The Centaur Queen (The Dark Queens #7)(4)
I was certainly not in love with the satyr. The likelihood that I would fall in love with anyone was slim to none. I simply wasn’t built that way. I preferred my solitude and independence over almost anything else.
And yet, I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t sometimes wonder what could possibly turn a satyr, normally a convivial hybrid, into a pensive and brooding individual. It was partly why he fascinated me so. I was intensely curious about my companion.
My lips tingled and I huffed. Focus, Tymanon.
Moving gingerly through the forest, I took my bow in hand, studying the forest floor, full of rotting leaves, for any signs of fresh scat, or tracks, or anything that might lead me to a food source more robust than a bit of grain and fruit. But after an hour of searching, I realized there was none to be had. Wherever we’d landed, it was a veritable dead zone.
Slinging my bow over my shoulder, I turned and trotted back to camp, pleased to note Petra was already back and there was a large, broad leaf filled to bursting with seeds, nuts, and wild berries. At least he’d fared better than I had.
Giving him a grateful smile, I sat and reached for a handful of nuts and fruits, tossing them back with one large swallow.
I wasn’t typically the chatty type, but Petra wasn’t just anybody. Forced cohabitation had warmed me to his presence, to the point that I thought I might actually miss him if he left now. I glanced at him. He was still wearing the deep frown of someone mired in contemplation.
Dusting off my hands, I cleared my throat, more to catch his attention than anything else. Moss-green eyes latched onto mine, but the heavy wrinkle marring his normally smooth brow was still firmly in place.
“I’ve had time to think,” I said, taking time to phrase my words carefully.
“And?” A thick, dark brow rose as he awaited my response.
Scratching the side of my face, I said, “I believe the wisest course of action is to find someone who might have more answers than we currently have between us.”
“Judging by the way you phrased that, I’d say you already have someone in mind.”
“Hm.” I nodded. “You’re correct. During the games, I was visited frequently by a harpy.”
“A harpy?” He squinted his eyes, looking perplexed.
Why Harpy had never bothered showing herself to him was her own business, but I suspected the lass had been terrified of the male gender as a whole. I nodded.
“Aye. A harpy. A woman with wings. Called herself a Messenger for the Creator.”
“Creator?” He cocked his head, still looking flummoxed.
Petra wasn’t slow. He had a quick mind and a sharp wit. Perhaps I should have shared more with him than I had, but truly, I never suspected what might happen to us, to all of Kingdom, as a result of our brief sojourn in the gods’ games.
Taking a moment to catch him up, I quickly explained about the harpy and about her true role inside the games.
“And you believed her?” he asked as he idly sketched a design into the dirt by his hooves with a large twig.
“Mm.” I nodded. “I do. She had no reason to lie, and being able to move through the gods’ world as she had, her words could only be truth.”
Popping a blackberry into his mouth, Petra chewed slowly. I liked that about him. Strange, that I should enjoy his slowness. But I knew that when Petra finally responded to me, he’d given my words the due consideration they deserved.
His Adam’s apple rolled as he swallowed. “If you believe her, Tymanon, I can do nothing else.”
I blinked. The words I’d prepared to defend my belief withered on the tip of my tongue. Petra surprised me.
Centaurs were rather a prideful lot. I abhorred admitting that about my kind, but it was true. It was also why I chose to live my life apart from them. I couldn’t handle the arrogance that went hand in hand with a superior intellect. I knew I was smart, that obviously went without saying, which, I supposed, made me as egotistical as the rest. But I’d learned throughout my life to slow down, to give a matter thought before speaking. Often, my brethren didn’t. They spoke and believed themselves to be right in all things.
I was right more than I was wrong, but I could grudgingly admit fault during the rare times I wasn’t. If I’d made this statement to my herd, a louder dissenting voice would have overridden me. As much as we loved our riddles, we loved a good fight more. Be it of the brain or brawn variety, we centaurs weren’t picky.
“Just like that?” I asked with a snap of my fingers. “I say I trust her, and you agree.”
He shrugged.
“Why?”
Jaw working from side to side, Petra looked straight into the fire, his gaze turning distant and long once again. “We’ve been together near a month now, Ty—”
I fidgeted because it had actually been over a month thanks to the time loop that he knew nothing about.
“—and I’ve learned not to discredit your instinct. You’re gut has gotten me out of a scrape or two already. If you say you trust her, then so shall I.”
He licked his front teeth, swiping at a bit of berry at the corner of his full lips. Petra was a satyr, and looked every inch of it—tall, strong, and robustly built as was typical of his kind. Though I’d yet to see the satyr bits of him, I did rather enjoy the human parts.
He was strong, but not obscenely so. He had muscle, nicely built arms, and a tight chest and stomach, but he was by no means an Adonis of a male. He had shaggy brown hair that could only be called exceedingly average in coloration. His face too was rather average. He had features that could easily be overlooked when placed amongst a sea of others. He simply blended in.