Grixis’s silver eyes hone on her, his grip tightening around the axe at his waist, more out of habit than as a threat.
“I am sure Gaerth would be happy to have you helping him today,” he says through clenched teeth.
Amber nods and skulks away, keeping her head bowed.
Grixis turns to the people gathered. “Do you not have work to do?”
They scatter, knowing better than to press their luck.
“There is no end to the worry that one brings me,” Grixis mutters.
“She will continue to cause problems for you until she is properly humbled.”
“Care to tell me how one can tame a bruntler?” He shakes his head and leaves, heading toward the longhouse.
I scan the room, my eyes falling on a basket with Asha’s weaves tucked inside. One is torn and frayed.
Anger burns in my chest.
“She tore your weaves?”
Asha nods.
“It is my fault.”
She lifts her eyes to mine. “Because you were courting her?”
I shake my head. “No, though I should have made my disinterest more clear. My head was too full, and I wanted to rid myself of her chatter.”
“Full of what?”
“Confusion.”
“Well, your confusion cost me a day’s work.” She turns away, crossing her arms over her chest. “Court who you’d like—court Amber, even—you’d be perfect for each other.”
My mind is clouded. There are so many things I wish to say, yet all of them feel treasonous to the tongue.
With a huff, Asha bends, sifting through the weaves in her basket, muttering curses under her breath.
“I did not wish for this to happen to you.”
Her head snaps back, her blue eyes glaring up at me. “Of course you don’t, because you don’t want me here any longer than I have to be.”
Her face is still red, her features snarled, looking strangely adorable.
But it is her odor that speaks to me. Thick and heady, making me yearn to drink from her sacred font as I had in the cave.
I remember her cries; the way her fingers clawed my shoulders. How her body arched, twisting and writhing as I tasted her sweet nectar.
Why should I not claim her? She has proven herself willing to go toe-to-toe with her adversary. She has proven herself to be brave.
But bravery is not strength. The weakest among us can charge first into battle…
Asha rises to a stand, muttering a string of Penticari curses I do not recognize. Her hands open and close, flexing, every muscle pulling tight as she tries to bottle her fury.
I hate that I helped cause this.
She paces back and forth, three steps left, three steps right, sweat pooling at her brow.
