Bring the Heat
Page 7
“Take what you’ve been given, Kachka Shestakova, and be glad for it.”
Kachka gave a heavy, dramatic sigh, “Fine. If there is nothing else.”
“There isn’t.”
Kachka began to walk away when another of the tribe leaders exited the Anne Atli’s tent and whispered in Magdalina’s ear.
Kachka watched Magdalina’s eyes widen. For Southlanders, it would be a “look of concern.” But for a Daughter of the Steppes, it was more a look of horror.
“Wait . . . wait here,” Magdalina ordered Kachka before returning to the Anne Atli’s tent.
Kachka did wait, unable to hear much beyond the sound of Magdalina’s voice debating something with a much quieter Anne Atli. Because when one ruled the Steppes, there was no need to yell.
As she waited, Kachka looked over at the four warriors she’d been given to work with.
Marina Aleksandrovna. A truly solid fighter who had one major flaw. She questioned the way the Riders lived their lives. Not roughing it on the harsh Steppes. That wasn’t her issue. But the way they treated the males they took, and the harsh way they dealt with the towns and cities outside the Steppes. This particular flaw made her a real pain in the ass to work with.
Then there were the Khoruzhaya siblings. Both excellent trackers and hunters. Better than even Kachka, which she knew was saying much. But they weren’t sisters. They were a brother and sister, born only a year apart, and the boy . . . he thought being born into the tribe made him equal to the women. It didn’t. Even worse, his foolish sister followed along with that thinking, allowing her brother to speak out at tribal events rather than punching him in the mouth to shut him up as Kachka had been known to do to her own brothers and male cousins. She did it to help them. To keep them safe until they were chosen to be husbands. But Yelena Khoruzhaya’s indulgence just made Ivan feel still more empowered. Even worse, she protected him from her sisters and female cousins. In the end, Yelena and Ivan had only each other to rely on.
And, finally—and not surprisingly—one of Kachka’s own: Tatyana Shestakova. A cousin loathed because of her love of Southland ways. She’d taught herself the common tongue of the Southlander so well, even perfecting the accent, that no one from those territories could tell that she wasn’t local. She even went so far as to favor the clothes of the Southlander and the decadent lifestyle, often wishing—out loud—that she had a “proper bed to sleep in.”
“What is happening here?” a voice boomed. “What am I missing?”
Ivan Khoruzhaya let out a bone-deep sigh. “Horse gods of Ramsfor, not her.”
Kachka had to agree. She’d hoped to be gone long before . . . this.
“What is all this?” the voice continued to ask as a very large body pushed its way through the crowd. It was only seconds before Zoya Kolesova stood before Elina. Towering over Kachka, Zoya gazed down at her from her lofty height. “Kachka Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains?” she asked. “Whatever are you doing here? I thought you were tragically banished to the decadent world of the Southlands, never to be seen again!”
Kachka gazed up at the much larger woman. Even larger than her mother Glebovicha had been. Large and, like all of the Kolesovas, strong. Not strong like most of the Riders who had to live in the harsh Outerplains, but . . . strong. It was rumored that one of the earliest Kolesovas, determined to fight by the first Anne Atli’s side, had sacrificed her favorite husband to the horse gods in hopes of being “as strong as the man I’ve just killed.”
The gods must have liked the sacrifice because they did more than that. They’d not only made that Kolesova bigger and stronger than any man, but they’d done the same with the female offspring she had later in life. Now that strength and size was passed down from mother to daughter, again and again.
It seemed strange to outsiders that none of the Kolesovas, with all their physical strength, had ever once been the Anne Atli. But that was because they all shared a truly fatal flaw....
Zoya threw open her arms and swept Kachka up in a big bear hug, lifting her off her feet and nearly crushing her ribs in the process.
“I am so glad to see you, old friend!” Although they’d never been friends. Old or otherwise. “I thought for sure you were dead! I’m so glad you’re not! I’m so very happy!”
Yes. That was the problem. The gods-damn good nature of the Kolesovas. There wasn’t one of that tribe who didn’t find something to smile about. Laugh about. Rejoice about. Every day. All the time.
But, outsiders often asked, despite their good nature, with their strength and size and the number in their tribe, still at least one of them could have become the Anne Atli. So, why had they not?
Simply put . . . because they had no desire to be. They were just happy to battle occasionally. Drink a lot. And fuck their many husbands. On a battlefield, they were a blessing. Any other time . . . a complete cheery pain in the ass.
Kachka fought her way out of Zoya’s smothering embrace and lied. “Glad to see you as well, old friend.”
Again, they had never been friends. But Kachka didn’t want Zoya to feel she had to prove how close friends they once were. That could be painful. Very, very painful.
“Why are you here?” Zoya asked, her voice still booming. “Returning to the Tribes, are you?”
“No, no. Just need a small team to help me on a—”
“I’ll come!” Zoya volunteered.
“No!” all five of them yelled.
“Ha-ha! You all make me laugh so! This will be such fun!”
That was another thing about the Kolesovas. They were never insulted. In more than a thousand years, they never once had a blood feud with anyone. Kachka didn’t know how that was possible. Even Glebovicha, who had had blood feuds with pretty much everyone, never had a blood feud with the Kolesovas. Because every insult she passed their way, they’d laughed about, slapping her on the back—and nearly shattering her spine in the process—and going on their merry way.
“What about your children, Zoya?” Kachka asked, desperate to keep her here.
“All one hundred and forty-seven of them,” Tatyana softly announced, eyebrows raised at Kachka.
“Yes,” Kachka said, trying not to show her shock at that number. Even for a Daughter of the Steppes who might easily live over a thousand years . . . that was gods-damn excessive! “What about all of them?”
“That’s what my husbands are for! They raise the girls while I am gone and the older girls will protect them all!”
“This is pretty much a suicide mission,” Ivan offered.
“Quiet, boy,” Zoya coldly snapped at Ivan. “No one speaks to you.”
And that’s what kept the Kolesovas in good standing with the other tribes despite their good-natured attitudes: their complete and utter lack of respect for anything with a penis.
Magdalina finally returned, her face . . . pale. And she suddenly refused to meet Kachka’s eyes.
“If you want what we have offered you here, there is . . . one other you must take.”
Must? Gods, what ineffectual loser were they trying to force on her?
“Really?” Kachka asked. “Who?”
Kachka gave a heavy, dramatic sigh, “Fine. If there is nothing else.”
“There isn’t.”
Kachka began to walk away when another of the tribe leaders exited the Anne Atli’s tent and whispered in Magdalina’s ear.
Kachka watched Magdalina’s eyes widen. For Southlanders, it would be a “look of concern.” But for a Daughter of the Steppes, it was more a look of horror.
“Wait . . . wait here,” Magdalina ordered Kachka before returning to the Anne Atli’s tent.
Kachka did wait, unable to hear much beyond the sound of Magdalina’s voice debating something with a much quieter Anne Atli. Because when one ruled the Steppes, there was no need to yell.
As she waited, Kachka looked over at the four warriors she’d been given to work with.
Marina Aleksandrovna. A truly solid fighter who had one major flaw. She questioned the way the Riders lived their lives. Not roughing it on the harsh Steppes. That wasn’t her issue. But the way they treated the males they took, and the harsh way they dealt with the towns and cities outside the Steppes. This particular flaw made her a real pain in the ass to work with.
Then there were the Khoruzhaya siblings. Both excellent trackers and hunters. Better than even Kachka, which she knew was saying much. But they weren’t sisters. They were a brother and sister, born only a year apart, and the boy . . . he thought being born into the tribe made him equal to the women. It didn’t. Even worse, his foolish sister followed along with that thinking, allowing her brother to speak out at tribal events rather than punching him in the mouth to shut him up as Kachka had been known to do to her own brothers and male cousins. She did it to help them. To keep them safe until they were chosen to be husbands. But Yelena Khoruzhaya’s indulgence just made Ivan feel still more empowered. Even worse, she protected him from her sisters and female cousins. In the end, Yelena and Ivan had only each other to rely on.
And, finally—and not surprisingly—one of Kachka’s own: Tatyana Shestakova. A cousin loathed because of her love of Southland ways. She’d taught herself the common tongue of the Southlander so well, even perfecting the accent, that no one from those territories could tell that she wasn’t local. She even went so far as to favor the clothes of the Southlander and the decadent lifestyle, often wishing—out loud—that she had a “proper bed to sleep in.”
“What is happening here?” a voice boomed. “What am I missing?”
Ivan Khoruzhaya let out a bone-deep sigh. “Horse gods of Ramsfor, not her.”
Kachka had to agree. She’d hoped to be gone long before . . . this.
“What is all this?” the voice continued to ask as a very large body pushed its way through the crowd. It was only seconds before Zoya Kolesova stood before Elina. Towering over Kachka, Zoya gazed down at her from her lofty height. “Kachka Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains?” she asked. “Whatever are you doing here? I thought you were tragically banished to the decadent world of the Southlands, never to be seen again!”
Kachka gazed up at the much larger woman. Even larger than her mother Glebovicha had been. Large and, like all of the Kolesovas, strong. Not strong like most of the Riders who had to live in the harsh Outerplains, but . . . strong. It was rumored that one of the earliest Kolesovas, determined to fight by the first Anne Atli’s side, had sacrificed her favorite husband to the horse gods in hopes of being “as strong as the man I’ve just killed.”
The gods must have liked the sacrifice because they did more than that. They’d not only made that Kolesova bigger and stronger than any man, but they’d done the same with the female offspring she had later in life. Now that strength and size was passed down from mother to daughter, again and again.
It seemed strange to outsiders that none of the Kolesovas, with all their physical strength, had ever once been the Anne Atli. But that was because they all shared a truly fatal flaw....
Zoya threw open her arms and swept Kachka up in a big bear hug, lifting her off her feet and nearly crushing her ribs in the process.
“I am so glad to see you, old friend!” Although they’d never been friends. Old or otherwise. “I thought for sure you were dead! I’m so glad you’re not! I’m so very happy!”
Yes. That was the problem. The gods-damn good nature of the Kolesovas. There wasn’t one of that tribe who didn’t find something to smile about. Laugh about. Rejoice about. Every day. All the time.
But, outsiders often asked, despite their good nature, with their strength and size and the number in their tribe, still at least one of them could have become the Anne Atli. So, why had they not?
Simply put . . . because they had no desire to be. They were just happy to battle occasionally. Drink a lot. And fuck their many husbands. On a battlefield, they were a blessing. Any other time . . . a complete cheery pain in the ass.
Kachka fought her way out of Zoya’s smothering embrace and lied. “Glad to see you as well, old friend.”
Again, they had never been friends. But Kachka didn’t want Zoya to feel she had to prove how close friends they once were. That could be painful. Very, very painful.
“Why are you here?” Zoya asked, her voice still booming. “Returning to the Tribes, are you?”
“No, no. Just need a small team to help me on a—”
“I’ll come!” Zoya volunteered.
“No!” all five of them yelled.
“Ha-ha! You all make me laugh so! This will be such fun!”
That was another thing about the Kolesovas. They were never insulted. In more than a thousand years, they never once had a blood feud with anyone. Kachka didn’t know how that was possible. Even Glebovicha, who had had blood feuds with pretty much everyone, never had a blood feud with the Kolesovas. Because every insult she passed their way, they’d laughed about, slapping her on the back—and nearly shattering her spine in the process—and going on their merry way.
“What about your children, Zoya?” Kachka asked, desperate to keep her here.
“All one hundred and forty-seven of them,” Tatyana softly announced, eyebrows raised at Kachka.
“Yes,” Kachka said, trying not to show her shock at that number. Even for a Daughter of the Steppes who might easily live over a thousand years . . . that was gods-damn excessive! “What about all of them?”
“That’s what my husbands are for! They raise the girls while I am gone and the older girls will protect them all!”
“This is pretty much a suicide mission,” Ivan offered.
“Quiet, boy,” Zoya coldly snapped at Ivan. “No one speaks to you.”
And that’s what kept the Kolesovas in good standing with the other tribes despite their good-natured attitudes: their complete and utter lack of respect for anything with a penis.
Magdalina finally returned, her face . . . pale. And she suddenly refused to meet Kachka’s eyes.
“If you want what we have offered you here, there is . . . one other you must take.”
Must? Gods, what ineffectual loser were they trying to force on her?
“Really?” Kachka asked. “Who?”
