Page 118 of Theirs to Crave

“No.” Litha shook her head. “Kheer-tha. Outer Kin.”

Cass leaned over. “TheKheerthaare Teterayuh who’ve moved to other villages. Roosa’s son Atson lives in a village a few days’ travel from here, and they’re all so excited he and his mates are coming.”

“Also, the villages with whom we’ve sworn kinship,” Indaro added from her seat beside Shane.

“Okay...”Lenvang Sounga—literally Dancing Water, which I thought was lovely—was the Teterayuh phrase for waterfall. My three had taken me to see the falls the village was named for a few storm breaks ago. But— “What’s anAthulenvang?”

“When bothLenailotandLevailataare dark, it is the time of theAthulenvang,” Revik said.

I waited a beat, turning to look at him when he didn’t continue. He was half out of his seat, upper lip wrinkled in a threatening snarl, his gaze fixed on something across theerralaytuh. The thick plait of my hair thwapped against my shoulder as I whipped my head around, expecting...I didn’t know what. Some horrifying danger.

It was just Arvel. His ears were pinned, his chin out belligerently. He held steady under Revik’s glare for a bare second before dropping his gaze to his clenched fists.

I looked back at Revik. What the fuck had brought that on? My protective, deadly Daddy settled down slowly, his tail flicking in sharp, angry motions. He didn’t take his eyes from the unpleasant man. He also didn’t continue his explanation.

Litha took over gracefully. “During anAthulenvang, thevath’lenestacome closer, shine brighter. We dance with them for three days and nights. We tell them of our lives, and we tell the stories of theirs. It is the time we hold mating ceremonies—”

I warmed, my eyes skittering away.

“And when we come together to make our young.”

I blinked. Had I heard that wrong? I squinted, but all the Teterayuh at our table were calm as cucumbers, while the human members of my family looked like someone had come through and popped us all on the ass with a bug zapper. The Quoosalk just nodded, perfectly accepting.

“What do you mean—” I began.

Saytireka’s voice rang out from the edge of theerralaytuh, cutting through the lunchtime conversation like a knife. “My people, I bring sorrowful news. One of our elders has gone to the sky.”

My horrified gaze clashed with Yin’s, as around us the Teterayuh murmured variations of “honor on their name” and “brightly may they shine” while making the cobweb-brushing warding against death.

No. Not Aksha. She was too full of life. Yin couldn’t lose someone else so soon.

Our hands met and held. Yin’s fingers felt brittle, the tightness of xyr grip made of desperation rather than thewhipcord strength I was used to. On my Abuele’s other side, Salat and Therry were tense, ready to catch xem if xe fell.

Zaf rose. “Who, Mother?” His tail whipped with a second, unspoken question. “And why didn’t you send for me?”

“Sezan,” Saytireka answered, her voice hollow.

She grieved, I realized with some surprise. I hadn’t thought her cold heart capable of it. Then the name hit me, and I sagged. Not Aksha. Gracias a Dios.

The relief was so strong my head spun. Hard on its heels came shame, slithering around my stomach. I breathed through my nose and squeezed Yin’s fingers back before releasing them.

I couldn’t remember who Sezan was. The name was familiar, but I couldn’t put a face to it. I wracked my brain, trying to remember, as conversation swirled around me. Funeral plans.

I got a vague sense memory of tiny flailing fists and discomfort. A few seconds later, it finally came to me. The old man who helped with the babies! The one who used to hiss at me. More disquieting layers of emotions piled onto the relief, shame, and sorrow roiling around in my guts.

Zaf lowered himself gingerly to sit beside me again, looking as if he’d aged ten years in the last five minutes. He and Sezan hadn’t been close—as far as I knew—but he’d have known him his whole life, and he took his responsibility for the health and well-being of his people deeply to heart. Even when there was nothing he could have done.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, reaching up to massage the base of his skull where his tension liked to sit. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Saytireka glaring at us, but I ignored her in favor of comforting Zaf.

“Thank you,Lelesha.” He pressed his forehead to mine, sharing a long, deep breath.

The meal continued, albeit more subdued than before. Saytireka seemed to be transmuting her grief into anger, and I tried not to fidget underneath the weight of her oppressive disapproval.

The patches of sky visible through the soaring trees grew dark as we finished eating, and the after-meal cleanup was done quickly, without the chatter and singing that usually accompanied it.

Zaf gathered Aretoi, the two of them leaving to bring supplies to Sezan’s den. He’d outlived his mates, but his two children—grown and with families of their own—lived in the village. They were “holding atchessev”—which I understood to be some kind of vigil—and preparing his body to be “sent back to the sky” via a funeral pyre, as was the Teterayuh way.

My morbid little heart was desperately curious about what all was involved in atchessev, but it didn’t feel like the right time to ask. Later, when we were alone in the den, it would be different. Litha’s description of theAthulenvanghad surprised me with its similarities to Día de los Muertos, and I wanted to know more about how the Teterayuh interacted with death. Especially since in the eyes ofsomeTeterayuh,wewereangels of death.

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