Mercy (Deridia Book 1)

by Catherine Miller

  It was the traditional blessing that was to come from the village upon announcement of his intention to wed her, and it was not until that moment that he realised how much he missed hearing it. To know that someone in the world looked upon his marriage with approval, that the final part of the mating rite was complete at the acceptance of the community.

  Even if that community was small, just his faeder and mamé, alone here in the Wilds.

  Rykkon grasped his shoulder in turn, facing his father and still finding the entire exchange somewhat strange. Welcome, to be certain, but strange all the same. He had forgotten what it was to be a son, to be an apprentice to a master, kind though he may have been. He was a male full grown, and he had yet to reconcile what that meant in relation to his parents.

  “You were to stay here? It is early to camp.”

  His father reached up suddenly, touching Rykkon’s neck with wizened fingers. “You are injured.”

  Rykkon grimaced. “An unfortunate exchange with a malmout. I have tended to it.”

  His father stiffened, his attention turning toward the direction of the nest. “Did you... were you forced to hurt it?”

  Rykkon’s eyes narrowed. “He returned to its burrow. Killing it was unnecessary.”

  The other male relaxed, though he looked almost apologetic as he did so. “Ati does not usually attack, though I suppose he also does not see many other people around here. I am sorry he hurt you.”

  Rykkon was surprised when Prim spoke, her tone suggesting some incredulity. “That thing is your pet? He could have killed your son!”

  His father looked him over once again, looking for more injuries. “I would not classify Ati as a pet. He lives in the forest just as we do. But he is friendly with your mother and she...” he sighed. “Seeing that little family helps bring out her good days. I am sorry that your meeting went so harshly and, believe me, if you had faced any greater injury I would be devastated to learn of it.”

  Prim did not seem ready to forgive the creature for his attack on her husband, but Rykkon took her hand and gave it a squeeze, trying to imbue her with calm. He did not know of their lives here, of what good it did to call such a large creature a friend, but he intended to reserve judgement until he knew more.

  And he was longing to see his mother.

  His father was looking down at Prim with some uncertainty. “Would you care to stay with us at our dwelling? Or would you prefer to remain here?”

  Prim gave a shrug, though she looked to Rykkon to give a proper answer. He could not yet tell of her mood, though he thought she simply felt protective over his wellbeing, but he would speak to her on the matter later. For now, he simply wished to see more of his parents’ life here.

  “I should like to see Mamé,” he told him honestly, letting the matter of their sleeping arrangements go unanswered for now.

  His father gave a nod. “Of course.” Rykkon took up their pack, slashed though it was, and he carefully swung it over one shoulder. “Would you like me to carry it?” his faeder offered, already extending his hand. “You have had a long journey.”

  Rykkon shook his head. “I am not so injured.” Not precisely true, as his ribs still protested the creature’s—Ati’s—treatment, but it seemed wrong to allow the older male to bear his burdens.

  He turned toward Prim, his voice low so as not to embarrass her. “Can you walk or shall I carry you?”

  She glanced over to his father, her cheeks flushing and he knew he had managed to mortify her anyway, whether or not he could hear Rykkon’s enquiry. “I’m fine.”

  He did not know why she was so nervous in front of his faeder, but he supposed she did not have many good experiences with parents, so he simply took her hand and they followed his father at a decent pace, the other male turning frequently as if to ensure that Rykkon was truly there.

  He found the action endearing, a further reminder that here, he was surrounded by people who wanted him.

  “Today is a better day,” his father told them, maintaining the use of Prim’s tongue so she would not have to rely upon Rykkon for translations. “I think she will speak with you.”

  He hoped so, but he would accept her however she was—that was his mamé, and he would not reject her because she was troubled.

  “Are you both... happy out here?”

  His father stopped, turning back toward him. “That is not the word I would use. Our son was leagues from here, and we did not know of how you fared alone with my people. We worried.” He took a long breath, closing his eyes briefly. “But it is... pleasant here all the same. Your mamé has improved some, and that has made it... perhaps not worth it, as it was a terrible cost we paid to come here, but...” He nodded to himself, though did Rykkon imagine the way he appeared to almost be attempting to convince himself with his words? “We were right to come.”

  Rykkon stepped forward, placing his hand upon his faeder’s shoulder. “I do not require justifications. I knew your reasoning. You did it for her, and you stayed here for her, and I will never resent you for that.”

  His father’s shoulders slumped somewhat, and before Rykkon realised he had moved, he was pulling him into an embrace. Rykkon stood stiffly, unused to such contact in general, but especially from his faeder. He was affectionate in his own ways, a rub on the head, a clasped shoulder, but hugs were from his mamé and his wife when she felt so inclined.

  But apparently the cycles had changed his faeder’s opinion, and Rykkon allowed his arms to embrace him back, wondering why he did not feel more at the action.

  He had spoken truly. He did not resent his parents for leaving—he knew that it was right even as they had discussed it. And yet, even as his father held him close, as glad as he was to see him again...

  The male was familiar, but not known to him. Not as he was now. There was a tinge of strangeness to him, of an awkward reality that cycles had passed and both of them had changed in unknown ways. And the realisation of that brought pain in its wake.

  Eventually his faeder released him with a nod, his head ducked low, evidently embarrassed at the sudden embrace, regardless that he had been the one to begin it. “Not far now,” he told them, his pace quickening.

  He stared after his father for a moment, allowing him to get a small distance away and recover himself in privacy, and felt Prim watching him.

  “You didn’t look like you were enjoying that much.”

  Rykkon shrugged. “I am... unused to such expressions from him, even in my youngling days. I find it strange now.” Prim hummed, her hand returning to his as they moved forward. “Would you mind staying near to them?”

  “Rykkon,” she said slowly, her words careful. “We came all this way to see them. I’m not going to be difficult about where we stay.”

  He pulled her close for an all too brief moment, and he was grateful to realise that still felt as real and natural as it ever had before. “You are most gracious.”

  “I’m still mad at that thing that hurt you, though,” she warned him. “Even if it has a name.”

  Rykkon could not help but chuckle. “As is your right,” he assured her. “But do not be too hard upon my faeder for it. Please. It seems... lonely here.”

  Prim looked about her, nodding in agreement. “Especially if your mother’s good days aren’t very close together.”

  Rykkon nodded, trying not to think about how those days must have been for them. But there was little purpose now in imaginings, not when a small dwelling appeared, tucked into the forest, its roof covered in brightly coloured mosses.

  It looked... remarkably like his own home. Perhaps the wood was not as refined, but the shape, the carvings in the door—his faeder had managed to create something familiar for his mamé after all.

  His father hesitated upon the stoop. “Perhaps... perhaps I should go and warn her first.” Rykkon agreed, but his father did not move fully into the house. “You... you will be here when I return, yes?”

  “Upon my honour,” Rykkon promised,
his hand forming a fist, his other clasping wrist as he gave a short bow. It was likely not necessary to be so formal in his assurance, but his faeder relaxed before disappearing inside, so he supposed it was worth it.

  “I’m not sure what I expected, but this wasn’t it...” Prim mused, taking a step back and looking over the house a bit more thoroughly. He should join her, should take note of everything his parents might need that he could help with in their too short time they could afford to spend with them.

  But instead he found himself reaching for her, kissing her, the realisation that he was truly here settling over him.

  All because of the prompting of his mate.

  She blinked up at him breathlessly as he pulled away, her hand coming to touch his cheek as she noticed his broad smile. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

  He knew it was impossible for her to equally be so. These were not her parents, and even if they had been, she had no mother left to welcome her. But he felt a pang all the same that he should feel such relief and excitement and she did not. She may be pleased for him, but that was not the same.

  But, he had seen a bit of that same lightness when he had given her the fur wrap still shielding her from the nip of the air, in the way her arms had gone about him as she held him close, her gratitude an almost tangible thing.

  “Thank you,” she had whispered in his ear, burrowing closer to both him and the wrap that surrounded her. “I never knew a place could be so cold.”

  Guilt had momentarily gripped him that he had not made her one sooner, but he pushed it away. He laid a hand upon her head rubbing his thumb against her cheek so she would look at him. “You might have told me you were uncomfortable.” It still troubled him to think that perhaps she was hiding some need from him, and he did not yet trust his observations of her to alone prove adequate in understanding her. He needed her words and her guidance. Direction.

  Prim flushed. “I thought I’d get used to it.”

  Rykkon had given her a grunt, though with her still looking so pleased, it was hard to maintain even the pretence of gruffness. “You are remarkably foolish.”

  She rolled her eyes, but placed a kiss upon his cheek all the same. “That’s the spirit. Insult your wife after giving her a present.” But her voice was teasing even with its dryness, and warmth filled him that had nothing to do with a gifted fur.

  Somehow, he had become her home. And while that pleased him greatly, he felt the weight of responsibility that accompanied it, yet found it an almost pleasant thing. It meant he was needed, was wanted, and that he could give his mate happiness.

  “Thank you,” he told her, standing as they now were before his parents’ dwelling. “For coming with me. For urging us to try to find them.”

  She took his hand, giving it a little squeeze, hiding away whatever nervousness she undoubtedly still felt at the prospect of spending time with his progenitors. He still found that rather absurd, but this was his Prim—cautious and perhaps a bit too blunt at times, and strangers had so often been unkind to her.

  The door opened once more, and Rykkon turned to it, expecting to see his father ushering them inward. But instead, his mother was there, her eyes bright and a hand clutched the fabric of her simple shift over her heart, and she took a step forward.

  She did not speak, but made a strange rumbling sound as though she made the attempt, yet could not find the proper word. His faeder appeared next to her, his hand at her back, assuring her. “It’s all right,” he soothed, his voice soft. “He’ll understand.”

  And then her feet were flying, her steps no longer the shuffling gait he remembered, but strong and sure as they hurried toward him.

  And then she flung herself into his arms.

  He was taller now than he had been, but he had anticipated her action, catching her easily and holding firm, though he had to release Prim’s hand lest he risk grasping her awkwardly. She was crying, something he could not remember seeing from her before, but his time with Prim had fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—prepared him to simply hold her closer, to pat her back and whisper what reassurances he could. “I am here, Mamé. And I am well, just as you are well.”

  She sobbed harder, but managed to wriggle enough so she could look at him, his hands still supporting her even as her feet dangled above the ground. Her eyes searched him, looking him over as if studying every detail, her hands touching and smoothing over skin, a frown marring her features whenever she would find a scar.

  She looked at him questioningly, and he smiled at her softly, knowing what she had found. “They do not all have painful stories. That one,” referring to the one where her finger tapped, a rather deep mark upon his jaw, “happened while I was delivering one of my first younglings. The mother was understandably distressed and I caught a flailing limb to the cheek. I have since learned to duck quicker.”

  He saw amusement in her eyes and she leaned forward and kissed the mark, before she seemed to notice something.

  Prim.

  His breath caught as she considered her a moment, her brow furrowing as she regarded her. It had never occurred to him that his mamé might not appreciate that her son had found a wife, but in that long moment, it suddenly became so. All of his assurances to Prim suddenly seemed inadequate.

  She patted Rykkon’s chest until he released her, placing her carefully on the ground and watching the two of them with equal parts wariness and gladness. His mamé had yet to speak to him, and he would have a talk with his father regarding how she truly was faring, but for now, it was something rather incredible to him to see his mother approach his mate, nervous though he was that something might go terribly wrong.

  They were of similar heights, and he watched with some incredulity that his mother was in fact a bit taller than his wife. Not by much, but enough, and even as a young he had thought that none but a youngling could possibly be as short as his mamé.

  Evidently he had been wrong.

  Prim looked somewhat awkward, though she was trying to hide it as his mamé considered her. Her eyes were not unfriendly, though Prim seemed to shrink from her anyway, obviously not expecting to find herself so thoroughly scrutinised.

  Rykkon took a step nearer, wrapping his arm about his mate’s shoulders. “Mamé, this is Prim. My wife.”

  Her eyes shimmered at the confirmation, and he watched with some confusion as she brought out her hand, holding it out to Prim as if expecting her to take it. Prim did with some reluctance, though they did not hold them in the way he expected. Their palms met, their thumbs grasping about the foreign one, squeezing only for the briefest of moments.

  “Po,” his mother said, though there was a bit of a rasp before it, a swallow as she tried to push her way past whatever obstacle impeded her speech.

  Prim seemed to understand well enough, for she nodded. “It’s very nice to meet you. Rykkon talks about you a lot.”

  Did he? He did not think so, not in comparison to how much he talked about salves and poultices, but his mother appeared pleased to hear that, although there was a bit of sadness as well.

  His mamé nodded behind her, her eyes flitting to his faeder behind her. “Dax.”

  His father came forward, looking at her with a very pleased glint in his eye. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, and she smiled at him, her hand dropping away from Prim’s.

  “She calls me that, but you may call me Dalex,” he said to Prim, before nodding down at his wife. “And this is Poppy. You are most welcome in our home.”

  His mother’s smile grew all the more, and she turned, waving them inward, watching carefully to ensure that they followed. Prim seemed a bit hesitant, but obeyed, giving him a reassuring look. “I’m fine,” she murmured, and he chose to believe her.

  Their home was small, but situated much like the dwelling that Rykkon and Prim now used. The bed was in a similar location, the fire was of an adequate size, and his father’s worktable was neat and orderly, but obviously well used all the same.

  His mo
ther was gesturing to things, handing him small things that held little meaning for him—a brightly coloured eggshell, a clump of grasses with tiny blue flowers interspersed. But he nodded at each of them, simply glad to be in her presence, even as a small part of him remembered doing this same thing as a youngling, and he bit back his disappointment that she was not as healed as he had hoped.

  But she smiled, and when his father laid a hand upon her shoulder and bid her sit, she did so, ducking her head as she did so, almost as if embarrassed at her previous show. “Were these from your walks?” he asked her, returning them to their spots, proudly displayed on a low shelf his father had crafted.

  She gave a nod instead providing a vocal answer.

  “I am glad you have things here that make you happy.” Her expression clouded, and he wondered what he had said wrong.

  She appeared frustrated for a moment, her mouth trying to form the words, and he waited patiently to hear what she would produce. “No... you.” She finally managed, looking at him expectantly.

  He gave her a sad smile, coming toward her so he could press a kiss to her temple. “I know. I have missed you as well. Every day.”

  She had tears in her eyes again, and they looked wrong in the eyes that had always been laughing, but he supposed she had much to sorrow for. There were cycles she had missed with her son, there was the witnessing of him announcing his intention to take a mate to wife—their children that would someday come from that joining.

  And she would miss it all.

  “We...” she swallowed, her frustration mounting at her limitations, and Rykkon was fairly certain that any upset would only further her difficulties. He patted her hand, hoping to soothe her. “Let us have some teshon, yes? And then we shall talk.” She did not seem pleased, obviously wishing to speak now and have some of her questions answered, but he did not know where to begin.

  His father was there, ready to wave him away while he made the teshon himself, but Rykkon insisted, though his faeder remained close. He needed little direction as everything was kept in almost the exact spot as it always had been, and Rykkon had made few changes since his parents’ departure. But it allowed him to lower his voice, to make enquiries of his father without having to embarrass his mother.