Far From Home: The Tribal Chief's Mate- a M/M fantasy romance

3- Chance

SRINY'ETE—

The boy Chief Jacob knew was dead. The man he had become soon would be. He should accept that, because I had. I had known this was my fate for a long time. It had just taken my heart a little longer to catch on. But the rejection of everyone I came across from my homeland had cemented my need for an end to the pain.

I only prayed Jacob would see the need for my death and not fight me too much on it. If he did at all. Maybe he had only come to see if the rumors of my shame were true. Maybe he would leave me and let me get on with my death.

"Don't do this, little one," Jacob whispered, and I flinched and turned away, towards the horizon where the slightest hint of gray heralded the coming of the moon. "Don't give up just when you've finally won."

I snorted and shook my head, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I was a sex slave for an El'kahrian noble, and many of his friends when he was bored and felt like sharing, since I was five-years-old. I do not count that as a win, Chief," I said sarcastically, kicking my leg out just to watch it hover above the foaming waves so far beneath me.

"You're still alive, little one," he answered, his words steady but slow, as if he rolled each one on his tongue before letting it slip past his lips. "You survived."

I shrugged and closed my eyes, lifting my face to catch the salt flavored breeze against my skin.

"Maybe I shouldn't be alive. Maybe I should have died beside the bodies of my family. Then I could've had an honorable funeral, and our people wouldn't revile me so."

"They don't understand," Jacob whispered. "Please, little one. Give them a chance to change. Give them a chance to learn and to grow. Give yourself a chance to live, for the first time. Come home with me. Let me show you what your life and future was always meant to be."

JACOB—

I could see the moment he gave in, reluctantly, to my pleading. I didn't know if it was because he believed my words and had renewed hope for his future, or if it was due to some lingering affection he had for me and a desire not to end his life right where it would harm me the most. Either way, he had given life a chance, and I would do anything in my power to ensure he didn't get the short end of the stick again.

I had brought an extra horse to bring Sriny'ete back with me, but he confessed he couldn't ride, his face blood red with shame. I realized my stupidity immediately— of course he couldn't. He was too young to learn before he was taken, and he wouldn't have ever had a reason to learn as a slave.

Without a word, I lifted him up onto my own stallion, refusing to let him linger over the things he couldn't control. Then I jumped up behind him, holding him secure against my chest.

"Hold tight to his mane, arayna," I said against his ear, using an old endearment I wasn't sure he would remember. But the moment I said the word, he fell limp, relaxed and content in my arms, and I knew he remembered.

It was only an hour's ride back to Eyatka, the home seat of my tribe. That idea had a sliver of pain shooting through my chest. Sriny'ete had come home to end his life. Home where he had nearly been rejected by the very people who should have welcomed him with open arms and jubilant celebration.

Srin was silent when we reached my home, and he was quiet for the months following. He barely opened up to me, no matter how hard I tried to get him to engage with me, with the members of my tribe. Gods, with anything but the damn horses he seemed to have fallen in love with.

Dierd'a, who cared for my horses, seemed to accept him without hesitation, teaching the boy how to care for the horses, their riding equipment, and eventually to ride.

It wasn't long before the boy was riding as if he'd been born to it. For hours, he would fly across the sands of the ocean, his long hair trailing out behind him, his face a mask of bliss he so rarely felt.

But it was the only time he was happy— when he was among the horses.

Over time, he filled out, a little less skinny, growing muscle and looking healthier. But the bags under his eyes were deep and dark, and each night he woke me with his screams from across the hall. Each night, I ran to his room and held him tight as he sobbed. I wanted nothing more than to defeat his monsters, to kill each and every person that ever touched my sweet Srin and gave him these nearly violent night terrors.

But I couldn't. I was helpless to do anything but hold him and pray that someday he would be able to move past the horrors evil had inflicted upon him.

Srin was doing what I'd asked him: he was giving my tribe and the life he could have with them a chance.

They weren't all returning the favor.

Many times I'd had to reprimand one of my tribesmen when I'd overheard them talking about Srin.

"I wonder if he grew to like it— being fucked by El'kahrians. I suppose if they're such prudes about everything, they've probably got some kinks in bed, eh?" my chef joked with Yalsa, my hedge witch.

Yalsa rolled her eyes, but didn't scorn the man for his disgusting words. A week's dock in pay had him rethinking speaking that way about one of his tribe mate's though, and I never heard him speak badly of Srin again.

At least not anywhere he could be overheard.

I tried to push Srin onto some of the younger men and women of the tribe, hoping he could make a friend, a lover even. But he never stayed still long enough, and they soon gave up as well. It was frustrating, because I knew if he would just reach out, they would too, and I knew he needed friends. He needed lovers, and to find a way to live some semblance of a normal life past his trauma.

Srin mourned Menya with me, visiting her grave many times and bringing her pretty seashells he found on his horseback adventures. My mate had succumbed to a lung sickness only three years after we lost the Regniir family, and I'd been unable to even think about trying to find another mate. Unlike many Akarans, one mate was enough for me. Besides, I was far too old to court someone. I didn't have the energy, now in my forties, to find another love. I'd had one already and I felt blessed in that.

It was four months before I was forced to face an ugly truth: if I didn't fully accept Srin'yete, as he was, as he needed me to, then no one would.

And I knew the only way they would move past their distrust of someone who had lived in El'kahr for the majority of his life was for me to force them to.