Galenu sighed. No one was responsible for what happened. Just as none could have stopped Lakisa once she’d made her mind up. And with such a renewal of ill will hereabouts, it would be imprudent to travel past the Threshold and seek them out.
Old Grass Weaver had been forward, to say what she had. Galenu had earned his travels, and the old fem had no rights to imply otherwise. Yet Grass Weaver was right about the encroaching outLanders. Maloh had given dark hints Galenu’s way about taking care where he wandered; it seemed her own kind had expanded their horizons to include slavers and zealots.
A’io, the rest of Galenu’s fellow chieftains were fools did they not heed the outliers’ warnings. Even Nechtoun.
Galenu shook his head, let out a grumbling sigh. Nechtoun was, well, not himself. It was the worst insult to give any a’Naišwyrh, to be sure, but it was the truth. Galenu hadn’t meant to upset him so, particularly in front of their fellows. It had seemed more like an old debate of their youth, where things had either ended in fisticuffs or a bout of rough-playful rutting. Talk was all they bandied of late, of course; he’d not meant to cause such distress in his oldest and dearest friend.
Another set of switchbacks. Galenu slowed, feeling his way.
Most surprising had been the sight of the Alekšu attending Nechtoun—and that Alekšu’s identity. Of course Galenu had known about the business with Chogah; he kept up on the doings of his dam’s birthing-tribe. But no question he was getting old, because he’d not fully processed its meaning.
Palatan as Alekšu? The young, wayward tyah who’d failed every attempt at wresting control from Chogah, and finally been married off to the tribe’s chieftess? He’d walked out of Council, also, with such strong talk. Galenu had assumed that Chogah had long ago ground the mutiny out of that one.
Of course, neither was Palatan a wayward oških, no more than Galenu himself was in his prime.
Nechtoun’s snores filled the corridor. Galenu followed them, flung back the doe hide that covered the den from which they emanated. An uncovered bowl of gleaming-stones both warmed and illuminated the windowless den. A thoughtful gift for thinner blood and elder eyes—Inhya might not like him, but neither would she shirk her duty as hostess. With a happy sigh, Galenu headed to the bedshelf, shrugging from his cloak.
Instead he nearly went toes over haunch across another gift. It had been left in the middle of the den, trussed and gagged like hunting tribute.
“HOW AM I supposed to impress upon our offspring that making games with Fire is generally frowned upon?”
“I knew it was you.” Palatan didn’t take his eyes off the hearth, nor did he move his hands away. Fire leapt upwards, curling about and caressing his fingers. A comfort, to test his control—and a way, curiously enough, to siphon away what quicksilver and oddling flames still ran rampant along his nerves.
Aylaniś trod over, slow and silent as hunting wolfKin. “Nor should you be in the open like this. What are you doing out here?”
Palatan pursed his lips towards the tipo behind them. “Anahli sleeps, guarded by Arrow.”
“I suppose there’s a good reason you didn’t march her straight back to the oških dens?”
He shrugged.
“Are you and the Wolf in competition for the hardest shell and squishiest heart?”
Another shrug. There was no speaking to this, not yet. Not when he wasn’t even sure what he had Seen.
With a shiver, Aylaniś pulled her fringed shawl closer and came over to kneel behind Palatan. “It smells of Rain constantly here—and feels damp as an outlying cavern. I always forget how it is. Perhaps I too grow soft, used to our caldera and the warmed caverns of our wintering.” She spooned close, nipped at his ear. “I still remember the first time I came upon you doing such a thing.”
“You shrieked like raptorKin. I became… distracted.”
“You became burned.”
“Not the first time with you, my Hawk.” Palatan chuckled as she gave his ear another nip.
“For burning? Or distraction?”
“Mm. You obviously think much more of my control now.”
“I wish control was a game you would not play.” Another nip, sharper. Palatan acquiesced, sliding his fingers from Fire’s grasp. “I thought you’d be well amidst another game, between the furs with Našobok. I’d hoped he’d be distracting you.” Yet another nip, just as sharp, and Aylaniś nestled closer, one hand sliding around his chest and tracing down his belly.
Palatan closed his eyes, leaned back. Then with one swift motion, he twisted and pushed her back, pinning her to the ground.
“Ai’ye!” Aylaniś pummelled at his chest, mock grievance. “Beast!”
“Sss. You’ll wake her.”
“That wouldn’t break my heart; we could have our furs back.”
“When have we ever needed a soft bed, my chieftain?” He bent closer and licked her nose. “I would dearly love to have our Wolf distracting me. But he’s obligation to a young lover thisdark, so I imagine you’ll have to do.”
In the next instant, Aylaniś had hooked her legs about Palatan, flipped him onto his back—hard—and straddled him. “Have to do?” she repeated with a sharp-toothed grin, thumbs laced over his breastbone. “Perhaps I had hopes for two stallions in my furs thisdark instead of one—so it seems you’re the one who should step up his performance.”
Palatan laughed. It warbled into a sigh as Aylaniś laid a hand across his mouth,
