by Nicole René
Namoriee gasped against the power of those words that took hold of her heart and squeezed.
“How could you have possibly known that?” Namoriee asked helplessly, breathlessly.
His thumb brushed under her eye, like he knew she wished to cry. “All I know is that you stole my eyes that day, and I never wanted them back. I just never counted on you stealing my heart, too.”
He cupped both of her cheeks, looking at her with near reverence. “All I’m asking for is a chance. I gave you two winters, Namoriee—I’m asking you for one. If nothing’s changed by then, I’ll do what you wanted from the beginning.”
“You’ll let me go?” she breathed, shocked.
His expression darkened, a muscle twitching in his jaw, but he nodded.
“I don’t believe you.”
His eyes flared. “You shouldn’t. My heart wants you more than it’s ever wanted anything else before—that makes me unpredictable. You can’t trust someone who’s unpredictable, but I want you to anyways.”
One winter.
Half the amount of time he had promised he would wait to claim her, all those nights ago. He had stayed true to his word, but now he was asking for hers. Could she give it to him?
She searched his eyes, but all she saw reflected in the orbs was determination.
“Okay,” she whispered finally. “I’ll give you—us—a chance. One winter.”
“One,” he agreed. Then, he swooped down and kissed her.
He took her tenderly that night. There, underneath the stars, he loved her body the way he wanted her to love his heart.
Namoriee sat with her knees hugged to her chest, trying to stifle her cries. The birds continued to chirp, even though the sun was slowly starting to make its retreat. The forest floor was hard and uncomfortable, but Namoriee couldn’t bring herself to move. Her legs had long since grown numb.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been hiding, probably long enough for her to get punished again, but she couldn’t go back.
Not yet.
Not until she was strong enough. A gust of wind made her shiver as it blew against her bare back and the wounds there, making them sting anew. She choked on a sob, hugging her legs tighter. A twig snapping made her hold her breath, her head turning in the direction.
“What are you doing out here?” Tyronian asked, coming into view. He had shaved. His chin and cheeks looked smooth to the touch, and his hair was just a bit past his ears now.
She hadn’t seen him around the village for weeks, and she wondered when he had gotten back from his visit to the Siraces tribe.
He seemed to expect her not to answer, and instead his eyes roved over her. She trembled, a weird feeling coming over her at his appraisal. Her hair was short and uneven, and she probably had dirt smudged on her cheek from when Samanthia and her friends had cruelly held her down and cut her hair. The attack had made her drop the bowl of healing herbs that Aggod requested, which resulted in her punishment.
She ducked down, hiding from his eyes that were glued to her. She couldn’t stand to see his pity.
She heard him move, and she tensed. The air moved, and his leather-skinned pants made a sound when he bent his knees to crouch down. She jerked when he lifted her dress the slightest bit.
“You have blood on your knees,” he informed her. “I only wish to see what ails you.” His tone was the same level one would use to calm a wild animal. Her knees were already raw when Samanthia pushed her down to the ground. The herbs she had dropped were rare, a gift from the head healer of the Asori. And so Aggod had dealt her worst punishment yet, making her kneel on grains of sand while she whipped her.
Namoriee didn’t know that something so small could deliver such pain.
She hissed when her knees were exposed, the change in warmth startling. She didn’t look at him, so she was unable to gauge his expression, but his hands twitched on her leg as if he were trying to hold himself back from grabbing her.
It was quiet for a beat, then, “The back of your dress is ripped.”
She shook her head, finally meeting his eyes when he put a hand on her shoulder, like he was going to lean her forward. She begged him with her eyes not to. He paused, and just when she thought he was going to listen to her unspoken request, he stood, moving behind her. An animalistic sound escaped his throat, and Namoriee suddenly found him in front of her again, his blue eyes like liquid fired.
“Who did this to you?” he said, and she could hear the barely veiled wrath in his tone.
She couldn’t answer him, afraid for Aggod as well as herself. She’d never had to speak to him before. She had stopped speaking to people a long time ago.
She couldn’t begin to understand why, but the thought of making him upset bothered her. After all, he was one of the few who was nice to her, although they hadn’t had many interactions besides when he came to Aggod for something or other.
She flinched back from him when he reached out as if to touch her. He dropped his hand but not his gaze. It was so heavy, she felt unable to look away.
“I don’t want to command you to answer me,” he said, his tone firm yet pleading. “But I will.”
Please, she thought, please don’t make me. I can’t handle your disgust.
“Namoriee,” he sighed.
He was going to order her, she could tell. Closing her eyes tightly so that it would shield her from his reaction, she spoke.
“I d-dropped the herbs,” she whispered, crying anew in embarrassment. “Aggod was angry. I d-d-deserved to b-be punished.”
He inhaled sharply. “How did she do it?”
Namoriee shook her head. She didn’t want to tell him.
“Namoriee,” he warned.
“Kn-kneeling on s-s-sand, and f-f-five lashes.” It was a small mercy—usually she did anywhere between ten and fifteen.
His voice was infinitely darker when he asked, “And how often has she done this?”
That was a question that she couldn’t answer accurately; she’d lost count of how many times she’d received lashes as punishment, but the sand was the first, and she prayed it would be the last. She relayed all this to him, and she couldn’t help but cry when she told him how the other girls had held her down and cut her hair. They told her that it was dull and lifeless—like her—and needed to be gotten rid of. Namoriee had always been proud of her hair.
It was the only thing she liked about herself.
Somehow, she could bear his touch when he gathered her in his arms. The way he cradled her, so gently, made her feel safe, and she greedily ate up his acceptance. Tomorrow she would feel ashamed of her weakness for allowing him to witness her waste her tears against his chest.
But for right now, she simply let herself be comforted by him.
He left her only long enough to fetch one of his cloaks, and she was grateful that he had covered her with it before he carried her to his hut so that he could help her clean her scrapes and cuts. She fell asleep in his bed while he slept on the floor.
The next day, Aggod officially made Namoriee her apprentice, and her punishments ceased. Almost three winters later, she was informed by her chief that she would be his wife’s handmaiden, whom he would marry the next summer.
Namoriee wasn’t sure what woke her, but she blinked, trying to clear the grogginess out of her vision. It was still dark out, but the start of a glowing light across the sky assured her that dawn was approaching. The fire was nothing but a few smoldering embers now, some still carrying the red glow of heat. Her back felt warm, the hard body pressed tight against it a barrier to the chill. Tyronian was holding her from behind, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist while the other was beneath her, providing a pillow of muscled flesh.
She tilted her head slightly, not wanting to wake him. He was pressed so close to her that his nose was buried in her hair, and she could feel his even breaths. His sword was just a few inches from his hand, easily accessible should the need arise.
A shadow of movement caug
ht her eye, so she turned to look, and gasped. Floating eyes surrounded by darkness stared straight at her.
“Don’t move,” Tyronian whispered into her ear, his voice barely above a breath. She hadn’t known that he was awake. A low growl emerged from the beast’s throat as it took a step towards them. She stiffened, terror clogging her throat. Tyronian squeezed around her middle, a move meant to comfort, but it didn’t.
“Calm down,” he whispered to her.
She tried, she really did, but she couldn’t. Her breathing started to become erratic, try as she might to calm her racing heart. Panic and fear took hold.
She knew that leopards and lions roamed their lands; there were often hunting parties for them. They had attacked the cattle and goats a few times, but never had she seen one up close and alive. Another growl penetrated the air, and a paw became visible as it took another threatening step towards them. The beast’s eyes kept flashing from them to beyond their heads, and Namoriee felt sudden fear for Tyronian’s horse, who was trapped. What the beast considered its meal.
Suddenly, it crouched, lowering itself down to the ground. She felt Tyronian tense, his muscles coiling as he prepared himself. From her periphery, she saw that he now had his sword clutched in his hand.
It happened quickly.
With a ferocious and terrifying growl, the cat leaped, claws out and stretched towards them. Namoriee screamed, and just as quickly, Tyronian rolled them backwards, dragging Namoriee up and over him. She stared, horrified, as the cat landed precisely where their heads would have been. Tyronian rolled to his feet quickly, and Namoriee found herself launched across the grass, landing hard on her back.
She watched, wide-eyed and terrified as the hunter and prey circled each other. The creature’s spotted tail whipped back and forth in agitation as it faced Tyronian. She was helpless but to watch when the cat swiped its mighty paw towards Tyronian’s stomach. Then it lunged forward, claws trying to find purchase in his abdomen. Another angry snarl escaped the beast, and Tyronian matched it with one of his own.
“Tyronian!” Namoriee screamed in horror when the beast lunged at him again, this time knocking him down on his back. Fear paralyzed her as the leopard tried to bite Tyronian, going for his jugular.
A blur of fur, blond hair, and tanned skin mixed together in a clash of color. Tyronian cried out in pain, and she screamed when blood went flying.
She heard, as if distant, the thundering of hooves as Jidu stomped angrily behind them, distraught by his master’s cry. It served as a distraction, for the leopard looked towards him.
A horrible screeching sound split the air and echoed in the darkness. It was a sound that Namoriee knew she would never forget. Another wail sounded, slow, pained, and almost . . . sad. The leopard fell moments later, covering Tyronian with his body.
Nothing.
There was not a sound after that, and Namoriee thought she would choke from her fear. Her heart was beating a rapid crescendo, her breaths heaving.
“T-T-Tyronian?” Namoriee whimpered, shaking. Jidu let out a distressed whinny, pacing anxiously from the tree his halter was tied- up to.
The cat moved, its shoulders twitching, and Namoriee shot to her feet and backed up.
Had Tyronian not survived? Had the cat killed him? Her heart screamed at that idea, tears prickling the back of her eyes.
A low groan came from underneath the cat, and Namoriee practically fell in relief at the noise. She rushed over to him, helping him push the carcass off him.
She fell to her knees with tears of relief but paled when she saw his bloody arm. He followed her gaze.
“The little bastard got lucky.” He grimaced as he sat up, using only his abdominal muscles to lift his back from the ground.
“We need to go b-b-back to the tribe. Aggod, she—”
“Shh,” he cooed softly, placing a single, non-bloodied finger over her lips. She was completely rattled, and she knew she must look a fright from the way Tyronian was gazing at her. He was the one injured, and here he was, trying to comfort her. How much more pathetic could she be?
Weak, as always, her mind screamed.
“It’s merely a flesh wound. No need to travel back for sutures that I can perform myself.”
Another troubled sound came from behind them, and Namoriee quickly went to Jidu to release him. He came to Tyronian immediately, snuffling along his hairline to ensure that his master was okay. Tyronian spent a few minutes petting Jidu, and Namoriee took that time to heat up some water and rummage through their pack until she found the supplies she needed. Tyronian gave Jidu one last affectionate pat before he sent him on his way, looking up at Namoriee when she crouched in front of him.
“Your w-w-wounds need t-to be cleansed,” she said, proffering him the heated cup of water.
She watched as the water mixed with his blood, running a trail down the corded muscles in his arm and revealing the deep grooves embedded in his skin from the cat’s claws. He handed the cup back to her, and she traded it out with the bottle of whiskey that she found and handed it to him. He paused when he saw it, and she rolled her eyes when he lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a few pulls before pouring it over his wound.
He didn’t flinch, though she knew the alcohol must’ve stung.
Once he was done drying and wiping off the blood, Namoriee tilted, reaching around behind her and carefully taking the needle she had rested against the fire to sterilize it. She handed it to Tyronian, who quickly strung the thin twine through.
“I c-c-can help.”
He waved her off. “I like to inflict pain on myself. According to Xavier, it makes you better at sex.” He winked at her, and she couldn’t help but laugh.
He began to stitch himself with practiced moves, his hands as steady as her own would have been. It was silent between them, Tyronian focusing on sewing his wound up, and Namoriee watching, in slight awe at how effortless it was for him. She had administrated many stitches, but she couldn’t imagine giving them to herself. It was a skill that Tyronian had no doubt honed from the many battles he fought.
He looked up at her after he had finished tying off the sutures, cutting the excess string off. He grinned at the worried look that she knew she still wore.
“I’m fine, Namoriee. But it warms my heart to know you’re so concerned. Perhaps I should find another cat to wrestle with, if this is the result,” he joked.
“You could have died,” Namoriee said softly, still highly emotional. “That isn’t funny.”
What would become of her should he die?
His expression smoothed out into a more serious one, and Namoriee felt something pang in her chest at the slightly haunted look that entered his eyes. He reached between them, trailing a knuckle down her cheek.
“There have been many times in my life that I have been close to death. Though times are peaceful now, I have no doubt that there will be more. As my wife, you need to harden your heart to that impending future. But, when the day I meet the gods comes, you will be taken care of. You have my word.”
It was as if he had reached inside of her and grasped one of her fears that she had buried deep. She did not want this marriage; she didn’t appreciate having her free will taken from her, but the thought of waking up to behold the morrow knowing that she would never see his smiling face again made her heart ache and swirl with all kinds of emotions inside of her.
But, he was right.
Whether she liked it or not, his lifestyle ensured that the breath in his lungs wasn’t promised, and that sooner, rather than later, his death would come. He was a warrior, and warriors rarely lived out their days with white hair and wrinkled skin. It was one of the reasons, she knew deep down, that made her so unwilling to marry him.
Being a warrior’s wife often meant being doomed to be a widow. How would she be able to live if he were killed?
Day four into their journey, Namoriee was starting to get an idea of where they were going. The landscape changed from forest and mountain
s to hills and tall grass. There was more of a breeze, and the air felt crisper. They hadn’t been riding hard; instead, Tyronian seemed to like taking his time, content to hold her tight to his chest and let Jidu set his own pace.
She started to hear weird sounds, like rushing water and the squawking of a bird she had never heard before. It was nearing twilight, and when they crested the final incline, Namoriee saw the most breathtaking sight.
“Wow,” she breathed, mesmerized.
They were standing on a cliff that overlooked the vast ocean. The sea reflected the sleepy sun, whose last rays lit up the sky in brilliant oranges and shocking pinks so that the water sparkled beautifully. It was like a goddess’s smile.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tyronian said from behind her, his voice wistful and content. “Leawyn was spoiled, having this view every day.”
Namoriee snapped her head towards him. “We’re in the Rhoxolani?” she asked, stunned.
Tyronian nodded, his expression revealing sadness but also humor at her disbelief. “You mustn’t tell Leawyn, but Xavier has been working hard to restore her village. He plans to make it another Izayges settlement.” He looked farther right, and for the first time, Namoriee noticed the outlines of buildings atop the mightiest cliff.
“It’s one of the reasons I’m here. Xavier wanted an update.” He glanced back down at her, an endearing grin on his face. “I figured I’d show you the ocean. You’ve never seen it before, right?”
Namoriee shook her head, gazing back at the amazing sight. “No,” she said softly, still in awe at the vast beauty.
“Never.”
It was a sight that she would never forget.
“The stables are over there,” Tyronian said, nudging his chin straight ahead to a tall brown building once they made it into the village.
It was one of the first things they’d built. The structure housed five stalls on each side, and there was a large fenced-in barrier so that the horses could go outside but also find shelter as they pleased. The stables were to house only the horses of esteemed guests, while the divided fifty acres of fenced-in fields would house the herd.
