Page 18 of Changelings
Imogen didn’t feel any better about it as the morning eased into afternoon—but at least she had a pristine animal pen. Four pairs of able hands and four strong backs made for quick work, even when one brother or another stopped every few moments to throw her enigmatic smiles or Balar a ribald joke. At least, she assumed they were jokes, since they were in their manticore language and always had him pinning his ears back.
There were so many faces to put names to, Imogen had a hard time keeping all the golden faces and feathers straight. The easy one was Kiriken, the youngest. A youth and not fully grown, he amiably followed Imogen around the property all morning,chattering away when he wasn’t playing fetch with Shadow.
“Shouldn’t a child your age be in school?” Imogen asked from where she knelt in the garden, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. Kiriken had just asked her for a third time why she lived alone in the forest—apparently unsatisfied with her answers ofbecause I want toandbecause it’s quiet.
He smiled sheepishly, an expression very similar to one she’d seen on his eldest brother. Running his claws through the thick tuft of tawny hair atop his head—his full mane not having grown in yet, although it wouldsoon,he assured her—he laughed off her question.
“Yes, but I had to come today. To see you.”
Ducking her head to hide her flush, Imogen chewed her cheek.Sorry to disappoint.
Shadow came running back with their chosen stick, the bark already broken and soaked in slobber. Kiriken didn’t seem to care, wrestling with Shadow and adding his own growls as they tugged back and forth for a while. She was almost jealous how quickly the two had taken to each other; usually Shadow was reserved with new people.
Well, new humans, apparently. Didn’t seem to care one whit about manticores.
It gave Imogen a little time to compose her thoughts as she gathered the decimated weeds into a basket. Midday mealtime was approaching, and she’d been wrestling over how to tell Balar that she didn’t have enough to feed him and his brothers and keep her stores full.
Her mother hadn’t raised her to be impolite, so Imogen had circumvented all that by moving to where she never had guests. Neomi had visited maybe twice in the years since Imogen began living in her cottage. Honestly, the one who’d come by most was Dermott, and he was hardly a guest.
The thought left a sad little niggle of…somethingin her belly.Something she didn’t want to examine too closely.
She was adding the weeds to the mulch pile on the far side of the meadow when Balar approached her—and solved the issue without even knowing of it.
“We’ve finished the pen and decided to break for noonday meal. Will you join us?”
Imogen looked at the big paw he extended her, up to his open, gentle face, and over his shoulder at where the other four had gathered in a loose circle, a meal spread out before them with open canteens and waterskins.
They brought their own food.
She flushed again. Fates, she was doing that a lot today and didn’t care for it.
Ducking her head, she managed a nod before walking stiffly over to the circle. Before she could dart into the house to prepare her own meal, a gentle hand at her shoulder guided her to an open patch of grass.
Utterly bemused, Imogen sank down onto her backside, legs crossed in front of her. Easy as could be, an open-faced sandwich was placed in her hand with a napkin, and a cup of what smelled like sweet cider placed in front of her. Balar eased down beside her, and Shadow came to sit on her other side, sniffing loudly at her sandwich.
It all happened so quickly, so easily, that Imogen sat there in a stupor for an embarrassingly long time.
They talked around her, Balar keeping the conversation light with much help from Kiriken. The others seemed to accept this, although Imogen felt their curious looks.
They’re assessing me.That’s what they’d come here to do today, really. Judge the woman their brother had claimed was his long-awaited fated mate.
It was clear, even through the teasing, that they all deeply respected Balar. When he spoke, he was listened to. He didn’thave to raise his voice to issue an order. All the brothers, even the big, broody one—Soren—looked to Balar for instruction and leadership. They were a tight unit, a close family, and Imogen almost felt as though she intruded upon their intimate family meal.
Which was ridiculous. They were onherland. Uninvited.
Filling her mouth with a big hunk of meat, cheese, bread, and fig jam, Imogen chewed moodily. They could look all they liked—she hadn’t asked them here. She hadn’t asked for any of this.
She’d moved away from her family’s farm to avoid being looked at. She’d had enough of human stares—lion-men’s were no better. Especially not when she could read a thousand different meanings in the subtle dilation of their slitted pupils or minute twitches of their leonine ears.
She made the mistake of locking eyes with the one across from her. The jokester—Akila, she thought. One side of his mouth lifted, whiskers twitching, and he winked.
Ducking so her hair fell over her face, Imogen took another big, unladylike bite.
Around her, the conversation flowed freely, although it often came back to the village of otherlies where they lived. It seemed village politics were much the same everywhere with everyone. She was surprised to glean that Balar was some sort of mayor there. At least, for now.
“There’s talk of another vote,” said Soren gravely, “since you’ve been away so much.”
Balar shrugged. “It may be for the best. I’m needed elsewhere.” His gaze slid to the side to find Imogen, and he winked.
