Aviva
The meeting hall is crowded from wall to wall. I hug one of the walls, my back pressed flat against it as I try to blend in with the dark stone. Everyone is merry as they walk between tables laden with food and drink. Everyone in attendance has worn their finest fabrics and beads. Many of the single, of age, young women have truly gone all out, in fact.
I cross my arms under my less-than-ample breasts and tap my nails against the long gold chains looping around my neck, inlaid with multicolored beads of turquoise and amethyst.
The necklace is one of the few things I have left of my mother except for Shoshannah and Lora. Mercy didn’t want the necklace because turquoise is a stone rather than a gleaming gem, and amethyst “washes her out,” or so she says. In fact, she didn’t want much of mother’s things at all when she died six years ago, a few days after Lora came into the world. Her dresses were taken apart and refashioned. Her knickknacks were gone in a matter of hours. She simply… disappeared, like mist into the ether.
I run my fingertips over the necklace and continue scanning the crowd at the thought of my mother. Mercy and Lora look like her with their dark brown hair that never seems to tangle, and her big, green eyes. Where Shosh and I got our dark eyes and insanely temperamental red hair, I have no idea, but we stick out like sore thumbs.
A young blonde woman wearing a pale yellow woven dress and golden bangles on each wrist bumps into me. “Gods, there you are!” She shoves a goblet of wine into my hand and kisses me roughly on each cheek. “I didn’t think you’d come tonight, but I heard Matilda tell Rochel that she heard Miriam saying that she saw Mercy basically dragging you here by your hair!”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling and laugh. “Mercy didn’t drag me anywhere, I assure you, but I was forced to come, yes.”
“Did she dress you?” Freya is her name, and she’s my closest friend. My only friend, if I’m being honest. Her glacier blue eyes sweep over the frumpy red dress tied at the waist with a leather belt. “It’s huge on you!”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a bed sheet,” I grumble into my wine before taking a huge drink. The wine is sweet and full, landing like aged honey on my tongue. Freya picks at the short hem of her own dress. Compared to her, I’m dressed like one of the elders who is long past their prime hunting days and has settled into a life of sitting around and bickering with the younger folk. Showing skin isn’t considered crass by any means. Hell, there’s several men walking around with their shirts off right now despite the slight early spring chill in the air outside. Freya’s legs are on full display as she steps beside me and rests her back against the wall.
Most of the clothes we wear are made to be functional while shifting to prevent tearing. Everything is made by hand, of course, woven on looms. Shredding dresses apart every time I left the house would be entirely wasteful.
But if I were to shift now, I'd get tangled in this beast of a dress. I’d suffocate, likely, strangling myself in the fabric.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Freya smirks, nudging my shoulder. “Cannon is looking over here, you know. I think he’s hoping you’ll look back at him.”
“Cannon is looking at you,” I correct, giving her a nudge back. “Anyway, Mercy reminded me that my father means to sell me to the highest bidder a few months from now when the tribes meet for the Harvest Festival. So far, I’m worth roughly… six goats. I’m practically off the market. I’m not sure anyone can compete with that kind of bride price.”
Freya snorts a laugh. “Speaking of Mercy.” Her eyes slide to mine as she tilts her head toward my graceful sister, who is laughing prettily as she entertains a group of our warriors. Her coy smile and fluttering eyelashes hide the sour glint to every word that leaves her lips.
“Her dress is beautiful,” Freya sighs, and she’s right. She’s right, because I was the one who made it… for myself. “She’s hoping to catch the attention of the Alpha of Silverhide, isn’t she?”
“She’s stretching it out with her massive–”
The main door to the meeting hall opens, sending a rush of night air into the space. I can’t see over the crowd, but I know the Alpha has arrived based on the excited and curious murmurs drifting through the air.
I settle back against the wall with a sigh.
Freya stops trying to catch a glimpse of him and turns back to me. “I’m shocked your father allowed him to come here after all the rumors swirling about him.”
I arch my brow. “What rumors?”
Freya beams with excitement at the notion that she has gossip to spread to me. “You didn’t hear? He went to Navvan to try to introduce himself, and their elders wouldn’t allow him into the village, claiming he was cursed.”
“Cursed?” I tip back my wine, shaking my head. “Cursed, how?” I don’t know much about this Alpha other than that he’s related to Alpha King Ryatt in some way and comes from a far off land called Crescent… something. I don’t know, and I don’t really care. We’re far enough removed from the Roguelands that word about the happenings in Eastonia reaches us weeks, if not months, after things happen.
This Alpha simply showed up deciding he was going to settle here.
“I heard,” Freya hisses over a rush of fresh murmurs, “from my grandmother, who heard this directly from our priestess’s mouth, mind you, that the priestesses in Navvan said the Alpha has a stone heart.”
“A stone heart? That seems bothersome and inconvenient–”
Freya grabs my arm. “I heard that he has a stone heart because he murdered his own mate! That's why he’s here in the Deadlands. He got thrown out of his old territory by the king himself.”
I frown at her. “Freya, do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”
She shrugs. “It’s what I heard. Grandma said he reeks of a wolf who’s fallen out of the Goddess’s favor, and therefore the Navvan wouldn’t allow him to even speak to their patriarch.” She shakes her head. “Can you imagine, Aviva? Killing your own mate?”
“I can’t.” I can’t because the idea of finding a mate is so far from my mind that it feels foreign and strange. I don’t know anyone who’s ever found their supposed fated mate. A bond destined in the stars by the Goddess. I don’t think it’s real. In fact, I think it’s a fairy tale. We don’t mate for love. Not in the tribal lands, at least. Women come of age and are married off, sought for their skills and physical attributes, and are married to members of other tribes to prevent inbreeding.
There’s so few of us in the Deadlands. I’m pretty much related to everyone in Endova in some way, shape, or form.
So, my fate is marrying Hardan, who I’m hopefully not related to, and living in his tribe for the rest of my life.
I haven’t put much thought into marrying. I’ve done all I can to prevent it from happening, actually, but as the daughter of the patriarch, I’m pretty much a princess without a fancy dress and crown of jewels on my head.
But because of Mercy, I’m generally overlooked. I’m okay with that.
“Look, there he is!” Freya says with a nudge, pointing her finger through the crowd.
I look out over the crowd and spot…. No. I blink, then glare at the impossibly tall, broad man towering over my father. His stormy blue eyes meet mine in a glare as well and I find them… too fucking familiar.
Then I see the blood soaking through his fresh, light gray shirt. A wound, I realize with a twisting sensation in my stomach, that’s on his shoulder.
“That’s him!” Freya hisses excitedly, shaking me so hard I nearly drop my wine. The freshwater clam shell beads woven throughout the two small braids framing my face clink together, but I haven’t dropped my gaze from the Alpha, and he hasn’t even blinked.
The crowd rushes toward him again and then all I can see is the top of his head.
“What are they freaking out about?” Freya stands on her toes to try to see over the crowd. Her eyes go wide and she gasps.
“What?” I ask, standing on my toes now.
A glint of gold. The Alpha is handing my father a pelt of pure–gold. “This is for you,” he says in a low, steady voice. My stomach twists as I watch the Alpha thrust a golden elk pelt into my father’s arms like it’s nothing. Like it means nothing.
“For this,” Father chokes, “I give you my daughter–”
Another excited gasp ripples through the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye I see Mercy start making her way through the crowd looking smug, her cat-like eyes creased as she passes a group of young women who look particularly disappointed.
How did he get a golden elk? How the fuck–
“Aviva?” Father booms. “Where is Aviva?”
My blood runs cold. I back into the wall again, praying to meet a doorway by some miracle, but I’m met with hard stone instead.
Mercy stops in her tracks, her eyes narrowing into slits. “Aviva?” she hisses, her cheeks turning red with sudden fury.
Then I’m being grabbed. An older man yanks on my arm, and I make the mistake of yelping in surprise. Father looks right at me, smiling widely. “There she is. Alpha Ryan, my daughter–”
“No!” I shout, yanking my arm back.
The entire room goes so silent I can hear my own heartbeat.
I look up at Alpha Ryan. What an odd name. It sounds unfinished. And he–he doesn’t look like any of us. I’ve never seen anyone as tall or as broad. I know beneath the fabric of his shirt he’s wholly, utterly built. Built like a stone temple, able to withstand wind and rain and foes coming to collect. Solid muscle.
He stares at my father in disbelief. “I’m sorry, I think I didn’t understand–”
“My daughter, Aviva,” Father takes my arm and pulls me toward them. Digging in my heels doesn’t stop my body from moving over the uneven stone. “For the pelt. You have given me a gift worth more than I have to offer in return–”
“I don’t need anything–” Alpha Ryan grunts as the blond man standing at his side elbows him sharply in the side. It’s a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed, at least to me.
“My daughter, Aviva. She is older, yes, at twenty-two, but she is able to bear children. She is strong, fit, and a skilled hunter. She will help fill your tables and carry on your lineage.”
“Father, let me go,” I hiss.
He ignores me, continuing, “A wife from my tribe is my gift to you, Alpha.” And with that, he practically throws me against Alpha Ryan, and cheers from the crowd around us split the air into pieces.
Alpha Ryan catches me, steadying me with a hand on my shoulder before quickly letting me go.
He’s warm. Heat radiates from him like I’m standing beside a fire. The Alpha looks down at me in shock, then frowns, but the man beside him whispers in his ear in their strange dialect. They speak our language but faster, with a heavy, lifted accent. I hear the stranger say, “You can’t refuse,” and I know my fate is sealed when Alpha Ryan sighs and tears his gaze from mine.
He turns back to my father, who shakes his hand.
And I am betrothed to the Alpha of… whatever pack he comes from. Silverhide. That’s it.
“A toast,” Father exclaims as my heart beats out of rhythm. A new goblet of wine is thrust into my hand, the deep red liquid spilling over the rim. “To Alpha Ryan, of the pack Silverhide, and my daughter, Aviva. May your union be fruitful.”
“May your union be fruitful,” the crowd echoes.
Standing side by side with Alpha Ryan, I scan the crowd, my face flushed and pale. I catch Freya's gaze. She gapes at me, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. A few young women our age crowd her, whispering enthusiastically. Word will spread in minutes about this, I’m sure. Anyone who missed this moment will know the details of how I was traded for… well, I can admit being given away in marriage in exchange for a golden elk pelt is the highest of compliments. Despite everything, I feel more than a little smug when my gaze lands on Mercy, who’s simmering with fury at the edge of the crowd, leaning her hip against one of the tables laden with food.
“We’ll hold the ceremony in four nights, on the full moon,” Father says to us even though I’m trying to find the quickest, easiest route out of here. “Can you stay the extra day? It’s just a hand-fasting, since our traditions dictate binding ceremonies take place on the Harvest Moon, during the festival this fall.”
“Oh, uh, sure,” Alpha Ryan grunts, then drains his wine.
Father squints, then gasps, grabbing the Alpha’s arm. “Alpha, you’re injured? Who did this to you?”
Panic catches in my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. I hold the Alpha’s gaze as his eyes slide to meet mine. Father will have Mercy whip the breath out of Shosh, I already know it.
But Alpha Ryan holds my gaze, one of his dark brows lifting ever so slightly as he… smirks.
“It might be a good thing your daughter is a skilled hunter,” he says in his low, steady voice that sends a shiver of warmth licking down my spine. “I’m accident prone, apparently.”