Palatan refused to be impressed. “You’re not giving us what consideration you’d give oških,” he gritted between his teeth.
“And standing there with his old playmate,” Našobok murmured against Palatan’s ear. “Eh, but they stopped rutting long ago, so there’s the difference, no doubt.”
“No doubt.” A soft return grumble.
“Because you’re not oških anymore!” Nechtoun persisted, gruff. “Or maybe you are. Hunh. Council will be called soon.”
“But not yet.” Icily courteous.
“That’s my lovemate,” Našobok whispered, hiding a grin. “Heel him.”
Palatan considered kicking him. Unfortunately, such energy drained into another attempt as Palatan met Našobok’s gaze—that of trying not to laugh.
Galenu was aware of it, using an annoying midLands pastiche upon manners; pretending he wasn’t looking even though he surely was.
Nechtoun had never been known for his sense of humour—particularly when facing the one who’d once been his youngest son. His lip quivered over his canines. “So. As new-made Alekšu, you’d rather give due to an outlier than attend Council with the Tribes he’s scorned?”
That did it. Palatan started to rise; Našobok grabbed his wrists, murmured, “Don’t.”
Palatan blinked at him.
“If you get up you’ll drop your clout.”
Another blink; Palatan couldn’t help it. A smirk ticced at Našobok’s lip. “I told you I could strip you faster than you could breathe.”
Palatan peered at him. Raised an eyebrow.
Then dropped his forehead to Našobok’s chest and let out a huge snort of laughter.
Nechtoun growled, “What’s so funny?”
And that set Našobok off. Which, in turn, made Palatan laugh all the harder. Nechtoun was glowering at them as if they were indeed oških begging a good hiding, but there was, sudden-faint, a grin lurking behind.
Galenu openly laughed.
“All of you are past ridiculous,” Nechtoun growled when they finally subsided. “Surely the wyrhling doesn’t want to be late for what Council he is allowed to attend.”
“Usually I’m absent,” Našobok’s riposte was blithe. “Would late be so different?”
“Hunh. I suppose I should be grateful you keep decent company when you are allowed here.”
Palatan gave a brief tilt of chin, tacit apology accepted.
“We’ve done what we can,” Nechtoun grumbled, jerking his chin past Galenu. “I’m heading back.”
Galenu’s smile had lessened only a bit. He gave a courteous gesture, not only to Palatan, but Našobok.
A’io, there was simply no telling, with Galenu a’Hassun.
Našobok returned the gesture politely enough, but wary. And no blame for that—he’d often claimed Galenu a likeable old scoundrel, but trust him? No farther than he could throw him. Less, actually. Galenu’s dam was sister to Palatan’s, and Galenu took after her: slight, shortened with age. Našobok could probably throw him a good distance if he tried.
Palatan hid a smirk in one hand.
Galenu’s smile broadened as he turned, ostensibly to leave. Instead, once Nechtoun melted into the trees, he spoke. “Wyrh-chieftain, I’ve a shipment. Interested?”
Ai, so that was it.
“I’m always interested in good trade.” Still wary, Našobok pushed back onto his haunches.
“Could be perilous.” Galenu’s grin widened, as if he knew he’d thrown proper bait.
And he had. Palatan knew it, too, giving a light, indulgent snort whilst propping his chin in one hand, waiting for it.
Našobok leaned forwards. “Peril can make salt sweet or lave it into a wound. Where to?”
“We’ll make talk later. After, of course,” Galenu lifted both eyebrows, peered at Palatan, “you’ve… uhn… finished with this youngling.”
Palatan’s lip curled, but he flicked a glance to Našobok, stayed quiet.
“YOUNGLING. I’VE three winterings more than you, and that old khatak calls me youngling.”
“I love it when you make rough Rivertalk at me.”
Palatan merely threw back a glare, kept walking. And fuming.
Našobok seriously considered finding Galenu and smacking him upside his flawless hair knot. If the interruption hadn’t already scuttled a perfect opportunity, condescending remarks had definitely sunk it.
Ai, well. Never good anyway, to rush through a rut. They’d waited, as Palatan had said, three turnings of Hoop. One more Sun would make the next all the better for anticipation.
Lots of anticipation. Našobok had surely had his share of rutting in those past summerings, but none of those were Palatan. None of them were pissing-mad, all-puffed-up Palatan.
It would be easier to walk with a very large tree branch stuffed down his clout.
“I thought you showed considerable restraint.” Našobok made it light.
“Difficult, to answer insult with your clout around your ankles.” Palatan, too, was starting to grin. “I only hope you and I can grow so old together.”
“I hope we’re still… rutting like oških, was it?”
Palatan laughed. “That, too. Ai, it’s well to forgive any edges an elder would wield. Wisdom often outweighs any slight.” His mirth turned insubordinate. “But not all. Make sure old Galenu tenders his trade in advance if he hires you.”
“No worries there, believe me.”
“But your sire…” Palatan’s grin slid into a snarl. “I can’t easily forgive the way he treats you. I despise it.”
“Not half as much as he does.”
“I can’t imagine disowning one of my children for anything. He loved your dam past all reason.”
“He never forgave me for hurting her.”
“You’d no choice.”
“More of one than some.”
Palatan flicked a glance at him that lingered, musing. They wended the pathway approaching the main lodgings, silent amidst the murmurs and stirrings of the great lodge.
Našobok finally ventured, quiet, “You are Alekšu, now. You don’t have to attend beside me. In fact, it might do you many favours if—”
“Don’t let such talk soil your tongue!” Palatan snapped. “I’ll never speak to you with half the contempt your own blood does, and you do us no honour to even think I would.”
“I don’t think you would,” Našobok pointed out, still calm. “That’s the point. You wouldn’t hurt me, and it could only help ease your path—”
“It would hurt me.” Unspoken was: and you. You know it would.
Try as Našobok might, he couldn’t help the flutter of gratification. Still. “It might help convince
