Mahu would have thought her eyebrows couldn’t go any higher, but he’d have been wrong. She peered down her nose at him, mouth twisting to a snarl.
“Mahu,” she drawled, voice tight. She took her weight on one leg and rested a hand on her cocked hip, elbow out wide. Posed this way, she took up the entire frame of the door, effectively blocking entry.
A wave of malevolence so thick Mahu could feel it in his chest had him staggering backward. A cough tickled his throat, but he tamped it down.
Mahu worked up his courage to continue. “I see he’s told you about me, then. I came to apologize.”
“What do you think your pathetic apologies are worth to us?”
Clearly they were worth nothing to this woman, but Daka might want to hear them. “May I see him?”
Her eyes narrowed. As she opened her mouth, the pitter patter of running footsteps sounded from behind her. Before she could tell him no, Daka squeezed through to stand between them.
“Mahu,” Daka breathed his name like a wish, eyes sparkling.
The woman grabbed his shoulder, but Daka shook her off.
“You came.” The beginnings of a smile curved Daka’s lips.
Seeing him again brought a rush of warmth. The heat mixed with nerves and actual fear because the glower from Daka’s sister had a sinister quality warning him to stay away. His throat itched, but Mahu wouldn’t cough now. He swallowed the urge.
“Let me deal with him, Daka,” said the woman. “Go upstairs.”
Daka’s intense gaze shifted from Mahu to his kin, and his eyes turned pleading. “Niya, I want to see him.”
So Mahu had been right, she was Daka’s sister.
Niya’s eyes widened. “He doesn’t deserve your time. This is the man you’ve been crying over for days.”
Mahu deflated upon hearing that. He’d been worried Daka had taken the rejection hard; learning his suspicions were correct sank him like a rock in his gut.
“I cried because I missed him. Mahu’s here now. Cover for me, will you? Don’t let mother find out until I’m ready?”
Daka stepped past the threshold, took Mahu’s hand and tugged. “We need to go.”
Rage flickered in Niya’s eyes as they held Mahu’s gaze. “Don’t hurt him.”
“I won’t,” said Mahu, though as the words came out he couldn’t testify to their truth. He didn’t want to hurt Daka, but lies and questions festered between them. The outcome of this reunion remained uncertain. Daka’s hand was warm in his, urging him away from the palatial dwelling and back in the direction he’d come from.
“Hurry.” Daka set a fast pace away from the house. “If you think Niya is scary, you do not want to meet my mother.”
Mahu took his word for it, and together they trotted through desert sands to green farmlands. The city stood straight ahead, but Daka took a hard left.
“You like water,” Daka explained. “There’s an inlet. Farm animals drink from it, but if you don’t mind their smell, we could be alone.”
Alone with Daka. Now that his goal for venturing to Rhakotis was imminent, gone were all the things he’d meant to say, overshadowed by Daka’s radiant beauty in the sunlight. His tan skin glowed, his cheeks flushed, his hand still curled around Mahu’s. Gone also were the horns and tail, hidden by some sort of magic Mahu couldn’t fathom. He only hoped the power wasn’t evil.
Daka led him around piles of cow dung toward a small but swiftly flowing creek. On the other side, a small herd of cattle grazed languidly, unconcerned by their presence.
“Is this all right?” asked Daka, sounding uncharacteristically shy. He let go of Mahu’s hand and gestured. “We could sit on the rocks.”
Mahu’s hand felt cold without Daka’s. This place was as good as any other, but in Daka’s presence, words stuck in his throat.
“Mahu?” Daka’s lovely blue eyes flashed to his. “Are you very mad at me still?” he asked in a small voice. “I’m sorry for what I did.”
Anger had come and gone, leaving Mahu feeling foolish. He couldn’t trust himself to say the right thing, so he stepped forward and wrapped Daka into a hug instead.
Daka practically collapsed against him, his body melting against Mahu’s, arms tight around his waist. He took a shuddering breath and laid his head on Mahu’s shoulder.