by Ann Aguirre
A sobbing breath escaped her, and she tried to break free of his hold, but not really, not ferociously. In the end she leaned into him while pain shook them like a fierce wind in summer trees. His arms encircled her, and his scent seduced her as it ever had. He smelled of springtime, pine woods, and salted leather. Szarok leaned his forehead against hers, breathing her in with equal alacrity, as if this moment must nourish him forever.
“I missed you.” That admission wrenched from her, as painful as if each word was carved on her flesh with glass.
“As did I, my treasure.” Trembling, he cupped her face in his hands, and she took wild joy in knowing that she still moved him like this.
But no matter how he felt, it wasn’t right. It never could be. Not again. Before, I couldn’t guess what he meant by obligations.
“Did you … Was she…” Tegan couldn’t get the question out.
But she knew what answer she wanted. It didn’t come.
“Yes,” he said.
A lie of omission, then. How wretched of you to whisper that I can deceive the rest of the world, but not you. Never you.
If she had any pride, she would push away and go now. But since these moments must last a lifetime, she hoarded them. His heartbeat surged beneath her ear. “So she was waiting the whole time you were with me.”
His flat tone chilled her. “She was selected as suitable for the vanguard. The People believe our children will be exceptional.”
“So you’re like royalty, the crown prince and princess of the Uroch.”
“Not by choice.” As if he couldn’t help it, he rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. The familiar caress made her hands tighten on his arms. Slowly, Szarok tilted his forehead against hers, and for long moments they traded breaths, not quite kissing.
She wanted to.
But she couldn’t forget the sick Uroch female shifting restlessly nearby. Her sense of morality hadn’t slipped enough to let her do this.
When he leaned down to finish the gesture, scent-marking, she stepped back and shook her head. “Nobody gets to pick his fate. I’m not generous enough to wish you happy. But I hope she recovers fully and that you’re … well.”
Tears blinded her as she rushed out of the house. The messenger brought the pony, and she scrambled gracelessly onto its back. Fortunately the animal knew its way back to the stable, for Tegan wept the entire way, offering no guidance. By the time she reached Port-Mer, she had her emotions under control, but the evidence of distress couldn’t be blotted away. Rather than worry the others, she returned the mount and walked aimlessly until the swelling subsided.
Since almost everyone was enjoying their time in port, the Catalina was nearly deserted when she went aboard. There were a few sailors on duty, responsible for the ship, but she skirted them and went to the infirmary to lie down. Tegan considered mixing herself a potion for sleep, but grief was its own narcotic, and she winked out without needing any help. Much later she woke to find Millie spooned up against her. James must have elected to sleep below, and the rocking of the ship told her that they had left Antecost.
Good. I won’t go back again.
With fair winds and current, it was a short jaunt to Rosemere, but she had already decided that she wouldn’t be continuing her journey. She’d spend some time with the people who loved her in Rosemere, and then eventually she would head back to Peckinpaugh to stay. Millie and James both tried to talk to her, but she avoided them, not easy in the confines of the Catalina.
What she needed most now was privacy and time to mourn. He might not be dead, but she must bury him in her heart all the same. With a soft sigh, she stared at the dried flower, pressed between the pages of her anatomy book. She’d taken this as a memento when Szarok had shown her the waterfall on Antecost. Tegan held it up to the wind, but in the end, she couldn’t let it go. Not yet. She closed the book.
As they dropped anchor near the Evergreen Isle, she approached the captain. “Thank you for everything. I’m sorry Millie ended up doing most of my work.”
“I’m just happy you’re healthy and whole. You have friends here, I gather?”
“Old acquaintances anyway, who could be friends if I let them.”
“Sometimes trusting people is the hardest thing in the world,” the captain agreed.
“Safe travels,” said Sung Ji.
She hugged them both and then found James and Millie ready to disembark also. Since they each had all their belongings, this couldn’t be a shore visit. “What’s this about…?”
Millie danced a little in place, overflowing with delight. “I’m meeting the governor.”
“He’ll love you,” Tegan said. “Then I’ll wish you both much joy. But why don’t you pop off for a visit and continue on? I know you wanted to see the world.” Possibly it wasn’t her business, but Tegan hated to think of Millie giving up her dreams for James.
The other girl leaned her head against his shoulder and said simply, “He is my world.”
The exquisite, fearless honesty snatched her breath away. While she recovered, James shuffled in embarrassment. He dropped a kiss on Millie’s temple. “We need to travel to Winterville, too.”
They’re serious, meeting families, getting permission. Even if she and Szarok had a future, there would be none of these sweet formalities. But she couldn’t spend her life flinching away from things that made those she cared about happy. Tegan fixed a smile on her face like a painting and beckoned Millie toward the railing. Down the ladder, the sailor tasked with rowing them ashore waited. Nearby, the many boatmen of Rosemere queued up to transport the supplies Advika had brought from the north.
As the couple climbed into the boat after her, she asked, “Would it be possible for you to send my boxes to Peckinpaugh from the Winterville cottage? Khamish will look after everything until I’m ready to take up studying again.”
“All that research should be saved,” Millie said.
James nodded. “We’ll take care of it.”
On the pier, she parted company with James and Millie after more hugs. Her feet knew the way to the stone cottage built on the rise on the other side of town. Part of her wanted to chuck the staff Szarok had given her, but since it was the only proof of their time together, she held on to it instead. No point in blaming the tool for the master’s mistakes. Really, that wasn’t even the right word. He had never promised he would come back to her; she’d only hoped.
In the six months or so since she’d left, nothing much had changed. The plants and flowers were growing well. As she walked up, Deuce was tending them. Then she straightened and Tegan noted her enormous belly. I take it back. Everything will be different now. Deuce caught sight of her and waddled through the gate, one hand on her lower back.
“Just look at you,” Tegan said. “I suppose I have to call you Breeder now.”
Once, that would have made Deuce ball up a fist, but she only laughed. She was rounder than she had ever been, not just belly, but cheeks, shoulders, hips, and all. Soft living and good food had padded her out over whipcord muscle, but her pasty skin still hadn’t taken on much color. Now she was pale and pink, progress of a sort, Tegan supposed. She suffered a hug from the pregnant Huntress and got nudged in the stomach by the unborn babe.
“Are you hungry? Fade’s helping Edmund at the shop, but he’ll be back later. Come in.” Impatient as ever, Deuce herded Tegan into the house. “Tell me everything that’s happened since I saw you. I’m a tad jealous. Sometimes it feels like my story is done while yours is just beginning.”
Tegan said softly, “You got a lovely ending, though.”
“True enough.” She bustled around the cottage, fixing food Tegan hadn’t requested. Right then it seemed she might never be hungry again.
Of course I’d give my heart to someone who can’t keep it. Of course I would. Perhaps it was because she already hurt so much, and there was no barrier between old pain and new. But today old words bubbled up until she couldn’t swallow them anymore.
“We’re friends?” she asked then.
Deuce appeared startled by this question. “You’re family to me, same as Momma Oaks and Edmund. After all we’ve been through together, you could say we’re like sisters.”
“To you.”
“Huh?”
“That’s how you feel. I’ve always pretended with you because if I didn’t, you might turn on me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Tegan let it all go in a rush, every grievance she carried, starting from the meeting in the ruins. “And then you said, ‘I would have fought until I died.’ Do you know how much that hurt me? How can I be like sisters with someone who said that?”
“I apologized, or I think I did.” Confused, Deuce came over and sat down in the chair opposite. “But if I didn’t say it enough or seem like I meant it, tell me how to make it right.”
Tegan tipped her head back and sighed. “If I knew, I would. Mainly, I want to get closer to you, truly close, not me pretending nothing is wrong because it’s easier. I’m done with that life.”
“You want me to beg forgiveness outright? I’ll do it, though it’s hard to get up again.”
At first Tegan thought she must be joking, but then Deuce plopped onto her knees. “You know I’m an idiot, and I had to learn so many things that other people came knowing. But I’m beyond sorry—you don’t even know how much—but especially because I had no idea that there was trouble between you and me.”
She’d rarely seen the Huntress cry, so maybe it was the baby influencing her, but Tegan couldn’t keep her anger hot when she saw tears coursing down the other girl’s cheeks. And once that core of anger dissipated, it surprised her how much affection lay beneath. No, she wasn’t perfect, but maybe sisters didn’t have to be. I should have said something. I should’ve been braver. Tegan came out of her chair and hugged Deuce as best she could around the belly.
“I forgive you. Truly, this time. Now you need to get up and calm down.”
As Tegan helped her up, a gush of water hit the floor.
Deuce’s eyes widened. “It’s a couple of weeks early, but I’ve been cramping a bit for the last day or so. I didn’t realize…”
She sighed. The problem with warrior women was that their pain threshold meant they had no idea how deep in labor they were. But she still reassured her patient. “A week or two won’t matter.” Tegan waited for the revulsion and horror, but none came. Instead she unpacked her supplies while giving instructions. “Get undressed. You can keep your shirt on. I need to wash up and then see how far you’ve progressed.”
She arranged bedding on the floor and made Deuce comfortable, then she did the exam as Khamish had taught her. “Not quite there. It’ll be an hour or two yet. You probably want your family here, but I won’t leave you to fetch them.”
A contraction hit the other girl hard, and she gripped Tegan’s hand. “Fade … should be along shortly. He said … he’ll be home for lunch.”
“Breathe. Like this.” Tegan demonstrated.
As predicted, her man returned a few minutes later. He staggered and clung to the doorway when he realized what was happening. But Tegan didn’t let him panic.
“Get her family. Momma Oaks, for sure. Tell Edmund, too.” If something went wrong, she wouldn’t let Deuce end up like Netta Gwynne, wishing she could see her loved ones once more.
“I’ll be right back,” Fade said.
He raced out, leaving Tegan to mop the sweat from her friend’s face. “You’re going to be fine. It’ll hurt like hell, but you’ve had worse.”
“That’s my line,” she wheezed.
When Fade entered the cottage again, he had Momma Oaks and Edmund, along with Rex and Spence. The men poured some drinks and dragged the father-to-be outside while Momma Oaks settled in to assist Tegan. Every now and then she heard cursing from outside and the sound of someone being knocked around.
“Fade’s scared,” Deuce said somewhat unnecessarily.
“And he’s not even doing any of the work,” Momma Oaks muttered.
* * *
A few hours later, Tegan delivered a healthy boy for the happy couple. No excess bleeding, no complications. Thank you, Khamish. I couldn’t have done this without your teaching.
“Well,” she said then. “What are you going to name him?”
No Longer the Vanguard
For five days and nights Szarok tended Tcharr as instructed. She woke on the sixth morning, the infection subsiding, but she was thin and weak from her long struggle. It took another week before she could feed herself, but the settlement, simply named Olurra, or our land, celebrated with great abandon once it became clear the consort would live.
“You care for me with such devotion.”
Szarok couldn’t meet her gaze. If she pushed, he would speak of duty. Her eyes fell and her hand dropped away from his arm. “Send Rzika to me.”
His joints groaned as he stepped into the arboreal sunlight. Even in spring, it was chilly, but not so much that it would cause his people harm. He found the elder teaching a group of younglings, and he waited politely for her to finish the lesson. At the first opportunity, they scattered to run and hunt, no danger of humans deciding they had strayed too far and shooting them. As Littleberry had promised, they were welcome in Port-Mer. The other villages were a little skittish, but nobody had been unfriendly.
“We owe the humans much,” Rzika said. “I had my doubts, but they will make tolerable neighbors.” Her tone revealed a quiet loathing that no single kindness could dispel.
He inclined his head. “Tcharr would see you.”
“How is she?”
“She’ll mend.”
Thanks to his healer. No. Not mine anymore. She said … ah, just the remembering seemed as if it would end him. When she went with her suffering eyes and tearful face, he took a wound that would neither kill him nor stop bleeding. I have done everything I must. But the weight of obligation never eased.
“You smell of sorrow.”
Szarok snapped a look at the elder, but her mien was imperturbable. This was where he had learned his composure, after all. With that, she turned and made her way to the house that he would share with the consort once she recovered her strength. Their children would play in these woods, and when the time came, he’d pass his memories to them.
Every fiber of his being shouted no.
How much is enough?
For most of the day he helped with construction. They needed many more homes before winter. The Port-Mer crew had taught them everything, so now they felled the logs and worked on their own. The People are building. At least that aspect of Olurra gave him great joy, but this … this was no longer his private dream.
When he returned to the house, he found Rzika sitting outside. “I give greetings.” She glanced up at him in the twilight, eyes hooded. “Tcharr tells me that you tend her as a brother, not a mate.”
There was no point in subterfuge. Secretly he had wanted to broach this conversation for weeks but couldn’t. Not while Tcharr lay ill. “My heart does not move for her.”
“You understood how life would be when you became the vanguard.”
“Yes,” he said. “But my control is imperfect. I do feel.”
The elder flourished her claws with a faint growl of acceptance. “Who among the tribe has caught your eye? Do your duty first with Tcharr and have the one you truly desire later.”
“She is not of the People.”
Rzika shot to her feet with a quickness that belied her age. Fiercely, she struck him twice, both times in the mouth. He swallowed the punishment.
“That human healer … she smelled of you as she left. Is she the one?”
“Yes,” he said.
Prowling closer, Rzika sank her talons into the nape of his neck. “This is madness, vanguard. Your place is here. There is far too much blood spilled between our people for such a union to flourish. You must know this. The People cleave to one another. To accept
humanity as our neighbors, this is enough.”
He ignored her arguments and persisted, “Not for me. I need my freedom.”
Realizing how serious he was, she responded in kind. The elder snarled, calling out to the tribe nearby. “To me! The vanguard has lost his reason and his loyalty.”
If he’d ever doubted who held the real power, he didn’t now. Within moments, Rzika had him bound and on his knees. She selected a tree branch and passed it to a sturdy male. “This is for his sake. We must bring him back to us.”
“What’s his crime?” a youngling growled.
“Forsaking the tribe. He is a traitor who would abandon his own people, turn from his destiny, and lie down with the enemy.”
Goaded, Szarok shouted, “This is how you made me.”
“Repent!”
The People spoke as one, and then the wood came down. Szarok lost count of how many times they struck him. Streaks of agony lined his back, his shoulders, his chest, his face. When the wielder tired, he passed the stick to someone else. Blood filled Szarok’s mouth, and his eyes swelled so that he couldn’t see. But no matter how much the pain rose, he never uttered a sound.
“Come back to us!” Rzika cried. “What does it say of the People if the best of us cannot bear to stay? That a human has more worth than our consort in the vanguard’s eyes?”
“It doesn’t matter what you do. There is no pain greater than living without her. If I cannot be free, I would rather die. Make it swift.”
Snarls of shock reverberated through the crowd. This is Rroclaw’s retribution, he thought as they renewed the onslaught. Szarok had known they wouldn’t tolerate this love; it was why he’d rejected Tegan’s offer to accompany him. She might be on the ground beside him if she had. Eventually they dragged him back to the house he shared with Tcharr and threw him down before her. Someone bound his wrists and shoved him back onto the pallet.
Rzika said, “He is yours, as promised. Use him well.”
Szarok heard the shuffle of the elder’s footsteps and then the closing door. He recoiled when Tcharr touched him, but she only mopped the blood from his eyes. Now he could see in slivers, her hovering face, still thin from her long illness. Tcharr let out a long breath.
