Up close, the ifrak are even larger than I first thought—twice as tall as any horse I’ve ever seen, and broad enough that four men standing shoulder-to-shoulder could not match its size. The thick coat of fur appears to grow in multiple layers, different types of hair best suited for insulation, water-resistance, and trapping insects that might bite or sting. Fibers good for spinning and felting alike. I immediately have dozens of questions about how it’s processed, recalling my conversations with Countess Fenrelle.
Then the ifrak nearest me turns toward the door and I see the pair of curved tusks, each nearly as long as my armspan, points so sharp I have to wonder if it’s the grooms’ doing. It’s truly a magnificent sight, and when its shaggy head tilts my way, I understand what Morwen meant about its unsettling gaze. A trioof oversized eyes form an arch over the ifrak’s muzzle, each one a mesmerizing swirl of milky white and pitch black. There’s no way to know what those eyes are focused on, or if they’re focused at all, and it seems like the animal sees through me andintome, all at once.
“Did you want to meet her, Your Highness?” one of the grooms asks, his voice wavering he regrets the choice to speak.
“Her…? You mean…?” I gesture toward the ifrak’s stall. “I’d love that.”
The groom smiles, his gray-brown face weathered and wrinkled, his horns straight spirals poking from a mess of fluffy white hair that looks an awful lot like the ifrak’s undercoat. “They’re wonderful creatures,” he says. “Loyal and gentle with their folk, but protective, too. Every so often you’ll hear about bandits who choose the wrong caravan to target and wind up trampled—not that you have to worry about anything like that!” he adds quickly. “Our herd are real tame, and they have a sense for who belongs. Nobody belongs more than the future queen!” His face flushes and he ducks his head bashfully as he leads me around to the other side of the stable.
“You seem to know a lot about these creatures… What was your name?”
“Visri, Your Highness. And this here is Starcaller,” he says, offering a fistful of hay over the wall of the stall. The ifrak’s mouth opens, and a long, rough-looking tongue extends, searching blindly in the air until it wraps around the bundle of hay and darts back into the ifrak’s maw. Visri looks at Starcaller like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, but when he turns to me and offers a handful of hay, I can’t return the sentiment.
“That’s all right,” I say, taking half a step back. Maybe Morwen had a point this once. Keeping my distance can’thurt. “I don’t want to upset her.”
Visri accepts that with a sage nod, humming something to Starcaller, adding odd trills and clicks that make the beast’s eyes flutter closed as it sways on its massive feet.
“She’s normally the calmest in the herd, but the closer the delivery gets, the more temperamental she is. Not that I can blame her. She’s been waiting years to have this calf—”
“Years?!” I blurt out, unable to stop myself. I hadn’t even realized the ifrak was pregnant until he mentioned it, and I’m not surprised it takes a long time for her enormous belly to become as swollen as it is, butyears?The poor thing.
“They don’t mate often,” Visri confirms, trilling more clicks to Starcaller.
Watching the two of them interact, Visri in complete awe-struck adoration for this creature and Starcaller docile and humming along with him while she sways, I remember something Morwen said.
“Is she… I mean, are you… Morwen mentioned soulbonds.”
With another contented hum, Visri nods, gesturing me toward him. “You can pet her,” he says, scratching the top of her muzzle.
I’ve interacted with dozens of horses, cows, sheep, goats—all manner of livestock, but my heart is in my throat when I step up to Starcaller’s stall. Even with her head bent to her rider, the ifrak’s head is so high that I have to reach as far as I can to pat her velvet-soft muzzle.
I’ve never felt so small in my life. Xandril, the throne tree, the castle itself—all have filled me with an equal amount of awe and trepidation from their sheer size, but the ifrak is different. It’s big, yes, but there’s more to it than meets the eye. Just like those swirling eyes see more than what’s before them, Starcaller’s presence seems to take up more than just physical space. It feels like something slides into place far-off, maybe back in my own world, and the light in Starcaller’s eyes makes me think she understands it better than I do.
It’s a wonder such a thing can exist in any world. Even more of a wonder that I can be so close to it, scratching its nose while Visri brushes her.
“It’ll be a big celebration when she finally does decide to deliver,” he says, a teasing edge to his voice that’s for Starcaller, not me. “With how rare their mating is and how long the pregnancy, a calf is a real special occasion. We’ll have a big feast, give thanks to the gods, and many many special treats for Starcaller,” he adds with a laugh.
Starcaller nudges my hand the same way Violet does when she thinks I’m hiding an apple in my apron.
“I think he means future treats,” I explain to her, apologetic.
“Hmm, I might have some present treats,” Visri muses, pulling a bunch of dried flowers from his own apron pocket. “Please,” he says, offering it to me. “I’ve had her slobber on me enough today.”
I do my best to not seemtooexcited, but I don’t think it works very well. What was first frightening and otherworldly now feels much more endearing, and while I’m still sure her tongue is going to be rougher than a cow’s, I’m practically giddy at the chance to give her a treat.
Wasn’t I full of hesitation just a moment ago? Am I so easily won over with a soft, scritchable nose?
It’s not just that, though. The moment I touched her, I could sensemore. Her heart, her soul—there’s nothing but goodness and warmth there. I have nothing to be afraid of. A sensible part of me says I should inspect that feeling closer, be more suspicious, but I shush sensible Ingrid for a while.
Visri’s description of the celebrations and the gentleness of this intimidating creature are both pieces of the same puzzle. With a few exceptions, very little of what I’ve experienced is what I would expect from a ‘demonic’ society. Serenity obviously knew what she was talking about when she told me this world could surprise me if I keep an open mind—so what other surprises might be in store for me?
I’m starting to realize this contract doesn’t have to be a prison sentence to endure. It can be an adventure. A thrilling story that keeps me feeling youthful in my old age. A pleasant memory, even.
I’m looking forward to finding out which.
Chapter Eleven
Xandril
