Page 3 of The Bone King and the Starling

I shudder even though I don’t mean to. For as unenthusiastic as my reactions are, I know how they excite him. I have seen him in the village picking on smaller boys — and some girls — oflower status before. He is excited by their tears — by my tears — my displeasure. My pain.

I find it somehow even worse that he is an attractive male, coveted in our village for his looks. He could have any female he wants easily with just a kind whispered word and yet he chooses to withhold all of them. Perhaps, they do not even exist in his vocabulary. The stranger, on the other hand, I didn’t get a look at, hidden as he was beneath his cloak and positioned in relief against the moon’s brightness. He is probably an ogre for as gentle as his words were and the easy way with which he stood up for me. It would have been nice to look into his eyes once, to thank him. Instead, I am left to suffer Tori’s cruel stare alone now.

Tori’s skin is tan layered over white. His hair is blond, like most in the village. Winterbren is generally a homogenous place, which is why I stand out so strikingly. My mother was taken during a raid from a distant land across the sea of sapphire. She boasted dark brown skin and tight, black ringlets. My father looked like Tori and was just as mean. I came out looking like both of them. Long, dark curls and waves that hang tattered down my back to my rear. Medium brown skin that darkens quickly in the sun. The same dark eyes my mother had when she was alive.

I know that there are many males in the village who want to sample me to see if I taste any different than the pale-faced blonde and brunette females of the village, but Tori has staked his claim and frightened them off. But after the games…after the selection is made and Tori is inevitably chosen to leave our small village for the capital, I don’t doubt he will take my virginity with him. Then, I will be free for use by anyone.

I have been drinking the root’s essence with the other thralls since I turned fourteen. It will keep me from getting pregnant — at least, it has worked for the other girls — but I don’t haveplans to prevent what will be inevitable. The chief’s wife who has only ever been fair with me — if quite short of kind — assured me that it is my role within the tribe to comfort our warriors however they like to be comforted. That it will be my only role of significance.

While her words frighten me, I am already twenty. For the fact that I did not lose my virginity the moment my parents died six years ago — or as most thralls do, in my adolescence — I am grateful to the chief and his wife for naming me as their ward, even if I have the status and perform the duties of a thrall.

I also know that, while whoring is not the future I envisioned for myself as a child, it is possible to earn a little extra coin from the men of our village, or passers through, like the kind one I met last night. For as much as I don’t relish the idea, I do look forward to hopefully one day purchasing my very first fur along with my freedom. And if not that, at least a pair of new shoes.

I wiggle my toes in my boots. When my parents died, I had nothing. So, even though my clothes are threadbare and my feet are cold in my leather slippers, I’m still grateful. That I wasn’t cast out in the cold entirely was a blessing from Raya. Short of my limited utility as a young female and a passable cook, I still don’t know why the chief and his wife took me in at all. Most in my village in my circumstance would have been left to the cold. If that had happened…

I glance at the back of Tori’s head until the distant pounding of horses’ hooves cause his head to swivel back around. I keep staring, wondering about my fate — what it will be like in three days after the games — when I am handed over to him. Will he come for me in the great hall and drag me to the stables where males are known to rut lowborn females? Or will he knock on Chief Olec’s door? Will Rosalind hand me over herself? I wonder if, after it’s over, he’ll gift me anything at all…

I jerk at the sudden sharp pressure above my elbow. Ebanora is watching me, her sapphire eyes alight. She smiles at me, her cheeks pink and her white-blonde hair clean. Three years my junior, she will likely be married off in the next year, hopefully to a good man, though most likely to a farmer — a warrior farmer if she’s lucky.

She is excited for today and in small part, I echo that feeling. I’ve never seen the games before and I’ve certainly never seen the king. The procession has just begun and I lean in when Ebanora’s shoulders turn towards me, her fur tickling my cheek.

“Here he comes, the bone king.” The king of blood, the king of bone, I know what they call him and why they call him that and it makes me shudder even as Ebanora continues. “Unlike the village chiefs or the southern kings, King Calai leads the procession himself. He always has. Only true rulers lead their armies into battle. False rulers hide behind their warriors. That he leads the procession instead of idling at the back is a testament to that.”

I nod along, soaking up any knowledge of anything at all that she seeks to give me. She has regular lessons but after my parents passed, I was no longer permitted to join Ebanora and listen in to what she was taught.

“What’s it like? The capital?” I whisper, knowing that she’s had the pleasure of traveling the long road to Ithanuir with her parents and older brother once. He will participate in the games, though I’m not sure that is his true desire. Like his sister, he hasn’t a fighting bone in his body, but he is almost sixteen and strong. Chief Olec insisted and even I know that, for his poor family, it would be a great honor were he selected to train with the king.

But I do worry… If he is selected to live in Ithanuir for a year, would his family — or even just his sister — accompany him? Ebanora is smart and beautiful. She would surely find a husbandin the city who could provide for her better than the males here. And then I’d never see her again…

Ebanora speaks animatedly and I feel a terrible guilt that I would deny her excitement for my own selfish reasons. I quickly plaster a smile on my face and give her my attention as she says, “It’s grand. The longhouse is ten times the size of the chief’s, sturdy, elevated from the ground by a short staircase. The floor is made of boards that sit above the ground so it never floods when it rains. And the market is incredible. All kinds of people from all over Ithanuir pass through it. The temples are beautiful. The temple to Raya and Ghabari’s love is sensational. It would be a true honor to even witness a wedding take place there.”

My heart beats hard, and it’s hard to push aside those feelings of longing. They’re girlish thoughts and by the end of the games, I’ll be a woman. There won’t be time for those kinds of thoughts then, so for now, I suppose it might be alright to let myself idle in them.

“And what of the king?” I say, the pounding of distant hooves making it difficult to be heard.

“He will certainly marry there. Though there seems to be no indication that he will soon take a wife…”

I chuckle under my breath. “Is that all that consumes your thoughts?”

Ebanora’s cheeks grow ruddy then and I feel sorry for her. “I am a great burden for my family. I hope I can find a good match…”

“You will.” I take her wrist. “And let’s not talk about that now. The king, I meant what is he like?”

“Larger than life. Truly. He is one of the most imposing males I’ve ever seen. My family never had the pleasure of an introduction, but we did see him in passing several times and each time it was frightening. He doesn’t ever smile. They say hepicks his teeth with the bones of his enemies. That he drinks his ale from their skulls.”

“The bone king.” I shiver.

“The people love him for it,” she says, nodding in confirmation. “The prisoners he takes are not known to live long and his punishments are terrible. They say it’s because his father was too kind, he was backstabbed by his uncle.” I’ve heard the story. The one that ended with eighteen-year-old Calai skinning his uncle alive and retaking the crown his father lost. “He’s violent to ensure that none dare cross him.”

“I’m glad he isn’t staying long.”

Ebanora pinches my outer arm again and I jump. I give her a scolding look and she laughs. “Don’t be so frightened. He is also very generous. To take our warriors from us and then return them trained is a generosity the kings before him did not extend.”

It is true. These games are new and widely celebrated. Each year, King Calai calls as many as a dozen young warriors from each village to compete in a series of games. The winners of the games from each village travel to Ithanuir to train with the king and his warriors directly. A year later, they are returned more capable of defending the outer villages.

It’s been seven years since our village on the edge of Wrath was last raided by one of the western tribes, but when they came, it was Torbun’s eldest son Viccra who was seen to have fought the most bravely. He had just come back from his year in Ithanuir.

Each year, King Calai oversees the games in a different village personally. A small village of only six hundred, it’s an honor to receive the king here. He’s been king since I was born and has only overnighted in our village once since then. I was only six and not allowed out of the house to see him. And this is our village’s first time hosting him for the games.

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