by C. K. Brooke
After a time, a large shadow moved outside. Her heart gave a thump at the low voice speaking to Catja. Johanna couldn’t suppress her grin when Bram Visigoth ducked inside, carrying a small, dimly lit jar to light the shelter for his visit.
“I know men aren’t allowed in here,” he said, lips perked in an apologetic smile. “But I’ve seen my share of birthing rooms.”
Johanna grinned up at him. “Have you?”
“My mother made me help her on a few occasions.” He knelt at her side. “It was ghastly.”
At the sound of his voice, the baby’s eyes squinted open and wandered, searching for him. “Oh, Bram, look,” Johanna whispered. “She knows your voice.”
The baby’s eyes met his, and the man let out a soft chuckle. “Well, I’m flattered.” He held out a colossal hand, and she clutched onto one of his massive fingers. She could hardly wrap her tiny grip around it. Johanna giggled.
The baby didn’t let go. Bram didn’t mind, not even when she closed her toothless mouth over his finger.
“Oh.” Blushing, Johanna pried her mouth open. “I just fed her before she fell asleep, but I suppose she’s getting hungry again.”
“Does she have a name?”
Johanna chewed her lip. “I know it’s awful of me, but I haven’t been able to think of one yet.” She gave the bundle a gentle jiggle, stroking her button nose. “What could be worthy of her? She’s so pretty.”
“Like a little flower.” Bram admired her.
Johanna looked up. “That’s exactly it. Her skin feels like petals, and her lips remind me of roses.”
“What’s the Ocanese word for ‘flower’?” Bram wondered.
Johanna thought back to the children who’d woven sprigs into her hair when her curls proved too untamable for them to plait. “Ayla,” she recalled. She returned her focus to the baby’s blue-gray eyes. “Ayla,” she repeated, with certainty. “It’s lovely.”
“Like her.” Bram gave the child’s blankets a ginger pat and returned to his feet. He couldn’t stand to his full height in the tent. “When we return to Jordinia,” his violet gaze rested on the pair of them, “I can take you to my mother, if you’d like. She can help both of you.”
Johanna nodded, although she still dreaded the thought of home. She wished she could stay and raise her daughter among the Oca. It would be so much easier than going back.
But cowardice wasn’t an option. She belonged in Jordinia. And she couldn’t hide from her family forever.
“Bram,” she said, just before he left.
He regarded her.
“Thank you…for everything. For coming tonight. It means the world to have a friend like you.”
He smiled. Johanna watched him go, wishing she hadn’t had to lie. In truth, she yearned for far more than his friendship.
“…and lastly,” Catja held up the tin, “be sure to drop one of these into the communal water every time the jugs are refilled.”
Ludwig examined the little container.
“Well.” She glanced around, ensuring she hadn’t forgotten anything. “I think that’s it. Do you have any questions?”
He shook his head.
She exhaled, already missing her deerskin walls, even though she had yet to depart them.
“They’re about ready to go,” Ludwig reminded her kindly. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of things until you return. Or, even if….” he cleared his throat, “even if you don’t.”
Catja screwed up her brow. Why would he say that? “Of course I’ll return.” She ran a hand along the surface of her desk, bidding it a temporary goodbye.
She had already embraced her Oca family, promising a prompt reunion. Just outside the village borders, the Jordinians waited on horseback. Konón, the horse master, would accompany them east and return the steeds, once the riders had found the port. Despite their betrayal, the Oca were still being generous to the mainlanders.
Ludwig followed Catja to the procession. The one-week-old baby, Ayla, fussed while a sleep-deprived Johanna tried to placate her.
“Joni.” Ludwig placed a hand on his sister’s arm. Catja tried to give them privacy, but couldn’t help overhearing. “If you can’t do this, Kya and I are happy to keep Ayla as our own. You can go home and resume your life. No one need ever know what happened out here.”
Johanna clutched the infant as though he would steal her. “But I could never part with her.” Her eyes were wide.
Ludwig bent his head and gave his niece a kiss. “Goodbye then, Ayla.” He met his sister’s eyes. “And good luck, Johanna.” She kissed him on the cheek and said something in his ear that Catja couldn’t hear. Her brother grinned.
In his place, the guards came forth to help the new mother and her child onto the docile mare. Catja went to the back of the line and mounted her own steed. Drew’s voice rang out in front, but she ignored it. Just because she’d agreed to go with him didn’t mean she had to listen to him.
The Oca watched from the village, the children innocently thumbing their hearts at them as the horses raised their hooves. Catja returned the gesture.
A soft hiss issued overhead as the wind blew through the treetops. She looked up, watching the leaves sway. “Well, Father,” she whispered, “goodbye for now.”
No one was tracking time, distance. They followed the sun ever east, although the longer they journeyed, the less certain they became that the coast would materialize.
Inland, the isle transformed into endless golden fields. Upon first sight, they were rather marvelous to behold. But, after days of naught but trudging their horses through the high yellow grasses, Drew fantasized about lighting a torch to it all, just to see some diversity in the landscape.
Dusty, tired and silent one evening, they arrived at the silver shores of the Ekianic Ocean. To call the port a ‘town’ would be an egregious overstatement. A ghost town, maybe, but it appeared even the ghosts had neglected it. There was nothing to speak of but an old dock and some abandoned structures that someone had half-heartedly attempted to erect, yet never maintained since.
Drew heard Catja take in a breath. He watched her eyes grow misty with apparent recognition as she surveyed the gray ocean stretching beyond. “This is where we first arrived,” she said to no one in particular. “My father and me. It’s even lonelier than I recall.”
It was three days until so much as the shape of a ship appeared on the horizon. Drew was wandering the shore by himself when it docked at the stopover, a rusty old thing from Augland, in need of minor repairs before continuing its voyage south. Drew approached the crew with all the money he carried.
The Auglishmen fetched their captain, who in turn appraised the Jordinian guards, seeming to apprehend the uniforms most still wore. When Drew introduced himself, the captain bowed profusely, and would not accept payment.
Nights were long, and the quarters cramped. Drew had never realized how much babies cried. The latest hours blended into the earliest as he drifted, bleary, to his sister’s cabin to try to help pacify his infant niece. Some nights the child accepted him. Other nights, she only squalled harder until Catja shooed him out.
By day, the guards assisted the sailors on deck, their faces sunburnt, garments fraying. Drew stood at the rail, overcome by emptiness. Those men would never forget the entire misadventure, his incompetence. History would recall him as a laughingstock, a buffoon. If history would even recall him at all.
“If you’re contemplating jumping,” someone said behind him, “it would be my civic duty to ask you not to.”
He turned, surprised to see Catja joining him. She folded her arms over the railing at his side, her expression leagues away. She didn’t seem to notice him watching her as she peered out to the breathing ocean.
“I’ve never been so apprehensive,” she admitted. “Not even during blizzards on the island. Not even the time a bear invaded the village.”
“Oh?” He was grateful she was speaking to him again. “And what’s got you in a knot?”
“Your country. Your family.” Her spectacles reflected the sun-dappled waters. “What if they don’t listen to me?”
“They have to listen to you. You’ll give them no choice.”
She looked up. It appeared she was assessing whether his statement contained an insult. But truly, he meant no offense. “When you speak,” he tried to explain, “people want to listen. I once believed I had that quality, but….” He shook his head. “I’m not like you.”
“How do you mean? You’ve got the gift of gab.”
“Yeah, and it’s just gab. You, on the other hand, speak to a higher cause.” He swallowed. “And anyway, it’s not a gift. It’s just the way I’ve had to be, if I ever wanted anyone’s notice at all.”
He’d said too much. It was excruciating to admit those thoughts to himself, let alone to the woman standing next to him. And yet, now that he’d begun, he was somehow finding it rather difficult to stop.
“All my life, I’ve had to work twice as hard to get half the attention of my siblings. I’m the fourth of five brothers, you know? By the time I came along, the whole country was underwhelmed by yet another boy.”
He couldn’t ebb the outpour. “How was I supposed to compete with them? Especially when they each turned out to be good-looking or brave or ridiculously talented. And then, there’s me.” His mouth tightened. “And I’m none of those things.”
Catja looked like she wanted to interrupt. He waited, but she didn’t.
“Anyhow, it is what it is.” He knocked his elbow against the rail. “I’m the ugly duckling. The mess-up. The underachiever. Sheer pity is why my uncle sent me up here—I’ve known it all along. He thought I could never accomplish anything on my own without placing an opportunity directly into my hands. And yet, I somehow managed to botch even this.”
“Stop,” she finally cut in. “What the emperor sent you to do was an enormous undertaking. I don’t know him, obviously, but I’d be willing to wager he never would’ve appointed someone he had such little faith in.”
“Perhaps no one ought to have faith in me,” Drew muttered.
She shut her eyes. “I hate the way you’re talking right now. It’s untrue, every word.”
“Then tell me what’s true, Catja,” he demanded. “You always have the answers for everything.”
“Is that sarcasm?” Her eyebrows lifted. “Or just your backhanded way of calling me a know-it-all?”
He raked a hand through his salt-stuck hair, at his wit’s end. “Cor, I can’t even give you a bloody compliment without you misconstruing it as a slight! You’re intelligent, and I’m a fool! That’s all I’m trying to say!”
She glanced down. “I’m sorry.”
She stepped back from the rail and retreated. Drew groaned into his hands, sick with himself. What had he done? Was it possible the woman could think even less of him? Catja was the last person on earth he wanted knowing about his innermost insecurities. And yet, he’d gone and blabbed them all to her, the one person whose esteem he coveted most.
She would never care for him again. And how could she? It wasn’t as though he deserved otherwise.
They arrived at Greygørn’s port on a windy afternoon. To Johanna, it was a sleepy blur of soldiers and sailors and handshakes, of deep voices murmuring over Ayla’s needy squeals, and Catja’s steady hand guiding her down the ramp to the busy quay.
“Soon, my love,” Johanna assured her hiccupping daughter. “I’ll feed you again, once we’ve boarded the locomotive.”
At the station, the ticket master recognized Johanna and her brother, disheveled though they must have appeared, especially Johanna in her soiled shirtwaist and skirts, the only mainland clothing in her possession to wear home. The master summoned the conductor, who stumbled over himself to accommodate the royals. With every step, she felt like she was sleepwalking. Ayla needed constant feeding and care. The young woman had never lost so much sleep in her life.
She lay on her padded bench for the duration of the journey by train, concealed by privacy curtains as she tended her daughter. Catja relieved her after yet another feeding to grant her a needed moment of recovery.
“All things considered,” said the professor, patting Ayla’s back to burp her, “I’ll bet you’re looking forward to a staff of nursemaids assisting you with all of this.”
The idea made Johanna queasy. “I don’t know. I still haven’t figured out how I’m going to tell everyone she’s mine. What if they don’t let me keep her?”
On the third day, the locomotive rolled into the capital during a thunderstorm. Rain pelted the train car as her party waited for the stewards to fetch carriages. Ayla snoozed in her arms, cheeks rosy, fuzzy brown hair peeking beneath her cap.
The guards had been silent for much of the journey home, in contrast to their revelry on the voyage out. Each was looking worse for wear. Even Bram appeared to have seen better days when he approached her, his hair limp, voice subdued with apparent fatigue.
“If you aren’t ready to return to the palace,” he offered quietly, “I can take you to my mother first. Only say the word.”
Johanna glanced at the other guards and Andrew. They knew the truth. She couldn’t keep Ayla secret from the court for long. Yet, she was so worn, she didn’t think she could handle the prospect of marching into the palace within the hour, the babe in her arms, and an explanation ready on her tongue. She needed her wits about her. And all she could think of was sleep.
She looked up at Bram. “How far is your mother?”
The tall brick house stood in its own yard. A hatted woman was bent over in a colorful garden of autumn blooms, pulling weeds. Aside from a white sign at the roadside, reading LADIES’ SANCTUARY, the structure was rather nondescript. It felt more like a home where people stayed and lived, than a shelter where women came and went.
Johanna carefully descended the carriage, Ayla in her arms. The gardener kept working as Bram escorted her up the walkway. Without knocking, he opened the front door and saw Johanna through before following her inside.
Johanna’s eyes slid from the polished stairwell to an urn containing a plant in the hallway. The wood-paneled floors shone clean. She could smell fresh linens and the aroma of something simmering on a stove. Echoes of what sounded like someone chopping vegetables on a woodblock resounded from the kitchen.
Bram cleared his throat. “Hello? Anyone home?”
Ayla’s eyes wandered, seeking his voice, and Johanna melted. The child was already so accustomed to him.
Footsteps resounded. A slim, older woman emerged around the corner, her violet hair streaked with gray and tied neatly back. She stopped short. “Bram?” She blinked. “Back so soon?”
The guard embraced his mother, towering over her. Lady Selu wrapped her arms around him, still holding a dish towel in hand.
He stepped back, and his mother regarded Johanna and the babe. “My lady.” Her voice was velvet, her oblong eyes curious. “Do follow me.”
They passed a parlor where a pair of young women sipped tea and another stitched. They smiled up at Bram as he passed, and Johanna stifled a twinge of annoyance. She’d never even thought to ask him if there was a girl in his life. Maybe he courted the ladies his mother helped recover.
Potted plants and cream floral drapes adorned a private sitting room at the end of the hall. There was a comfortable-looking chaise lounge by a window, and Lady Selu entreated Johanna to sit. The young woman lowered herself just as Ayla was starting to fuss again. “I hope no one minds,” she apologized, “but….”
Bram turned to face his mother, and Johanna lifted the baby to her breast.
Lady Selu’s mouth straightened as the child latched on to suckle. She averted her eyes. “I’d assumed one of you had found the baby and hoped to bring
her to me. But now, I’m beginning to think differently.”
“Mother, we need your help,” Bram entreated her.
Lady Selu’s gaze narrowed at her son. “Whose child is it?”
Johanna cradled Ayla’s head as she nursed her, her stomach in knots. “She is mine.”
“I told Johanna she could come to you,” said Bram.
His mother’s expression turned grave. She went to the glass-paned sitting room door and closed it. “Abram, this is different.”
“How so?” He frowned. “You’ve helped noblewomen save face in the past.”
“Yes, but she is royalty. If I conceal this from the emperor, it is treason.”
“And what’s he going to do, execute you? You and Father have been his closest friends for decades!”
“All the more reason I cannot betray His Majesty.”
Johanna lowered her eyes, studying Ayla. An hour back in Pierma, and already she was causing conflict. She felt sorry for having invaded Lady Selu’s sanctuary and interrupting the otherwise peaceful atmosphere there.
“What is your role in this anyway, Bram?” The woman hiked a violet eyebrow, identical to her son’s. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“The baby is not mine,” he calmly maintained, and Johanna felt her neck sear. “I only saw a lady in need, and did what I imagined my mother would do.”
At this challenge, Lady Selu’s features softened. She returned her focus to Johanna, regret in her eyes. “My dear,” her tone was gentler, “please do not think I don’t wish to help you. Of course, you are welcome here. But your uncle must be informed.”
Bram shook his head. “Must he?”
“It’s all right, Bram.” Ayla released her, and Johanna adjusted the child, switching her to the other side. “I plan to take her home to Rhys with me. Everyone must find out eventually.”
“Just give her some time,” the guard besought his mother. “It’s been…well, it’s been an eventful journey. For all of us.” He seemed to remember himself. He straightened, guardsman posture taking over. “I can’t stay. I must report back to duty.”
