Gryshen couldn’t have been more grateful.
The memory still sent that chunk of cold down her backside. She warmed herself with the thought of telling Hena about her courtship. Well, not so much a courtship, as they moved so swiftly to engagement.
Was it even engagement? Was there to be a wedding? Or just a binding ceremony in the dark? Gryshen pushed away flowery ideas from her childhood to embrace this rush, this surge of power: she could change her life.
Sure enough, she’d have to rule. But with Coss by her side, she could do it. She wouldn’t be alone. She would be loved, supported. She’d have a real partner. Most of all, she wouldn’t have to stop feeling this way, this wild way that took over her being whenever she glanced in his direction.
She couldn’t wait to tell Hena the news.
But she would have to wait until it was done. She couldn’t risk being told it was imprudent, or that she’d have to wait. Gryshen had a gnawing fear that if she waited, it might all wash away.
What if Coss fell out of love with her?
She hated feeling this needy about him. She soothed herself as she saw him brush off yet another leen, a particularly beautiful one, in favor of staring at Gryshen so intently, she suspected he might know exactly what she was thinking.
Hena would be one of the first she’d tell if she could get a message to her before word spread through the tribe and all the pods. Hena would understand her need for secrecy. Hena always seemed to understand things like that.
As the after-dinner entertainment (if you could call it that—the leen who had serenaded them before had somehow negotiated two more melodies) wore on, Coss passed by Gryshen once more.
“Let’s do it tonight.” He interlaced his fingers in hers, then quickly drew them away before anyone could notice.
“Tonight?” Gryshen’s face paled. Her heart seemed to bounce in her ribcage.
“Meet me in the passageway near the bone pit after this. Can you get away?”
She gave a quick nod. Of course she would. She would find a way.
When the food was being cleared, the remains of which were offered to the attending beasts, Gryshen gave her father a kiss goodnight.
“You looked good tonight, Dad. You looked . . . ” She wanted to say “healthy,” but stopped herself.
“Happy?” Frall rescued her.
“Yes. Happy.” That was true. He looked happy.
“I’m feeling happy. Goodnight, Gryshie.” He kissed her forehead and began to move away. “And Gryshie? I always look good.”
Gryshen grinned and nodded, then paused in discomfort to wish Bravis goodnight. Bravis said nothing about what had transpired at dinner, only gave her a longer look before they parted ways.
“Sleep well, Jode.” She rolled her eyes as she watched her brother being practically dragged apart by several eager leens. He didn’t seem to mind.
Morfal and his ilk had left on the last note of the singer, and Gryshen was actually impressed they had manners enough to stay for that long. But stay they did, through high-pitched whines in what could only be guessed as an attempt to show off vocal range. Then they parted with an almost-perfect unison of cold nods before parading off to sleep.
There were clusters of ilorays in the main hub, and more still drifting about the corridors, and Gryshen attempted to look sleepy as she passed them, wishing each a good night.
His hand burned against her own as the crowd passed, as she waited in the mouth of the hub, waited for anything and everything.
And everything was here.
“The shamans must bind any ceasids of age.” He whispered the words in a steady, sure stream.
And she was of age, just as this thaw began. Besides, she was a princess, and this should give her even more power.
Or far less.
“I haven’t been through my Forms yet. And Apocay is tricky. I don’t know what he would be willing to do.”
She wasn’t sure what any shaman would say to a binding that was a secret when it concerned the chieftain’s daughter and a prince from another tribe. Such a binding would clearly be going against the wishes of her father.
But it was the law. Until the elder ilorays voted otherwise, the law ruled over all, even over a pod’s king.
“Our shaman will. He’s odd, but—”
“What is it about shamans?” Gryshen smiled.
Coss returned her grin. “Ours will do it. He’ll be back in our guest quarters.”
Gryshen nodded, tightening her long fingers around his.
Her father would grieve, but only momentarily. Right?
Right.
Because above all, her father wanted her happiness. Gryshen knew this like she knew anything. Although she didn’t feel like she knew much right now. But she knew she loved Coss. And she had to believe that such a union would ultimately give her dad peace of mind, relief in seeing his daughter gaining strength in the current, growing into a mature space. Marriage pulled her up on the throne. It would elevate her in the eyes of her people; this was a fact. It could very possibly weaken Morfal’s tyranny as Coss gained leverage in his newfound position.
It could prevent war.
Not a small benefit, Gryshen thought as her heart flipped over and over, seeming to turn inside and out. The wisdom she could see as the far-reaching results of her choice made her feel more confidence in her decision.
Not that she needed confidence to make the call. While the rest of the pod swayed in and out of the corridors in a chattering state of distraction, the warmth that beamed from Coss could have burned through the sea. It was like a gulp of the airiest oxygen, a draw of necessary breath; it was the way she had to be with him. There was no other choice.
And for one of the few times in her life, she felt the freedom that she had been longing for.
Maybe this was what it felt like to be Jode.
“We won’t take a lantern. It will draw too much attention.” Coss murmured. She soundlessly agreed.
Together they swam to the guest chambers.
No other signaling was needed. Everything was spoken through the flashes of energy between them.
Gryshen’s heart turned over and under and inside out from itself.
She was to be his mate. She was to be with this lax, and they would rule in love.
Then, through the dark, a pounding alarm sounded, breaking the water between them.
Anxious tones shot through the cavern as the ceasids who were making their way to sleep hurried out of the chambers. Gryshen and Coss plunged toward the main hall in a single streak.
The carriers forming a grim line outside her father’s room told her the story.
“Daddy!” She shoved against the crowd, fanning her fin wildly to try and break past them.
“Grysh!” Jode screamed, reaching out for her, tailed by the wild-eyed leens he had left the feast with.
“Move aside!” Bravis commanded the swarm of ilorays packed into the space. With two sure arms, he pulled Gryshen and Jode in. She had never noticed how big Bravis could be. His long, narrow form suddenly became large and imposing to the crowd.
In that same sweep of Bravis’s movement, he ushered Gryshen and her brother forward, his arms holding fast to both of them like sinewy shields.
Frall was already being ceremoniously tied at the ankles and crown, a silvery net draped over his body like a veil.
As if they have already decided he is dead, without a pause, without a question.
“Who asked you to do this?” Gryshen shrieked to an apprentice healer who was whispering prayers into the braids he was weaving with grasses into the net. “Where is Apocay? Where is he? Get away from him!” she demanded, breaking away from Bravis’s protective hold.