“Honest word?” Ella’s voice was clear even through the tent wall. “Ya stuck that filthy little bugger?”
“Didn’t just stick him,” Stela said. “Took his first seed.”
“No!” Ella squealed. “Ya sure?”
Stela laughed. “Didn’t have a clue what he was doing.” Briar felt his face heat at the words. Her laugher, so beautiful a moment ago, cut at him.
“Bad, then,” Ella guessed.
“Didn’t say that,” Stela said, and Briar perked up. “Little stinker made it up in enthusiasm. Popped quick the first time, but I wasn’t far behind. Then it was popping all over.”
Briar smiled from ear to ear.
“Do all Krasian men have small cocks?” Stela asked, freezing the grin on his face.
“Not ones I been with,” Ella said. “Not as big as Cutters, but bigger’n most.”
“Briar’s half Laktonian,” Stela said. “Maybe that’s why.”
“How small are we talking?” Ella asked. Stela must have shown with her hands, because her squeals of laughter followed Briar as he fled the camp.
—
Briar cleared the few possessions from his hideaway, returning to the hollow he dug beneath the goldwood tree, far from the Warded Children’s hunting grounds. He didn’t know how to feel about Stela anymore, but he knew he would never be able to sleep with the Pack nearby.
His thoughts were still in chaos when he made his way to Mistress Leesha’s keep. There were guards on patrol, but they never saw Briar slip over the wall and through the courtyard, scaling a shadowed wall of the manse.
His bandaged hands were a hindrance in the climb, both for the loss of grip and for the reminder of all that had transpired in the past day. For better or worse, a simple scouting mission had changed his life forever.
He ran across the roof, crouched too low for any to see, until he came to the spot above the mistress’ office window and clambered down to the sill.
Careful not to be seen, Briar checked the hall window first. Two of Wonda’s guardswomen stood at the chamber doors, attention outward. He moved to Leesha’s office window.
The mistress was on the office divan, Olive in her arms. Her back was to the window, and Briar could not see or hear anyone else in the room. He reached out to knock.
“Come in, Briar.” Leesha spoke before he could make a sound. “Close the window quick. Cold as a demon’s heart out there.”
Briar slid a wire between the panes, tripping the lock. Warmth from the roaring fire engulfed him as he slipped inside and shut the pane. Cold seldom bothered him, but few things did. He adjusted easily to the heat, stepping carefully to avoid leaving dirt on the warded floor.
The mistress’ dress was unlaced, the babe latched at one breast. A day ago, Briar would have thought little of it, but now he felt himself flush, casting his eyes down.
“No need to look away,” Leesha said. “Nothing to be ashamed of, using them for the purpose the Creator meant for them. Folk are going to have to get used to the sight.”
She gestured to the laden tea table. “Help yourself to tea and a bite.”
Briar’s mouth watered when he saw the sandwiches on the table. Not the delicate crustless fingers Duchess Araine served, these were thick brown bread with generous cuts of meat. He stuck one in his mouth, holding it while he took a handful of dried hogroot leaves from his pocket, crumbling them into a cup and pouring hot tea over it.
Briar glanced warily at the empty couch across from the mistress. He was freshly bathed but still felt too dirty to sit on such fine material.
“Sit, Briar,” Leesha said. “Elissa told me they didn’t want you muddying the furniture in the Monastery of Dawn, but here you are my guest.”
Briar sat stiffly, legs tight together to put the least surface of his backside possible on the couch. He hunched, gnawing on his sandwich while the tea steeped.
Leesha cleared her throat. “That doesn’t mean you don’t need a napkin.”
The scolding was one his mother had given a thousand times, and Briar quickly snatched a napkin off the table, laying it across his knees.
“What happened to your hands? Let me look at them.” Olive began to thrash and cry as Leesha broke the latch.
Briar raised his hands to forestall her. “S’fine. Just scraped. Washed and wrapped.”
He meant to tell her about the tattoos, but when the moment was upon him the lie came easily. He didn’t know himself what the ink meant, and had no desire to share the question before he thought it through.
Leesha looked ready to insist, even as she allowed Olive the nipple once more. “You’re not the clumsy type, Briar. What happened?”
“Found Stela Cutter fighting cories and threw in,” Briar said, skipping the details. “She brought me back to the Children’s camp.”
“Stela Cutter was out hunting alone?” Leesha demanded. “Does she have a night wish?”
“Safer’n you think,” Briar said. “She’s strong. Leads the Children.”
“Stela?” Leesha gaped. “She’s the sunny side of a hundred pounds and eighteen summers old.”
“Everyone’s afraid of her and the other Wardskins,” Briar said. “Act like they’re not, but I can tell.”
“Afraid why?” Leesha asked.
Briar shrugged. Stela changed dramatically when they were no longer alone. There was still so much he didn’t understand about her and the other Children.
“How many are there?” Leesha asked.
“Hundred, at least,” Briar said. “Wardskins, Bones, Pumps, Sharum, and Brothers. Call themselves the Pack.”
Olive fell asleep at the breast. Leesha pried her gently away and rose, throwing the babe over a shoulder. Olive gave a contented burp, still sleeping as Leesha glided to the crèche and laid her down.
She returned a moment later, dress laced tight, and sat across from Briar. Her eyes, the color of sky, pierced him.
“Tell me everything.”
—
The sky was darkening when Briar returned to the Warded Children’s camp. He’d told Leesha everything about the Children, but kept private the details of his own interactions with them. Wasn’t her business.
The Children bustled about, preparing for the coming night. They mended and folded nets of wardplates, sharpened blades and painted wards on their skin. The young Krasian girl Shalivah was teaching sharusahk to a large class with all factions of the Pack in attendance. The girl looked like a snake, flowing from pose to pose with impossible grace.
Briar moved close, mesmerized.
“Everam blessed my granddaughter,” Jarit said, moving to stand next to him. “She used to watch Kaval train her brothers. One time he caught her practicing the moves and struck her. If you dare take the sacred poses, you had best do them properly! he cried. If a man who is not your husband lays hands on you, will you shame the house of Kaval, or will you break his arm?”
Jarit smiled. “My honored husband made her repeat the move a hundred times, and set her to endlessly cleaning in the training room.”
“Fifty miles in any direction is Sharak Sun.” Briar used the Krasian term for the Daylight War, the conquest of humanity that the Evejah taught was necessary to win Sharak Ka. “What side will you take, when it reaches you?”
“The Pack will not fight in Sharak Sun,” Jarit said. “As the son of Jeph revealed to us, There is no honor in shedding red blood.”
“Honest word,” Stela said, coming to stand with them. She slapped Briar on the back. “Starting to worry you weren’t coming back.”
“Like to be by myself,” Briar said.
“Ay, I get it,” Stela said. “But the light’s fading. Time we went to the initiation ground.”
Briar looked at her curiously but followed as she led him to where the Wardskins were mustered. There were more than twenty of them, dressed in scraps and covered in wards. They were often small and thin, but with predator’s eyes. Brother Franq stood with them, clad only in a brown bido. His thickly muscled body was covered in tattoos, but he kept his crooked staff as well.