I leap over a fallen log and stumble on the landing, my worn boots struggling for purchase on the icy ground. The orc behind me is gaining—I can hear his breathing now, can smell the metallic scent of blood on his clothes.
A low branch catches my shoulder and spins me sideways. I use the momentum to dart between two massive pine trunks, their bark rough against my palms as I push myself forward. The space is too narrow for the orc's bulk, and I hear him crash into the trees with a curse in his harsh language.
It buys me precious seconds. I run harder, following a deer path that winds down toward the valley floor. My satchel bounces against my hip, the pathetic collection of roots and berries a cruel reminder of how normal this day had started.
The sounds of pursuit grow fainter as I put distance between myself and the orc. Either I'm faster than he anticipated, or he's given up the chase in favor of easier prey. The thought of Ressa running through the forest with one of those monsters on her trail makes my stomach clench, but I force myself to keep moving.
She's fast, I tell myself. She knows these woods. She'll make it to the watchtower.
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
I run forward, not ready to stop. I need as much distance between me and the orcs as I can get.
But spending so much time looking back means I’m not paying enough attention. I don’t see the glow up ahead. I don’t hear the drums until it’s too late.
And I don’t realize there I’m at a clearing until I’m already bursting through the trees with too much speed.
I stumble into the light, and I realize how much I've fucked up.
2
KAI
The drumbeat thrums through my chest like a second heartbeat, each strike echoing off the cliffs that surround our settlement. I stand in the center of the clearing, firelight dancing across my face, and resist the urge to grab one of those drums and hurl it into the frozen river.
"Cupid the Warrior smiles upon us tonight!" Drogath's voice booms across the gathering, his arms raised toward the rising full moon. Paint streaks his green skin in elaborate patterns that he swears represent ancient human symbols of power. "The sacred arrows will find their mark!"
I catch Ursik's grin from across the fire and consider whether breaking his nose would improve his face or just give him another story to tell. He's been insufferable all week, following me around the settlement making kissing sounds and asking if I've prepared my heart for battle.
"Ready to meet your destined mate, brother?" Ursik calls out, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Cupid's got his bow aimed right at you!"
"Cupid can kiss my ass," I mutter, but the words get swallowed by another crash of drums.
Falla appears at my elbow, his normally stoic face somehow managing to look smug. "That's no way to speak about the great warrior of love." He dodges my swipe with practiced ease. "Besides, wouldn't you rather have a bride than spend another winter listening to Ursik's snoring through the walls?"
Ironically, I’ve been moved to my own longhouse in preparation for this nonexistent bride so I don’t have to either way.
"I'd rather listen to Ursik snore for the next century than go through with this farce."
But even as I say it, I catch sight of Bronn watching me from beside the largest drum. His steel-gray eyes hold that particular expression I know too well—the one that means he's convinced this lunacy will somehow fix whatever he thinks is broken in me. The paint on his face follows traditional patterns, red clay mixed with ash to create symbols that supposedly invoke Cupid's blessing.
Shae moves to my side, her warm hand settling on my forearm. "He means well."
"He means to drive me insane." I don't pull away from her touch. Shae's been the closest thing to a sister I've had since joining Bronn's household, and she's one of the few people whose presence doesn't immediately make me want to find somewhere else to be.
"The ritual won't take long," she says, though we both know that's a lie. The Valentine Rite is supposed to last from sunset to dawn, with enough drumming and dancing to wake the dead. "And if nothing happens?—"
"When nothing happens," I correct.
"When nothing happens, you'll have given Bronn what he needs to stop worrying about your unmarried state."
Around us, the rest of the clan has arranged themselves in the circle Drogath mapped out with obsessive precision.Warriors and crafters, hunters and healers, all painted with red clay and wearing their finest furs. The women cluster near the eastern edge of the circle, following some half-understood tradition that Drogath insists is crucial to summoning Cupid's attention.
I've seen the texts he found. Scraps of paper and carved stone pulled from the ruins of human settlements, fragments that speak of hearts and arrows and choosing the one your soul seeks. What Drogath doesn't understand—what none of them understand—is that I’m certain these weren't battle manuals. Nothing about the humans' previous lives were meant for orc adaptation.
But try explaining that to a shaman who's convinced he's decoded the sacred mysteries of human mating rituals.
"Kai Frostfang!" Drogath's voice cuts through my brooding like a blade. "Step forward and receive Cupid's blessing!"
