Chapter 139

I woke to pain. Not the sharp, but the deep, cramping pressure that had been my monthly companion since I was twelve years old. My lower back felt as though someone had driven a dull blade into the base of my spine and was slowly twisting it. My abdomen clenched in rhythmic waves that made me want to curl into a ball and whimper.

And the wetness. That particular awareness that every woman knows, the warm spread between my thighs that signaled my body had betrayed me in my sleep.

"Perfect," I muttered, sitting up carefully in the nest of woven blankets and soft moss that served as my bed. "Just perfect."

The early morning light filtered through the curtains of the egg chamber, painting stripes of gold across the seven serpent eggs arranged in their protective circle. They glowed softly in the dawn, warm and alive, their shells patterned with the iridescent scales of their father. Soryn lay coiled nearby, his serpent form draped across the threshold, one eye open and watching me even in rest.

None of the others were here. Ravin, Leon, Caelion, Veylan, and Aureon slept in their own room, giving me space to rest near the clutch with Soryn standing guard. It was an arrangement born of necessity and Soryn’s possessive nature, but I found I preferred it. The nest was warm and safe, and the steady breathing of the eggs reminded me of what we were protecting.

I moved carefully, trying not to disturb Soryn or the eggs, but serpents were light sleepers where their treasures were concerned. His head lifted, emerald eyes focusing on me with instant alertness.

"Krys?" His voice was soft, scaled, concerned. "You are in pain."

"It’s nothing," I said quickly, pressing my thighs together as I shuffled toward the washroom. "Just... woman’s troubles. It will pass."

He uncoiled, flowing toward me with that liquid grace that still mesmerized me. "Your scent has changed."

I closed my eyes. Of course. Of course he could smell it. His serpent senses were perhaps the sharpest of all my mates, attuned to chemical changes, to health and fertility and mood.

"It’s embarrassing," I admitted, my voice small.

Soryn cupped my face in his hands; his thumbs cool against my flushed cheeks. "Never," he said firmly. "You are never embarrassing. You are magnificent. Your body does what bodies do. There is no shame in function."

"I know," I whispered. "I know that. But knowing and feeling are different."

He kissed my forehead, then my eyelids, then the tip of my nose. "Go. Clean yourself. I will prepare tea. The kind that helps with pain."

"You don’t have to."

"I want to." He guided me toward the washroom, his tail brushing my ankle in gentle reassurance. "I will call you when Reona arrives."

I blinked up at him. "Reona?"

"She sent word last night. A gathering. Women only." He paused, his head tilting in that serpentine way. "She thought you might need... community. Connection. Something other than what you’ve seen so far in the tiger tribe."

I wanted to protest. I wanted to pull the covers over my head and hide from the world for another day. But I saw the care in his emerald eyes, the genuine concern that had nothing to do with obligation and everything to do with love, and I nodded.

"Thank you," I said.

He smiled, rare and precious, and pressed another kiss to my temple. "Rest."

I closed the washroom door behind me with a soft click and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. The cramping intensified, a fist closing around my womb, squeezing until my breath came short. I pressed my hand to my lower abdomen and felt the familiar swollen tenderness. This would be a bad one. They always were when the stress had been high, and the last month had been nothing, but stress layered upon trauma layered upon more stress.

I stripped off my soiled clothes and examined the damage. The linen undergarments I had fashioned were ruined, dark stains spreading across the fabric like accusatory fingers. The loose trousers I had slept in had fared little better. I made a face at my reflection in the still water inside the eater basin, at the woman with the tired eyes and the blood smeared across her inner thighs, and set about the business of cleaning up.

The water in the basin was cold, but I used it anyway, scrubbing at my skin with a cloth until I was pink and stinging and relatively clean. The cramping made me pause twice, bending forward with my hands on my knees, waiting for the wave to pass. When it finally subsided to a dull, persistent ache, I straightened and reached for my new creations.

Cotton. The Tiger tribe was filled with it, and my mates had harvested it for me, bales of soft white fiber that felt like clouds against the skin. I had claimed my share immediately, spending three evenings in secret, measuring and cutting and sewing by lamplight while my mates slept. The result was modest but revolutionary. Undergarments that actually fit, actually covered, actually felt pleasant against sensitive skin. And the pads. Thick rectangles of layered cotton, soft and absorbent, with ties to secure them in place. Primitive perhaps, but infinitely superior to the rags I had been using.

I fashioned one now, securing it with practiced efficiency, and pulled on fresh undergarments and trousers. The cotton felt like a blessing, a gentle embrace where before there had only been rough scraping and constant anxiety about leakage. I smoothed my tunic over the slight bulk. Presentable. Normal. No one would know unless I told them.

I gathered my soiled clothes and opened the window, tossing them into the basket below for laundry later. The morning air was cool against my flushed skin, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. Another day. Another cycle. Another battle, though this one private and familiar.

When I emerged from the washroom, Soryn was waiting with a cup of steaming tea, his eyes searching my face for signs of distress. I took it gratefully, letting the warmth seep into my hands, and allowed him to guide me back to the nest.

"Rest," he said again, coiling protectively around the eggs but keeping his head near me, watchful and present.

I closed my eyes, surrounded by the warmth of my strange, scaled mate and the soft pulse of new life in their shells, and for a moment, despite the cramping, I felt safe.

---

The gathering was held in a garden I had not seen before, a secluded courtyard behind Reona’s residence where flowering vines climbed stone walls. It should have been peaceful. It should have been restorative.

It was neither.

I knew the moment I entered that I had made a mistake. The women arranged on the cushioned benches looked up at my arrival with expressions ranging from curious to calculating to openly hostile. Reona stood immediately, her smile warm and genuine, her hands reaching for mine.

"Krys! I’m so glad you came. I was worried you would hide away in that den of males and never see sunlight again."

"I considered it," I admitted, allowing her to guide me toward the group.

"Nonsense. You need female companionship. Perspective. A reminder that life continues even after..." She paused, her smile faltering for just a moment. "Even after difficult times."

I understood what she was doing. She was trying to show me with normalcy, with the simple rituals of female community that had nothing to do with war or death or traitors in the shadows. She wanted me to see the Tiger tribe as more than blood and betrayal, to find connection and perhaps even friendship among the women who would be my neighbors for the foreseeable future.

I appreciated the intention. I truly did.

But then I saw them.

Lizarah sat in the place of honor, a cushioned seat beneath the flowering arbor, her silver hair arranged in elaborate braids that spoke of hours of preparation. Laurelli perched beside her like a pretty, poisonous bird, her eyes lighting with predatory interest as I approached. They were dressed in their finest, draped in silk and jewels that caught the light, and they looked at me with the satisfaction of cats who had cornered a particularly interesting mouse.

"How lovely," Lizarah said, her voice honeyed and warm. "The foreign healer has decided to join us."

"Mother," Laurelli said, her tone dripping with false sweetness, "be kind. She probably doesn’t know our customs. In her land, they likely don’t have gatherings like this. Too busy with their simple solitude... what do they do? Eat bugs and fruit, was it?"

"Simple...beasts," Lizarah smiled, her smile never reaching her eyes. "They have crude methods, primitive ways. Very basic. Very distant from proper civilization."

I felt Reona tense beside me, her fingers tightening on my arm. The other women shifted uncomfortably, their earlier welcoming smiles freezing into nervous grimaces. The tension was immediate and suffocating, a cloud of perfume and malice that made my already aching head throb.

"It’s nice of you to join us," Laurelli continued, her lips curving in a smile that belonged on a shark. "I thought for a moment there you thought you was better than us. Hiding away in the chief’s residence, surrounded by your powerful mates, too important for simple tribal customs."

The words landed like stones in still water. Reona’s grip became painful. One of the other women, a young Tiger female I recognized from the infirmary, made a small sound of distress. The rest simply waited, watching to see how I would respond, whether I would crumple or fight.

Lizarah leaned forward, her smile widening, her eyes glittering with the pleasure of the attack. "Well, the tribe is new for Krys. We must be kind in showing her the ropes. She is still learning our ways, after all. Still adjusting to life among civilized beasts. It cannot be easy, coming from a world of trees and... what was it... foraging?"

She laughed, a silvery sound that invited the others to join. A few did, nervous titters that died quickly when I did not react.

I stood there, feeling the blood between my legs, feeling the cramp that twisted my insides, feeling the exhaustion of a month of death and suspicion and fear. And I looked at these women, these creatures who had never known a world without claws and hierarchy, who had never questioned their place in the order of things, who thought that silk and jewels could disguise the rot in their souls.

I smiled.

"I apologize if I come off that way," I said, my voice pitched low and pleasant, carrying just enough volume to reach every ear. "It’s not that I think I’m better than anyone here. It’s simply that I’ve been somewhat preoccupied with matters the chief of this tribe tasked me with. You know... of actual consequence? Healing the wounded, identifying traitors, preventing wars. The small, unimportant tasks that keep people alive." I paused, letting my smile widen into something sharp. "I imagine it’s difficult to understand when one’s primary concerns are arranging hair and finding sufficiently sparkly rocks to adorn oneself with. But I assure you, I mean no disrespect by my absence. I simply assumed that decorative objects didn’t require my attention."

The silence was absolute.

Lizarah’s smile vanished, replaced by a mask of such pure, venomous hatred that I almost took a step back. Her fingers dug into the arms of her chair, knuckles white, and for a moment I thought she might actually launch herself at me. Beside her, Laurelli’s face had gone the color of old parchment, her lips pressed into a thin line that trembled with suppressed rage.

Reona made a sound that might have been a swallowed laugh. The young Tiger female from the infirmary did not bother to hide her grin, ducking her head to stare at her hands while her shoulders shook.

"I... I..." Lizarah stammered, her composure cracking.

"Of course," I continued, my tone now one of gentle, patronizing kindness, "if you ever find yourself in need of actual assistance, I’m sure Reona knows where to find me. I do try to make time for those less fortunate in their... intellectual endowments. It’s the healer in me. I simply cannot resist a challenge."

I turned to Reona, whose eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and delight. "Perhaps we could continue this gathering elsewhere? I find the atmosphere here somewhat... suffocating. Like being trapped in a small room with something rotting."

Reona’s mouth twitched. "Yes. Yes, I think that would be best. Ladies." She nodded to the other women, most of whom were staring at me with expressions ranging from awe to terror. "We’ll take our tea in the eastern garden. Where the air is fresher."

She guided me away, her hand firm on my arm, and we had barely cleared the archway when she stopped, releasing a breath that seemed to carry all the tension of the last hour.

"Krys," she said, her voice carefully measured. "I understand why you did that. Truly, I do. They were being insufferable."

She paused, glancing back toward the courtyard where raised voices still carried Lizarah’s fury. "But Lizarah is... she has been my friend since we were cubs. She is grieving, in her own way. We all are. Sometimes grief makes us cruel without meaning to be."

I looked at her, at the genuine conflict in her eyes, and felt a pang of guilt. "I shouldn’t have said those things. Not in front of you. I know she’s your friend."

Reona shook her head, a small, sad smile touching her lips. "No. You should have. Someone needed to." She squeezed my hand. "I simply wish it hadn’t been necessary. And I wish..." She sighed. "I wish she would let go of this anger. Before it consumes her completely."

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t celebrate Lizarah’s humiliation. Instead, she led me to the eastern garden with a quiet gravity that spoke of divided loyalties and the heavy cost of honesty.

"Come," she said softly. "Let us drink tea and speak of happier things. Just for a little while." I followed her, grateful for her friendship, and for the delicate balance she maintained between two women who could not coexist peacefully.