"Then your sister's matching is dissolved, and she cannot be matched to any Fanghorn for seven years."
"And if you lose?"
His expression grew serious. "Then I will have challenged the will of the Council and failed. The punishment is severe."
"How severe?"
"Exile. Or worse." He said it simply, without drama.
I felt my chest tighten. "Why would you risk that for someone you barely know?"
"You assume much about what I know and don't know." He closed the book. "I observe more than you realize, Kalyndi."
I didn't know what to say to that. He'd been watching me, learning about me while I'd been doing my best to ignore his existence, was unsettling.
"This is too much risk for you," I said finally. "The Fanghorns are vicious, and Gristholm is one of their strongest warriors."
"Do you want to save your sister or not?"
"Of course I do!"
"Then stop telling me why I'll fail and start helping me prepare." He nodded toward my apron, still stained with soil from the greenhouse. "You're a healer. Your skills could be useful."
Over the next hour, Redmon outlined the ritual with the ancient words that needed to be spoken, the formal challenge that had to be delivered before witnesses. My skepticism gradually gave way to tentative hope as I watched him map out each step with methodical precision.
"You really think this could work," I said, more statement than question.
"I wouldn't suggest it otherwise." He rolled up a parchment where he'd been sketching the ritual circle. "But we have much to prepare. The challenge must be issued within three days to be valid."
Three days. It seemed both too soon and not soon enough.
"I still don't understand why you're doing this," I admitted.
He was quiet for a long moment. "Perhaps I believe in choice. Perhaps I have my own reasons to dislike the Fanghorns. Or perhaps… " his eyes met mine, "...I simply wish to see if you might look at me differently, when this is done."
The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. For the first time, I really looked at him, not as the monster I accepted as a mate, but as an individual with his own thoughts and motivations.
"I need to prepare," I said, rising from my chair. "If you're going to face a Fanghorn, you'll need protective tinctures. Their claws carry bacteria that cause festering wounds."
He nodded. "I'll come to your greenhouse tomorrow. We can continue our preparations there."
The next morning, I was elbow-deep in herbs when Redmon ducked through the greenhouse door. The space seemed to shrink around his giant frame, yet he moved with surprising care among my plants.
I'd spent the night brewing protective salves and tinctures, my mind racing with everything I'd learned. The ancient challenge ritual. Redmon's willingness to risk everything. The possibility of my sister's salvation filled my thoughts.
"These need to be applied before the combat," I explained, showing him the various preparations laid out on my workbench. "This one prevents infection. This strengthens the skin against punctures."
He leaned closer to examine my work, his breath warm against my cheek. "You've been busy."
"I couldn't sleep." I picked up a jar of thick green paste. "This should go on your vulnerable areas, neck, chest, inner arms."
I hesitated, then dipped my fingers into the paste and reached for his forearm. His fur was softer than I'd expected,with a silky texture between my fingers. I felt the hard muscle beneath as I worked the salve into his skin.
Redmon went very still. I realized this was the first time I'd willingly touched him since our matching ceremony.
"Is it working?" he asked, his voice rougher than usual.
"It needs to absorb fully." My voice sounded strange to my ears. "You'll feel a warming sensation if it's penetrating properly."
