by Nicole René
“She’s not coming,” Tyronian said from behind them before she could reply. They hadn’t heard him come in. Namoriee’s shoulders sagged in relief as she rose to her feet. But her relief was short lived when she saw the blank expression on Tyronian’s face.
“Why not?” Xavier demanded.
“Because she’s dead.”
Namoriee staggered back, shock and pain slicing at her heart. Xavier bit out a curse. He tried to calm Leawyn, who started to become hysterical at the news.
“B-but she can’t be dead!” Namoriee sputtered, watching him walk up. “We need her. She’s the healer!”
His hands felt overwhelmingly heavy when they cupped the nape of her neck. His solemn gaze pinned her in place.
“You’re the healer now, Namoriee.”
Another pained shout shattered the otherwise quiet early morning. Tyronian watched Xavier pace in front of him, his motions quick and agitated. It had been hours since Namoriee had kicked the men out of the room. It had taken Leawyn’s readiness to begin giving birth for her to get over the shock of Aggod’s death and her newly appointed role as head healer in the village. Xavier had long since grown quiet, his eyes shooting to the door of his hut every so often as he awaited the arrival of his son or daughter. But what had first started as excitement quickly became fear once the midafternoon sun sank down and the moon made way for the rising sun.
Tyronian was exhausted, but he vowed to not leave his cousin’s side until the deed was done.
“Xavier,” he said tiredly. “You’ve dented the earth enough with your overweight-self. Sit down.”
His joke and request went ignored.
“It shouldn’t take this long,” Xavier muttered. “Xillik did not take this long.”
“Each child is different. You have nothing to fear. Namoriee—”
“Namoriee is no healer!” Xavier snapped, pausing only long enough to shoot him a glare. “Her presence is no reassurance to me.”
“You know as well as I do that’s not true. She’s been Aggod’s pupil for years. Or have you forgotten all the times she helped heal Leawyn?” It was below the belt, throwing in Xavier’s face how many times Leawyn had needed a healer early into their marriage, but he didn’t care.
Leawyn’s choked scream sounded, making Xavier whip his attention back to his hut. It was silent for a moment before the high-pitched cry of a baby broke it.
“See!” Tyronian laughed, getting to his feet. “Told you she was in good hands.” Xavier didn’t even appear to hear him; he was already walking to his door. Chuckling, Tyronian followed.
“You have another son,” Leawyn told Xavier tearfully. She looked weak and exhausted, covered in sweat and blood, but still beautiful. He gave them a moment alone as he went to Namoriee.
“You did well,” he said once he was looking down at her. She looked haggard; her hair was tied up and disheveled, she had bags under her eyes, and her dress was awash with blood and other fluid.
“I feel as if I could sleep for days.”
He grinned at that. “I imagine that Leawyn feels the same way. As will you when we have children.”
His brow furrowed when her expression shifted, as if his words displeased her.
“Namoriee!”
They glanced over, noticing the pained expression on Leawyn’s face and the thinly veiled panic on Xavier’s. Namoriee rushed over to them.
“It is probably her afterbirth,” Namoriee reassured, getting down to her knees and lifting the blanket covering Leawyn’s spread legs to peer inside. She gasped.
“What?” Various panicked voices asked her.
“It is another babe!”
Well, that was unexpected.
Namoriee was struggling to keep her eyes open. Leawyn’s second child came into this world with difficulty, having been in the wrong position at first. Namoriee had to physically turn the baby around. It was grueling and terrifying, but the moment she caught the child, she couldn’t help but weep with Leawyn in relief.
Two boys, Rhoxon and Ryder.
She couldn’t believe it.
It was the wee hours into the morning once Namoriee could go home, and it was a struggle to keep both eyes open. She glanced longingly at her bed, but she was still covered in filth from childbirth, and she knew she needed to bathe before she could claim sleep. She sighed.
At least she had the foresight to have a bath drawn for herself and Leawyn. She checked to see if the water was still hot, only mildly disappointed to feel that it was merely a few degrees above lukewarm.
“Let me,” he commanded gruffly from behind her, starling her. She glanced over her shoulder, following Tyronian with her eyes while he moved until he was standing in front of her. Namoriee swallowed uncertainly, but nonetheless dropped her hands, watching as he undressed her. His fingers removing the buttons of her filthy dress with deft fingers. She shivered when he traced a finger over her nipple once it was exposed, causing it to bead.
“I can’t,” she said helplessly. She couldn’t even imagine having sex at this moment.
“I know,” he replied, stroking her one more time before continuing in his task. She helped him push her dress off her by shrugging her shoulders, using his proffered hand when she stepped out from the pooled fabric.
“Turn around,” he dictated softly. She shivered, getting a chill when his thumb stroked up the nape of her neck before he untied the leather strip she had used to hold her long hair up. The locks cascaded down her back a moment later.
She gasped when he swept her off her feet, abruptly. She looped her arms around his neck to balance herself while he gently lowered her down into the water.
It was silent between them, Namoriee too tired to argue with him as he proceeded to bathe her. He seemed to be fond of treating her in almost a childlike fashion, feeding her when they ate meals together, helping her dress and undress, and now, bathing her.
He treated her like the most delicate of flowers, ensuring that the wind didn’t knock her fragile petals form the calyx.
She sighed, enjoying his gentle administrations as he wiped her body with the utmost care with the rag soaked with oils, making sure he didn’t miss a single stretch of skin. She followed his whispered direction to lean her head back so that he could wash her hair.
She smiled slightly at how the darkness behind her closed eyes became even more so. He had covered her eyes with his hand to make sure the oily water didn’t touch them.
He finished with her hair, and it didn’t take long for her to find herself wrapped up in a blanket that he had placed near the fire so that it would be warm when it touched her.
Her feet didn’t touch the ground once after she was dry, Tyronian preferring to carry her to the bed instead. He quickly shed out of his clothes before he joined her, tugging her into his arms until her back was resting against his front. It was silent inside of their hut except for their quiet breathing, the crackling fire, and the early-rising birds that had started to sing their praise to the sun. She was moments away from sleep when he spoke quietly in her ear.
“I have two more cousins, and it brings me joy that my wife helped deliver them.”
He paused, and Namoriee felt her heart race. It was a heavy pause, silent yet loud with vehemence in the delivery of the words that she knew were going to be important in some way.
“It is my wish—my hope—that I will be blessed by the gods for my wife to deliver her own.”
They had never spoken about children, but she knew it was what he wanted, and what was expected of her. She was the vessel in which his heirs could grow, and it was her duty to provide him such. They’d been married for months now, the season that she must make her decision fast approaching. She was surprised that he had waited this long to even have this conversation.
But even so, his statement was terrifying. Though he had simply said his aspiration, she heard the deep longing in his masculine tone.
She heard the conviction.
He had no doubt that
she would bear his children, but what if she didn’t want that? Did she have a choice?
No, she decided, feeling Tyronian slide his hand down to rest on her stomach.
“You’d be so beautiful,” he whispered.
She didn’t think she had one at all. But despite that . . . the thought of having her own child, of having their child, exacted a strange longing.
“You honor the gods, and they shall honor you,” she told him. It wasn’t a yes, but it was a start.
That night, she dreamed of little bronze-skinned children with blond hair calling her name as they ran from her towards the setting sun, laughing.
It was a surprisingly hot day, one of the few that remained as the days and nights had begun to chill with the promise of the colder season. The hustle and bustle of everyone getting ready for the celebration gave Namoriee déjà vu.
It was scarily like the night Tyronian had first publicly laid claim to her when he punched Cantos in the jaw. But unlike last time, Namoriee didn’t try to argue over her serving tonight. She knew that her serving days were over indefinitely.
Unless, of course, it was to serve her husband, Namoriee thought to herself wryly.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Leawyn said from beside her. Namoriee looked over at her, effectively breaking her from her thoughts. Leawyn was perched on a chair, barking orders as she supervised the ladies getting all the tables ready for tonight’s feast. The twins were sleeping soundly in the wicker baskets on the table beside her, despite the level of volume surrounding them.
“What is?” she asked, placing the last plate in her hands on the table.
“That the Siraces would visit on the same night that we celebrate Castic becoming a warrior.”
Namoriee’s hunch about Castic was right; he had been chosen to complete his Prova Sinavi early. She didn’t know who was more worried for him, Leawyn or Garnette. They had both taken the news hard, but he had successfully returned to the Izayges yesterday, victorious. It had taken him only five days to catch his prisoner of war that the Izayges had kept and let loose. He hadn’t even flinched when Xavier ordered Castic to execute him. They were having a feast in his honor, celebrating his ascent to manhood and his path as an official Izayges warrior.
“The gods have funny timing, do they not?”
“Yes,” Namoriee said, looking in the direction that Xavier and the Siraces warriors had gone off to. “It appears they do.” She looked back to Leawyn. “Why do you think they’re here?”
“I don’t know,” Leawyn shrugged. “But whatever it is, I don’t think it’s anything good.” She nudged her chin up ahead. Namoriee followed her gaze until she set her sight on Tyronian, a brooding look on his face as he strode down the hill.
“Go to him,” Leawyn urged, a worried frown on her face. “He doesn’t look happy.”
Namoriee agreed with her, Tyronian looked upset. With a quick “I’ll be back,” Namoriee left Leawyn to catch up with her husband. She dodged the busy crowd as she went, which slowed her down and annoyed her.
“Tyronian!” she called out to him, going up on her tiptoes to see over the shoulders of the person in front of her, but he didn’t hear her. He turned left, leaving her line of sight.
She muttered her apologies when her shoulder bumped into the person she was trying to pass but didn’t slow her pace. Once she was finally away from the bulk of the crowd, she picked up speed. He was probably heading to their hut. She hurried her way over, and her shoulders sagged in relief when she caught sight of him once she crested the corner.
Her mouth opened to call out to him, and then she caught sight of the person he was talking to.
She slowed, watching as the woman frowned sadly, touching his forearm sympathetically.
It was that woman from Rhoxolani.
She dropped her hand, and Namoriee breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t touch him again. It was short lived, however, since Tyronian said something that had her long hair flowing down her back as she tipped her head back in laughter. Tyronian was grinning down at her, and Namoriee felt a sharp pain in her chest when he tipped her chin, looking at her seriously. His mouth moved, telling her something that made her face gentle. When he bent his frame, leaning down to her—Namoriee looked away, her heart pounding. She took a deep breath before she ventured to look back at them, but when she did, Tyronian was gone, and the woman was looking straight at her, a self-satisfied smirk on her lips. She made a point to wipe her bottom lip before she too walked off.
Numbly, Namoriee turned around and made her way back to Leawyn, her mind reeling.
The nagging sensation that she was missing something was back, and it made her on edge. Something about the way they spoke with each other seemed intimate, like they were familiar with each other more than what was considered friendly.
She didn’t know when she came here, or why, but Namoriee knew one thing.
She didn’t like her being here. Not one bit.
Kisias was sick.
Tyronian was still reeling from the news that Xavier and the Siraces messengers shared with him when they called an audience.
Their chief was sick, and they didn’t think he would make it to his next winter.
Kisias called for him, and Tyronian knew what he would ask.
It was the conversation he dreaded, and what he’d spent most of his youth rebelling against.
He needed to go back to Siraces, that much was certain. But when he came back, would he be coming back as Tyronian, cousin of the Izayges chief? Or with a different title entirely?
His identity was in question, and he had no idea what his answer would be.
Tyronian of the Izayges, or Tyronian . . . new chief of the Siraces?
Music, laughter, and great food; that was the setting for Namoriee’s meal—and she wasn’t enjoying any of it. Her eyes stayed locked on the woman who was quickly becoming the bane of her existence.
All throughout dinner, Namoriee had been watching how she interacted with the other men in the tribe.
Was she flirtatious with all the husbands in the tribe, or just hers?
“Who’s that?”
Leawyn looked over briefly at Namoriee’s question, following her gaze to where she was looking.
“Samanthia,” she said, turning her attention back to Xillik, who was dropping food more than eating it.
That was Samanthia? Namoriee was shocked. She hadn’t seen her in years, not since that day she cut her hair and Tyronian found her crying in the woods. Namoriee couldn’t believe that she hadn’t recognized her.
“She’s still pretty.”
“She’s still a whore.”
Namoriee turned to her friend. “I haven’t seen her since I was a child.”
Leawyn shrugged one shoulder, her eyes flicking from one of her children to the next. “I’ve only met her a few times. She tends to come and go as she pleases, but from what I gather, she’s not one of Tanna’s girls. She prefers to spread her legs free of charge.”
Namoriee’s eyebrow rose at Leawyn’s tone. Her friend usually did not sound this catty—it was both amusing and concerning to her.
“You don’t like her?”
Leawyn’s face screwed up. “I wouldn’t risk my life for hers, I’ll tell you that.”
She had to halt the conversation when the twins woke up to feed, and Namoriee took the lull in conversation to continue to look around her. She hadn’t seen Tyronian, and the worry that she felt when she first followed him coursed through her. He had looked troubled, and she knew that the arrival of the Siraces couldn’t have come with good news. If it weren’t for the fact that Samanthia was right in front of her—
Namoriee sat straighter in her seat, frantically searching through the crowd.
Samanthia was gone.
If anyone were to ask her if she had run to her hut to see if her husband was in there—alone—then she would have lied.
Because why would she feel the need to check up on him? It wasn’t like sh
e was feeling any form of jealousy or anything. She was much more in control of her emotions. Besides, to feel jealousy, she would’ve had to feel something stronger than a general friendliness and happiness towards Tyronian. Something like love. Which meant that she would have to admit that she loved Tyronian—which she didn’t.
Nope. Not her.
What she was currently feeling could be explained as being a variety of things, like indigestion, heartburn, or a general under-the-weather sickness. It was nothing like jealousy, panic, or love.
She was totally in control.
So, when she flung the door to their hut open, it wasn’t because she was picturing Tyronian wrapped around she-who-shall-not-be-mentioned, naked, in their bed. That image certainly hadn’t stirred up feelings akin to rage that made her want to get into her first fight.
No.
There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for the sudden force she used to open the door. And why she practically flew into their hut like a snarling she-banshee.
“Uh . . . Namoriee?”
Namoriee blinked at her husband, who was sitting down on their bed—alone—with wide, confused eyes.
“Yes?” she asked, calmly closing the door with a decided thud and locking it. If there was someone here (which she didn’t think there was) then they wouldn’t be able to sneak out.
“Is everything okay?” he questioned slowly, his eyebrow climbing when she began to circle the room.
“Yup, everything’s fine,” she answered, surreptitiously searching their home. She pulled back the divider curtain to their waste basket. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Empty.
She dropped the curtain and turned elsewhere.
“You’re acting . . . peculiar.”
“I am not acting peculiar,” she told him, opening the window and looking outside.
Huh. No one there.
She slammed it shut. “Why would you think that?” She looked around, deliberately not meeting his eyes, thinking.
Where else in their hut could someone hide?
“You are,” Tyronian replied, his voice stronger.
