The Duchess's Descendants (Jordinia Book 3)

by C. K. Brooke

  “Kinje, mai shuva! Mai shuva,” Ludwig hollered to any ally who’d listen as he made a beeline for the horse. Drew was fast at his heels. “Dag,” he bellowed, leaping atop the creature with a running start. With the entirety of his strength, he pulled his brother up with him. “We’ve got him!”

  The chief’s son turned, spotting them, and yelled to his men. “Komi-cha!” He waved at Ludwig. “What you still doing? GO!”

  Ludwig gaped. Go? Just like that? And leave the rest of them to finish out the battle on their own?

  Dag’s face screwed up into a portrait of lines, for a moment resembling the chief so closely, it was intimidating. “Go,” he repeated, waving urgently. “We follow!”

  Ludwig didn’t wait to be ordered a third time. He steered the horse around, banging his moccasins into its sides. The creature launched into a gallop, eager to flee.

  “Where are we going?” Drew croaked over the wind and the uproar behind them.

  Ludwig could hardly see between the trees, but the horse needed little assistance. “Back to the mountain.” Despite the hour and his exertion, he had never felt more awake. “We’ll scale as much as we can tonight, and return to the Bonghee’s village come morning.”

  “If we make it,” said Drew, glancing over his shoulder. The Oca and Bonghee were just taking off after them in the distance, chased by an angry slew of horseback Køvi.

  “If we make it,” Ludwig agreed. He refocused on the forest ahead, which was close to clearing out. He inhaled, then grimaced. His brother smelled like a sewer. “You need a serious bath, man.”

  “And a shave, dear God,” moaned Drew, clutching him around the waist. His head thumped against Ludwig’s back as he emitted a sound between a laugh and a sob. “I can’t believe you all did this for me. How will I ever repay them?” His brother indicated the partner tribes riding full-speed behind them.

  Ludwig said nothing, hiding his grin.

  They reached the mountain’s base, teams of horses slowing for the laborious ascent. The Køvi pursued them, their stallions gaining speed. “They’re still after us,” fretted Drew.

  “Not for long.” Ludwig steered Miko’s horse up the path and emitted his best imitation of the Oca’s war cry. His lone voice wasn’t enough to reach all the way to the plateau. But his companions heard him. Together, their shrieks pierced the night, droves of voices ululating as one.

  The signal was heard. The Oca dodged out of the way, ascending the path in time as arrows rained down the height of the mount, impeding the Køvi’s advancement. Ludwig whooped in exhilaration.

  “Who’s firing?” demanded Drew, covering his head even though they weren’t the target.

  “Our guards,” laughed Ludwig. “And the women!”

  The sound of hooves over rock filled his ears as their friends caught up with them. More arrows soared down the mountainside, pelting the Kovi and knocking several from their horses until they’d had enough. With howls of rage, the enemy finally retreated.

  The Oca and Bonghee filled the air with deafening cheers. Surely, their triumph could be heard from miles away. By moonlight, they climbed the winding path, breaking into a victory chant. Dag steered his horse parallel to Ludwig and Drew, grinning.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Drew admitted. “Oax, oax,” he attempted, bowing his head.

  Dag reached out and jiggled his shoulder, laughing. “Køvi bother us no more,” he beamed. “We humiliate. Our horses faster. Even our women better warrior than they men.”

  Andrew smiled weakly as Dag rode ahead.

  “A little farther, and we’ll rest for the night,” Ludwig assured his brother.

  “Say, Vigo?” Drew leaned in. “Not sure if you’ve realized, but you haven’t stammered once all night.”

  Ludwig felt a familiar warmth in his chest that he’d come to associate with Kya. He flicked the reins, propelling the horse. “I guess this place is changing us both, old boy.”

  At sunrise, Drew scrubbed his skin pink in the ice-cold spring, sheared his face smooth again, and drank and ate to his heart’s content. He felt like he owned a new body. A few more hours and he’d be safe and at rest.

  The path twisted beneath a cloudless sky while the horses kicked up dust and occasionally shook out their manes. His brother spoke little, looking rather content. Two young men, Miko and Hari, had colored Ludwig’s face in what they dubbed “hero’s paint.” With the small plait running through his hair, Vigo could be mistaken for a native himself. And it wasn’t just the string of beads adorning his neck or the woven tunic and moccasins. Ludwig had begun to carry himself differently. The peacefulness in his eyes no longer reflected the lonely, awkward young man Drew had known his whole life. It was like a reimagined version of his brother. An Oca version.

  By midday, the plateau stretched into view, washing Drew with relief. The Bonghee village cheered as they rode in, children dancing and tossing handfuls of pine needles after them. Savory aromas wafted from the fire, scents Drew had no names for. The natives were already preparing a feast to welcome them.

  Waves of hearty, hailing voices arose as the Bonghee warriors descended their animals to embrace their children and wives. The Oca, too, dismounted, exchanging tales and congratulations.

  Without a word, Ludwig hopped off of the horse and launched into Kya’s arms. The young woman held him, her smile bright as the sun. Drew looked away, giving them privacy.

  “Hey, you.”

  A head of curls emerged from behind a row of celebrating guardsmen. She came no farther, but regarded him with a kinder warmth in her eyes than she ever had before.

  Drew slid down from the horse, his bare feet meeting the smooth, dry soil. “Miss me?”

  “Surprisingly.” His sister smiled. Behind her, a figure was rushing through the mingling throng, asserting her way to the front.

  A powerful swell of anticipation surged through Drew’s every cell. He absently ruffled Johanna’s hair, moving past her, eyes fixed on the woman heading his way. It was as though time stood still.

  He couldn’t think. He could only lift his arms and await the collision, the embrace for which he’d been pining during the longest and most agonizing weeks of his life….

  Alas. Far from falling into his arms, Catja Lovell marched up to him, looking livid. “You,” her chest heaved, “are completely senseless.”

  Drew lowered his arms, bewildered as she stormed over him.

  “That was the singular most idiotic, reckless thing you ever could have done,” she cried, “and I’ll thank you not to make any more decisions on your own!”

  Drew felt his mouth forge into a scowl. “You’re welcome,” he snapped.

  She had worked herself into such a fit, he could see her shaking. He mussed his hair, his every last hope for a glorious reunion falling flat on its face. “You know, it’s amazing. I subject myself to literal slavery in your place, yet you still find a reason to despise me.”

  Her features shifted into something akin to surprise. “Despise you?”

  He strode angrily from the crowd.

  “Drew, wait!” Her voice quavered as she chased him. “You think I’m upset because I ‘despise’ you?”

  “Save it, Cat.” His jaw stiffened. “Don’t pretend as though you care how I feel.”

  “You can feel?”

  He stopped cold. He knew she was joking, but that was below the belt. Furiously, he turned and lifted his blouse, revealing the long, red cord marring the side of his abdomen. “I felt this,” he said between his teeth.

  Catja stilled, her mouth falling slack.

  He yanked his shirt down, startled to comprehend the glistening in her eyes.

  He could only stand in place as she latched onto him. She buried her face into his chest, her arms winding around him. Gingerly, he wrapped his arms around her, too, unsure if it would earn him
another scolding. Bless her, she only melded against him with more force.

  He breathed evenly for the first time in weeks. Holding Catja was surreal. He shut his eyes, drinking in the sweet scent of her hair. If only they could stay that way forever—her soft, feminine form up against his body, in his arms, for once not resisting him.

  She blotted her eyes against his collar. “I was beyond devastated. What you did for me was….” She faltered. “And I never realized how….” She hiccupped, covering her mouth.

  His gaze was stuck to hers.

  “…how accustomed to you I’ve grown,” she finished, blushing.

  He leaned in, tracing the shape of her jaw with his finger. Her eyelashes fluttered at his touch. He could count every last one of them, sparkling behind her lenses. Hunger burned at his core as her full lips, sensing the proximity of his, parted just enough….

  “Professor? Ila meso es mihow, ma ei-cow.”

  At precisely the wrong moment, Catja turned to face the Bonghee elder addressing her. Drew heaved a breath, thwarted.

  “Hee,” Catja answered. She blinked, seeming to remember herself. The man felt a sense of deflation as she stepped back. “I, er….” She would no longer look at him. “I’ve got to help prepare the meso. Excuse me.”

  She cut past him, joining the old woman. Drew was left staring after her, feeling a desperate enslavement of a new sort.

  The Jordinians had had their fill. That was the consensus. After the episode with Johanna and her brother’s abduction, it was decided they had explored enough. When the Oca returned to their village, the Jordinians went with them.

  The journey home was leisurely. Considering the visitors had already mapped what they would of the island, the party took a more direct route, bypassing sites like the Great Fall and the cliffs over the Hamaree. When they reached Lake Co, the men whiled away the day, hip-deep in the water with fishing rods.

  The women stayed on land to manage the catch. It took more than an hour to get a fire going, but once they did, they formed a task line. Catja’s fingers turned numb with cold from handling raw fish. Sightless eyes stared up at her as she chopped off another head, then made an incision at the dorsal fin.

  Excited shouting issued from the lake and she glanced up. Her stomach gave a tiny flop to find the focus of everyone’s attention. Drew had caught something—finally—but was apparently struggling with it. He swore, stumbling back as he heaved his pole out of the water. A massive specimen thrashed in the air, its scales glinting silver like a dagger in the sunlight. The Oca issued sounds of astonishment.

  The beast nosedived back into the water, taking Drew down with him in a tremendous splash. Catja leapt to her feet. In an instant, the man popped up again, clutching his stomach in hysterics. Laughter surged from the men, Dag’s loudest of all. Junha helped Drew up and swatted him between the shoulder blades.

  Catja resumed her seat on the ground and spliced the fish from front to tail.

  “Looks like he let it get away,” said Johanna, still watching. She seemed exhausted. Already, her fingers were swollen, even though she hadn’t done much work.

  “You can go rest,” Catja told her discreetly. “There’s a patch of shade over there.” She indicated a great weeping tree by the banks.

  Johanna glanced surreptitiously at the Oca wives working alongside them. “Won’t they become suspicious?”

  Kya’s eyes flickered up to Catja.

  “My lady,” Catja hesitated, “I think they already suspect.”

  The young woman exhaled, slowly stretching to her feet. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” she confessed. Her skin was reddening, her curls shining with streaks of gold from the sun. “The baby keeps kicking all night, and my back is constantly sore. I’m not getting any rest.” She sounded near to tears.

  Catja pitied her, she really did. She couldn’t imagine what the girl must be feeling. In fact, she had never imagined it, because she’d never considered having children of her own. And to endure it alone, without a father’s support, meanwhile maintaining her secret from the royal family? Catja would be near to tears too.

  Johanna hobbled out to the shady bank. Catja watched her, wondering how long she could continue to conceal her condition; and indeed, how much longer she and the other women would be hiding it for her.

  It had been a hot, slow day when they finally returned home. Catja smelled maize baking, heard the widows singing as they swept out their huts. Elder San, Kya’s first husband, looked up from his whittling. The children squealed to see their fathers riding in, and the hens squawked, mimicking the commotion.

  Catja got down from the horse she rode with Zuri. His little sister, Dota, ran up to her and flew into her arms. “Did we win?” asked the child in Ocanese.

  Catja hugged her, nodding. “Hee, Dota.”

  Crisp, green tolo leaves and pink blossoms sprinkled the ground at her feet like an offering as she paced through the village. Catja came to her tent and ran a hand along the soft outer wall. She set down her bag, relieved to be back.

  That evening, the bonfire matched the Bonghee’s liveliness on the Oca’s part, for the village was glad to see the return of their men, and to hear of their victory over the Køvi. The Jordinians, on the other hand, were engrossed in deep discussion alongside the chief’s sons.

  Catja brought Johanna a drink laced with herbs for strengthening expectant mothers. Grateful, the girl received it.

  “…and call it a day?” a soldier called Curt was suggesting.

  “On the next moon,” said Officer Ansel, “perhaps we head east, like those sailors did. Find the stopover and a ship to sail us home.”

  “It’s up to Ludwig and Andrew,” shrugged the tall one, Bram.

  “Mostly Andrew,” smirked Rylon, the blonde. “We all know this expedition isn’t over till he says it is.”

  Johanna lowered her cup, wiping her mouth. “Speak of the devil.”

  Drew had rejoined them, carrying armfuls of bread baskets. “Sorry I’m late. Tani insisted. One for you, and you….” He passed out loaves to anyone who’d take one.

  “Where’s Vigo?” asked Johanna.

  “Where do you think?” He snorted. “He and Kya are back where they’ve got the privacy of their own tent.”

  Catja felt her cheeks burn as he sat down beside her, his knee brushing casually against hers. He handed a basket to her. “Here you are. Tani said you like yours plain.”

  Her fingers touched his as they exchanged the handle, and a wave of unexpected pleasure rolled through her. Catja lowered her eyes to the cloth in the basket and lifted it, trying to ignore her thumping heart. What was this dizzying feeling? And how could she possibly be feeling it for…?

  She withdrew a loaf of bread and nibbled the edge, but could hardly taste it. In those moments, she was longing for something more than food. Her body felt heavy with a desperation she’d never known. She wondered if the man sitting next to her could tell.

  She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed to see him immersed in conversation, as if she weren’t there.

  “If you go,” Zuri grunted to the Jordinians, “my father want treaty destroyed.”

  “I don’t understand your aversion to Jordinian sovereignty.” Drew looked between the chief’s sons shrewdly. “It isn’t a bad thing. We can protect you.”

  “What we need protection from?” Dag lifted his broad arms. “Oca live here since Spirit create mankind.”

  “That would be approximately thirty thousand years,” Catja calculated. Unable to help herself, she added, “Although, of course, it’s rather improbable that they’ve lived here since the dawn of man, considering this whole region was covered by a giant glacier less than ten thousand years ago.”

  Drew smirked at her. “A giant glacier, Cat?”

  She shrugged, long accustomed to the sk
epticism of others. “It’s only the truth; you don’t have to believe it.”

  He elbowed her. “This is what I love about you,” he laughed.

  Ansel spoke again and others piped in, but Catja had stopped listening. Drew seemed not to realize what he’d said. He was already resuming his attempt to persuade the Oca to rethink their attitudes toward the treaty.

  She set down her bread basket, virtually untouched, deciding it was time to be alone. After so many weeks of sharing every waking—and sleeping—moment among men and strangers, the prospect of a silent evening in her own space was a welcome balm.

  She slipped away from the bonfire, managing to stay unnoticed, and retreated. Her tent awaited her, a sanctuary, as always. One of the widows, ever considerate, had lit a pine candle and placed it in a slotted jar at the entry of her lot to light her path. She lifted the warm little jar and carried it inside.

  Everything was as she’d left it. Crates of dwindling supplies remained piled in the corner; her journals were stacked neatly on the wooden surface she’d built with her father, which she used for a desk; and the blankets that had taken her years to weave were folded on the floor.

  Catja savored the stillness before lifting the candle from the jar and lighting the old lantern that had traveled with her all the way from Sialla. She’d long since depleted her matches. They were another item to add to her list, if the Jordinians really planned on leaving…and if she decided she wasn’t too proud to solicit their help.

  “Knock, knock,” a voice issued outside.

  Catja parted the lappets, surprised to see Drew with his hands in his pockets. He’d come alone.

  “Oh.” She stood back. “Hi. You can come in.” She cleared her throat, nervous as he stepped inside. Men seldom entered her home.

  “Nice setup,” he remarked, glancing around. “I was only wondering why you left us back there. You were sitting right beside me, and next thing I knew, you’d gone.”

  “Er….” She went to her makeshift desk, straightening her pencils, although they were already aligned. “I was just worried about supplies, actually. As you might imagine, after twelve years, I’m a bit low.”