I sighed, pushing open the flap on the small, round house, moaning as the heat of a fire hit my face.
“Fate, that’s good,” I mumbled in the native tongue to deep chuckles.
“Goddess, you have been missed.” Chief Dagaal rose, his black hair tied back in traditional braids, while his light-brown complexion was barely visible beneath the thousands of minuscule runes etched on every inch of skin. Vibrant purple eyes sparkled with mirth and love, and it felt like coming home when he wrapped me in an embrace.
I sank into his arms, squeezing him tightly, and I swore I could feel the heat of his body despite my massive layers.
“You are wet,” he said. I bit my tongue to keep myself from saying a lewd comment that would not be appreciated in this traditional context.
Though perhaps when we are alone. Mischief sparked in his eyes as he winked, and heat tingled from my head to my toes.Definitely when we’re in private.
It was no secret that Dagaal and I had shared a bed and a home for many years before Holt and I left, but that was decades ago. I was certain he’d found a wife since then, but perhaps I was wrong.
“Your clothes,” he said, gesturing to the layers I was stuffed inside. “Are wet.”
I laughed, loud and long, his melodic baritone joining seconds later.
Gods, I missed home.
“Come, sit. We have much to discuss.” He gestured to the flattened rocks that surrounded the fire, where the remainder of his advisors sat. Young and old, male and female, ruling knew no gender or age in the Far North. It’s one of the things that kept their people alive for so long—wisdom was not bound to a single person or form.
“Dagaal, time is of the essence,” I said hesitantly, hanging back from the circle.
“It always is with you, Goddess,” he said with a sigh. “Come, we will discuss over food.”
My stomach rumbled just thinking about the traditional soups and breads that would be served for a council such as this. I was sorely tempted to step forward and join his trusted circle, but knew there wasn’t time for it now, as much as I wanted it.
I must return to Elyria.
“Solace is coming. You are not safe here. I need to take the Bone Weaver and leave or you, and the rest of the Far North, will be?—”
“We understand the dangers and why you are here, Bondsmith. Do not think your wiles and knowledge exceed our own.” Dagaal’s eyes flashed dangerously for a moment—the dark side of Blood Magic making itself known—before he gestured aggressively to the stones once more. “Sit. Eat. Then you can take your Bone Weaver and fuck off back to Elyria, just as you always do.”
His council was silent, some fidgeting nervously at his bark and refusing to meet either of our eyes. I stood in a frozen, silent stare off with a man I once knew so well before my shoulders sagged with a sigh. Accepting defeat, I sat heavily on one of the free stones, motioning for a bowl of their traditional soup.
With a grunt, Dagaal handed me one as well as a plate of hand bread before gesturing for everyone to serve themselves.
Quiet conversation resumed between his advisors as they served their own meals, but Dagaal and I held eye contact the entire time.
There was something . . . different about him. Something that set me on edge, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“Runfrid is where you must go,” I said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the buzz of conversation. “I will return to you there later with the Bone Weaver. It is both of our fates.”
Dagaal grunted before digging into his food with savage intent, the others following shortly. He said nothing for the entirety of the meal—one which I guiltily consumed with a ferocity I’d long thought lost.
“Did you truly think we had not seen this? That we did not know what was coming?” Dagaal finally asked, empty dishes set on the earthen floor beneath his booted feet.
“I—”
He held up a rune-tattooed palm, stilling my tongue. “We have studied the prophecies of the Bone Weaver for centuries, Bondsmith. Eons. They are as well known to us as our own kin. Something of this magnitude would not have escaped our notice.”
Silently, I respectfully inclined my head. The action seemed to settle him somewhat, that fire turning to a smolder.
“We are ready to make the journey, we were just waiting for you.”
“Many will die,” I said, but he shrugged his shoulders.
“Many die every year from sickness, from accidents, from the weather, from animals. Nothing is left for us here but death and destruction. We will leave for Runfrid at first light, Bondsmith, and you will take the Bone Weaver somewhere safe until it is time for her to return.”
