Ganora, the infamous Queen of the Giants. Tall statues of her image carved from tree trunks stood in every Ravenwood village. Villagers offered scraps of meat at the wooden feet of her statue, painted images of her on their doors to deter the giants from bashing their roofs in, and held wild bacchanalias in her honor on the first day of spring, hoping their revelry would stay her wrath during the warmer months. Ganora was a monster, a legend, and to many,a goddess.
Father never allowed totems of Ganora in Ravenwood Manor and rolled his eyes at her shrines in the villages. He said the fanatic reverence of Ganora wasall bullshit.
“Do people worship Ganora in Bloodstone like they do in Ravenwood?”I asked.
“Some do, but it’s more common the farther north you go,” Riyan replied. “The worship is useless, though. You can’t just offer meat outside the village gates or shake your ass around a bonfire on a full moon to get rid of the giants. General Hyton sent scouts up Nordingaard for years, and the few that came back gave us all the information we needed todefeat Ganora.”
I blinked. The idea of defeating something as mythical as Ganoraseemed impossible.
“Giants are beasts,” Riyan explained as he trudged on through the woods, “but not like wolves in a pack or lions in a den. They are like bees in a hive—completely controlled by their queen. Ganora makes them from dirt and magic and sends them down the mountain to hunt humans. She hoards all the magical power of the mountain for herself and doesn’t care who or what she destroys tomaintain that.”
Magical power of the mountain? What power was there? Before I could ask, Riyan scoffed. “I wish I saw her at the last battle so I could have her head too. I hate that Duke Hyton tells everyone we defeated the giants when Ganora still breathes. It’s all a lie—the giants are just going to come backnext spring.”
“Well,” I said with a rare optimistic lift in my voice, “at least you will be here to kill them all again. Maybe you will even face thelegend herself.”
“You make it sound so fucking easy,”Riyan chuckled.
“Gentlemen do not swear, Riyan!” I teased. “You promised!”
“And I’m beginning to regret that promise,” Riyan groaned. “Swearing is like breathingto me!”
We passed more trees, a small gurgling waterfall that Riyan stepped over with ease, and weaved through small gaps in the craggy rocks ofthe mountainside.
I pressed against Riyan’s chest as he shimmied through another gap between two rocks. “Since this is clearly a long walk, we should get to know eachother better.”
“You already know me,” Riyan said with a small grunt as he nearly lost his balance coming out of the gap. “Giant-slayer. Massive brute. Heir to Bloodstone. Fond of liquor in any form. That’s all there isto me.”
“That is not true,” I scolded. “What is yourmiddle name?”
“Don’thave one.”
“Come on, every noble son has a middle name. Hell, Derrickhas two!”
“Let’s put it this way, my grandmother wanted to call me ‘Nikkolas’ to flatter my grandfather becausehewanted to call me ‘small corpse left in the woods.’ My name is ‘Riyan’ only because my mother mimicked my shrieking baby cries to refer to me and thename stuck.”
I imagined the wails of a newborn baby and I heard it. I smiled in disbelief. “Your name really isa scream?”
“Appropriate, isn’t it?” he replied with a chuckle. “Since you care so much about names for some reason, what isyourmiddle name?”
“Helia,” I replied. Riyan silently mouthed ‘Helia’ and smiled afterward. “When isyour birthday?”
Riyan glanced down at me and his cheek pitted like he bit it. “Whenis yours?”
“Last day of the year,” I answered, raising my eyebrow as I looked up at him. “Answer the question. When isyour birthday?”
Riyan avoided my eyes and dipped his head to avoid a tree branch as we walked into a shady grove. Hilda had gone through the trouble of packing us a basket and had mentioned today was special. She was a sweet woman, but she would not have put so much emphasis on our outing forno reason.
“Your birthday is today,” I said with a smile. “Why did you notsay so?”
Riyan’s neck tensed under my arms. “My existence is nothingto celebrate.”
My lips parted and my chest fell.
My birthday used to be so wonderful. The sun was December’s fleeting friend, but I would run to the manor after a few hours of playing in the snow to find a warm pastry-braid the length of the entire dining table for Father’s New Year’s Eve party. I would get the first piece of the braid and a kiss from Mother and Father before the rest of the party guests clinked their goblets and sang songs for the rest of the night. I had looked forward to my birthday every year, but Riyan thought he was not worth what I had takenfor granted.
Opening my heart to discover what I really wanted gave me the courage to entertain whims instead of plans. My first whim was to give Riyan a nice birthdayfor once.
Everyone deserved at least onegood day.
