“I don’t think he can speak,” Huedda says,staring down at Leick. “Let the male’s circle decide.”
Rath straightens, exuding menace, and turns slowly, meeting the gaze of every male present.
“My father yields,” he says, and no one contradicts him.
“Can we drink now?” Hathhur drawls.
“Not yet.” Rath turns and stalks towards me, eyes feral, blood dripping from his wounds though he moves as if he doesn't feel the pain.
He halts in front of me and tilts his head. “I kept my oath.”
I push to my feet. “You did.”
“Will you make me wait an entire year?”
The gleam in his eyes morphs from feral to nearly mad. He takes another step forward, hands trembling as they open and close in fists. He smells of lust; for blood, for power, for sex.
For conquest.
He’s barely on a leash.
I don't move, waiting. There are rules. Rath and I have already crossed boundaries.
He closes his eyes and shudders, and when he opens them again his shoulders are loose, his hands relaxed. Only then do I step forward, lifting my hand to cup his cheek, then swipe my thumb over a drop of blood.
Rath takes a deep breath, glances at his sister and then turns slightly to include the Huedda. “Blood Ky’a into the clan. Do it now.”
Huedda purses her lips. “These things take time and ceremony. Would you shame her with shoddy blooding?”
“You can do it fancy later,” he snaps. “Give her the protection of the clan now.”
Huedda sighs. “We’ll do it the right way later, mark me. Every girl deserves the ceremony done proper.”
The males back away as the females come forward, circling me until it’s Iloni and I in the center, shutting out the male’s view of us.
“Kyona Lethergen, by right of blood and majority you claim your place among us,” Huedda says.
“To join us is to bleed with us, to fight with us, to die with us. Our strength is your strength, our enemies your enemies. Do you accept this burden and this honor?”
“I do.” My voice is steady, though not loud. I don’t let my mixed feelings show on my face.
Iloni produces a blade. I watch it, not reacting.
“Then let the blood of the clan flow through you,” Iloni says.
The females blood themselves one by one, someone having produced a cup that smells like apple mead.
I’m the last to take the blade, pressing it against my arm and letting my blood flow free into the cup.
They begin the clan chant, which is really a long poem telling one of the stories we pass down about the Mother. Everyone sips from the cup, including me.
“I don’t have the scarring salve,” Huedda says to me quietly as the females chant. “We’ll redo the ceremony proper once you’ve settled in, but yourmale was looking wild-eyed. Poor boy has had a night.”
I snort.
“Kyona Lethergen,” Huedda says, raising her voice. “Blood of our blood.”
The Uthilsen erupt in a fierce war cry, a few grins aimed my way when I swipe at tears that have mysteriously appeared on my cheeks.
