The Lion Mistress: Book 2 (EBOOK, LGBT)

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ONE

KATHRAEL HUMMED A SOFT LULLABY as the wagon jounced and juddered over the rutted road. She and her fellow travelers were somewhere between Woodhaerst and Venzor, where they planned on stopping for the night. She shifted position, trying not to disturb Ithric as he lay dozing, his head pillowed on her lap. Still humming, she resumed stroking her fingers through his messy mane of hair, and he sighed in contentment.

“I think we’re getting close now,” Favian called from the driver’s seat. “Everyone doing all right back there?”

Ithric mumbled something under his breath and immediately went back to sleep. Kathrael looked up at her fellow passengers, Rona, Nimbral, and Arnav, who were sprawled in varying degrees of comfort against the other side of the wagon bed. Nimbral nodded and adjusted his grip around his tiny partner, curled up in the space next to his unnaturally tall form. Arnav shrugged a bony shoulder, looking bored. The movement was made strangely disconcerting by his lack of arms.

“We’re fine, Favian,” Kathrael said. “Do you want me to wake Ithric so he can direct you once we get there?”

Venzor was nearly a day and a half out of their way on the journey back to Draebard. But they had decided to make the detour so Ithric could visit his estranged sister, who had been recently handfasted and whom he had not seen in years.

“No, let him sleep,” Favian said, looking over his shoulder. “I figured I’d head for Andoc’s mother’s home and get directions from there. Trust me—Iseboa would do me serious bodily injury if she found out I’d stopped in Venzor without visiting her.”

Kathrael nodded, and went back to her quiet lullaby. Ithric settled deeper in her lap, while across from her, Rona stroked a hand absently over her belly—unconsciously soothing the unborn child that lay within. At the edges of Kath’s hearing, the spirit of her own lost baby fussed for a few moments, only to subside when Vesh’s ghostly voice joined hers in the simple melody.

I never pictured you as a nursemaid, Vesh, she thought, a feeling of mild amusement lifting one corner of her lips.

I did have four younger brothers and sisters, you know, Vesh shot back. And it’s good to feel her at peace, finally.

Kathrael’s throat tightened. Yes, she agreed. For so long, the tiny wraith had wailed and cried inconsolably during the night, driving Kathrael to the brink of madness with guilt and grief over her inability to help her dead, unborn daughter. It had taken Ithric to finally make her see that the ghostly infant did not need her guilt; she needed Kathrael’s strength and comfort.

Three nights ago, he and Favian had held Kathrael between them as she wept, her pain finally spilling over as she grieved the miscarriage she had suffered years ago when her half-starved fourteen-year-old body had been unable to sustain the pregnancy. Ithric had sung a soft lullaby, soothing her lost child’s fear until the cries finally subsided, replaced by peace and contentment.
Kath already had many reasons to care for Favian, but that gesture had instantly cemented her love for Ithric as well. She was more than content to extend their difficult journey back to Draebard if it meant that the injured lion-shifter would have a chance to reconcile with his only living relative after such a long estrangement.

The wagon hit a particularly deep pothole and lurched, causing Ithric to grunt in pain as his wound was jarred. Kathrael thought she heard a low curse from Favian as well. Not surprising, really. Favian’s recent castration during his initiation into the priesthood had not been helped by days of riding, as he and Kathrael raced to find and free Ithric from the clutches of the men who had held him prisoner, along with the motley group of misfits huddled now on the other side of the wagon.

Once it was decided that Rona, Nimbral, and Arnav would travel with the three of them to Draebard, Favian had used most of their remaining money to purchase a wagon, harness, and additional supplies for traveling.

They had originally brought two horses from Draebard, planning to let Favian and Ithric ride, with Kathrael riding double behind one of them. The addition of three more people—all of them with physical challenges that made travel difficult—prompted Favian to change his plans. Now, the two cream-colored horses were hitched side by side, pulling a decidedly aged and battered wagon behind them. Six passengers crowded into the inadequate space, resting on bundles of their supplies.

Ithric had eyed the ancient conveyance with misgivings when Favian first pulled up to the temple and reined the horses to a halt.

“Just so we don’t break a wheel or snap an axle the first time we hit a rut,” he said skeptically.

Favian had glared at him. “Don’t even say it, Ithric. Don’t even think it, all right?”

“Well,” Kathrael put in optimistically, “it’s certainly nicer than the melon wagon I rode on to get to Penth.”

“Thank you,” said Favian. “At least someone is suitably appreciative.”

To his credit, the old rattletrap was holding together well enough so far. And it really was better than the alternative. Nimbral was a fantastically tall man, but his joints pained him. Rona was pregnant, and would have had difficulty keeping up with her short stature and bowed legs. Arnav could walk, but without arms he would have been unable to carry supplies. Also, Ithric was still recovering from a knife wound, though he would doubtless have protested that he was fine if someone had brought it up.

The wagon might not have been comfortable, precisely, but it was efficient. And now, it was bringing them to the place where Ithric—not to mention the Draebardi chief, Andoc—had grown up. Kathrael could not deny that she was curious as the settlement came into view in the valley below.

Venzor was a good-sized village, larger than both Draebard and Woodhaerst. Their party had made good time—it was only mid-afternoon, and people still bustled along the streets running through the town. Several of the townsfolk paused to stare at the unusually colored horses, pointing and muttering amongst themselves. Kathrael ducked her head and subtly twitched her shawl forward to more completely cover the scars marring the left side of her face.

She wondered if the white horses were already known in their owner’s former village. It was clear that Favian had been here before, perhaps with his guardians, because he chose a route through the town without hesitation, heading for a quiet side road lined with large, neatly kept cottages.

“Ithric,” Favian called. “Wake up. We’re at Iseboa’s place.”

Ithric blinked open hazel eyes shot with flecks of green and stretched cautiously. He smiled up at Kathrael. When she gave his head a final stroke, he pressed into the contact, catlike.

“At least we’re fairly well assured of a warm welcome on that front,” he replied in a dry tone. “Though you’ll forgive me if I let you take care of the introductions, and explain why we’re landing on her with a small army.”
“I’m sure the truth will suffice,” Favian shot back in the same tone. He pulled up in front of a cheerful cottage with ivy growing on the walls and boxes of herbs in the windows. “We’re about to find out, at any rate.”

Ithric levered himself upright, gritting his teeth as his half-healed wound made itself known. He clambered into the driver’s seat, taking the reins so Favian could climb down—the young priest’s movement made a bit awkward by his dun-colored novice’s robes. At the same moment, a plump woman with dark hair shot through with iron gray came around the side of the house, carrying a basket of linens against her hip.

She froze upon seeing the two white horses standing in front of her home. The basket dropped to the ground, unheeded. The woman’s eyes flew to Favian and lit up with surprised joy. Kathrael gathered that this must be Iseboa, Andoc’s mother.

An instant later, the woman hurried forward. Favian met her halfway.

“Favian!” she exclaimed, and threw her arms around him tightly. “Oh my goodness, it’s so wonderful to see you!”

“Hello, Iseboa,” Favian said warmly, returning the embrace with obvious affection. “Sorry to show up with no warning and company in tow. You’re looking well. How have you been?”

“All the better for seeing you, sweetheart. Look at you! Novice Favian, now. I’m so proud of you,” she replied with a smile. She pulled back enough so she could see the others. Her eyes widened at the odd assortment of individuals, but she covered the reaction of surprise immediately. Her smile returned an instant later as she recognized Ithric, who waved back sheepishly.

“Hi, Iseboa,” he said, and Kathrael was more intrigued than ever to meet the woman who could apparently turn the self-assured, irreverent shape-shifter into a contrite adolescent with a single look.

“Ithric!” Iseboa said. “By all the gods and goddesses. Come over here, right this instant.”

Favian grinned and moved to stand at the horses’ heads so Ithric could climb meekly down for inspection. “Don’t hug him too tightly, please,” Favian warned. “He was wounded in the side recently and we’ve only just got him patched back together.”

“Hug him? I should box his ears for staying away so long!” Iseboa immediately belied the words by wrapping her arms carefully around Ithric’s shoulders and giving a gentle squeeze. He had to lean down a bit to get to her level.

“Sorry,” Ithric mumbled, and Kathrael thought she could detect a blush coloring his features. “It just seemed like things would be better if I stayed away. How is Alyndra?”

His tone was hesitant—simultaneously worried and hopeful—and Iseboa stretched up to press a kiss to his forehead before releasing him.

“She’s well, Ithric. You have a nephew now, you know—she gave birth to a healthy boy a couple of months ago.” Ithric breathed in sharply, but Iseboa only shook her head. “First things first. Please, everyone come inside, and you can introduce me to your friends. Favian—there’s a bucket of clean water by the back door if you’d like to give the horses a drink before you tie them up. I’ll see about sorting out some refreshments for us.”

“Thank you, Iseboa,” Favian said, his voice full of affection. “Kath? Would you mind helping me with the horses? We’ll join the rest of you in a few minutes.”

“Of course,” Kathrael replied, somewhat relieved to have a job to focus on, truth be told.

She helped Arnav down from the back of the wagon, while Nimbral helped Rona. Leaping lightly to the ground after them, she went around to the front to hold the horses so Favian could unhitch them and get the water bucket. Audris nudged her in the shoulder with his muzzle, and she scratched his forehead absently while she waited.

Within minutes, Favian had stripped the animals of their harness and offered them a drink, his years as an apprentice in Draebard’s horse pens lending an effortless efficiency to his actions. He and Kathrael tied the two horses up to a hitching post in the shade by the side of the house.

“Will our supplies be safe in the wagon?” Kathrael asked as Favian gave Ozias a final pat and led the way toward the front door.

He snorted. “Anyone stupid enough to steal from a wagon parked in front of Iseboa’s house deserves exactly what they’d get. It will be fine.”

Kathrael’s lips twitched. “She does seem rather… forceful. In a decidedly motherly sort of way.”

“Oh… you have no idea,” Favian replied. “Now, come on. Even I’m not cruel enough to leave Ithric to her tender mercies for more than a few minutes with no support.”

He entered without knocking, and Kathrael eased her way in behind him. The cottage was good-sized, but seemed crowded with seven people in the main room. The space was homey and inviting, littered with the tools of a weaver’s trade—distaffs and spindles of brightly colored yarn, frames holding partially completed blankets, and piles of folded, finished cloth stacked hastily out of the way.

In their brief absence, Iseboa had distributed drinks in mismatched cups to everyone in the room. She appeared a moment later with two more, giving one to Favian and the second to Kathrael. She smiled tentatively as she handed over Kathrael’s cup. Kathrael ducked her head instinctively to put the damaged side of her face in shadow, but tried to return the smile.

“I met everyone else while you and Favian were outside,” Iseboa said, breaking the small moment of awkwardness. “I’m Iseboa, Favian’s grandmother.” She gave a gentle laugh. “Or perhaps, more accurately, his grand-guardian. Though grandmother rolls off the tongue so much more easily, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m Kathrael,” she answered, feeling oddly shy.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Kathrael,” Iseboa said with evident sincerity. “Please make yourself comfortable and try to forgive the clutter. So, tell me—how did you, Favian, and Ithric come to be acquainted? Were you also part of that horrible traveling show that Ithric has been telling me about?”

Kathrael opened her mouth, but there was really no way to make “I took your grandson hostage at knifepoint and tried to use him as a hostage to get to your son’s bondmate” sound anything other than awful. Before she had to try, Favian rescued her.

“Kathrael and I met in Draebard. She had traveled all the way over the mountains, searching for Senovo,” he said, tactfully remaining silent about the details. “By pure chance, she’d already met Ithric along the way, and helped rescue two children who were being held prisoner by the men running the show.”

It still made Kath want to cringe whenever Favian or someone else from Draebard softened the truth of her arrival there, downplaying her grief-fueled scheme to enact vengeance on the Wolf Patron.

You should be grateful, Vesh whispered.

I suppose I should be, she thought, but mostly it just makes me queasy.

Iseboa was looking at her with new interest. “You walked all the way from Rhyth? Good heavens, Kathrael. You must have been very determined to find Senovo, indeed.”

Something about Iseboa made her want to tell the truth. She swallowed, and took a deep breath before speaking.

“You could say that, yes. The Wolf Patron and I met briefly when I was only a child. I was a field slave in the agricultural area north of Rhyth. He and the others from Draebard turned my life upside down that day, and then disappeared without a trace.” She paused, thinking back to those dark times. “Over the years, I came to hold him responsible for every bad thing that happened in my life. When I left Rhyth to journey north, I’d just seen the only person I’d ever called a friend stoned to death by a mob. I was, in fact, very determined to find Senovo—so I could take vengeance on him.”

Iseboa looked deeply troubled. She was silent for a moment, as were the others. Kathrael realized that aside from Favian and Ithric, no one present knew the details of her background. No doubt she had shocked them as well, but she would not hide from her actions—not in front of a woman who clearly cared for both Favian and Senovo as family. Iseboa deserved to know to whom she was offering the hospitality of her home and hearth.

“Since you are here, now, with Favian and Ithric,” Iseboa began slowly, “I am confident that vengeance is no longer your goal. I… grieve for all that you have endured in your life, Kathrael… but you must know that my son’s bondmate—the person you call the Wolf Patron—is a good man.”

Around them, the others remained quiet, letting the unexpected scene play out. Kathrael chose her words carefully.

“In the south, he is more legend than man. He is the powerful mage who was supposed to return to lead us to freedom. Instead, he appeared in our lives just long enough to hold an overseer at bay while a handful of us escaped. Then he vanished immediately afterward, leaving us to either scratch out a bare existence through petty theft and prostitution, or starve to death.”

Iseboa reached behind her for a chair and sat down heavily. Kathrael pressed on, needing to finish.

“That was all I ever knew of him until I crossed the mountains, Iseboa. I expected to find a cold, uncaring statue when I snuck into the temple in Draebard in search of him. Some sort of detached, haughty demigod. Instead I found a man, like any other. Better than many. He spared me when he could have condemned me; extended his protection and ensured that I was nursed back to health when he could have turned his back on me.”

Andoc’s mother still held Kathrael’s gaze. “That is the man I know,” she said quietly.

Kathrael nodded, not disputing it. “When I look at him, my heart still sees the Wolf Patron. But my mind knows now that he is a person, not a legend—and that, while his presence was undeniably a catalyst in my own life, he is not responsible for all the world’s ills.”

Favian cleared his throat, drawing Iseboa’s attention. “Kathrael is too hard on herself, Iseboa.”

Kathrael looked at him frankly. “On the contrary. You are too soft on me, Favian.”

“You were stricken by grief, and that grief drew you toward a place where you could find help,” he argued. “I, for one, am glad it did.”

To her utter surprise, Ithric came up behind her and wrapped an arm around her stomach, resting his chin on top of her head. “That makes two of us,” he said. She could feel his words rumble through his chest where he pressed against her back.

Iseboa looked between the three of them speculatively. “I think perhaps all three of you found something different than you expected to find. If so, I am pleased for you, and pleased that what could easily have been a tragedy seems to have become a redemption, of sorts.” She blinked, drawing herself visibly away from the topic. “Now, though—Ithric. Are you here to visit Alyndra? She and the miller’s son have a place of their own now. It’s in a different part of town from your parent’s old hut.”

Kathrael felt Ithric’s ribcage rise and fall as he blew out a breath. He let his arm fall away from her and moved to stand next to her. Kathrael tried not to miss the contact.

“I am,” he said. “Though I don’t hold out much hope that things will go any differently than last time.”

The last time, Kathrael knew, had been several years ago, and had resulted in nothing more than a bitter argument followed by an unhappy parting. Iseboa obviously knew this, too, because her mouth turned down unhappily.

“It’s worth a try, Ithric,” she said gently. “Many things have changed since then, and family is important.”

Kathrael thought of her family of birth—all lost now. She thought of the family she had gained, the tentative new bonds still tender and delicate. Untried.

“I know it’s important, Iseboa,” Ithric was saying. “That’s why I’m here.”

“You’ve grown up,” Iseboa observed fondly.

“Matter of opinion, that,” Favian muttered under his breath. Ithric shot him a dark look, but didn’t rise to the bait. Iseboa glanced at him as well, and she seemed to see more than expected. With a sudden flash of insight, Kathrael wondered if she was remembering her own son and his eunuch lover in their younger days.

Whatever the case, she merely quirked a brief, secret smile and turned back to Ithric. “Would you like me to take you to her? Or will you stop for a meal first?”

Ithric appeared unsure, and again, Kathrael was struck by how off balance he seemed here in his home village. “I’d prefer to go now,” he said after a short pause. “I’m afraid I don’t really have much of an appetite at the moment.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” Favian asked, both his voice and expression soft now, despite his earlier teasing.

Ithric sighed audibly, looking from Favian to Kathrael and back again. “No. Not really. Though I do appreciate the offer. This is on me, and if it goes badly I’d rather not have an audience, if it’s all the same.”

Kathrael nodded, understanding very well what he meant. A moment later, Rona’s soft voice piped up from the corner, where she was seated in a comfortable chair next to Nimbral.

“If she’s not pleased to see you, Ithric, she’s a fool.” Rona blushed a bit when their attention turned to her, but didn’t back down. “You came all the way here to see her. If she won’t reconcile with you, it’s her loss.” Her tone grew emphatic on the final words, even as her cheeks flushed bright pink.

“Thanks, Rona,” Ithric replied, with a sad smile that faded almost immediately. He seemed to steel himself, and turned back to Iseboa.

She gave a small nod and addressed the rest of them. “Favian, I hope I don’t have to tell you to make yourself at home. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind rummaging around in the kitchen, you can put together something for the others to eat while I’m gone. Just use whatever looks good.” Favian nodded. “As for the rest of you, my place is yours. Please make yourself comfortable and let Favian know if you need anything. I’ll be back before long.”

“Thank you,” Arnav said from his perch on a stool by the table. The others echoed him as Iseboa gave them a last smile and went to throw a light cloak over her dress.
Kathrael looked up at Ithric’s face, still lined with uncertainty. On instinct, she stretched up on tiptoe to brush a light kiss over his stubbled cheek. He let out a breath, a bit of the tension draining from his rigid stance. A moment later, Favian pushed away from where he’d been leaning hipshot against the end of the table and crossed to stand in front of him.

“Just say what you need to say, Ithric. You can’t control whether she’s ready to hear it or not.” He cradled Ithric’s face and guided his head down so he could press a kiss to his forehead before letting him go.

Ithric nodded, eyes closed, and straightened away. “Yeah. That doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

“Most things worth doing are difficult, lion-boy,” Kathrael offered.

He smiled again, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Wise words, Little Cat.” Iseboa had returned as they spoke, and he turned to her. “Ready?”

She nodded. “I am. We’ll see you all later. Make sure Favian feeds you properly in the mean time.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Favian assured. “Good luck, Ithric. May the gods smile on your endeavors.”

“Ever the priest,” Ithric said lightly, and followed Iseboa out the front door.

* * *

Alyndra’s new home was in the northern arm of the village, close to the gristmill. Ithric was relieved that Iseboa seemed content to let him stew in silence as they walked, rather than offering platitudes or trying to engage him in small talk.

It was decidedly odd, being with her like this. The last time he had been in Venzor was many years ago—before the war, and only a few months after he had shifted form for the first time during the bandits’ attack on the road outside of town. On that occasion, too, Iseboa had offered to accompany him to try to make peace with his sister.

Time seemed to waver back and forth between the present and the past, even though he was no longer a frightened boy, alone and in hiding. Maybe he should have let Favian and Kathrael come along… but no. This was something that he and Alyndra needed to work out between them, if it even could be worked out.

“Here it is,” Iseboa said, indicating a modest hut that was decidedly crook-cornered in places, but neatly kept and covered in a fresh coat of whitewash. “Do you want me to stay? I could wait outside and walk back with you afterward if you’d like.”

As a youngster, Ithric had barely known Iseboa—only by name, as a customer of his father’s who would come in to buy combed wool every few weeks. He had really only spent time in close contact with her twice—when, as a boy, he’d come back to Venzor to speak with Alyndra… and now.

Even so, there was something about her that drew people; he was no exception. Without hesitation, he turned and wrapped her in a brief embrace, which she returned—being careful of his wounded side.

“No,” he said. “It’s fine. Go back and take care of the others. I know where we are—I can find my way back to your place afterward with no problems. Thanks for bringing me, Iseboa… again.”

She smiled, a wry expression. “We do seem to be making a habit of this, don’t we? Good luck, Ithric.”

He tried to smile in return, and she turned with a wave to head back to her home and her houseguests. Ithric looked back toward the little hut, then took a deep breath to steady himself before marching up and knocking on the door.

The afternoon light was slanting into evening, now. It was Alyndra’s bondmate who answered the door—already home after finishing his day’s work at the gristmill.

Yando was a powerful young man, whom Ithric remembered only vaguely from his childhood. Even then, their parents had intended Alyndra to join with him, but he and Ithric had not interacted much. For this reason, it wasn’t really a surprise when Yando showed no recognition upon seeing his face.

“Yes?” he asked, faintly wary. “Can I help you?”

Ithric suddenly became aware of the picture he must present. He’d had nothing when Favian and Kathrael freed him from the traveling show, where Turvick had been forcing him to stay permanently in the form of the lion. No possessions, no money, not so much as a stitch of clothing to call his own. Now he was wearing a threadbare set of acolyte’s robes from the temple in Woodhaerst, over Favian’s extra pair of breeches and worn sandals. Hardly the model of respectability.

He’d been silent too long. A light voice came from the back room of the small hut, as familiar as his own despite the changes adulthood had wrought.

“Who’s there, Yando?” Alyndra asked, entering the front room with a small bundle held close to her chest.

Ithric swallowed, his breath catching in his chest. “Lyndie?”

Alyndra froze just inside the connecting doorway with a high-pitched gasp, her face going white as milk. “Ithric?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Yando looked from his pale wife to Ithric. “You’re Ithric?” he asked, in a tone that could not remotely be described as friendly. His gaze returned to Alyndra. “Lyn? Do you want me to let him in, or throw him out on the street?”