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Calix turned, raising an eyebrow. “That, I don’t believe.”
“All right, fine. What about the fact I just discovered that I’m a therian? And I’d quite like to learn what that means from an expert?”
Calix snorted and snapped the reins, driving new speed. “More believable.”
93
TEIGRA
Four sets of hooves pressed into the beach.
“Well, bugger me,” said Elexis, taking it all in.
“Bugger me, indeed,” said Zosime.
Ahead, the shore transformed into a tapestry of green and warm colors, as poppies of red and lilac and orange and yellow drifted away, eventually meeting a twisted forest beyond, shaded impossibly dark despite being in full sun. The forest itself stretched higher and higher—up the sheer incline of a mighty mountain, a single fang rising to thunderous clouds above, so dense and black that they hid the summit.
Vaticily.
The polity of fate.
A place filled with all manner of venomous serpents and ferocious predators.
And amongst them all would be the most dangerous predator of all: Xiber Feron. Warlord of Rinath. The woman who would see Mestibes burn.
“Ready, Initiate?” said Pikra with a mocking smirk.
Teigra gulped but found some comfort in the steed beneath her. Three months ago, she would’ve sworn that she’d never ride again. In three months more, perhaps she’d look back on this moment and laugh that she’d ever been scared.
She stole a look at Zosime, who gave her a little wink. It made Teigra’s chest flutter—like the most beautiful statue in the entire land had come alive and noticed her.
The newest Sister glared back at Pikra and returned the smirk. “Yes,” said Teigra, cracking Varas’s reins, reaching such a gallop that she had to turn and yell behind her. “But the question is, are the rest of you able to keep up with a real rider?”
94
AURELIUS
Aurelius wriggled against the ground with what little strength he still had.
“I would’ve thought the strategos’s quarters would be more comfortable than this?” he said, the earth pressing against his ribs.
They had ridden as fast and as hard as they could—all through the night and all through the day. But now, as night once again fell and he could barely keep his eyes open, they needed rest. And so too did the damn horse.
Calix had set up the goat-skin tent in some abandoned field well off the road. It was meant for a single occupant, meaning that they needed to sleep together. They had a second tent, but neither of them had the strength or inclination to bother.
“A leader must suffer the same as his troops,” said Calix, getting beneath the blanket that separated them from the green. His face was fucked. The bleeding had long since stopped, but the swelling had only just started. On the plus side, he’d said that nothing felt broken. At least, not too badly. “Believe me, grass is much better than some of the ground I’ve slept on.”
The king of Ardora settled into the bed, facing away from Aurelius, so they were back-to-back. Aurelius was sad about that but knew it was for the best.
He was surprised when, after fifteen minutes of stillness, Calix rolled over and put his arm over him. The big man nuzzled into the back of his neck, and Aurelius melted into the safety of his embrace.
The moment was broken when Aurelius felt the now-familiar twitch against his ass, as another tent joined their traveling party.
“This was a mistake,” said Calix, his face panicked.
He made to roll away, but Aurelius stopped him, his fingers reaching back and digging into his wide, muscular hips. He desperately wanted to grind back against the bulge. To reach up and taste Calix’s mouth. To join together in that wonderful, magical communion, no matter the consequences.
But with the greatest of efforts, and a mournful exhale, he didn’t.
