“If I assume the worst, I have cause. This game you’re playing is dangerous, ehši.”
“I’m not your daughter! I never have been, and I have nothing more to say to you. Outlier!”
Našobok’s face twisted. He nearly lurched forwards but just as obviously strangled the motion, fists clenching. “You go too far.” Barely audible, fury scoring icy calm. “Up, Tokela.”
N’da, he didn’t think so. If he did, he was going to be sick. Worse, he didn’t even know why…
“Tokela?” The voice was unchanged, so why was there concern bleeding from beneath the raw anger? And Anahli… something fragile and tensile as spinner’s webs harnessed Tokela to all the fury and grief she flung, like spear from atlatl, against Našobok. And trying to quiet that? Easier to caress lightning, hold to Wind. The oddling flickers renewed their dance against his eyelids; Tokela squeezed them tight and bit his lip, hard. The sting brought him back within himself.
“One Sun will rise, Hihlyanahli,” Našobok gritted out, “when you think your own thoughts, not merely echo the poison that n’batuweh Chogah feeds you.”
A long gasp, as if Anahli were about to reply.
Našobok forestalled it. “Go. Now.”
Silence. Then a choke and the sound of feet, heavy and stumbling, in retreat.
“Tokela.” Calmer, but no less a command. “Get up.”
I can’t. Don’t you see, I can’t.
Hands grabbed his wrists and hoisted him upright. Tokela let them and kept his eyes tight-shut, glad of the new forelock that fell into his face—don’t touch me, don’t look, not now—but couldn’t wrest free.
“Tokela.” No question, no demand, but the fingers taking Tokela’s jaw were as merciless as gentle. Even curiosity at that last didn’t impel him to open his eyes.
A forehead touching his, brief, and Našobok’s breath against his cheeks. This did open Tokela’s eyes, in time to see Našobok loose him and go over to inspect Mordeleg’s prone form. “Just stunned.” Still quiet; soothing, almost. “What are the three of you doing here, Tokela? What has hap—?”
“I tell you, nothing happened between us. Anahli did nothing.” She didn’t… it was me. She saw. Knew… and then we…
We… what happened? How does she know? What does she know?
“So tell me why you’re here. At this place.” Našobok gestured to the t’rešalt, which was, thank every spirit nameable, dark and dormant. “Have you come here…”
It trailed away, but Tokela answered, quick as a quirt, “As my mother did?”
Even Našobok, it seemed, found the subject of Lakisa uncomfortable. Instead of meeting Tokela’s eyes, he peered at the t’rešalt, frowning.
“How did you know I was here?” Tokela pressed, wondering how anyone had known, at that.
“I tracked you. You weren’t so careful about your steps, and that one,” he jerked his chin towards Mordeleg, “left a trail like a wounded buck. I feared he would come after you, and it seems he did.”
“A’io.” This was easier than the… Other. “He threatened Madoc, too. I nearly took him down again, but he pinned me. He tried to force me. I didn’t want him!”
“That was obvious even in Dance.”
The reassurance gave some ease. “Anahli saw, too. She threw the stone. I wish I’d…” Anger rose, not hot but cold. I wish I’d done… whatever the Riverling and the Elementals and the t’rešalt would have… It sickened him even as the thought surfaced. “Anahli did nothing, but if she had, at least she’d have given me the choice!”
Našobok peered at him, mouth quirked. “Tokela, you and Anahli have already attracted enough trouble thisSun; are you so set on flaunting tradition—”
“It seems tradition would forbid you to me as well. Is that why you didn’t want me?”
A frown scrawled itself over Našobok’s forehead; he closed his eyes for a long breath. When he did speak, it was a growl. “If you didn’t see that I did want you, then you weren’t paying attention, cousin.”
Was that condescension? “You didn’t fight for me!”
“If that’s true, then why am I here?”
This stopped Tokela midbreath of another angry volley.
“No doubt Anahli would say I’m here to thwart her. She and I don’t exactly get along of late. But then Anahli doesn’t get along with anyone of late but the n’batuweh.” Našobok shrugged and stood, toed Mordeleg’s haunch. “Well, as it stands, if this one weren’t oških, I’d take him to River and pitch him to Her mercy. But he is, so we must do something, not just make talk about your… uh… unconventional choices in playmates.”
“Anahli didn’t—!”
“I meant me.”
Oh. Tokela’s cheeks burned. A slow smile tilted his mouth; he kept it and closed his eyes, watched the flickers fade to darkness, listened to the drum of his heart quicken into silence.
“Tokela.”
He found Našobok watching him, gaze unreadable. It seemed Našobok had many things he would choose to say,; instead he merely continued, “The chieftains are in Council until the Moons touch the Duskmost trees. I certainly can’t interrupt and you’d just catch more trouble did you do so. I also refuse to just let this”—he toed Mordeleg again, this time prompting a tiny groan—“wander free. Neither can I stake him down somewhere away from here.” The slight smile turned wider, tipped into a snarl. “Though it might be a good thing did one of lionKin take the treacherous lout.”
The image of Mordeleg trussed like hunting bait appealed mightily. Tokela couldn’t help a broad smile.
Našobok, still watching, let out an odd staccato of breath before a contagious, lopsided grin returned. “I think I know what to do. I’ll be back.”
Heart stuttering in inexplicable panic, Tokela shot Našobok another wary look.
Another frown, then Našobok repeated, “I’ll be back. If…” He hesitated, and it seemed odd upon the normal surety of his body. “If you want me to, that is.”
Tokela felt his cheeks flaming, lowered his head. Gave a tight, self-conscious nod.
“But not here. We shouldn’t be here, it’s not safe. You shouldn’t come here, Tokela, and you know why.”
A knot fisted itself in Tokela’s chest, half resentment and half relief.
“Where shall I find you?” Našobok’s
