Kaleb
A Few Weeks Later
“Has anyone seen my wife?” Logan asks as he parts a small crowd gathered around one of the many open fires scattered across the festival grounds. The tall, dark-haired man with eyes so similar to mine it’s almost like looking in a mirror has his son, Kieran, on his shoulders, as he sidesteps to where Lexa is perched on my thigh while I rest on a bale of hay. He sinks down beside us, unceremoniously dumping his son onto the hay bales stacked behind us, and Kieran shrieks with laughter, scrambling and begging to do it again.
I’m not used to this yet. This many people just milling about for fun. I recognize so many of the faces, even if they weren’t in the Glade with us because we’re… one people. We always have been, just separated by an ocean, by magic and invisible chains.
“I think Brie’s hiding from him.” Lexa smirks, jabbing a thumb in Kieran’s direction. Her hair is loose and falling down her back in spiraling curls beneath a hat of pure white rabbit fur. A rabbit I hunted myself, which is also what I used to make the gloves she’s wearing. She brings a cup of hot apple cider to her lips and grins like a cat at Logan, who narrows his eyes at his… sister.
Logan and I have spent the better part of three weeks together. From the moment we arrived in the Deadlands, we’ve been up before the sun and long after it set building structures–a camp–on the outskirts of Silverhide, where the valley funnels into the forest again. So far, it’s enough to house at least half of my people and the entirety of his pack, which only numbers one-hundred or so. I’ve gotten to know him and his story. He’s a descendant of the halflings who escaped Pantharas centuries ago. Kieran has pointed ears, like me. Brie is pregnant again.
Lexa fought him tooth and nail to secure the next valley, just beyond the shallow peaks of Silverhide, as our own. While most of the Alphas of the Glade choose to spread out and claim land for themselves, several hundred are following me and Lexa, and up until two days ago, when everyone began to gather here, at the festival grounds, we’ve been clearing land and preparing for the construction that will take place next spring when the ground thaws.
This winter, everyone will be staying in camps. We’ll be in Silverhide while others have spread out as far as Teshka.
Next summer will be telling, to say the least.
Especially when the festival has been so successful for mates finding each other.
“How many couples exactly?” Logan asks with an arched brow, eyeing his sister’s white and taupe dress made of thick furs and cords of leather strung with freshwater pearls. The beads rattle when Lexa moves her arms, folding them beneath her chest.
“We’re one of maybe fifty couples saying marriage vows tonight.”
“Fifty? That’s going to take forever!”
“Well, it sucks to be you.” Lexa laughs, leaning her head against mine, trying to steal my warmth. “Kaleb and I are going last.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Logan rises with mock annoyance and nudges Lexa under the jaw with his knuckles. “I’m going to find my wife. Keep an eye on Kieran for me.”
“NO!” Lexa howls, vigorously shaking her head. “You take that little demon with you! He’s been biting again, and I know for a fact he swallowed at least four of the beads off my dress.”
Kieran latches onto Logan’s leg, laughing with mischief while Logan drags him through the crowd, and I lose sight of them against the gentle hum of conversation and the thrall of people dressed in furs to fight the frigid air.
Winter came early. The harvest festival began the same morning the first snow fell in the Deadlands. Now, the ground is mostly just damp from the heat coming off the fires.
Lexa presses close, resting her chin on my shoulder as we watch the stars coming into view through the smoke. “I suppose we should go get our tattoos now,” she says with a small sigh.
“You can’t, remember? Not while you’re pregnant.” I rest my hand over her stomach like it’s second nature. It practically is. When I finally crawl into bed in the middle of the night and curl around her, that’s where I reach, tucking both of them close. I feel like, since arriving in the Deadlands, I haven’t seen her much. The days have been a blur of delegation and incredibly arduous tasks related to ensuring everyone from the Glade has a bed for the winter and that the Alphas who came from the Glade are settling their packs and not fighting over territory. Eventually, everyone will spread out, putting miles between pack territories, but for now, for the next winter, at least, this will have to do.
But there are no walls keeping us trapped. No power keeping us enslaved. We’re free.
My son will be born free.
And, thankfully, without wings.
“I’m going to get a temporary one. The witches can do that, you know. It’s a stain. Whenever we find out what design we’re getting.” She huffs, and I can feel the fatigue pouring off her. It’s been a long day, and tonight will be even longer.
“We don’t have to do it like this, you know. I can take you back to our tent and–”
“Of course we have to,” she hisses, lifting her chin to look at me.
“You’re falling asleep in my arms.”
“I’m just enjoying the view.” Her voice is soft as she looks out over the festival grounds, the rolling, frost covered hills. Wolves dart between stalls bartering food and warm drinks; others have tapestries and clothing on display. But it’s the people gathering, meeting each other for the first time, finding common ground, and maybe even distant ancestors that silences both of us for a long time.
Finally, Lexa asks, “What do you think Chessie and Silas are doing?”
“I have no idea what time it is in Pantharas as it stands, but they’re together; I know that much. He’s probably preparing to meet Queen Maeve and the Allied Kings in Emberfyll next month. I don’t doubt she’ll travel with him.”
“She promised she’d visit. I hope she does. Her parents are having a difficult time with this.” She swallows forcefully.
“Silas is taking care of her. He swore to you that he would. He keeps his promises.”
Lexa sighs and leans her weight against me, her arms snaking around my neck. “Is Silas really immortal now?”
“I’m not sure how it works. You’ll have to ask Blake.”
Her smile is faint. “I have a feeling we won’t be seeing Blake for a while. He deserves a break.”
***
A crowd of several thousand watches the marriage ceremony–all fifty couples, including me and Lexa, standing side by side at the top of the hill with the full Harvest moon hanging heavy in the sky. I’m familiar with the ritual, with the words spoken in the Old Tongue. I’m still learning the language of Lexa’s father and the people of the Deadlands, but the Old Tongue is mostly spoken during ceremonies. It’s surprisingly easy to understand their language, and I start etching into my memory.
Lexa’s shivering in the cold. I smooth my fingers over hers, dragging her closer, hoping to give her some of my heat while a priestess goes on and on, speaking loud enough the teeming crowd below can hear.
I glance past the old crone marrying us and forty-eight others to the row of older men watching the procession with a critical eye, especially Lexa’s father, Ryan, and her maternal grandfather, Jerrod, the patriarch of Endova.
Jerrod glares at me, but Ryan’s face is smooth and unreadable as he keeps his eyes fixed on my face, like he’s waiting for me to crack.
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and my dad when you first met?”
“No,” I whisper, glancing down at her before meeting Ryan’s gaze again. “It’s not worth repeating.”
“He apparently left no witnesses to the moment because even Mom doesn’t have a word to say about it.”
“All you need to know,” I breathe, smoothing my thumb over the tattoo on her ring finger, pressed into her skin by magic we’ll trace with permanent ink next summer, once the baby arrives, “is that he came up with a new bride price, and I paid it.”
“What was it?” Lexa gasps, eliciting narrow-eyed looks of annoyance from not only the couples flanking us, but the priestess, who continues her lengthy sermon without so much as skipping a beat.
“Apparently, beating you in a fight wasn’t enough. I had to make a few promises.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I whisper, shushing her when the priestess clears her throat and shoots us a glare.
It hadn’t been much.
I met Logan first, her adoptive brother. He’d come looking for me when Lexa was taken off the boat, and I had to physically restrain myself from following her to the first of many clinics that were erected on the shore of the city they call Serpentia. I knew she’d be fine. She wasn’t in danger there, but I had the citizens of the Glade to worry about. When a nearly seven-foot tall half fae male came barreling in my direction, I… beat the fuck out of him out of sheer habit, and he returned the favor, and he ended up being Lexa’s brother, so introductions were off to a rough start.
Ryan got involved, dragging us apart, and then beat us both when he learned I was Lexa’s mate, and Logan hadn’t deigned to even ask, and I hadn’t been in the state of mind to inquire over who Logan was, either. Bloody and bruised, he dragged us back to the townhouse the family had carved out for themselves in Serpentia, but they wouldn’t let me see Lexa until I explained everything.
I was healed and fed, and then told Ryan and Aviva my life’s story.
Then, I asked for their daughter as my wife.
Ryan made me swear four things.
I would never change her.
I would never take her from her family.
I would let her be soft in her secret way.
And finally, I would step aside and allow her to rule as Alpha Queen of the Deadlands, a higher station than mine, when the time came.
Of course, I swore.
There was no question.
Now, her fingers are intertwined with mine as we turn from the priestess to look out over the crowd. For a moment, I find us back in the arena, and the cheers from below are suddenly fae spectators. The image fades as quickly as it came, the dry heat of the arena turning back to cold, smoke and spice scented air.
The Trials are behind us now. My son will never be called for the Culling. My pack will never know hunger again.
Thanks to my wife. My mate.
“I love you,” I say, looking down to look into her eyes as the priestess announces each newly married couple, giving each a unique blessing. Finally, she gets to us.
“I love you,” Lexa whispers, squeezing my fingers. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Somewhere warm–”
I scoop her into my arms and turn into the starlight, the glow of the full moon behind us, unshackled, unburdened, and free.
The rest can wait.