The Duchess's Descendants (Jordinia Book 3)

by C. K. Brooke

  The widows wore scowls, muttering concernedly to one another. They took the chief aside, speaking low, their hands animated with gestures.

  In her periphery, Johanna saw Dag finally release Drew. Her brother hastened in her direction, but she couldn’t bear to acknowledge him now.

  “This is going to take some discussion, Johanna,” Catja informed her quietly.

  Johanna appreciated when Kya took her arm and steered her away from the crowd’s prying eyes. She led her to a copse of trees, no longer within hearing range of the Oca. Whatever they would decide, she could only guess.

  Kya frowned, reluctantly letting go of her arm. Johanna’s stomach dropped to see the cause of her apprehension. Drew was storming their way, looking positively murderous. She had never seen such hardness in his eyes, like slits of flint.

  “Who did this to you?” he barked. Johanna flinched. “Huh? Who was it?”

  She fought to keep her voice even. “I did it to myself.”

  He disregarded the response, only howled in her face some more. “Which slimy, filthy guard is the one that—?”

  “It wasn’t a guard,” she said. “It happened before the journey.”

  He startled. “You knew? Since then?”

  She nodded.

  “And you’ve been hiding this from me—from all of us!—for how many moons? You forced us to bring you along on this treacherous voyage? Why?”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. But he didn’t care.

  “I knew it!” He pushed out a mirthless laugh, sounding maniacal. “I knew you’d be nothing but trouble! And look at you,” he pointed to her stomach, “a disgrace!”

  Johanna wept openly. The sound of her own crying was so foreign, it scared her.

  At that moment, someone squeezed her shoulder. The hand was too large to be Kya’s. She looked up, awash with relief to see Bram.

  “Andrew.” His tone was subtle yet firm. “Respectfully, I advise you not to confront your sister in her delicate form. Her distress is unhealthy for the baby.”

  “Oh, and let me guess,” Drew spat, “you’re the father?”

  Johanna had never known Bram to be a man prone to anger, but the look on his face just then could have frightened an army of gargoyles. “I beg your pardon, my lord.” His words were chillingly stiff. “But I have done nothing apart from uphold my duties to the royal family since the day I swore into the Guard. I would never lay a hand on Johanna.” He released her shoulder. “She’s as much my sister as she is yours.”

  Johanna looked away. Somehow, he wasn’t making her feel any better.

  At the sight of Ludwig hastening in their direction, Kya broke apart from them, running into his arms. “Deh je?” she asked worriedly.

  He rubbed her back, approaching his siblings and Bram. “They’ll allow Johanna to stay until she has the baby. The rest of you, however, m-must make camp elsewhere un…til then, and take her home after the birth.”

  “The rest of you?” Drew rounded on him, an eyebrow disappearing into his hairline. “Not the rest of us?”

  Ludwig was silent.

  “Vigo?” Drew demanded.

  “I’m staying here.” Ludwig clasped his wife’s hand. “With Kya.”

  Drew blinked, incredulous. “Forever?”

  “I love her.” The space between Vigo’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And I don’t betray the ones I love.”

  Before Johanna knew what was happening, Bram was shielding her as Drew swung a punch at their brother. Kya pulled her husband out of the way. “Sonofabitch! I didn’t betray anyone! I made those maps before I…before Catja…!”

  “I told you to let it go,” growled Ludwig. Kya hung onto his arms, looking fearful that he might throw a punch of his own. “That afternoon! At the w-w-waterfall! You crossed me.” He panted. “You crossed…all of us.”

  “Who’s the double-crosser?” exploded Drew. “You will renounce your loyalty, your home, your own family, all for these—these savages?”

  It was precisely the wrong moment for Catja to appear. And she arrived just in time to hear the last part of Drew’s sentence. Her eyes clouded over, a mixture of shock, hurt and disappointment. To top it off, her lip curled down in disgust.

  “Cat….” Drew sounded broken.

  He may well have been invisible. “Come, Johanna,” Catja told her. “The widows have offered to care for you.”

  Kya’s eyes were round. “And my hos-band?” she asked.

  Catja shrugged sadly. “I don’t know, Kya. You’ll have to talk to Dag.”

  Johanna wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Beside her, Ludwig looked heavy-hearted. He glanced at her, their eyes exchanging pity.

  “You don’t seem all that surprised about me,” she observed.

  “Kya already told me.”

  “Funny.” Johanna sniffled. “Now that everyone knows, I somehow feel more alone.”

  Kya placed a hand on her shoulder as they followed Catja. “When baby here, you no be alone anymore,” she assured her.

  For once in his life, his violin provided him no solace. Play, Kya had entreated him, but Ludwig didn’t have the heart. It had been a fortnight since he’d last seen his brother, and a deep sense of loss haunted him. Sure, he could survive without Drew. But the terms on which they’d parted left an awful taste in his mouth.

  He wasn’t the only one. He sometimes caught sight of Catja wandering near the woods, looking lost. Some nights, he spied her sitting alone by the river, watching the glowing terrapins. He wished he could go to her, say something. But what could he offer in his brother’s defense? Drew had brought it upon himself. Though it was obvious by then how his brother felt about the professor, the latest in his series of blunders seemed unfixable. Ludwig wondered when, and if, the man would ever learn his lesson.

  As for Johanna, she was looking larger. Or maybe it was because she was no longer hiding it. Since she was becoming less mobile, the widows assigned her simple chores to keep her hands and mind occupied. In the distance, Ludwig watched his sister while the chief’s little daughter, Dota, and the other children tried to plait her unruly curls. When they couldn’t, they settled for decorating her hair with flowers.

  Kya stood beside him, matching his gaze. “The widows say it will be soon.” She looked serene. “She’s carrying low; the baby will come early.” A breath of wind rippled a strand of hair into her face, but she appeared not to notice.

  “You seem content,” Ludwig remarked.

  A proud beam brightened her features. “I shouldn’t say anything. I don’t want to overshadow our sister.”

  Ludwig slowly turned. “Kya?”

  She hesitated, but finally whispered, “Spirit is bringing us a child, too.”

  His mouth fell slack. “Really?”

  “Hee!” She squealed as he picked her up and spun her in a circle. “And when I tell the chief that you father one of the Oca, he’ll have to let you stay!”

  Ludwig returned her to her feet and let out a shaky laugh. Him—a father! His joy was ineffable.

  But also bittersweet.

  Failure. It tasted dry and crumbling. Felt like pieces of himself corroding, one by one, and disintegrating in the wind. It permitted him no sleep. Day after day, it hung around him like an unwelcome houseguest. Failure was the hour or more it took him to rub a spark between twigs, to build the simplest fire on his own. Even with a dozen men, they could hardly hunt for themselves. The pathetic traps they laid worked for small game, but their noisy steps through the forest frightened away anything more substantial.

  Their segregated camp was small. Drew and his guards had rigged shelters with wood and leafy branches, but it did nothing to keep out the insects or the heat. Summer was now in full gear, and Catja had been right; the humidity was barely tolerable. At the thought of her name, his stomach went hollow.

  He
stared into the ashes of his fire that had fizzled yet again. He’d lost so much, he couldn’t figure out what he still had. No parents to speak of anymore. His siblings wanted little to do with him. He’d bungled the expedition, betraying both his uncle and the Oca. And worst of all, he had alienated the only woman he’d ever….

  He got to his feet. The guards glanced up, faces coated in perspiration, but didn’t ask questions. Drew stalked into the shelter where they stored their meager rations and rummaged through one of the satchels. What a fool he was—why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He found them all, Vigo’s maps, everything they had charted on their travels, coupled with the accursed page of his own making. Resolutely, he swiped the pile and strode from his camp.

  He didn’t slow when he reached the village. He kept walking, crossing into the Oca’s borders. Children stopped playing to watch him, elbowing one another. It was devastating to return to where he’d once been accepted, but now wasn’t…where he didn’t realize he’d formed so many memories until the painfully vivid smell of smoke, rows of deerskin tents and the timbre of conversation brought it all back….

  The communal bonfire burned strong, a haze of heat warping around it. Clutching his papers resolutely, Drew headed for it. It wasn’t long before Zuri’s deep voice cracked across the way. “Trespasser! Stop!”

  Drew did not stop. People gathered to watch as Zuri chased after him.

  He halted at the great, sweltering fire. Sweat trickled down the back of Drew’s neck as he held up the maps, displaying them for all to see. And then, he pitched them into the flames.

  The Oca murmured among each other. Dag exchanged glances with Tani, the breadmaker. Drew searched, but saw no sign of his brother or sister. Meanwhile, Zuri stormed through the crowd, catching up with Drew.

  “I am not your enemy,” Drew declared. Behind him, the papers blackened and curled in the flames. Hours, weeks of his and his brother’s painstaking work crumpled into ash and smoke in mere seconds.

  Zuri addressed the crowd in Ocanese, then turned to Drew. “This prove nothing,” he pronounced. “You make copy.”

  “I’ve made no copies,” barked Drew. He pointed in the direction of his camp. “Ask my men. Search our camp.” He held out his arms. “Search me.”

  “Lord Cosmith, please stop.” His heart jerked at the familiar voice. Catja had moved to the front of the throng, but wouldn’t look at him. “You are embarrassing yourself.”

  “Yes, I’m quite the expert at that, aren’t I?”

  “Nothing can change the fact that you are no longer welcome here.”

  “Fine.” He marched up to her until their noses were almost touching. “But if you care about these people, then you will come to Jordinia with me and be their liaison.”

  Catja went rigid. “Dag will go,” she said.

  “He will not,” snapped Drew. “Your father never wanted the Oca polluted by the mainland. You’re the bridge between us all. It has to be you.”

  She still wouldn’t look at him, but at least she wasn’t turning away. He took it as a sign to continue. “Come with me and represent them,” he urged her. “Make your case and any requests to my uncle on their behalf. Only you can speak for both sides.”

  She scowled. “You’re honestly trying to bring me with you?”

  “Vigo’s bailed on me, my sister’s with child, and I can’t do this alone.” His gaze roved across her flawless, uncertain face. “I need you, Catja.”

  And he meant it. Could she not see it in his eyes, hear it in the strain of his voice? Truer words had never been uttered. He was desperate for her…in more ways than one.

  Her expression hardened. “The Oca need me.”

  “The Oca,” his voice lifted, irate, “have gotten by for thousands of years without a professor who isn’t really a professor.”

  Zuri gripped his arm, but Drew shook him off. “All right, all right. I’m going.” He wove past the gawking villagers, his heart somewhere by his soles.

  “Drew.”

  He stopped to look at her. His pulse quickened as Catja gave a tiny nod.

  “I’ll speak with the chief,” she relented.

  The sun wasn’t up yet. But Johanna was. She propped up on her elbows, observing a peculiar tightening and releasing in her belly. She reached for the jug at her bedside and drank. A few minutes later, her stomach did it again, seizing up and letting go.

  She lay back and tried to fall asleep, but her womb was cramping. She held a hand on it, noticing her stomach felt harder than usual. She didn’t realize she was breathing so heavily until it awoke one of the women on the other side of the tent.

  Nehma, a middle-aged widow, opened her eyes. At the sight of Johanna awake with a hand over her abdomen, she climbed out from her blankets. “Oe-ha,” she murmured, and the others, too, blinked awake.

  The four women knelt at Johanna’s side, feeling her forehead and stomach. Fluid trickled out between Johanna’s legs, soaking through her dress. Garo’s graying eyebrows came together.

  The widows nodded at each other. Nehma held Johanna’s cheek in her slender hand and spoke to her gently in Ocanese.

  Johanna was sweating. “Kya,” was all she could say. Her sister-in-law was learning Halvean and could translate. Pida stepped out to fetch her, while Garo readied a pile of blankets and the water jug.

  “It isn’t my time yet, is it?” She was beginning to fret. All along, she’d known this day was coming, but she still wasn’t ready. She supposed she’d never been. Not to mention, she’d heard childbirth could be the most physically painful experience of a woman’s life. Just how bad would it be? And what if she didn’t survive it?

  Nehma made a hushing noise to calm her and rolled a soft rug behind her, supporting her back. A familiar head of shoulder-length black hair ducked into the tent, and Johanna reached out for her. Kya took her hands.

  “Is the baby coming?” Johanna breathed.

  She nodded.

  “But it’s a moon early!”

  “Ssssuu.” Kya made the sound the Oca used for soothing babies. “It happen like that sometime.”

  The seizing in her stomach grew more intense as day broke, and Johanna could bear it no longer. She begged for sleep. By then, the village women surrounded the tent, keeping vigil and exchanging shifts to wait on her. She groaned with displeasure as another wave overtook her, this time seizing her whole body. The women at her side flapped their feathered fans harder, trying to cool her.

  After midday, Catja entered the tent, looking all-business. Her hair was pulled up, as usual, spectacles perched over her nose, sleeves rolled to her elbows. “How are you feeling, Johanna?” she asked.

  The young woman’s responding grunt was more animal than human.

  “As I thought,” muttered Catja, stepping inside. She got to her knees. “Forgive me, my lady, but I’ve got to….”

  Johanna closed her eyes, spreading her legs. As if she gave a fig about modesty anymore.

  “Ah,” gasped Catja. “Kya, why did you not fetch me sooner?”

  The girl looked up from the strand of Johanna’s hair she was twirling.

  “It’s all right,” Johanna panted, even though speaking cost too much effort. “I asked her not to leave me.”

  “Well, then.” Catja took a breath, while the widows descended to their knees beside her. “I suppose no one is leaving now.”

  Inside the tent, the evening was still. Outdoors was a different story as the Oca went about their night. Families conversed around fires, men noisily sharpened weapons, and someone puffed into a wooden flute. Every so often, Johanna heard the thunk of a basket of baby clothing or another gift of food being laid outside her tent. The widows monitored the offerings but permitted no one to see the new mother, insisting she rest.

  Over and again, Johanna replayed in her mind the terrifying yet exhilarating hour when
Nehma pulled out a blood-soaked, screeching form of flesh from between her legs. Catja had laughed with exhaustion, her face red, hair sticking to her neck where it had unfurled, and she’d announced, “You’ve got a girl, Johanna!”

  Kya had wiped the child’s eyes and mouth with a cloth and swaddled her before handing her to the eager mother. The widows bustled about, removing the soiled blankets and laying down clean ones.

  Presently, the babe was asleep at her breast. Johanna watched her, fixated. Though she’d never done anything more excruciating in all her days, she couldn’t sleep. She was too confounded by the fact that something so perfect had taken shape inside of her. Everything down to the teeny lines on her knuckles, the philtrum over her rosy lips, and her miniature fingernails had been formed with precision. How had she created human life?

  And she’d gotten her wish for a girl, too.

  A welcome breeze wafted in as the folds of the tent parted. “Oh,” whispered Catja. “You’re awake. Do you need anything?”

  Johanna shook her head. The villagers had brought her plenty to drink and all the food she could stomach.

  Catja trod closer. “One of the guards…from the other camp…has been inquiring after you all evening. The widows won’t let him see you. But since you’re up, I thought I’d ask….”

  Johanna straightened slightly, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby girl on her chest. “Which one?”

  “Officer Bram.”

  “Send him in,” said Johanna at once.

  The professor seemed surprised by her energy, but didn’t object. “I’ll fetch him.” All fell silent again as the woman disappeared.

  Johanna waited. A cricket sang. Nearby, another mild breeze rustled the leaves of the brush, and then all was quiet again. Her daughter slept soundly, little cheeks intermittently flexing. The young mother nestled her nose against the child’s head, inhaling. She smelled like hot water and summer grass, like wildflowers and sunshine.