It was a strange thing, watching him struggle for words. It was not obvious, just a sharp intake of breath, a subtle shake of his head, a glare at the tabletop. She waited quietly, forcing herself to eat small bites of her meal, willing to give him time if it meant he was trying to explain things to her. And in a way, she felt a little closer to him, knowing that he struggled just as she did.
“It is a joining,” he said at last, stilted. Careful. “Not in... not in body. But in mind.”
Her brow furrowed. She opened her mouth. Closed it again. “I... I don’t know what that means.” He sighed, his frustration evident. She hoped it wasn’t aimed at her.
She jumped when she felt his leg move between her feet, a reminder of that connection. “Touch is merely a placeholder for what we are meant to do. A gateway, imperfect as it is. It allows for speech, but it is... lacking. Sladec would like me to complete the connection so that it is no longer required—so that you may do as you wish. You would be able to go amongst my people and speak with them freely, understand more of our ways without the need for endless instruction.” He paused, falling silent.
That all sounded quite appealing yet he spoke of it with such a bitterness that she had to mind her tongue lest she blurt out how she was keen to do it there and then. “But?” He blinked once slowly, seeming to come back to himself a little as he looked at her. “You don’t sound happy about it, so I assume there’s a drawback.” She gave his leg a tap with her foot, trying to add a bit of lightness. “Unless you like having to touch me all the time?” He was beginning to frighten her with his solemn speech, his hard appearance.
He grimaced. “I find touching you to be... unpleasant.”
She flinched back, wanting to pull away completely, wanting to withdraw more than ever. She was a nuisance, and she knew it. He’d never wanted her, and he clearly disliked her as much as she always feared he did. “Oh,” she breathed, pain choking at her. Pain mixed with embarrassment. “I see.” She did pull away then, unable to look at him, unable to share this table with him any longer.
He reached out, grabbing hold of her hand before she could stand. She looked down at it, so much larger than her own, and wondered just how much force it would take to pull away. His grasp was insistent, however, and spite settled on her tongue, but he spoke before she could unleash it. “No,” Machrus stated firmly, annoyance seeping into his tone. “You do not.”
She gave her hand a tug, but he held fast. “Then you’re a terrible explainer!” She bit her lip to keep from saying more, settling back in her chair in defeat, determined not to look at him again until this entire horrible exchange was over. Yelling at him would do no good. She had seen others do it plenty, and it only seemed to make him all the more stubborn. So instead she frowned down at their hands. “I’m sorry I’m repulsive to you.”
Machrus grunted. “That is not what I said.”
Renna sniffed, forcing down her hurts, hoping she could speak without her voice wavering, but failing miserably. “That it’s hard for you, then. I didn’t want that.”
He sighed again, his grip loosening just a little, though he did not release her fully. “Nor I for you.” His tone was a little softer, but that made her no more willing to remain there. Not when she felt the terrible urge to find some hole to sob in for a while. “Sladec is... correct. I have not met my responsibility to my people, or to you. But I fear that when you hear of it, what would satisfy both, you will not thank me for it.”
“I would thank you to explain yourself better. Because right now I feel...”
“I know what you feel,” Machrus interrupted, holding up their hands. “That is what this gives to me.” She paled, horrified, and could not help but glance up at him, to see if he spoke in jest.
He did not.
“I know how frightened you have been, the longing that is in you. I know that you are unhappy. So, selfishly, it is indeed an unpleasant thing to have my hand in yours, for that is impossible to ignore.”
She opened her mouth, to apologise, or perhaps to snap at him again for intruding on her private feelings where he certainly had no business. There was another part of her, small and childish, that wondered why he did not try harder to make her feel better, but she couldn’t seem to summon any kind of response beyond a mortifying whimper.
“And,” he continued, his voice lulling in its way, when gone was the harsh edge that so often lingered in it, “if I were to complete the pairing with you, no longer would such an intrusion be limited to touch. I would always be aware of your feelings, your thoughts, your every experience. My language would be passed to you, you could move freely through my people and understand them quite well. But, tell me, do you now understand my reticence?”
“Yes,” she breathed, her mouth dry, her thoughts muddled. He would have access to... everything? She regretted obliging him with those bites of her meal, her stomach roiling at the thought. He pushed her abandoned cup from earlier toward her and she took a hesitant sip, enough to wet her lips but not enough to upset her stomach further. “But...” she took a steadying breath, heartened that the annoyance in his eyes had smoothed into something at least a little like compassion. “Your brother will still expect...”
The irritation came back, but at least it was easier to see that it was not directed at her. He was frustrated with this situation, that much was obvious, and for the first time she could appreciate that he was, in his way, however misguided, trying to spare her something. That did not absolve him completely. He could be kinder, could have explained all of this days ago, but she did not have to harbour such resentments. Not if she chose not to.
At least, she hoped it would pass so simply.
“True. He will. And, I will not deny, for the treaty to hold, we will... eventually... need to complete the pairing.”
The treaty? It was dependent upon...
“Sladec, he said...” she took another breath, forcing herself to calm down. The count of five, a few more breaths, and she felt a little steadier. “He made it sound like this would help things. Help me. Why would he say that when it sounds so... so...” awful was what she meant to say, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to—not when this was apparently a part of their custom.
But from the way his mouth compressed, he caught her meaning clearly enough, and now she understood why.
“There are benefits,” he answered softly, though something made her think he spoke more to himself than to her. “To be so bare...” He straightened, his usual placidity returning as he looked at her. “But as you have stated, neither of us wished for this union. Which is why I think we both agree that such a bond would be both unwanted and intrusive.”
“Yes,” she agreed shakily, though with full knowledge that soon, very soon, she would have to agree to it.
For all of this would be for nothing if her people could not keep their new home.
9. Bond
It was difficult to sleep that night.
It was not simply that a man was so close beside her—though that would have caused enough anxieties on its own. It was not even the unfamiliar space, the softness of an actual bed, of blankets that smelled of him as she had been informed that hers would have to be cleaned after their time outside.
There had been much debate between them as to where they should sleep, and though she had insisted the fireside would be more than adequate, his stony glare and grim mouth suggested he found the offer to be less than adequate. She had been hesitant to accept his offer of his bed, the knot of worry tightening in her stomach just to think of it, but to her surprise, it helped a little to know that he understood her concern without her having to utter a single word. He had gone so far as to delineate his own side with a carefully folded blanket, and though he had tried to make the bed even between them, she had rolled her eyes and given herself only what she needed. He required fare more space than she, and she was nuisance enough without adding to his discomfort by apprehending more of his perfectly nice bed than was strictly
necessary.
They had not spoken since settling in to sleep, and she was glad of it. To touch here, with all the implications that usually came within the colony once a couple shared a bed...
She took another breath, willing sleep to come but finding it woefully elusive.
She did not worry that Machrus would press his advantage by having her so near. She believed him when he said touching her was unpleasant, even if it felt wholly insulting and comforting all at once.
What troubled her was the full knowledge that despite his claim, he would have to pair with her. And soon. He was being kind, in his way, suggesting that they wait, accepting a vague notion of someday so as to alleviate the feeling of inevitability, except that it did not. She had agreed to come here, to accept him with the understanding that the trade agreement between their peoples would be solidified with the arrangement.
Except that, apparently, it wasn’t. Not yet. And every day, her people were building their homes, were investing in their futures, growing more and more attached to the land they believed would now be theirs.
And despite his usually friendly demeanour, she did not believe that Sladec would be so understanding for long. Already he showed his frustration at their less than enthusiastic relationship, and to do anything that made them seem outright rebellious of a leader’s command...
Renna shivered, and it had nothing to do with cold.
For there was no cold.
It felt strange, after spending so much time always feeling the edge of a chill. But here, tucked away beneath the earth, secured in a bed with soft blankets, a warm body near to hers...
She would have smiled and snuggled further into the comfort of this new nest of hers if her worries did not trouble her so, making her muscles tight and rigid, unable to relax into anything resembling rest.
She jumped slightly when Machrus suddenly sat up, pulling a cord by the bed, a drape of fabric uncovering the stones, a gentle glow illuminating the room.
He held out his hand, an offering, though his stare did not suggest it as such. She meekly accepted it, trying to smooth out her emotions so they wouldn’t be so much of a bother to him. His frown deepened anyway.
“What is plaguing you? You have not stopped sighing.” Had she been? She had been focused on keeping as quiet as she could, but perhaps a few had slipped out without her notice. “Do you... are you uncomfortable with the arrangement?”
He glanced down at the barrier, and she could tell he was ready to bring it more toward his side, regardless of the simple fact that the breadth of his shoulders would not allow for such a thing, so she hastened to dissuade him. “No! No, really, it’s fine. I’ve... I’ve never had a bed before, and it’s lovely.”
Machrus continued to stare at her, apparently ignoring her placations. “But?”
Renna huffed out another breath, coloured a bit at his pointed look, then finally blurted what was on her mind. “Do you ever think it would be better just to get it over with? The pairing, that is? I mean... we both know it will have to happen at some point. Your brother made that very obvious, and, well...”
She glanced up at him, falling silent when she saw the way he was looking at her. “Is that a horrible idea?” It still made her slightly sick inside to imagine living as he’d described—her thoughts and feelings bared to his perusal, perhaps even memories, cherished or otherwise, available at his whim. She would not pretend she understood it, couldn’t claim to in the least, but that made it no less a requirement. And she was already growing tired of the dread she felt, a looming tie that would burden an already strained marriage. Or perhaps it was only a half-marriage. She wasn’t even certain of that.
“I believe we discussed the benefit of waiting.”
Renna dared to correct him. “Not exactly. You said why you were glad that we weren’t, that you wouldn’t have to know all those... things about me all the time. But how long do we really have? A week? Maybe a bit more?” She took a deep breath, forcing herself to be honest with him. As much as she could be. “My people need this treaty. They need a home, a real one. And if me doing this... us doing this, gives that to them... I can’t help feeling like it’s selfish for me to put it off.”
Machrus grunted, laying back but keeping her hand in his. “It was unfair of them to offer you when you had so little understanding. I can think of nothing less selfish than what you have already done for them.”
She felt strangely flattered. “They needed a home,” she repeated, uncertain what else to say.
“Yes,” he agreed. “But I see you are the one here, not someone else.”
She wondered if he would have preferred that—if there was something about her personally that he found objectionable or merely the concept of an intrusive wife at all, but she could not bring herself to ask. “There weren’t many other choices, really,” she argued, embarrassment creeping in. “The other girls... they either were too young or already had someone.”
Machrus eyed her intently. “But not you.”
She looked away from him. “No,” she confirmed. “Not me.” This wasn’t going at all as she’d intended, and she made herself glance back, ready to question him instead. She opened her mouth to ask after him, for him to explain the reason he had built this home away from all the rest of his kind so as to divert him from any more personal enquiries of her, but she closed her mouth just as suddenly. He was a private man, that much was obvious, and she didn’t like answering difficult questions. Surely he could understand that. “I find it... difficult to talk about... before. Life before here, I mean. Not a lot of it was pleasant.”
She thought his hand tightened around hers for the briefest moment. Commiseration perhaps? But then the pressure released so quickly she could not be certain it had been there at all. “And yet you wish to complete the pairing.”
Renna bit her lip, considering. It wasn’t what she wanted. Not really. But she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a reality of her current situation, a prerequisite for the security of her people. “Is there... there’s no privacy at all?” she asked quietly, her voice smaller and a bit bleaker than she would have liked.
Machrus stared up at the ceiling. “There is... some. Can be.” His eyes flickered to meet hers. “But there can be mistakes. Inevitable flaws. Even the strongest of walls can yield to enough force, should something be especially... meaningful.” He glanced away again. “And you would resent the invasion, would grow angry with me for seeing what could not be helped.” He said this resignedly, as if he had already accepted her bitterness for what he had yet to unwittingly uncover.
“And you?” she asked quietly, trying to make sense of it all, this thing that seemed so foreign and strange. “Would you resent that too? If I saw something like that?” She wasn’t even sure that it worked that way—if she would feel him, sense him in the way he claimed. She certainly could not gauge his emotions any better by touching him.
“Yes,” he murmured, and she did not know if she valued his honesty or begrudged his inability to lie to her, even for the sake of comfort. “I am not the kindest of men,” he continued, closing his eyes briefly. “I told Sladec it was a mistake to require this of me.”
Renna smiled, though there was no humour in it. “I said the same thing to my people. Yet here we are.”
“Here we are,” he repeated. He did not sound pleased at the prospect, but he did not sound angry either, and she supposed that was something.
“I’m not saying it has to be now,” Renna told him, trying to settle back into the bed, knowing she should not keep him up any longer. There would be work to be done in the morning, grenpeets to tend to, and food to prepare—and perhaps if she could be particularly persuasive, she could help him with at least a part of that—and they both needed rest. “I just want you to know that... when you’re willing, and decide that you’re ready... or as ready as you can be to have a strange girl in your head... it’s all right.” She could feel his eyes on her though she refused to turn her head to look at
him. “I’m not... excited at the prospect, and there’s a lot I hope you never find out, but... I’m going to try to be gracious about this. And understanding if something slips through. Just as I hope you’d try to be with me.”
There. She’d said it, and she felt a little more at ease now that she’d placed the burden of timing upon him instead.
Her hand slipped out of his as she curled onto her side, her back to her silent husband, and she eased into slumber, not entirely certain why speaking to him should allow her to finally sleep. Nothing had been resolved as he had not commented on his side of the matter. Things were not better exactly, but somehow was enough. At least for now.
She dreamed of home, if ever the Wastes could be considered so. Of faces smiling at her, warm and familiar, though lines of weariness marked each in turn. Her parents, the leaders, Margaret with her mothering ways, Sue with her intrusive questions. Desmond with his quiet strength, urging her toward something. All scattered around her, calling to her, beckoning with hands outstretched, pleading and demanding all at once. And no matter how she tried, her feet seemed to slip in the sands, holding her down, holding her immobile.
Until finally she surrendered to it, kneeling down as her strength waned, the sand hot and searing as it always was, the heat of the twin suns roasting it, roasting her, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, there never was...
She opened her eyes with a start, too warm and her heart racing as she tried to make sense of her surroundings, only to blearily realise that Machrus was leaning close to her, leaning over her, ignoring the very barrier he had erected between them.
“W-what are you doing?” she managed to gasp out, willing herself to calm first from the dream, then at the proximity of the too-large man beside her. Over her. Looming.
How could he loom while they were lying down?
“First you sigh, then you whimper. Apparently your kind do not believe in quiet slumber.”
She would have thought he was grumbling about it, but he kept glancing at her, something about his look suggesting that he was not merely complaining. Did he worry for her?
Trade (Deridia Book 2) Page 12
