Distracting myself, I ran my eyes over her travel sacks, which were sprawled out across her bed of furs. I frowned, seeing she hadn’t brought much. My eyes went to her storage chests but saw they were open and empty.
“Where is the rest of your clothing?” I asked.
She slid her gaze to the bed. “I have enough for the cold season. My fur serves me well,” she added, gesturing to the while pelt that was still slightly stained with the darukkar’s blood, the one she’d helped after the polkunu attack.
My frown turned into a scowl. She didn’t know how brutal the frost could be in the wild lands. Voliki were not soliki. They didn’t provide as much insulation. The nights would be cold and she didn’t have a mate to warm her.
Yet, I mused.
Then again, Maeva had never needed much. While the other females in the saruk had cooed over baubles and trinkets that our tradesmith would bring from Dothik, Maeva only had eyes for the sea. And the forest. And her family. And…me.
She’d never cared about new dresses or adornments. Or jewelry—which was why I found her mother’s pendant so curious now. When we were young, she’d risen early in the mornings, threaded a brush through her unruly hair once or twice—much to the dismay of her mother and Laru—and gone outside, where she loved it most. With the breeze across her cheeks and the salt air filling her lungs.
The frost had always been hard on her. Though it was more mild along the coast, the cold season kept many inside their solikis. And for Maeva, that was the cruelest of tortures.
“You will need more than this,” I told her, my voice gruff. Why hadn’t her parents told her about the cold season among a horde? Surely they would’ve told her to bring more supplies. “I will have your piki,” she sucked in a breath, “procure more for you.”
“I’m actually glad you’re here,” Maeva started, ignoring my criticism about her packing, “because we need to talk about that.”
“About what?” I asked, raising a brow, crossing my arms over my chest. Her gaze flickered down to it, to the scar that lay right over my pectoral. Despite the chill in the night air, I’d just come from the training grounds and had left my furs back at my voliki. My blood was running hot. I hardly felt the cold.
“I know you’re jesting about it,” she continued, meeting my gaze again, “but you really shouldn’t call her that. Others will overhear and assume something that isn’t true. I would think you would know better, considering this is your horde. You know how rumors circulate.”
“She is your piki,” I murmured softly. “She has a piki’s duties. She will attend to you until you dismiss her for the day. She will assist you when you need it. She will help you dress and adorn yourself. She will—”
“Why?” Maeva asked. “Because I’m not presentable enough for your horde? I don’t need help dressing, Kiran.”
She must really be angry with me to use my given name.
“Nik,” I said softly, keeping her eyes. “You have always been beautiful.”
Those brown eyes—with mesmerizing flecks of green and threads of gold—widened slightly.
“And I don’t care what you wear. But you are new to a horde,” I remarked. “New to a horde going into the frost. You will need help. And I want to ensure that you are taken care of while you’re here.”
“The other humans were new to your horde as well,” she countered. “Did you give them all piki too?”
My lips twitched, hearing the slight sarcasm in her tone, though she kept her voice light and even. No one else would notice it except me. And maybe Laru.
“I gave them guides as they adjusted, lysi, though they were not assigned piki.”
Frustration lit her eyes up before she seemed to extinguish it. “Then she is my guide.”
She settled on that word and I knew she preferred it over piki.
I couldn’t help the dark grin that stole over my face, one that made her lips press together and her hands fidget at her sides.
She’s not as unaffected by me as she appears, I realized. Relief filled me at the thought. I always felt like I was waiting when it came to her. Waiting for something. A sign, perhaps, before I would take the final plunge, make the final decision.
“Nik,” I said. “She is your piki. Not your guide.”
Maeva glared. “What’s the difference?”
Her words were soft but clipped and she raised