Hubris - 53. This is a Safe Place

What is she talking about? Why is she looking at me so intently? Is that meant to be an insult at my expense? Does she think I don’t have what it takes to do what needs to be done? Crowe jerked his eyes away from her searing scrutiny, stifling the thoughts with a steel fist. Who is she to judge me? Beyond the stories she’s heard, she knows nothing of me.

It was time to turn his attention to the matter at hand. He leaned towards Rake, using his own intensity to gain the man’s focus. “We came here because we thought an agent of Inferno was involved. We had several run-ins with Hamon, including two encounters with the Black King himself.”

“You’ve fought with the Black King?” The mixture of awe and disbelief in Gyrell’s voice was unmistakable. “Do you just?”

Crowe lit an aether joint to keep from smiling. He took a long puff before looking the commander squarely in the eye. Dragging the silence out. I’m not the ignorant farm boy you think I am. I might have a lot to learn…much of it from you…but I’ve come a long way since the days of cleaning out my predecessor’s bedpan. “We ventured out to the Mirror Expanse. To the Vaylin Ruins in fact.”

The commander blinked. “What in the Void would possess you to go all the way out there?”

“As I said we were chased by two of Hamon’s servants. They pursued us all the way to Boar’s Head. There we had an unfortunate run in with a patrol of torchcoats. From there I was taken to Fort Erikson where I encountered the Inquisitor.

The hard look of skepticism Gyrell turned into something akin to respect. “You really have had quite the journey, haven't you?”

You have no idea hung between them. It was the practitioner's turn to wave a dismissive hand. “None of that is important in the end. My point is given the nature that both Drajen and Matthiesen’s forces have been disappearing. You disappeared. Matthiesen sent me to investigate.” Given her confusion when Crowe had tested her awareness that this had all happened once before (according to Matthiesen) Crowe decided it would be safest to keep that card close to his chest. “Based on what I’ve seen, I do not wish to intervene any further than I already have. But I need your assurance that this Mother of Caldreath is not a threat to Monad's people. Are you happy here? Are you safe?”

Gyrell's laugh was caustic and sharp in the sunny space of Rake’s kitchen. “Happy? Safe? You might be the herald and you might be wise beyond your years as I was at your age, but your use of those words in the context of war shows you for what you truly are: Just a boy.”

Crowe flinched. Though she spoke the truth she might as well have struck him. He might have preferred it.

“The Mother is not our ally but she is also not our enemy. It just so happens that her goals happen to align with ours,” Loras continued. “Yes, many of Monad's people have paid their lives to get here, but look at the rewards. We are thriving. We have shelter. Food and land to farm. Just as many torchcoats have tried to penetrate the woods only to find themselves burnt to a crisp or skewered at the end of the Mother's spear. Meanwhile we flourish and continue to grow stronger as more of Monad's people flock to her call. Do you not see? She is not enslaving us or indoctrinating us into her cult. She is helping me to build an army that will cut out Drajen’s beating heart once and for all.”

“That appears to be the case,” the herald answered diplomatically. “At the end it is not for me judge. My motivation aligns with yours. I agree this war needs to come to an end and that the enslavement of our people has gone in long enough. So in saying this my lycan companion and I will be leaving within the hour. We will take our bets back through the forest and return to Caemyth.”

The commander shook her head at the practitioner as if he’d said something gravely insulting. “You’d be a fool to leave this place.” She truly sounded angry.

Crowe could feel himself growing angry. He scoffed. I don't need to explain myself to you. “How can you expect us to want to stay given what it took for us to get here? Aye, you have food and shelter and the illusion of protection, meanwhile thousands more of our people break their backs working on Drajen's railroad or being slaughtered and experimented on by the Inquisitor…”

“And still you fail to see the advantage we have here. Do you not see the Mother for what she is?”

“What is she?” the practitioner hedged cautiously.

Gyrell grinned slyly. “Stick around for the rest of the night. See for yourself.”

“We have no wish to stay.”

Barghast's ears perked up at the insistence in Crowe's voice.

“You would be wasting the opportunity of an Iteration!”

The sorcerer rose out of his chair to almost tip it back on the ground. “What opportunity would that be?”

“To join forces.” Gyrell had risen with him. Now they leaned toward each other with only the table between them. Barghast and Rake watched the exchange, sharing an uneasy silence. “You are the herald. Under your banner there is nowhere they would not follow you. With my wisdom on the battlefield I could forge you into an unstoppable leader. And what better place would there be to develop those skills? Here you can rest. You can see what it's like to have allies who will fight with you. For you. I thought I would never again know what it's like to be at home in my own skin, but somehow Monad has led me here again. Of this much I am certain.”

“Twin o’rre.” The lycan joined them in the standoff. Unlike Gyrell's, his tone was gentle, his eyes full of love and fear. “We do not need this place. We do not need these people. Let's go back to the city…the one that you always wanted to visit when you were a boy. It is large and far more noisy than I would like, but we would be safe there until we can figure what to do next.” He flashed Gyrell a scathing look.

Crowe looked from Gyrell’s self righteous expression to Barghast's desperate one. He bit the lining of his lower lip, bunching the flesh up beneath his teeth. Sensing his confliction, the commander used the opportunity to her advantage. “Neither you or your lycan will survive another venture through the woods. Not in the condition you're currently in. She challenged the Okanavian with a scathing look of her own. Crowe wondered vaguely how much of what she said he could understand. Due to his superior senses, he could pick up a lot by body language, tone, facial expressions, and smells. He growled at her once, so some of the meaning must have slipped through. “If I were you,” Gyrell insisted unabated, “I would want to rest up and gather as much supplies as I could before going back into those woods.”

The point she made was strong, her logic undeniable. Her words rang in his head, ebbing at the last shred of conviction he had left in him. He wished the walls of Rake's house would close in and smash him to a pulp. She is right about one thing: We need food and we need sustenance. Otherwise we won't make it back.

“You're right,” he said after a long bout of conflicted silence. Of course she was - and judging from the triumphant grin on her face she knew it. He flashed a defeated look in the lycan's direction. Just a few more hours, he tried to tell his companion with his eyes. I know it's not what we want, but I’m doing the best I can.

Barghast looked away. Crowe felt his heart give a nasty jerk. The Okanavian had never refused to look at him this way before. He choked down the plea of understanding - I’m doing the best I can - and gave Loras a peremptory smile. It was the same smile he would give Petras when he was trying to keep the peace.

“That's fantastic!” The commander clapped her hands together as if this was the best news she'd heard all morning. “It looks like we will be having guests for dinner! I can assure you, herald, you will not regret sticking around it a moment longer. You are amongst friends. You are in a safe place.”

The newfound uncomfortable silence between Crowe and Barghast made the practitioner feel sick to his stomach; he couldn't shake the feeling he’d made a terrible mistake in agreeing to stay even a few hours longer.

He tried several times to meet the barbarian's eyes - enough times to guarantee his certainty that the Okanavian was not happy with him. The way he walked with his tail tucked between his legs. The way he focused on anything but the practitioner. Walking in the shadow of his silence and his anger was worse than Crowe could have imagined.

His innards felt like a boiling pot as they mounted the steps to the room where they had stayed the previous night. At any second the panic would explode out of him and this time he wouldn’t have the Okanavian to comfort him. This time the lycan’s anger was the cause of his panic. Not his anger, my mistake, he reminded himself as he slammed the door shut behind him. But with the shutting of the door he could no longer keep his panic at bay.

“Alright,” he said, rounding on Barghast. This time he could not keep the panic out of his voice - or the despair, or the anger. Anger that he had had to explain himself, that he had to explain his actions. Despair and fear at what his decision might have cost him. A price he would never be able to pay if Barghast ever decided to leave him. This fear had alway been there, but now it speared through him, as white-hot as burning steel. His hands clenched into fists and unclenched. “Why are you avoiding me? Why won’t you say anything?”

The Okanavian did not say anything. He merely stood with his back turned to Crowe.

The practitioner jabbed a finger at the barbarian’s back. What came out of him was fury. The type of helpless fury that did not take into account the feelings of others or the events that had led up to the situation. Fury that was built on the foundation of being alone. Of being abandoned. “Don’t you turn your back on me!” he shrieked. He saw the lycan flinch. Good, he thought with a savage twist of triumph. This is what you get for ignoring me. “Don’t you dare punish me with your silence! Don’t you dare treat me the way Petras treated me…”

This time Barghast really did flinch. This time his reaction was unmistakable. He lowered his head before turning around to face the sorcerer. “Twin o’rre…”

“What?”

The barbarian’s ears twitched.

“Don’t you give me that look!” the practitioner snarled through bared teeth. “Don’t think you just get to give me the cold shoulder and then give me that look and think that it makes everything better! I am not any more pleased about this situation than you are…”

“I’m worried this place is seducing you the way it seduced Rake…”

Crowe struck himself. He didn’t know why he did it. He didn’t know he’d done it until he felt the sting of his palm against his own flesh. The action filled the sound with a sharp report that made Barghast step back as if he’d been the one who’d been struck. “So what if it is? Look at what it took for us to get here! You saw Rake! You saw the commander! Do they look like they are being enslaved? Do they look like they are under the spell of a sorcerer?”

“They do not,” Barghast admitted reluctantly.

Crowe closed his eyes. His heart hammered in his chest. The air in the room felt thick. Suffocating.

“My beloved…” The lycan started towards him.

“Don’t touch me!” the sorcerer shrieked. The look he gave Barghast was such that the barbarian backed away until his back was pressed up against the window, blocking out the afternoon light. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Organized his thoughts in the way a man with a sound mind would. When he spoke his voice had the same clinical precision Gyrell had displayed earlier that morning. “We came here for a reason. This has all happened once before and now it’s happening again. That means something. Gyrell has shown no indication she is aware of the repetition of events, which leads me to believe the entity behind this doesn’t want her to know. And don’t forget what Maeve said in Vaylin. That we would find a woman who was in need of saving from her own damnation. Gyrell is that woman!”

“What about you?” Barghast whined.

“What about me?”

“Who is going to save you from your own damnation?”

Crowe struck himself a second time. This time with both fists. The only way he could stop himself from striking his companion was to redirect his fury at his own body. “Not everything is about me! We are not here to save my soul. We are here to help people! We are here to bring this war to an end once and for all!” He swallowed, his throat raw from screaming. “So far your only intent seems to be to stand in my way.”

The moment those words left his mouth the shame hit him like a blow to the stomach. The last of his emotions burst out of him in a sob. The black taste of self-loathing scalded the back of his throat. There was nowhere he could think of to go…I don’t care what Gyrell says, I don’t belong in this place, I don’t belong anywhere…so now it was his turn to turn his back on the Okanavian. He curled his hands into fists once more and pommeled himself in the face as hard as he could. The blunt fury of his fists was no comparison for the yawning hole that opened inside him. He didn’t realize he had begun to scream mindlessly until Barghast whirled him around, burying his face in his chest fur.

When it was clear that the practitioner had ceased beating himself for the time being, the Okanavian curled a digit under his chin, lifting his face up to stare down sternly at him. “I never want to see you beat yourself again! You have red welts all over your flesh…”

Crowe wanted to throw himself into a fresh fit; he wanted to bury his face in his hands so the barbarian couldn’t see how pathetic he was. Monad knows he’s seen it enough times.

“I should not have gotten angry with you,” Barghast boomed. “I should not have pushed you so hard. You are right to be angry with me.”

The practitioner pulled back with a sniff. He wiped the sleeves of his robes across his face. “I’m not angry with you. I just can’t stand the thought of you being angry with me. I don’t ever want you to be angry with me. It’s the worst, most scary feeling in the world. I…I don’t…” He willed himself not to burst into a fresh fit of sobs. “I don’t want you to give up on me. I don’t want you to leave me.”

“You…?” Barghast stopped with a look of genuine surprise. “When we left the white-haire woman after eating the apple pie, you think I wanted to leave you? My beloved, I could never leave you. It is impossible. You and I are inextricably bound.” Crowe opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word the lycan silenced him by pressing a large finger to his lips. “I am a foolish pup for questioning you. Sometimes I forget that you have never led us astray. You have only led us where we needed to go. I suppose I am still just a selfish pup who wants you all to myself.”

The sorcerer chuckled wetly. He rested his fingers on Barghast’s broad forearm. “You will always have me first and foremost. You will always have my heart. We are inseparable, you and I. In the moments when things are most unpleasant, when we are stuck in a place where we do not want to be, that is when you and I need to stick together the most. Do you understand? This place has power. It deceives. It preys on the minds of those who inhabit it. But we know very little about the nature of that power. We must investigate.”

Barghast’s ears pricked up. “Investigate? This is a new word I have yet to hear.”

“It’s when you launch an inquiry to find out information, but you want to be careful. We don’t know if Commander Gyrell is telling the truth. For all we know Rake could be brainwashed, or coerced, or under a spell.”

Barghast lowered himself onto the edge of the nearest bed. He pulled Crowe into his lap. He pressed the cool tip of his snout to the practitioner’s skin. “Why would someone want to put him under a spell?”

“So that he can’t resist. So he’ll tell us what we want to hear. The thing about our investigation is that we’ll have to be careful. Quiet. If we are not, things could end very badly for us.”

                                                                …

Barghast paced in front of the window, watching day fall towards night. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet but he had given up trying to be conspicuous almost an hour ago. Crowe’s soft snores stirred the air. The practitioner slept on his side, his head turned away from the lycan. The Okanavian paused in his pacing long enough to stroke his beloved’s cheek with a finger. The hint of a smile touched Crowe’s lips. He made a soft moaning sound in his sleep. Barghast felt his heart flutter. Felt himself fall in love with his twin o’rre all over again.

There wasn’t just love in his heart, there was fear too. Fear that he would lose his beloved to this place. He resumed his back and forth circuit across the room. Though no one had bothered them, he remained unconvinced they were safe. This place is a garden of deception.

He watched the people move about from the window. Thinking back on it, they looked no different from the poor souls his beloved and he had encountered in the place Crowe called Timberford. A place that brought back its fair share of pleasant memories. We almost died there. I almost died there. The demon had me…it would have ripped off my skin had Crowe not saved me. It is because of him I am still alive. It is because of him we are still together. In my arrogance I forget that.

He made the silent vow that he would not forget again.

“You must tread carefully,” a familiar voice said behind him. Llamia stood at his back, watching him from the shadows. “You may be a foolish pup, but your instincts have never led you wrong.”

“Is there anything you can do to help us?” Barghast hated the fear he heard in his voice, but it was in his blood, black as poison.

The seer shook her head sadly. “I wish I could. It's not due to a lack of wanting. The creature that has created this box you find yourself trapped in is far more powerful than I. You have seen the illusions she has conjured up. I have no such ability. I can shape your dreams, not the earth itself. Enough questions. Listen to me, pup.”

Barghast bit his tongue to keep from gnashing his teeth together. “I am listening.”

“Your beloved is being tested as he has never been tested before. This is the ultimate design of the place and the motivations of the Architect who attacked you back at the fort.”

Barghast's ears perked up. “Architect?”

Llamia bowed her head. “The first of Monad's creations. The Architect you know has the Black King was the very first. Since the end of the First Iteration, Hamon has always openly rebelled against creator; the way an obstinate child rebels against their father. There are many who turned their allegiance to the Black Father and there are those who have stayed out on their own path like myself and the Architect you will soon encounter.”

Barghast whined uncertainly. “You are an Architect?”

The seer took a long time to reply. Barghast began to fear he had asked the wrong question when she spoke in a wistful whimper of her own. “At the height of my power I was. Now I am much more akin to a spirit of the desert.”

“How did this happen to you?”

The seer grimaced as if she tasted something unpleasant in her mouth. “I fell from grace. Do not ask me any more questions about it - it’s rude.”

The barbarian dipped his head low submissively. “I did not mean to offend you. It's just…” A phrase he’d heard Crowe say several times shot into his brain. “...it’s a lot to take in.

“Look at your twin o’rre. Do you see how he's sleeping?”

“Of course. I could watch him sleep all day and all night every day for the rest of my life. Nothing would make me happier.”

“He's about to be tested in a way he never had before. Should he succeed, each test will only become more difficult from here. He’s going to need you now more than ever. Be patient with him. Help him along when he falters. The burden he carries is greater than you could ever know.”

“I know how great his burden is,” the Okanavian insisted with an indignant whine.

“And yet you still want to keep him to yourself!” Llamia snapped. “You continue to treat him more as an object than a person…”

“I do not treat him like an object!” The Okanavian's objection was deafening in the silence of the room. His beloved stirred on the bed with a low, uneasy moan. Barghast went over to where the practitioner lay. “Don't wake up, twin o’rre,” he whispered. “Stay peaceful and sleeping.”

Crowe must have sensed him in his dreams for he opened his eyes. Even now, after all the time they’d spent together and all they’d endured, Barghast felt his heart stall in his chest when the practitioner looked at him. His eyes were deep with infinite depth. The lycan knew if he were to fall into those stormy blue eyes he would fall forever. Each new discovery he made would be more mind-blowing than the last.

The herald smiled sweetly. He scooted closer to the edge of the bed, patting the space next to him in a wordless invitation. They had pushed the beds back together in case the Okanavian wanted to rest with him. Barghast sidled up next to him, pulling the practitioner’s tiny body into him until the small of his back was pressed up against the lycan’s belly. After a moment his beloved rolled over so that they faced one another. Crowe stroked his fingers through Barghast’s whiskers, earning a contented groan from the lycan. I have been a foolish, selfish pup and he treats me with whisker rubs when he should flick my nose instead. Gaia could not have blessed me with a sweeter twin o’rre.

Barghast was not sure how long they laid together like this, their bodies entwined together, before he heard the heavy footfalls of the white-haired woman outside the door. Crowe was just pulling himself into a sitting position when the door opened. The commander stepped in. The triumphant grin she’d worn earlier this morning was fixed on her face. She doesn’t respect my beloved. Not the way I do. As with everyone else he is nothing more than a pawn to her. I will not let her use him.

With this thought, Llama’s words echoed through his head, reminding him: You continue to treat him more as an object than a person…

He paused. Was this true? Did he only see Crowe has an object to satiate his own desires? Was he any better than the white-haired woman who eyed his beloved as if he were prey meant to be devoured and digested? He bit back a growl. He’d made things difficult enough for his twin o’rre as it was - Don’t you dare punish me with your silence! Don’t you dare treat me the way Petras treated me…He could still see the red welts and a couple of bruises from where the practitioner had struck himself.

“You’re awake,” Gyrell said to Crowe. “Good.” She held up a pile of folded garments for him. “Dinner will begin within the hour. We are holding a feast in honor of your arrival. This is not an indoctrination into a cult. This is a celebration of your accomplishments and the accomplishments you will continue to make as you grow into your role as herald. Some clean clothes, good food, good drink, and good company will only serve to help you feel better.”

Crowe took the offered clothes with a nod of thanks. His mouth worked as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what to say. Be patient with him. Help him along when he falters. The burden he carries is greater than you could ever know. “Thank you. Good food, drink, and company sounds lovely. Like you we have been on the road for a better part of a year. Sleeping on the ground isn’t exactly the most restful.” He affected a humorous smile that almost looked genuine, but Barghast did not miss the twitch of tension in his lower lip. It was the sort of detail only a lycan would see.

“Indeed.” Gyrell stepped forward.

She rested a hand on Crowe’s shoulder. Barghast bit his tongue to hold back another growl. She’s not hurting him. She’s only trying to be friendly. Still, Barghast did not like the way people were always touching each other in this land. I only want to be the only one who touches him. But he is not an object. He is a person. He is my beloved.

“As long as you remain here in Caldreath, you will have your own bed. You will have clean clothes. You will have food and drink and you will be surrounded by people who respect you, not want to hang you from the end of a noose or burn you at the stake. You are in a safe place” Something akin to humor flashed in the white-haired woman’s green eyes. “I will leave you to get dressed. Before we head to the gathering there is something I would like to show you.”

Upon exiting the room, the door clicked softly shut behind her.

Crowe unfolded the clothes she’d given him, a frown of concentration screwed on his face. After a moment he appeared satisfied. He raised his arms to pull his robes over his head. Barghast came up behind him, their reflections filling the room’s only mirror. He circled his arms around the practitioner’s slender hips. It struck the lycan again just how small he was. Just how delicate. But like this place that appearance of weakness was also an illusion. It didn’t stop Barghast from wanting to shield his beloved from the world with his body. To tuck him into his chest where the rest of the world could not touch him.

He pressed his snout to Crowe’s ear, eliciting a shiver from the practitioner. He made a small sound in his throat that might have been a gasp. “I want to undress you,” the lycan rumbled.

“So undress me.”

So Barghast did. And he took his time. Once his beloved was naked, he gently combed his claws through his hair. He made sure to be very careful not to scrape his scalp with them. Crowe faced the mirror with his eyes closed. His head fell back against the Okanavian’s chest. His mouth slackened. Softened. Nothing thrilled Barghast than to hear his twin o’rre make those sweet little sounds. It only thrilled him even more to be the cause of such reactions.

He nipped at the back of his neck, nipping at his flesh gently. He fumbled with the clasp of the practitioner's breeches. Today his digits weren't working with him. When Barghast let out a growl of frustration, Crowe giggled sweetly and undid the clasp for him. He kicked off his breeches. His skin looked golden in the morning light. Barghast traced a finger up between the valleys of his shoulder blades. “Gaia, bless me twin o’rre. I swear you only grow more exquisite with each day. Crowe did not reply but kept smiling. Nothing makes me happier than to see my beloved smile.

When Crowe turned away from the mirror, Barghast’s breath caught in his throat. He wore a white shirt with sleeves that flared out at the end and a pair of black breeches. Barghast had combed back and straightened his hair. Free of grime and duress, the sorcerer looked positively radiant. Now his beloved bit his tongue, dismayed by the lycan's silence. “Do I look alright?” He chuckled timidly. “Please say something.”

“As I said twin o’rre, you look more exquisite with each passing day. But right now…I can hardly breathe. That's how beautiful you are.”

The tension lifted from Crowe's shoulders. The curve of his lips softened. “Shall we go to dinner?” At the mention of the word ‘dinner’, Barghast's belly rumbled. Again the sorcerer laughed, the sound musical and genuine. “I’ll take that has a yes.”

Loras was waiting for them in the hallway, her finger tapping impatiently against her thigh. She was dressed in silky violet robes that made her silver hair pair brighter. Her finger ceased tapping. “Good,” she said briskly; once more she spoke solely to Crowe; she only glanced briefly at the lycan. “Shall we go?”

She doesn't like me, the Okanavian thought. She doesn't like me because she knows she can't sink her hooks in me the way she can Crowe.

The night air was fragrant with the perfume of summer. The musty smell of pollen made his nose itch. He felt a sneeze coming in. He pushed his snout into the cup of his elbow as Crowe had taught him - “it's the polite thing to do,” the practitioner had told him, “you don't want to sneeze all over someone; that would be bad manners”. Crowe waited beside him, running a soothing hand over Barghast's arm. The white-haired woman qwaited slightly ahead of them. Barghast could hear the impatient racing of her heart. All her smiles and flourishes are all just a charade. Inside she is just a scared woman every bit as desperate to get her way as we are.

During the few hours they’d been in the room, the town had transformed. Lanterns hung from the trees; fireflies danced within the glass, their wings shimmering. Music floated over the thick humid air. Air that was electric with the spirit of celebration. It was overwhelming. It took all of his will to keep from clinging to Crowe like a child. It was a pressure he certainly didn't need at the moment. Just keep your eye on him. Don't lose sight of him for even a moment. When you lose sight of him bad things happen.

The white-haired woman led them along the curve of a dirt road. It was hard not to become distracted by the sky. Far flung diamonds glimmered in a sea of endless black. The stars had always fascinated him.

They passed a wood post fence. The fence looked new, the dirt around it freshly dug. They walked up the path to a small two story house with big windows. Barghast bit back a whine. The windows looked like two eyes. Two eyes that watched them. Two eyes that saw right through them to the center of their soul. And the white woman was leading them to it. The lycan couldn't see her face but he could imagine that same sly grin painted on her face.

The door to the house yawned open. Candlelight danced within,.throwing shadows against the door. Crowe followed the woman without hesitation, without caution. His expression betrayed nothing. His heart beat steadily against his chest.

Before he could stop himself, Barghast grabbed his arm. He pulled Crowe back away from the woman. The practitioner did not look pleased about being steered against his will, but he did not protest either. “I do not want to go in that house, twin o’rre,” he whined.

The practitioner scowled. “It's just a house, Barghast.”

“Is everything alright?” the white haired woman asked. The lycan could not understand what she said, but he did not miss the irritation in her voice.

“Everything’s fine!” Crowe snapped over his shoulder. But when he looked back at Barghast, the lycan could see everything was not fine. When his beloved spoke, his voice was tight and cold and weary with anger - anger at me. He spoke in Okanavian so that only the barbarian could understand. “You and I have talked about this. I know you are afraid. I'm afraid, too. But I need you to be brave. So pull your head out of your ass and be the warrior I know you can be!”

His words hit Barghast like a cold splash of water. Of course his beloved was frustrated with them. Had they not just had this conversation not mere moments ago? He nodded, staving back a whine. “Of course, twin o’rre.”

Crowe did not nod or smile or rub his arm. His gaze lingered on Barghast a moment longer. His eyes said it would take more than an apology to earn his forgiveness this time. What was it he’d told the lycan before? Actions speak louder than words. He said something brief and sharp to the white-haired woman. The woman nodded, looking smug. Her eyes rose up to meet the lycan’s. She raised a silvery eyebrow, silently proclaiming her victory over Barghast.

Dear Gaia, help me, the Okanavian prayed. He lifted his eyes up to the sky. If he looked at the silver-haired bitch a moment longer he would surely do something he regretted. Something that would make his beloved more angry with him. He couldn’t let that happen. It will take every ounce of will I have in me not to kill her.

The bitch said something softly. Crowe nodded. He climbed up the steps of the porch. He looked back at the Okanavian once. He wasn’t smiling, but the cold look he’d given the lycan was no longer there. The barbarian’s heart lurched hopefully. Fret not, twin o’rre. I will not cause you anymore distress this night. I trust you. You have never led us wrong. Whatever horrible situation we land in, you always find a way out. I believe in this above all else…

They stepped over the threshold.

The door closed behind them with a squeak that sent cold shivers down Barghast’s spine.