Claiming His Human Wife (2 page)

She rose from the bearskin bed and banged a fist upon the door. Getryn opened it with obvious reluctance and motioned for her to exit. Breakfast was waiting by the fire, and Rhiannon navigated through the hovering guards.

“Not going to try running away this morning?” asked Reten from beside the fire.

Rhiannon shot him a hateful look, but remained silent. Reten had been the one to catch her during her last two escape attempts, and he goaded her at every opportunity. Most of the men treated her in the same harsh manner, even Getryn, whom she had once thought was sweet on her. The guards were missing the spring festivities and the annual mass nuptial ceremony because of this trip to the Cold Top, and she supposed this was their reason for treating her so poorly. She recalled what her father had said about some of the villagers wanting her dead, and she supposed she was lucky none of the guards had tried to kill her, especially since her father wasn’t here to stop them. He hadn’t ridden along to escort her to the Cold Top.

“Eat quickly,” Getryn said. “We’ll reach the Floating Fields by morning’s end.”             

“Getryn,” said Rhiannon. “Could I have a minute?” She motioned away from the guards, feebly attempting to draw him from from the gathering. She had to attempt escape one last time. The thought of living out the rest of her days on the Cold Top terrified her. If she drew Getryn away from the rest of the guards, perhaps she might succeed in escaping. Reten couldn’t catch her if she was hidden well enough among the trees.

Before Getryn could answer, Reten snorted and rose to his booted feet. “I guess she’s not hungry this morning,” he said.

Rhiannon’s face burned as she was locked inside the coach a final time. There would be no more opportunities for escape. A key would be passed through the bars just before the coach was pushed into the Floating Fields, and Rhiannon knew what everyone else did about these fields—they only floated up to the Cold Top. Never down to the lands of men. Her existence would be a lonely one.

As the morning came to a close, the trees gave way to dirt and rock. The mist grew thicker, forming a suffocating, white blanket around the prison coach. Rhiannon pleaded to be left in the misty forest, thinking it might be better to live amongst the groups of outcasts. Reten rattled his sword against the bars to quiet her begging.

The coach finally stopped and Rhiannon heard the horses being unhitched. Getryn’s face appeared between the bars, a blurred vision behind the hot tears pooling in her eyes.

“Getryn, please. Don’t do this to me. Whatever my grandmother did, I shouldn’t be punished for her mistakes. I know I’m not welcome back in the village, but I could live somewhere else. Anywhere else but the Cold Top, please.”

Getryn threw the key inside. Rhiannon’s heart broke as it clattered to the floor. “I’m sorry, Rhiannon. Your father insists this is the only way to keep you safe.”

“Safe from the villagers? But they wouldn’t have to know you let me go.”

Getryn looked from side to side and moved closer. “Safe from the roaming Crigon who would have vengeance against your family. That is all I know.” Then his face vanished, replaced by the haunting mist. 

“Push!” a loud voice called. Rhiannon felt the coach moving, knowing it would tip over the rocky cliff and ride upon the Floating Fields toward the Cold Top which was cut off from all land. “Push!” the voice boomed again.

Rhiannon hit the floor and fumbled for the key. Perhaps she could open the door and run through the mist before she was traveling in the air. But in the next moment, the mist was moving faster and the rough pushes had ceased. The prison coach had been edged off the cliff and she was riding the current of the Floating Fields, riding the path to exile. Rhiannon threw the key against the wall and pulled at her long black hair in exasperation.

She cursed her father for not being completely honest with her, and she wondered about the roaming Crigon. What had her grandmother done? She obviously hadn’t just been touched by a Crigon, not if one was searching for Rhiannon to seek vengeance against her family.

Rhiannon wiped at her tears and crawled across the wooden floor to retrieve the key, then sank against the door to wait for the prison coach to land upon the Cold Top.

* * * * *

Deep mounds of snow nearly concealed the cabin, but it was definitely there. The setting sun shone orange against the windows, serving as a beacon for Rhiannon. She fought the biting wind and traipsed inside with numb feet, thinking perhaps exile on the Cold Top was a death sentence after all.

She strained to shut the door and focused on the dim interior of the small, one room cabin. Though it wasn’t much warmer than outside, at least the wind was no longer sanding her face away. She fumbled along the wall toward a rustic table with candles and tap stones. She lit the tallest candle first, followed by all the rest. Dust and cobwebs testified that she was alone, though someone had undoubtedly once called this place home, likely before the Cold Top had been raised up and away from any joining lands by the goddess Retta in her anger over the Crigon’s victory against the humans at the Battle of Cliffton.

After spreading the candles around the cabin, Rhiannon lit the fireplace. Neatly stacked wood rested on a platform, as if it had been waiting to burn for a century or longer, and soon the fire grew and filled the cabin with warmth. She fell asleep beside the fire upon a bearskin bed, still cursing her father for not explaining the circumstances of her exile in greater detail. She hoped her grandmother wasn’t residing in the Caves of Terr and prayed this was all a terrible mistake.

Terrifying dreams of evil roaming spirits kept jolting her awake, and finally she decided to sit up and abandon her efforts to sleep.

She added more wood to the dwindling fire and wrapped a blanket around her arms. “Grandmother,” she said to the now rising flames. “It’s me. Rhiannion.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Oh Grandmother, what in the name of Retta did you do?”

“She killed my wife with an impure fertility potion, casting her soul into the rebirth cycle so that she is forever lost to me,” a deep masculine voice thundered from the shadows somewhere behind her.

Rhiannon’s blood ran cold and her guts turned to water. “Who’s there?” She turned around and edged closer to the fire.

“I am Edwin of Strellia,” said the voice.

“Show yourself.” Rhiannon gasped when a large Crigon stepped out of the shadows. He was tan and well-muscled, soft leather clothing covered his chest and legs, but he wasn’t wearing a cloak to shield himself from the elements. He didn’t appear to be shivering though, and she wondered how long he had been lurking in the shadows since entering the cabin.

A shudder rippled through her. How long had he been watching her sleep? She noticed the sword at his hip and suspected she would soon meet her end.

He took a few more steps in her direction, and she tensed and wished there was somewhere to run. The wind howled outside, reminding her that she was trapped in this cabin with a Crigon who towered over her by at least an arms’ length. She had heard his kind was massive but had never seen a Crigon in person before.

She clutched the blanket around her and wished she had a weapon. She hadn’t thought to search for a knife in the kitchen before falling asleep, not thinking the roaming Crigon who sought vengeance against her family would be able to find her on the Cold Top. Beneath her fear, frustration over her hopeless situation rose up.

“So, it’s your fault that I’m here, exiled to the Cold Top until the end of my days.” Rhiannon was afraid, but she was equally as angry.

“Your grandmother’s sins against me will be repaid,” he said and stepped closer.

“You’re here to kill me then? Why did you not kill my grandmother?” As soon as she said it, Rhiannon began to wonder if perhaps the Crigon had killed her grandmother. The old woman had been sick for some time, but maybe he’d been the cause of her illness.

“Your fool of a grandmother escaped my clutches and managed to block my dream spirits all these years. Upon her death my dream spirits came to me, and I sought out the inner lands of Zertrin and came across traveling men in the surrounding forests. They provided me with your location.”

Rhiannon knelt on the floor, her back to the fire and the blanket still upon her shoulders. She should be upset that her father’s men had all but handed her over to this roaming Crigon, but she no longer cared how Edwin of Strellia had come upon her location.

This was the end.

“So, kill me already.” She met his eyes, trying to look brave. She wouldn’t die cowering and begging for her life.

“You misunderstand my purpose for seeking you out. I cannot return to Strellia without the wife and child that Stretta requires for reentry once a Crigon goes roaming on the earth. There is no place for me amongst the paired immortals without a woman and our child.”

Rhiannon regarded the Crigon who was now standing above her. She was tired and cold and had nothing to live for, and now he dared refuse to kill her? If killing oneself wasn’t a path to the Caves of Terr, she might have already entertained the thought of ending herself. Oh, how she hated him.

“I know nothing of Strellia. I know nothing of Stretta, save she is the wicked sister goddess of Retta.”

“Speak of Stretta in such a foolish manner again, and you’ll feel the sting of my belt.”

Rhiannon shuddered and dropped her gaze. “I am the granddaughter of your wife’s murderer. What is it you require from me, if not retribution by death?”

“As I’ve said, I cannot return to Strellia unpaired and childless.” He looked down at Rhiannon. “The days of mortal men offering prayers to Stretta are gone. I can roam the lands of mortal Earth until the Caves of Terr spark consuming fires, or I can have vengeance by another manner and find my way home to Strellia both at once.”

Rhiannon went cold. Surely this Crigon did not mean to take her as a wife?  Humans and Crigons most certainly did not mate. Since the great war of their ancestors, they did not even touch one another. He was standing close above her now, and if he so much as trailed his finger along her arm, then she would be damned to the Caves of Terr where tormented souls spread through the mist in search of mortal vessels to corrupt. She wouldn’t wish such a fate upon her worst enemy.

“Please,” said Rhiannon. “Behead me with your sword. Do not touch me otherwise, for while I loved my grandmother, I do not wish to join in her damnation.”

Edwin the Crigon crouched before Rhiannon. Too petrified to move, she simply stared into his twinkling blue eyes. He no longer looked as forbidding as he had looming in the shadows, but she still feared him. He had the power to destroy her very soul.

“It doesn’t matter that I touch you, little human.” he said. “You won’t be going to the Caves of Terr. You will carry my child and enter Strellia, offering prayers to Stretta all the while.”

“No! Get back!” Before Rhiannon managed to escape, Edwin reached a thick arm toward her face. A single finger brushed her cheek for a moment, and his brows narrowed as a smirk lifted his lips.

The Crigon had touched her! Not only that, but he found humor in her horror. She hated him all the more.

All hopes of joining her lines of family in the Land of After were forever gone. Her future held two ugly possibilities—the Caves of Terr or Strellia, the afterlife of the Crigons. But unless she escaped Edwin, she would be bound for Strellia without a doubt. She wondered if the Caves of Terr was the better option.

“I do not age. You, however, grow older by the day. Speak a meaningful prayer to Stretta and I will have you as my wife.” Edwin stood and reached a hand toward Rhiannon.

“No, I will not be your wife.” The spot on her cheek where he’d touched her seemed to burn.

Edwin straightened. “How old are you?”

Rhiannon tightened her mouth and stared at the floor. She knew he was wondering about her ability to bear a child. Was she old enough and how many fertile years were left?

She gasped as his large, callused hands pulled her up. She peered into his face, terrifyingly mesmerized. All his features were large and dark, skin and hair like that of the night, and devastatingly handsome. His eyes were alive like the blue diamonds of the Old Hills, scrutinizing her as harshly as she examined him. She gasped again when he groped her breasts with both of his hands, and hot tears prompted by fear and embarrassment flooded down her cheeks.

“Well,” said Edwin. “You seem of age. But one can never truly tell. How many years have you lived?”

“Nineteen,” she whispered, not wishing to be examined any further. To her relief, the Crigon released his hold entirely. She remained standing, looking at the floor and willing herself to stop crying.

“Nineteen is perfect. Now say prayers to Stretta.”

“I will resist even a forced prayer to Stretta until my womb shrivels like a drying fruit. I love the goddess Retta in Ettonelli where my lines of family roam.” She sniffled. “Thanks to you, I’ll never see them again.”

Edwin’s jaw tightened, but he spoke politely after reining his flicker of anger under control. “Stretta and Retta are not the rivals that you have come to believe. There are windows between these immortal worlds. Though their children fought a mighty war over a hundred years ago, there is nothing but peace between Stretta and Retta, and all those Crigons and humans in the afterlife know this peace as well.”

“Blasphemy! You lie!” Rhiannon abruptly slapped Edwin across the face. Her eyes widened as she retracted her stinging hand. She inched back from Edwin’s angry glare, fearing retribution. What had she done?

His eyes flashed. “I will remain with you until you realize that there is no true separation between Ettonelli and Strellia and you offer prayers to Stretta as you do to Retta. But I will not allow misbehavior on your part to go unpunished.”

Edwin advanced toward Rhiannon with a piercing gaze, his muscles tensed and gleaming in the firelight.

“Wait!” cried Rhiannon. “Get back!” She slinked away from the fireplace and from Edwin, but he lunged forward and grabbed her arm in one swift move. Rhiannon’s heart lept and she felt small in his grip. The Crigon was massive, his hot breath fanning her face from above. He could crush her with his hands if he wished.