And thus the beaten, half-starved girl has become a great leader, she thought. She looked over the crowd, seeking Jeid. Yet I would gladly become a wretch again if I could be by his side instead.

The crowd cheered with renewed vigor as Oritan rose to his feet, motioning for Laira to stand too. Tribesmen roared and raised their weapons as he led her away. They stepped into a cave—the skull's mouth—entering a cavern whose walls were lined with holes, each hole a home. The crowd raced around them, sweeping them into a torrent, taking them deeper into the cave, up a path, and toward one of the alcoves. A curtain of bones hid the entrance, and a song rose as Oritan led her into the chamber, leaving the crowd outside.

Laira took a shaky breath. For Requiem.

She found herself in a round room, its walls painted with scenes of running bison, saber-toothed cats, and herds of mammoths. Many trophies filled the chamber: chalices of silver, shields of bronze, gilded skulls, and many blades and bows. A bed of furs lay at the back, and to there Oritan led her. The crowd still sang outside, but the sound was muffled.

He stood before her, clad in his armor of bones. His helmet still hid his head. He stared at her silently. She stood before him and met his gaze.

"By the custom of my people," she said, "take my blade, and cut my garment from me."

She handed him her bronze sword. He accepted the short, leaf-shaped weapon, stepped closer to her, and slid the blade under her embroidered bridal garment. With a single, swift movement, he tugged the sword backward, slicing the fabric. The garment split open, revealing her small, painted breasts. He cut again, and the tatters fell to her feet, revealing her full nakedness and the totems painted upon her. She was not wide of hips or heavy of breasts as most other women of her tribe; she was small and slim, for she had spent so many years as a servant, and many scars adorned her body. She expected to see disgust in his eyes, but she saw only softness.

He dropped her sword, and Laira winced, expecting him to shove her down, to thrust into her, to claim her as Zerra had. She braced herself for the pain, and she inhaled sharply when he drew nearer. But he only touched her cheek and caressed her hair.

"Laira," he whispered. He removed his helmet, leaned down, and kissed her forehead.

She trembled as he took her into his bed of fur. For a long time, he simply caressed her hair, stroked her body, and let his lips flutter over her, tickling her with his breath. Even when he doffed his clothes, he was not rough but held her delicately, exploring her as if marveling at her body.