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As the room filled with polite applause, Trina stared at the ludicrous man who had all but sold her out.
Suddenly, everything made more sense. The seating arrangements, being tucked between Hapa and the Tane, separated from Carney. Separated from Pou. She found him again and wondered if the pain on his face mirrored her own. Did he know? Or was this a closed deal between her father and his grandfather, a way to patch up the agreement between them? Either way, the saqamaw rid himself of another troublesome daughter.
And the way everyone clapped ... they'd given up on Margot. One failed attempt, and they were done. Never mind that Margot didn't need them, that she was all right with the wolves. That she was happy. At least one of them got to be happy.
She took a deep, deep drink of water and drained the glass. This was her chance to make a stand. All her life, her future had been dictated by the man standing before her now. Her mother was going to leave, if she hadn't already, without a goodbye if Trina had to guess. She knew, deep down, what she wanted. What she'd tried to deny.
What she wanted was the only one who looked away from her. Carney had fixed her with a wide, disbelieving stare while a few others' faces showed their relief. The agreement was still valid. They would still get their warrior.
No, they won't.
She stood and Hapa stood with her, resigned. "Fine," she said. "But I won't stay here."
A sudden murmur rippled through the room. Pou's head shot up, and he watched her, waiting for her to say it: "When the Solstice returns, when we are able to fly, I'm leaving with the Whakamanu. I'm going back with them."
A bomb blast would've been more delicate. Though the room didn't erupt, the saqamaw’s face turned beet red and he chewed the inside of his jaw, the one trait it seemed they shared. "You'll have time with your precious warrior," she said in a low voice. "Use it wisely, Père."
Then she sat and returned to her dinner without an appetite and without tasting much of it.
To her surprise, her father did the same. No argument, no talk of the Thunderbird’s decree. The palpable tension between them was one she knew well—it had accompanied many family dinners when the five of them tried to be a cohesive unit for the rest of the tribe. Back when Maman tried to be part of a story she never fit into, back when Margot understood her duty and wanted to make their father happy, back before Carney and Trina knew their parents hated each other and their older sister had planned to run away with the woman she loved. How much had Père really tried to know the women surrounding his table? All he saw from Margot was her ethereal beauty. He knew nothing of her gossamer dreams; even if they were no sturdier than smoke, they were hers. He knew nothing of Rosa Huxford’s longing for the life she had left behind out of duty to men who probably didn't love her, either, or the man she’d carried with her when they'd said their vows. He knew nothing of Carney’s wishes to live somewhere else, be someone else. How she hated her hair, her eyes, her lanky frame. How she would give anything to belong and for one person in her life to be proud of her.
He definitely didn't know about Trina's prayers at night for the same. Or about her journaling. Or about the secrets she carried, too. The people she'd hurt protecting her family, the desire to step outside the village and make a difference in the world. She'd always hated how insular the Kaqtukaq were, though she understood it. Not just in light of the wolves but also because of the feathers that fetched a heavy price at the markets on their own, or the tapestries they wove with the glass that were stunning enough to sell for thousands. Yes, it was dangerous to leave—that was why they had designated people to run errands. People whose true appearances could be covered easily. It was why she and Carney took such precautions just to go to their sister’s flower shop. But it didn't stop her from wanting to experience the world. She deserved that kind of life, that kind of passion. And though she wouldn’t find it here, or in New Zealand, she wouldn’t stop wanting it.
Just like she wouldn’t stop wanting Pou.
Being promised to another threw into stark relief what she'd denied for months: how every brush of his hand against her skin sent shivers through her, how he snuck into her thoughts late at night, how she longed for that moment they'd almost shared in the infirmary. How "almost" wouldn’t be good enough. She didn't know the Māori’s rules about marriage—oh gods, marriage—but she wouldn’t be able to be where Pou wasn't. Not anymore. Not after everything he'd done. No one had listened to her and trusted her the way he did, not even Carney. He gazed at her with adoration, with pride, and he was like no one she'd ever met before. They'd hosted other swan clans in the past, but none of them stuck out the way this quiet Māori warrior did, with his jade and silver colors and tattoos and sweet spirit. He had never postured, never created expectations. He helped her, he guided her, he protected her. After years spent protecting everyone else, she never could have imagined how life-changing being protected might be.
So yes, she'd go to New Zealand. She'd ask Carney to come with her. They'd create a new life and find a way to carve out happiness like their older sister had done.
By the time the lodge had cleared and the cleanup had begun, she was one of a few still in their seats. Her ass hurt and was going numb. Her father had left hours ago with Hapa and the Tane to line out the terms of the courtship and subsequent wedding on the next summer Solstice. They didn't need to wait, but the symbolism mattered, especially to the Whakamanu, who celebrated the new year during June. A time when day and night are equal. It made sense to her, and the more she thought about it, the more she liked it. A new year promised new beginnings, and she needed a new beginning after all this.
She also needed to speak to her sister.
Carney had snuck out not long after the chatter from the announcement had died down. Was Trina really going to leave her little sister here alone to fend for herself?
What do I do?
Every part of her hoped and prayed Carney would leave, either with Trina or with their mother. She deserved so much better than this place and these people who looked down on her for her striking plumage. They're jealous, she'd tell Carney. None of them are as lovely a little orange as you. That would always earn Trina a playful slap on the arm and Carney’s warbling chuckle through her tears.
Trina thought about the flowers in the shop that Margot had gotten—the French marigolds—that reminded her of Carney and Trina. Would those grow in the Whakamanu’s village? Did they even grow flowers? Or anything? What about supplies? What did they do for food and clothing? Paper?
Anxiety revved the motor on her heart, and her mind went about a thousand kilometers a minute. What the fuck had she done? What had she agreed to?
***
The next few months passed in a blur. As the weather turned cold and the first snows littered the ground, Trina endured Hapa's attention, though he stayed busy paying her father’s bride price, which was to train the hardiest of the Kaqtukaq and lead them against the wolves before the June Solstice. She had protested and begged and screamed at the saqamaw to change the conditions of the bride price, but he refused.
"This is for the best," he'd said. "We need Hapa's spear. If the Kaqtukaq are going to live without fear, the wolves have to die."
"You'll kill Margot, too,” she'd countered. "She's happy. Let her be the peace between the tribes. If they truly love her, they won't hurt her family."
But the saqamaw had stopped listening. He had plans to make, after all.
Being with Hapa every spare moment kept her from her sister and from Pou. The night of the announcement, Trina had gone to Carney and begged, cried, and tried to convince Carney to come with her, but her little orange had none of it. "You made the choice to leave here, just like Maman. One of us needs to be here if Margot ever comes home."
Pou barely looked at her now, which stung. The months had made him stronger, and the near-constant drills with the others had given him an edge she hadn't expected to see in him. Sometimes, she'd stand at the living room window of the house she'd be leaving behind soon and watch the men practice. Hapa was efficient, if brutal, in his tactics, and over time, the men improved. In the evenings, she and Hapa shared meals and she tried to get him to open up, but he stayed clam-tight, and she wondered if a knife might be a better option than words. If she sparred with him, would he accept her? "You dumb, dumb bitch," she whispered to herself more and more often as the nights passed.
Since she had essentially declared she'd become Māori, the wedding preparations consisted of the traditions and rites of her new people, and the Tane oversaw all of it. Hapa was considered a man of the chieftain class, high-born. Yet his cousin was not, and that distinction made Trina curious, but it made some sense as she thought about it more. After all, Pou was often treated as an afterthought, rarely listened to, and used as Hapa's personal punching bag during drills. Every time she watched them spar, while Hapa explained whatever technique, she remembered the day he'd almost killed Pou, and nausea rose in her stomach. Even she could tell that Hapa was being especially harsh. The nights after such a display, Hapa loved to gloat about it. She sometimes wished he'd give the same sort of treatment to her father for arranging this farce, but in all honesty, maybe it was better she be the sacrifice for her father's pride. Margot wouldn’t have survived this man. Nor would Carney.
A week before the planned raid on the wolves' compound, Hapa came to her with a present. He'd given her several before, usually something he hadn't put thought into, or something he'd happened upon, but tonight when he stepped into the living room, something had changed. He wasn't gentler, but he was less obnoxious. As had become their nightly custom, he dipped his head to her and she let him pass. He settled onto the sofa and she sat at the opposite end. They would make some kind of polite conversation, or he'd tell her about the progression of her people—"They aren't as useless as I'd believed."—and then they'd try to find a way to pass the time until he left.
This time, though, he didn't go to his spot on the sofa. He remained standing, hands behind his back, and waited until she shut the door. "I have something for you. A true gift for the woman who is to be my wife."
She almost vomited on his shoes but recovered quickly. "A true gift? What does that mean?"
Hapa looked down at the floor. Trina was more than convinced he'd been body snatched. Margot had secretly rented that movie for them to watch together, piled in Margot's bedroom. Trina didn't even know Margot had a TV. Or a VCR. Her older sister had gotten both at a pawn shop in town, and they held clandestine movie nights after their parents had gone to sleep. The Invasion of the Body Snatchers became an inside joke for the three of them, and Trina wished she could share the joke with them now, while this broad-chested warrior, who intended to lead her tribe against their sworn enemies, almost cowed to her.
"I have not been true to you during our courtship," Hapa replied. "I haven't put in the effort you deserve, and I wanted to apologize. You and I are to be married in four months' time. You will return with me to my home, to my people, as my wife. I am of the chieftains, as are you, and on the Solstice, when day and night are equal, you and I should be equal as well."
It was so easy to imagine the words coming from Pou. She wasn't sure Hapa had that kind of self-awareness.
"And so, I wanted to give you a gift becoming a daughter of chieftains."
He revealed what was behind his back: a bouquet of French marigolds and a carving made from raw citrine. A carving of herself as a swan.
Compared to Margot, her plumage always seemed dull. Margot’s pearly feathers reflected moonlight in a way that made them ripple with colors, like a pearl in sunlight. Trina's, on the other hand, resembled the citrine in Hapa’s hand, rough at the edges like a serrated shield, not smooth and glossy. He gently placed the delicate work in her cupped palms, and for the first time, she saw the real beauty in her form: the delicate curve of her neck, the way her feathers faded toward white and curled just-so at the ends. They were almost translucent. She had her own kind of ethereal beauty in the jagged stone. A protector. One whose feathers could slice and cut and defend.
Hapa hadn't done this on his own. "Did you make this?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
Sheepishly, he shook his head. "My cousin carved it. He also told me about the flowers."
Of course he did. Fighting a wave of tears, she took the gifts and sat down. "I'll have to thank him."
Hapa forced a smile and joined her. "He has many talents, it seems." Then he took a deep breath. "Trina, a week from now, I will lead a raid on the wolves that have plagued your people. I am trying to stay true to the customs of the Kaqtukaq, but they are far different from what we know."
Oh no. No. He wasn't going to ask what she thought he was going to ask ...
He moved closer to her so that their knees almost touched. "I was wrong in the beginning," he said lowly. "I see your beauty, your strength, your grace. I had been too fixated on what I had been promised. All I ask tonight is a token. A single kiss to carry me through this next week."
A single kiss. How many girls had fallen for that line? Still, if it got him out of her house and out of her hair tonight, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad?
Still holding Pou's sculpture, clutching it, she dipped her head once.
Hapa cupped her cheek. He leaned in close, and in the place where her heart should have fluttered, she felt nothing.
He pressed his mouth to hers, lips surprisingly soft, supple and warm, and she felt nothing.
Then he tried to deepen the kiss, running his tongue along the seam of her mouth, which she kept closed. She pulled away and cleared her throat.
Hapa studied her for a moment. Then he chuckled, a low, deep, humorless sound. “I can't believe it," he muttered.
"Believe what?" she asked.
Instead of answering, he walked out.
And for the week leading to the raid, he didn't come back.
***
The day came in a flurry of preparation. Overnight, Matā had led a group into the woods to disarm traps and alarms. Some of the others sharpened weapons. They planned to leave at dusk, which came so much earlier now, and travel north to the compound to surprise the wolves. No one knew how many wolves there truly were. The dozen Trina had seen might've been all of them or just a handful. She'd sought out Carney with no luck, so she went to the pond for a little while and wrote, but nothing she did eased the fear racing through her. She kept imagining horrific scenarios, then replaying those scenarios over and over again. She hadn't spoken to Pou since the courtship with Hapa began, and she missed him in a way that overwhelmed her if she focused on it too much. He'd been forbidden to see her, Hapa said, because of the nature of their courtship. And she hated it.
She was sick of people making decisions for her, and that was part of why she wanted to leave. Since the Whakamanus' arrival, she'd been told what to do, how to act, who to be in their presence. Pou let her be herself. Pou let her breathe. And if he got hurt today, or worse, she may never breathe again.
Regardless of what her father or the Tane or anyone said, she needed to speak with him.
According to Hapa, the warriors would take time before the raid to pray to the spirits. It was a singular thing for them; once they prepared to leave, the men would join together as one army and recite a ritual prayer, then the storyteller would bless them; she assumed that would happen whether the Thunderbird truly blessed this idiot excursion or not.
The men had gone to pray. She had limited time.
Pou had been spending time in the artisans' lodge, and she found him there alone. Among the crafts her people created were some of the carvings she recognized as his work, some so delicate they might break if you looked at them too long, and she marveled at the detail a warrior's hands coaxed from the wood. Intricate patterns of swirls and whorls that resembled ocean waves; a free-standing spiral statuette with connected base that would fit in the palm of Trina’s hand; a feather with rough-hewn edges that she recognized as hers. She sighed inwardly. He did have many gifts. She regretted that she might not get to learn them all.
He knelt at a makeshift altar covered in spare cloth and decorated with small figurines. She almost turned around, but he said, "You shouldn't be here, Trina."
"I know," she replied. "I'm sorry. But I needed to see you before you left."
He stood, and she swore he'd gotten taller. His face had lost some of its boyishness. A man stood before her. A man she might have fallen in love with had things gone differently. "Here I am."
The way he stood—too stiff, far too rigid—told her that he, too, struggled with the chasm that existed between them. The low light failed to hide the minute tremble in his hands, and the air was thick with his desire to touch her.
Or maybe it was her wish for his calloused fingertips to graze her skin that caused the electric charge, as though the Thunderbird itself waited to beat its wings. "I'm scared," she admitted. "I'm scared things will go wrong. We don't know enough about the wolves or their numbers. What if Matā didn't get all the traps?"
"Even if he didn't get them all, he got enough of them," Pou replied stonily.
"Okay, well, what if he didn't? What if someone trips and they get caught like I did? The wolves are fast and they're strong. They'll defend their territory."
Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Pou sighed. "If you're worried about your betrothed, don't be. I'll make sure he returns to you."
In a flash, those few weeks of touches and almost moments flooded Trina's mind. She'd thought again and again about their interrupted kiss in the infirmary.
No one was here to interrupt them this time.
"Pou," she said, taking a step forward, "I don't care about Hapa." She took another step, then another, slowly closing the distance between their bodies, and hopefully, between their souls. "I don't want him."
"Trina."
"I don't." She stopped just before her breasts brushed his chest and looked into those beguiling jade eyes. She trailed her fingertips across his cheek, tracing the swirl of the tattoo. Pou closed his eyes, breathed as if to calm himself. "Look at me," she said.
When he opened his eyes again, he looked past her. She pressed on his chin until his head was at the perfect angle and he had no choice but to see her. He swallowed hard.
"I don't want him," she repeated. "I want you."
Whatever had tethered them to each other pulled them together now as Trina's mouth crashed against Pou's. At first, he resisted, undoubtedly out of deference to his cousin, but Trina persisted. When she sought to deepen the kiss, he opened to her, sweeping his tongue into her mouth and seizing control. His hands grasped her hips, bringing her even closer, until no space remained between them. Trina could have lived in that kiss, in its heat and its passion, its desire and its promise. They might only have tonight. It needed to count.
Crushed against Pou's bare chest, Trina sought for the ties to the kilt and belt that would hold his weapons. When she found them, Pou didn't stop her from untying them and grunted when they clattered to the ground. Then he picked her up like she weighed nothing and pressed her against the rough wall. He unbuttoned her jeans and worked them down her thighs enough for access. For a brief moment, he pulled away and sought her gaze, brow furrowed. She nodded once. Once was enough.
When Pou kissed her, it was so much more than lips against lips or flesh on flesh. The rightness of it all gave her the proof she needed that Hapa was not for her. They'd figure that part out before the Solstice. They had to. She needed this man. Craved this man. Longed for this man. And now that she had tasted Pou, she couldn't stay away, no matter what her father or his grandfather or his cousin had to say about it.
When he pressed into her, she gasped at the way he filled her so completely. It'd been a long time since she'd had sex, longer than she cared to admit, but the groping and grasping of teenagers paled in comparison to the sure way Pou fucked her with thrusts that stroked that perfect spot. Her clit ground against his pelvis with every stroke, building her orgasm higher and higher until she had no choice but to plummet over the other side. And he didn't stop. Each renewed, powerful thrust sent sparks through Trina's body. "Don't hold back," she whispered. "Please."
He whispered something against her neck. Then he lowered her to the ground, onto the mats. With one of her legs over his shoulder, he pushed into her slowly, firmly. Every inch of him set her nerves ablaze. Cupping her cheek, he rolled his hips, and she surrendered to the sensation. Eyes closed, head tipped back, she became nothing but need and desire for this beautiful soul. Her body moved in rhythm with his, slow at first, and then building toward the mountain peak together.
Her orgasm hit with a force that tore a scream from her throat, and he kept going, chasing his own. A third built in her core, tightening her inner walls around his cock. Pou whimpered. “Come for me,” Trina whispered.
He slammed into her, over and over, until she saw stars. His orgasm followed hers, and he collapsed against her chest, panting. Trina snaked her arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his curly hair. “I’ve wanted that for so long,” he said.
“Me too,” she replied.
How was she supposed to let him go out there and face those wolves? How was she supposed to marry someone else?
“What do we do now?” Pou’s voice was dreamy, but his question hit hard.
And Trina didn’t have an answer.
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