a single word how much his regard and care means to me. With Tor's hand still on my back and Vaeril at my front, all I'm missing is my mage. Almost as if he knew I needed him, a wave of his love reaches me once again, strengthening me despite the distance keeping us apart. Closing my eyes, I take slow steady breaths, listening to my mates next to me, synchronising our breathing, and it's like Grayson is here with us, the four of us connected together. There's a slight weakness in our connection, and that's Tor, not through any fault of his own, but because we have yet to seal our bond, something I plan on righting soon.

When I open my eyes, I feel Grayson fade from my consciousness, and look at the two who are still here with me. They appear surprised but refreshed, and to my shock, so do I. My arm still hurts from where I was attacked, and as I glance down, I see it's still seeping and will need cleaning and dressing, but I don't feel the bone-weary tiredness anymore. At least I feel strong enough to finish the ceremony.

Naril has been watching us this whole time, and he throws his hands towards me with a ‘well?' gesture. "No, seriously, I want to know."

Shaking my head, I just ignore him and try to push aside the ache in my heart at the fact Eldrin never came back. I hoped after he stormed out he'd return to see the rest of the ceremony, but I guess that's not going to happen now. Shoving the pain away and choosing not to look too deeply into why it hurts so much, I push up from the bench and brush down my dress.

"Let's get this over with."