by C. K. Brooke
The chief’s chant escalated in volume. He raised and lowered his staff, accompanied at intervals by soft drumming and the airy breaths of wooden flutes. Though he didn’t speak the language, Ludwig caught onto the essence. It wasn’t so very different than wedding rites back home. Ludwig wondered if there was any civilization that didn’t practice rituals for marriage, death, the welcoming of new life….
The chief raised his staff the highest yet and brought it down over the earth with a conclusive thump. The tribe burst into song. Ludwig and Kya were pelted with fern fronds and more pine needles. Kya laughed, the sound like a tinkling bell, and grabbed his hand, pulling him through the shouting tribe.
Men spun lit torches like batons and young women carried out jars filled with foods Ludwig couldn’t guess the names of. Every hand reached out to pat their backs and shoulders as they passed.
Ludwig grinned at Kya as the village celebrated around them. He noticed shadows twirling and leaping around the bonfire. “Dance?” he asked her over the din.
She lit up at the sound of his voice. Ludwig raised her hand in his and, in mainland fashion, rested his other hand at her waist. Her expression shifted to confusion.
He took a series of steps in rhythm with the drumbeat, gently steering her with him. Her brow crinkled and she laughed. “Dance,” he repeated, smiling.
She looked down at their feet, moving her moccasins with his. “Dants.” She grinned. Kya didn’t seem to understand that the activity was supposed to last the whole song. After only a few more steps, she stopped, watching him expectantly.
He eyed the bowls of food cycling between the villagers, and his stomach gave a churn. He hadn’t been able to eat for most of the day, but now that the ceremony was over, he was ravenous. “Eat?” he offered her, indicating one of the bowls.
She squinted as though he was being silly, and fixed him with that waiting look again.
“What are you still doing here?” came Catja’s surprised voice. She carried a platter of what looked like lumpy mashed tubers rolled up in leaves. Ludwig’s mouth watered.
“Oh. I th-thought K-Kya and I would have a dance, and then some din—”
“No.” Catja shook her head. “You take her to your tent now.”
“My where?” Ludwig’s gut took a dip to his knees and back. “Don’t I g-get to celebrate my own wed—?”
“A new tent has been erected for the two of you.” She pointed to the village. “Kya knows where it is; she’ll lead the way.”
“Already?” whispered Ludwig desperately. He’d wondered if this might be expected of him, but he’d thought he’d at least be given a few days to become acquainted with his new wife before….
“Go,” Catja beckoned him off, her face severe. “Before you offend her.”
That explained Kya’s expectant gaze. Ludwig was speechless. Well, he was always speechless, but this time, even his mind had gone dumb.
His bride’s lashes lowered demurely. “Kinje,” she entreated him, tugging his hand and pulling him away.
Johanna tapped her foot to the rhythm. She’d heard plenty of orchestras in her life, but not music so percussive that made her heart twitch to match it. The beat seemed to reverberate in her bones.
Drew, Catja and the guards sat with her, minding their dinners. Johanna’s appetite was strong, and she’d eaten more of a sticky, sour maize dish than she cared to admit. A smiling Oca woman passed a bowl of purple drupes to Catja, who in turn offered one to Drew.
He popped the fruit into his mouth and bit down. At once, he clutched his face in evident pain.
“You’ve got to chew around the pit,” said Catja.
Drew massaged his jaw, grimacing. “Thanks for telling me in advance.”
The professor gave the bowl to Officer Findlay. “What are they?” he asked cautiously.
“They’re called gim,” she answered. “They’re customarily served at weddings, since the Oca believe them to be an aphrodisiac.”
Drew chuckled. “And are they right?”
Catja shrugged. “My findings have been inconclusive.”
“Oh, ho!” His eyes glinted in amusement. “And how exactly did you conduct your research, sweetheart?”
Catja frowned at Johanna. “Is he always this intolerable?”
“He’s actually worse, if you can believe it. But I suppose he’s got to make do without brandy and betting and his usual debauchery, for once.” Johanna sighed.
Clearly, her brother wasn’t giving up on the professor. “You want to know what else is an aphrodisiac, Professor?” He smirked.
“No,” said Catja flatly.
“I was going to say me.”
Just when Johanna was deciding she couldn’t endure any more, Bram set down his bowl. “Have a dance with me?” he offered.
“Yes, please!” She got to her feet, eager to partake in the music and distance herself from her brother. She felt sorry for leaving Catja behind with him, but knew the woman could fend for herself.
She followed Bram to the musicians. The Oca sang ineffable melodies she couldn’t describe, and moved in dances she’d never pictured—women plunged to the ground and back up again, like corks in a full wineglass, and men bucked their necks like strutting birds. She’d thought she could learn any dance, but Johanna couldn’t move like that if she tried.
Bram took her hand. Stretching to reach his shoulders would be awkward, so she settled for placing a hand around his back, just under his arm, instead. Before she could suggest otherwise, his free hand found her waist. A tiny jolt of anxiety rippled through her. She feared he might feel the expansion of her stomach beneath her shirtwaist.
He didn’t seem to notice, however, as he began to lead. His long legs posed an extra challenge, but Johanna was up for it. Her father had taught her how to dance. If she could move gracefully with a partner in a prosthetic foot, she could dance with anyone.
Bram grinned at the fur-clad Oca leaping around their staid waltz, him in his uniform, she in her long skirts. “Do you suppose we’re giving ourselves away as outsiders?”
“I think we blend right in.”
“Good night for wedding,” grunted a deep voice. Johanna looked up, surprised to see the chief’s enormous son, Dag, swaying and pumping his arms in a vibrant dance beside them. He was shirtless, with black and red markings painted on his stony chest. A belt of beads jangled at his waist.
“You speak Halvean?” asked Bram, sounding surprised.
“Little,” smiled Dag. “Professor teach.” He pointed between them. “You marry?”
Johanna blushed, and Bram hurriedly shook his head. “Oh—no. We aren’t….”
“Make good marriage.” Dag nodded sagely at them. “Happy fit. Good medicine.”
“Er….” Johanna tried to grin politely, but could feel her neck growing hot. “Thank you?” Dag rejoined his friends, and she was left biting down on her lip to quell her embarrassment. All the same, she couldn’t determine precisely why it was so embarrassing. It wasn’t as though she was some naïve, inexperienced maiden. And yet, something about the idea of her with an upright sort of person like Bram….
“So,” he murmured, interrupting her thoughts as he turned her away from the tribe, “how far along are you?”
It was as though he’d dropped her. A spell of panic washed over Johanna, and it was all she could do to continue dancing as though nothing had happened. “What do you mean?” She feigned innocence.
“Come, Joni, I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Her heart began to flap like a fretful bird. “I haven’t any idea—”
“You were ill the entire voyage at sea, you couldn’t run after your brother, you refused to wear the tapi,” he listed. “Not to mention, you referred to your ‘condition’ our first morning on the Kelti, when I offered to move your trunk.”
Johanna cou
ldn’t believe her ears. “How on earth did you deduce—?”
“My mother runs a shelter for destitute women,” he reminded her, steering her away from the bonfire. They came beneath a secluded copse of trees, where shadows concealed them. “You think I haven’t seen my fill of expectant, unwed maidens? You’d be surprised, it’s not all peasants, either.” Far from disdain, his moonlit face displayed genuine concern. It was a greater kindness than she felt she deserved. “Why didn’t you go to her?”
Johanna was stunned. “To your mother?” She glanced down, unable to bear the empathy in his eyes. “I guess it never even crossed my mind.” She’d known that Bram’s mother, Lady Seluna, dedicated her days to helping the needy women of Pierma. But, Johanna supposed, she had never considered herself needy.
“I only wished to leave Jordinia,” she admitted. They had stopped dancing by then. “I didn’t want my aunt and uncle, or Felix, to find out. I still don’t.” She shivered. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. Please,” she implored him, “you must swear not to repeat a word. Especially not to my brothers.”
“Not a word,” he promised. “But surely, they’re going to find out. You’ll only grow bigger. And eventually, how are you going to hide a squalling baby from them?”
“I don’t know, Bram.” Johanna lowered her head into her hands, the dilemma crushing her yet again. “Don’t think my worries haven’t consumed me. Since coming here, I’ve thought about…maybe telling them it’s one of the Oca’s, but….” She expelled a breath. “I just don’t know.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t have come.” He looked regretful. “This journey has been so dangerous.”
“You think I’m weak?” she challenged him.
“No,” he said firmly. “But I hate to see you endanger your child.”
Your child. The words settled like stones in Johanna’s chest.
He nodded to her stomach. “Whoever’s in there is innocent in all of this.” He sighed resolutely. “I’ll just have to keep a closer eye on you. On both of you.”
“Bram,” she could only whisper. She had disgraced herself, yet there he was, looking out for her. No words of admonishment, no chastisement. “Any other man would call me promiscuous. A jezebel.” And she supposed she was.
But he shook his head. “They don’t know the real you.”
She watched him. Smoke from the bonfire rose over his head, masquerading as hazy clouds. Did he think too highly of her? Or possibly, could he see something that not even she saw in herself?
“Joni?”
Her breathing slowed. “Yes, Bram?”
“Whose is it?”
“Erm….” That wasn’t the question she was hoping for. She decided on, “You don’t know him.”
“Don’t I?” He sounded unconvinced. “Is it Rylon’s?”
“Heavens, no!”
“Are you sure?” His mouth twitched upward as he guided her back to the warmth of the fire. “Is that why you wanted to come on the expedition? To be with him?”
“If you don’t stop, I’m going to vomit,” she warned him. “Please, there’s nothing going on between Ry and me.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Anymore,” she amended.
He gave her a faltering look.
“I mean, in his mind there is. But it was only once. And it was too long ago for him to be the father.”
“Do you wish he was?” Bram cocked his head toward the guards who were finally joining in the tribe’s revelry, laughing and making fools of themselves as they attempted the Oca’s dance. “Because he’d be stupid enough to believe it if you told him.”
“No, I do not wish I was carrying Rylon’s child,” she insisted under her breath. “Now, can we please drop the subject?”
Bram grinned, amused, and returned his hand to her waist to resume dancing.
Despite her alarm at being found out, his unconditional friendship and support offered Johanna a sense of peace, of comfort she hadn’t truly felt since her parents had died. For a reckless moment, she indulged in the vision of a future with this man, feeling his warmth and safety on a daily basis. Her skin tingled at the thought of him coming home to her and her child every evening.
“In fact, I rather wish it was yours,” she blurted unthinkingly.
She hadn’t expected his grin to evaporate so swiftly, or his face to turn so uncharacteristically crimson. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m sorry.” She winced, mortified at her apparent lack of a verbal filter. “I, er, only meant that you’ll make a fine father someday. And you’re much kinder to me than most of the men in my life.” She furrowed her brow. “There are too many men in my life, aren’t there?”
“And too many women in mine,” he jested. “All my years, spent in that palace with four grand duchesses.”
“Oh.” She smiled, somewhat sadly. “That’s right. And here I am,” she teased him, “thinking you only had eyes for me.”
“I do.”
She blinked, her heart suddenly and rapidly beginning to thump. Was he saying…?
“I—I mean,” he stumbled over himself, “I don’t look at the duchesses in any special way. They’re like sisters to me, all of them. And Raphaela talks too much. And Nedi’s practically still a baby….”
The song ended. The combined voices of the Oca and Jordinians carried her way as the next song began, and Johanna remembered her senses. Plenty of men she could trifle with—and had—but this was Bram Visigoth, her brothers’ longtime childhood playmate, who had known her since she was born. And she was carrying an earl’s baby. What was she thinking?
“I ought to retire now.” She slid her hand out of his.
“Of course.” Bram’s expression returned to its usual, unreadable calm. “You need plenty of rest.”
She broke away from him. As she treaded past the villagers celebrating into the night, she prayed she would have a daughter. She didn’t need one more boy to worry about.
Small, slotted clay jars smoldering with embers lined the tent’s interior. They emitted a soft aroma that reminded Ludwig of lavender gardens and walks through the woods. His young bride sat across from him atop a heap of blankets, hugging her willowy knees to her chest. Her black hair fell over one eye as she watched him shyly.
Don’t be afraid, Ludwig wished to assure her. I’m not going to hurt you. But even if she could understand him, the words were frozen on his tongue.
She moved forward, and he gave a start. She brought her hand back, looking apologetic.
“It all right. Go—go ahead.” He nodded.
She reached out again, tentatively. Softer than a butterfly’s kiss, she ran her fingers down the length of his hair. “Kit,” she said.
“Kit?” he repeated.
She smiled, petting her own hair. She returned her hand to his.
“Oh.” He emitted a small breath. “Your word for hair. Hair.”
She studied him. “Haah,” she attempted.
“Yes, well done!” he exclaimed. He never imagined a single word could bring him so much enthusiasm. Hair, kit—it was a simple translation. But it was a connection. Their first.
Kya looked around the tent and pointed to the matching bearskin capes they’d worn during the ceremony. “Co,” she told him, making a scowling face as she drew out the o.
He studied her.
“Co.” She made a clawing motion with her hands, and stretched her mouth into a silent roar.
“Oh! B-bear,” he smiled.
“Beh,” she bleated, and they erupted into snickers like children.
He searched for something else to name, enjoying their new game. Leaning back, he touched the wall of the tent. “Tent.”
“Aka.”
He prodded one of the warm, glowing jars that bordered the interior. “Jar.”
&
nbsp; “Simota.”
And so it went, the pair exchanging words for what they saw, sharing their languages, helping the other sound them out. They laughed when the difference was dramatic, or the other’s pronunciation too complicated. By the time they reached a term that sounded alike in both tongues, they were in hysterics.
“Hik.” Kya flooded with giggles, touching her golden cheek.
“Cheek!” Laughter flowed out of Ludwig as never before. For the first time, he was enjoying speaking to someone. Perhaps it wasn’t typical conversation, but it was one he could hold successfully. That was a new experience.
“Chik.” He liked the way she blended both words. She leaned forward, her laughter dissolving. His skin tingled beneath her touch as she cupped his cheek, their eyes connecting.
“Lood-veeg,” she whispered his name. The sound on her lips was as intoxicating as those alluring eyes. Her gaze deepened, pouring into him. He couldn’t look away. And he didn’t want to.
He held steady as she brought her mouth to his. Kya’s lips felt silkier, tasted sweeter, than honey.
Ludwig could feel the blood swimming in his veins, flooding from the ocean of his expanding heart. He sifted a hand into her hair, his fingers teasing through the strands. His bride’s eyelashes flickered as he traced his fingertips down the back of her neck, exploring her smooth skin.
Their lips parted, and he felt his throat bob as he swallowed. There was no mistaking the desire in Kya’s gaze. He tucked her hair away from her shoulders. “I suppose you’ve been waiting a long time for a real marriage,” he murmured.
Though he knew she couldn’t understand the words, she seemed to interpret his tone. Her eyes were still on him, more intent than before.
He drew her in, whispering, “So have I.”
Wicked-looking birds of prey squawked threateningly from the treetops. Drew cast them a wary glance. He’d been told they were harmless to humans, but he hardly trusted their talons.
A whole moon had cycled since they’d first arrived, and his party had made little progress. Between the foreign wilderness proving more daunting than anyone had expected, and the fact that all of their supplies had gone down with the Kelti, they were no longer properly equipped for an expedition. He knew the question hung over all of them, even though no one liked to discuss it. If they set off from the Oca, what would they eat, where would they take shelter, and how would they navigate the unknown terrain? Not to mention, the chief was against their exploration.
