She did not pause in her scrubbing, though she gave a hum of acknowledgement.
“I need to speak with my faeder in private.”
She sat back on her heels. “Really?”
He gave a nod. “Yes. I thought I should tell you in case you awoke and I was not there.”
Prim frowned at that, obviously troubled by something. “What?”
“Do you have to really... leave? Can’t you just sit by our fire and talk in your own language. That’s... private.”
He opened his mouth to refuse her, to remind her that he could well afford to disappear with his faeder as he chose, but quickly closed it again. They were in a strange place, and she had witnessed his attack earlier that day, and she was right to be cautious.
“You should try to rest though,” he relented lamely.
Prim stood, cold water dripping from her hands. “I won’t bother you both. I just... want you nearby. Is that so bad?”
He leaned down and kissed her. He could easily have slipped away while she slept—her sleep was always a heavy thing, and it proved a true challenge to wake her—but it already weighed on him that he had yet to speak to her of Kondarr’s words and the potential fate of her people.
Tomorrow. When he knew of his faeder’s counsel and better knew his own opinion.
At least this night he did not have to risk her waking to find that he had abandoned her.
Both washed, they returned to their shelter, Prim entering first and choosing which side she liked best—the same as she did at home, he noted dryly—before he joined her. His faeder could find him when he was ready, but until then, he would hold his wife and keep her warm.
Only for the guilt of his silence to press further upon him.
Perhaps tomorrow was not soon enough.
“Prim?” he asked into the darkness of their temporary dwelling, the heat from their bodies mingling with the furs to warm it nicely. “Are you still awake?”
“Yes,” she murmured sleepily, blinking at him. “What is it?”
He took a long breath. “There is something I have not told you... about our departure. And something Kondarr told to me... regarding your people. I have not spoken of it for I wished to receive my faeder’s opinion, but... we will have to discuss it soon.”
Prim was quiet for a while, and if she was not looking at him so, he would have thought that she had fallen asleep. “You’re too good at that. Keeping things from me.”
Rykkon closed his eyes. “I am well aware.”
“I don’t particularly care for it.”
The pressure in his chest magnified. “I am sorry.”
Prim sighed heavily, turning away from him, though the confined space kept her from going far. “I told you that I’m not very fond of apologies. Especially when you keep doing the same thing afterward.”
He felt stricken at her words, knowing they were true. In his desire to protect her, to shelter her from the realities of life amongst his people, his first impulse was still to withhold things from her.
And she had voiced her displeasure at that.
Yet he did it anyway.
“I am sorry,” he said again, not liking how she had turned her back to him, not liking the way her fists were clenched beneath her chin. He had caused that, and he well knew it. “I do not always know what to do, and I... seem to always choose wrongly.”
“Not always. Let’s not get dramatic.”
Apparently even in a justified huff, Prim did not like him disparaging himself.
“With great frequency then.”
“Better.”
He sat up, looking down at her, aware of the faint sound of movement that he could only just make out from the house beside them.
His faeder would be exiting soon.
But he could not leave things as they were with Prim.
He sat for a moment, trying to determine what would help things, only one idea coming to mind. “Would you... would you care to sit with us? Discuss it all together?”
Prim turned over, frowning, and still looking quite put out. “Are you sure you don’t want it to be private.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again. “I’m sorry, that was... you may have done something I don’t like, but I don’t need to be petulant about it.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “You reaction is understandable.”
She shook her head. “Just as I can understand why you like to keep things to yourself, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.”
He did not want her hurt. He never wanted that.
But he also wanted her to be free and happy to do as she wished, without suffering conflicted feelings regarding how his people would treat her own.
“Would you like to talk with us?” he asked again, this time meaning it a bit more. “They are your people, and you will have your own conscience—suggestions for how to act if the things he said are true. And that is important.”
“You’re right, it is.” She leaned up, and kissed his cheek. “But I’m tired, and worn out, and I don’t think that’s the right mindset for having the fate of the colony on my shoulders. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
He looked at her dubiously for a moment, surprised that she would suddenly relent, but he heard his faeder’s footsteps and there was no further time to argue. He patted her leg through the furs, knowing they would have to speak of this more, but not knowing how to approach her again at the moment. “I will be just outside.”
She mumbled her reply and even his keen ears could not quite make out what she said, but her eyes were already closed and he decided it was best to leave her to her rest.
His faeder was there when he exited their shelter, two woven mats in his hands that he settled in the grasses beside the fire—near each other, but not overly so. Perhaps he had noticed how awkward Rykkon had been by his embrace earlier and wished to provide him physical space. Rykkon felt too guilty over Prim to feel so for this too.
“Is Mamé well?” he asked first, settling on his mat as his father did the same.
“Well enough,” he confirmed. “I have not seen her so content in the longest time. I did not think she could smile so much. Not anymore.”
Rykkon looked toward the fire. “I believe I saw more of her tears than her smiles.”
“True,” his faeder allowed, and he watched him carefully, Rykkon’s skin prickling with awareness. “You shall simply have to trust me then. She is happy, and it is because of you.”
That should please him, but the all too real awareness that his presence could not remain constant was a heavy burden. “Does she understand the agreement? Why I stayed behind? Why I am not with her?”
His father’s shoulders slumped, bowing his head, and Rykkon recognised he had uncovered one of the painful truths of their life here. “Most days, she does. Some... she grows angry at me for not trying to find you, insisting that you need us.” He glanced up at Rykkon, his eyes haunted. “Did you? Need us?”
Rykkon did not know how to answer. There was no good that would come of confirming that, yes, he had needed them daily. When he could not quite remember a dosage, when he could have desperately wished a second pair of skilled hands to help stem a bleeding wound.
When he simply wished someone to smile at him and be glad that he was near.
But even in each of those times, he had understood that such was not to be, and he had managed well enough.
Until Prim had asked for a husband, and suddenly the world seemed a little kinder.
“I missed you,” he confirmed, not for the first time. There was no point in denying that. “But I was nearly full grown when you left. It was not terrible, despite what you imagine.” Perhaps not wholly true, as he felt the phantom pain in his side from the incident with the combatant’s blade, but what purpose was there in making his faeder hurt for circumstances he could not change?
His faeder did not seem convinced, and Rykkon supposed that was wise of him, but he posed another enquiry before he could press for
more details. “How is Mamé, truly? Is it really helpful for her to be out here?”
The other male sighed, rubbing at his eyes, looking terribly tired and worn. “I cannot say for certain. She made such progress, at first. There was a lightness in her that had been so dull when we had remained home. She seemed fascinated as I built our dwelling, though I had to keep shooing her away from my tools when she wanted to help.” At this, he smiled softly, the memory obviously a fond one, and Rykkon was glad to know there were at least a few of those as well.
“But then she remembered me.”
His faeder nodded. “Yes.”
“And she would fade away again.”
His mouth formed a grim line. “Yes.”
Rykkon sighed deeply, returning his attention to the fire and adding another log. “There is no answer, is there? Anyplace she goes will be a detriment to her.”
“I have... considered returning, but I had... doubts as to the wisdom in that. I have even more so now.”
Rykkon glanced up at him in surprise. “Why?”
His faeder smiled, in a grim sort of way, and gestured toward the shelter at Rykkon’s back. “You have a wife now. The protections we receive from our people, the allowances they give for our mates come from the need of our services. If there were suddenly two healers amongst them...”
Rykkon frowned. “They have threatened us for ages. They continued to do so even when I was an apprentice. Would they really attempt to harm Prim or Mamé? Harm me?”
His faeder looked at him incredulously, seemingly knowing the injuries Rykkon had incurred without having to see the evidence of his scars.
“Okmar is dead,” Rykkon divulged. “Lorrak is now an elder. He is not... favourable of me, as I was unable to save his master, but...”
His faeder reached out and patted Rykkon’s arm. “We shall think of something. Provoking the elders by flaunting our... deviance... is not the answer.” Rykkon was not certain that he agreed any longer. Not when carefully measured deference seemed to do so little good.
“Kondarr... you remember him?” His faeder gave a nod. “He has come to be one of the favoured warriors of the elders. He warned me upon our coming here that Prim’s people may be offered as terms for peace with the Narada.”
His faeder hissed and spat upon the ground, a traditional curse upon their name still upheld by the older generations.
“I know. I am certain many feel as you do. I cannot say that I relish the thought of forming an alliance with the creatures who frightened Prim so badly when last they came for talks.”
“They saw her,” his father mused. “So some hold her responsible for revealing our knowledge of the humans at Mercy.” Rykkon eyed him sceptically, wondering how he could know that, and he received a sad sort of smile in return. “That is not a difficult conclusion, my son. Our people have not changed in so many ways, I think, since our departure. If the Narada had seen your mamé during our time there, I believe their conclusions would be much the same.”
Rykkon sighed, knowing it was true. “Okmar died because of it. He was trying to convince them that our knowledge was not a betrayal of the pact they were creating, but one of the males grew angry and poisoned him. I was... unable to help.”
His faeder reached out. “Their poison is most effective, Rykkon. You know this. I hope you do not blame yourself.”
There were many things he did blame himself for, not the least of which was allowing a Narada to grope at Prim with his palps. He was not certain that he wholly regretted Okmar’s death, even when that forced him to question his own goodness of character.
Both males turned when suddenly Prim’s head stuck out through the tent, two furs wrapped around her shoulders. “I changed my mind,” she informed them. “I can’t sleep when all kinds of possibilities are going through my head.”
Rykkon smiled at her and patted the ground next to him, wondering if that was solely true or if perhaps she was just cold in their shelter without his added heat.
He supposed it really did not matter.
“You are welcome,” he told her, hoping this meant she would no longer be cross with him. She sat close to him, sharing the mat his faeder had brought, and either her anger had passed or she truly was chilled, and the craving for his warmth overrode her continued ire.
He wrapped a tentative arm about her shoulders, drawing her close. “I was merely telling him of Okmar’s death.”
Prim shook her head. “Horrible man.”
His faeder looked at her in some surprise. “You had dealings with him then?”
Prim tugged at her furs, not quite looking at him. “Enough. I was there when he died and heard what he said to your son, and I think for that alone it’s a proper description.”
Rykkon caught his faeder’s questioning glance. “He took the opportunity to remind me that I am unwelcome in their village, even when my intentions are good.”
Not exactly his wording, but the meaning was there.
“Then things truly have not changed.”
“Not as you had hoped,” Rykkon confirmed, wishing he could give a different report.
“Did I miss the part where you told us about what’s happening in Mercy?” Prim cut in, obviously not wishing to spend any more time discussing the fate of a male who clearly despised her mate.
“Kondarr believes that the elders shall offer your people as barter to the Narada in exchange for a treaty. He suggested that I hurry back if I would like an opportunity to speak on their behalf.”
Prim tensed, though he could not readily read her expression. “Like that would do any good,” she said at last, her tone grim but not overly distraught. She turned to look up at him. “Do you think it’s true? That they would do that? They’ve kept us hidden for all these years, so why would that change now?”
“To avoid war for you,” his faeder murmured quietly, looking at her with so much compassion in his eyes. “They might have found trade with you to be worth more than an outright slaughter, but that does not mean they will offer their protection.”
“But...” she looked at Rykkon again. “That big fellow. Lorrak? He wouldn’t just accept that, not after what they did to Okmar.”
Rykkon hesitated, having considered that himself. “He has been apprenticed by an elder. He will have been taught to make decisions for our people, not to use his position to further personal grudges. He may be rash at times, but he was chosen for a reason. If it is determined that to give the location of Mercy is what is best for our people, he will... likely concede.” He saw what little hope was in her eyes dwindling even as he spoke. “But not without exploring every possible alternative beforehand. He is also proud.”
“Then... they could all be dead already.”
“Not dead,” his father corrected quietly. “Enslaved. And not yet. If they were in talks before you left, they would not have made a decision quite so soon. And it will take time for the Narada to reach your people and to take control of the population. There is time yet.”
Prim looked at him, her confusion evident. “Time for what?”
His faeder looked back at her evenly. “Time for you to decide what you are going to do.”
23. Decide
Prim was thoughtful the next morning, quiet and pensive, and Rykkon found that she had been awake long before he, her body curled away from him as she stared at the large fur surrounding them.
Their talk had been difficult for her, though he could not quite make out the exact reason. When he prodded if there were friends she particularly cared for, her answer was an adamant no. If it was merely the principle of slaves that she found repugnant, her answer was more hesitant.
“Are you really all right with that?”
“Of course not,” he answered immediately. He may wish many things upon the people who had abused her, but a life of cruel labour and forced breeding was not among them. A swift, clean death to her father would be more than enough for him. “But I cannot even persuade my kind to treat us with
civility. How would I manage to muster them to defend a people they see as...”
Nothing.
They saw them as nothing. Workers perhaps, on the best of days, but they had not proven themselves in any regard. Their small acts of rebellion were quickly squelched, each generation that passed more subservient than the next. They were not their slaves, but they were not equals in the eyes of the Arterians.
And Rykkon had not the least idea of how that would ever change.
Even if Prim’s people had weapons, he doubted that good would come from it. They did not seem an honourable race, and it was likely that to provide them with any form of blade would simply result in lives lost on both sides.
And that was precisely what he wished to avoid.
They had reached no conclusions, his faeder understanding their quandary, but having been removed for so long, he knew little of the leanings of the elders and how best to petition their sympathies.
He would be lying if he did not acknowledge, at least to himself, of his disappointment.
His faeder had always been so wise to him, kind and gentle in all of his dealings, and even though they might hate his wife, hate his son, there was a begrudging respect that their people held for him—he simply inspired nothing less.
But that did not mean he could provide a solution to all things, much to Rykkon’s youthful disenchantment.
Eventually, frustrated at their lack of progress, Rykkon had suggested they retire to bed, hoping that a good sleep would freshen their inspiration, and hopefully, their wisdom.
“Prim?” he asked again, wondering how much sleep she had actually managed. She looked even more tired than she had the night before.
“What if we showed them the tunnels?” Rykkon stiffened. “And at least they could get away.” She peered over her shoulder for a moment, before returning her gaze to the wall. “I’m not saying we help them, not really. Once they’re through, everything is up to them.”
Mercy (Deridia Book 1) Page 30
