Fearless (Nameless #3)(43)
“This is ridiculous!” said Raca. “We’re just supposed to wait here and hope he comes out?”
Poi had the decency to frown as he dropped his gaze to the floor. “My apologies. But it is best. If he doesn’t come out, I’d be happy to escort you back to the cabin at nightfall when I can guarantee your safety.”
“Not a chance.” Raca stomped over to the door of the chief’s private quarters and yanked on the handle.
The entire room took a giant inhale of breath, but Zo was the only one to follow as she shoved her way into the room, pushing the door with so much force it banged against the opposite wall. “I am the daughter of Chief Naataain and the anointed princess of the Nest,” Raca’s raspy, melodic voice filled the room, bouncing off walls. Demanding to be heard. “I have traveled for several days to see you, and will be received with some degree of—”
Her words died on her tongue as she and Zo took in the scene.
The smell of sweat and stale food hit her like a punch to the face. A quick scan of the room showed weapons and hunting trophies lining the walls at crooked angles. A dressing bureau stood opposite the bed with doors open and clothing scattered on the floor. In the far corner, the low-burning embers of a fire cracked and whistled in a large fireplace tall enough for Zo to walk into without even ducking.
A man sat not on one of the grand, fur-trimmed chairs positioned before the fireplace, but on a three-legged stool. His large, rounded back faced them. An elaborate network of swirling ink rose and fell over contours of thick muscle across his back and shoulder. He’s sat so completely still that Zo had to wonder if he was breathing.
The man stared into the fire with forearms resting on knees. Long corded hair was tied back by a strip of leather. Zo pressed against the stone wall, the feeling of the room so pungent she nearly buckled under its weight.
Pain. Loss. Misery. Regret. Sorrow. And most of all, mourning.
She’d never experienced such a visceral reaction to a person’s emotions by simply standing in his presence.
Raca’s features hardened and her fists balled as she stood in all her five-foot glory. A true warrior princess prepared to rip the head off of this man at her earliest opportunity.
“Leave me.” With his back still to them, Zo had yet to see Murtog’s face, but his deep, rumbling order left little room for discussion.
“I would sooner put an arrow through my foot,” said Raca, crossing her arms defiantly before her.
Zo caught a glimpse of Talon in the doorway. He’d removed his bow from his back and held his free hand near his ear, prepared to reach for an arrow. Poi and Ikatou stood behind him, equally prepared to prevent him from doing just that.
At Raca’s declaration, Murtog finally lifted his head and turned to glare at her.
Zo couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips.
Murtog the widower was young … and handsome.
He kicked his stool out from under him and it crashed into several pieces against the back of the fireplace. “How dare you!” he growled, his voice filling the whole room, doubling over itself as it bounced off stone.
Zo took a cautious step toward the door, but Raca marched up to him, coming toe to toe with the man easily double her width and so tall she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes.
“We have an urgent message from the Allies and my father. You will either hear us or bring down the ire of the entire region upon your clan.”
He blinked at her, struggling to comprehend the gall of such a tiny, fearsome creature. Finally, as though surprising even himself by the decision, he walked over to his bed, snatched a tunic that had been thrown there, pulled it over his head, and while fastening a leather belt around his waist called over Raca’s head, “The cowards whimpering behind the door may enter.” He looked over his shoulder as he made his way to one of the large chairs in the corner of the room. “But only if you possess a fraction of this girl’s grit.”
Talon pushed away the hands holding him back and entered with head held high. He gave Raca a furious look and stopped at her side. “Honored Chieftain.” He offered Murtog a clipped bow. “I am Talon, son of Chief Naat.” He cleared his throat, nodding to Raca. “My sister has had a long journey and forgets herself.” He grounded out the last two words.
Murtog nodded, acknowledging the introduction as Ikatou came forward and dropped before his chief on one knee, with head bowed in deep supplication. “My chief.”
Muscles in Murtog’s neck danced, his cheeks flexing and unflexing as he seemed to struggle to hold his rage.
He finally spoke through gritted teeth. “Rise. Your gesture is a lie.”
Ikatou stood, but didn’t lift his head. “I have never lied to you, my chief. Even before I left, I told you my plans. In your mercy, you didn’t command me to stay.”
“But you left, all the same.”
Ikatou raised his head and his words took on a harder edge. “They were my family, Murtog. If she had been taken, you would have gone after her too.”
A mighty roar erupted from Murtog. His fist flew through the air, connecting against Ikatou’s cheek with enough force to knock the Kodiak onto his back. “Get out!” he commanded. “All of you!” He moved as though to strike Ikatou again, but Zo, out of a healer’s instinct, leapt in front of him and, without thinking, thrust her hands against his chest.