She glanced upward, her nerves returning. She had wanted to come, could easily have said no to Adelmar’s invitation, but she hadn’t. Machrus refused to speak to her of them, to explain much of anything, and that meant being brave enough to go up and see their home, see the Marzon as they lived, to try to understand more of these people—these people who were not supposed to be hers.
Her breath grew short, but she tried to force calm to return. Children had to live up there, little ones that knew nothing of boundaries yet managed not to fall. Surely she could manage well enough herself.
Machrus suddenly gave a whistle, loud and piercing, tethers suddenly descending from above. Her heart raced, and she had to swallow down her fear, uncertain that she actually could do this.
Adelmar glanced between her and Machrus, patting her shoulder once. “He will help you up,” she assured her, taking the end of the tether and placing it against the metal cuff of her arm. She held tightly to the line with that hand, and with a tug, she was flying.
Or at least, that was how it appeared.
Until she disappeared from view, obscured by the foliage above.
Machrus had already attached his tether, and she could feel his stare even as she was unable to tear her own from how high she would soon be.
It was dizzying already.
“Would you prefer a line of your own?”
She finally tore her gaze away to settle on him. “What?”
“A line,” he said again slowly, still watching her carefully. “Or you may share mine.”
Fear gripped at her throat at the prospect of having to ascend on her own, one of those thin cables the only thing keeping her from plummeting to the forest floor below.
She swallowed thickly, looking at Machrus miserably. “Would you mind terribly sharing yours?”
He did not answer vocally, merely stretched out his free arm and drew her close. She did not think of the awkwardness, of the boundaries she had constructed in her own mind regarding what would be appropriate between them. Her arms found their way about his neck, her body was pressed against the line of his, her toes barely reaching the ground as she tried to hold onto him as tightly as possible.
And with a tug, they were airborne.
And she was terrified.
But his arm was around her tightly, and he did not protest when her legs wrapped about him as she yelped, scrambling against him until she felt confident that it would take some doing for her to be torn away from him. He did not mock her when she buried her face in his neck, hiding from terror of watching the ground grow farther away. He did not scorn her for being afraid.
Instead he only held her tighter to him as they ascended, strong and sure that they would live.
And he did not let her fall.
11. Receive
“Renna.”
“Yes?”
“You may release me now.”
Her fingers ached from holding onto him so tightly, but she dare not let him go. She did not feel secure, not after their ascent, and if she should release him...
“They are beginning to find amusement in your delay.” His tone suggested she should be concerned about their opinion of her. Mockery, whether playful or otherwise, was a fixture in the colony, and while it was never pleasant, she could not bring herself to care. Not when she could not seem to calm her racing heart, could not convince herself she was free from danger.
Machrus was still supporting her, his arm holding her about the waist—not tightly any longer, but present. Solid. A comfort, in its way, even when she was likely embarrassing him.
That she did care about, if only a little.
She forced a steadying breath. And another.
“Would you like to return to the ground?” His voice was not impatient, and she was a bit surprised to find that missing. He seemed so often annoyed, so short in his answers, that to hear his tone free of such things was almost jarring.
After one more breath she opened her eyes.
He was staring at her, of course he was, though she could not quite gauge his expression. It was... softer than she had typically seen, but she could not call it outright concern. She swallowed and shook her head slowly. “No.” That would mean having to come back up here whenever she inevitably thought it important to try again. “No,” she repeated, a little more firmly. “Are we...” she tried to look down, but couldn’t seem to manage it.
“We are perfectly safe,” he answered, still studying her. “There is no need to fear falling.”
She tried to smile, more a grimace she was certain. His assurances were welcome, and any concern he might be showing in his way, but words alone could not convince her fears to settle, her nerves to calm.
She was still clutching at him, and with her eyes open and a bit more awareness of her surroundings, her own embarrassment began to push away the edge of her panic, and her fingers began to loosen. He did not release her immediately, eyeing her carefully as he gripped her arm. She was absurdly grateful for it.
They were standing on a platform, wide and seemingly stable. She had expected planks of some sort, but there were none. It almost seemed to grow out of the trunk itself, a part of a single whole rather than a rough extension. Moss grew liberally, streaks of red and gold a vibrant contrast to the unending green of both garment and foliage.
For they were most certainly being watched.
And she must have looked quite the fool.
Her cheeks turned crimson and she was grateful when Adelmar approached, no hint of ridicule in her eyes, only quiet sympathy. “It will grow easier, with time,” she assured Renna. A sweet thing to say, but given her current feelings, not within the realm of any possible future. At least not a near one.
She offered a thin smile in return. Her dizziness was passing, and as long as she kept quite clear of the edges, both with her gaze and most assuredly with her person, she... perhaps... was going to find some semblance of calm.
A little.
Maybe.
Adelmar gave her an encouraging smile in return. “Shall we go in? There are walls so you might be more at ease.”
Renna mustered the last of her all too inadequate courage, and gave a nod of agreement, then did the same to her humility. “Machrus?” He glanced down at her. “Will you... will you stay with me? Just for a bit.”
The idea of being without his arm, his stable presence, brought a surprising amount of dismay. And it made the asking tolerable, even though it might bother him for her to give voice to her weakness in needing him.
But for once he did not huff, did not shake his head at her and speak a scornful word. He only bent his head once in acquiescence and continued to hold her arm, leading her up the platform, which apparently formed a spiral even further along the tree. She refused to look toward the edges, or even back to Adelmar to see if he was taking her where the other woman had intended. Instead, she looked at Machrus, guiding her just as he had done when leading her away from her people, had brought her to this place to begin with. And the familiarity was a comfort, the sense of sameness, of returning to something she knew well how to do.
Follow.
And her heart began to slow and her fear abated, if only just a little.
They walked quite a distance, not always upward, but she did not focus on the way, only on moving, on each step that kept her close to Machrus and away from anything dangerous—and noted grimly how appreciative she felt for his presence. Perhaps she should resent it, but she lacked the will for spite, not when in that moment she needed him and he had so willingly obliged her.
They halted before a door, as intricately carved as the woodwork in Machrus’s home, though tall and almost imposing in its structure. She thought he would knock, or perhaps at least ask for entry, but instead he simply gave a push and the door swung wide, and he beckoned her forward with another wave of his hand.
It was not what she expected.
She hadn’t the least idea where they were, whose home they had intruded upon
, but a home it most definitely was. There was a cheerful fire with children before it, giggling quietly amongst themselves. Clothes hung from branches above, drying from the heat of the flames, a cauldron of something steaming below.
The children looked up as she entered, a few quizzical looks passing between them, but those quickly turned to polite smiles as she felt Machrus approach behind her.
“Faerbor!” the youngest called, running forward and thrusting itself against Machrus’s legs. The eldest boy approached, appearing almost apologetic as he pried the young one away.
“Apologies, Faerbor,” he offered with a respectful bow. “You are most welcome.” The little one—a girl, Renna thought with relative certainty—pouted in the arms of the elder, but he put her down again with a pat and she returned to her siblings without any further show.
Renna glanced at Machrus, wondering at his reaction. He had been stiff at the girl’s welcome, not moving to give her any warmth in return. She wanted to frown at that, but she forced herself not to think of him too harshly. There were rules here she did not know, ones that seemed to include touch most especially, and perhaps he was not cold but merely... formal.
From what she’d seen of him, however, either possibility seemed entirely reasonable.
She had no idea how old the boy might be. She did not want to presume that they aged as her own people did, not when those assumptions might prove embarrassing later. But he held himself well, and seemed to quell any disquiet with the other children with simply a look. They did not appear afraid of Machrus at all, but there was a distinct air of regulation that she could not help but notice. She stood awkwardly, hovering at the door, afraid that any movement or word would be entirely wrong.
She must have missed something, for suddenly the children were looking at her expectantly, and she looked to Machrus for help. Was she to offer them a gift for entering their home? What tension she had lost on the walk here was rapidly returning, and Machrus took a step nearer to her, not exactly soothing with his heavy sigh, but at least their eyes flickered to him instead.
“My wife,” he announced, more to the room than to any child in particular. His tone was as begrudging as she expected, but the children did not seem to care, rising from their seats and coming to stand before her. They touched first their foreheads then their chests, the younger glancing at the eldest boy often, apparently looking for approval and were answered with a bow of his head.
He was last, his hand lingering over his chest a little longer. “You honour us, Faera.”
Another new name? She had not the least idea of what to say in return, of what was expected of her, but her mouth seemed not to care as she blurted, “I do?”
Then promptly clasped a hand over her mouth before anything else might slip out.
The boy seemed bewildered at her question. “Of course. For you have married our faerbor. You have paid us visit.” He glanced at Machrus. “That is... wrong?”
The door opened behind them, and Renna was grateful to see Adelmar enter. She didn’t know what had kept her, but she did not care, not when she was so glad of the interruption.
She eyed everything with careful measure before she gave a nod of seeming approval. “Calgrus, you have tended to the introductions. Excellent.”
He gave an uncertain smile toward the other woman. “Maer, our new faera is uncertain if her visit brings us honour.”
Adelmar made a clicking sound with her tongue, shaking her head all the while as she came over and laid an affectionate hand on the boy’s shoulder. He was taller than her, but had yet to reach the height of any of the Marzon men she had seen, so she was fairly confident that he was still in boyhood. “Renna does not yet understand her worth, my son. Your faerbor is a slow teacher.” Her tone bespoke what she thought of his methods, and from the way Machrus’s face clouded at her words, he caught her meaning well.
Adelmar looked away first, though Renna was fairly certain that under other circumstances their contest of glares would have continued for a much greater duration, but she was thankful that the woman did not provoke her husband into a temper. He had been... perhaps not fully kind in his manner since their ascent here, but he had been softer somehow, and she did not want that spoilt by a quick jab at his method of introducing her to his world.
“This is your son?” Renna asked, more to redirect the conversation than for need of any true clarification. The familiarity between them was obvious, and the way Adelmar looked at her son—with such love and satisfaction to be found there—anything further was unnecessary.
But it proved effective for the woman calmed completely, a broad smile smoothing the last shadow of her displeasure. “My eldest, yes.” She returned her attention to Machrus. “He did well?”
Calgrus, if she understood that correctly to be his name, seemed slightly abashed for her to have asked Machrus that, but when his uncle gave a nod of affirmation, there was no disguising the pride he felt to receive—what to her—seemed such a small compliment.
She gave her son’s shoulder another pat, before dismissing all her children. Renna watched them go, not certain of where they were going, but not about to ask. Were they all Adelmar’s? She did not know how to enquire without risking rudeness. Large families were uncommon in the colony, not for lack of births, but for how few children survived so long.
She bit her lip, not liking to think of it, and noticed both Adelmar and Machrus staring at her. Her cheeks burned to be studied so, and she shuffled a little nearer to the door. She did not want to go back out, not really, but she did not feel comfortable here—not with everything so new and absolutely apparent how little she understood of their culture.
Adelmar looked at her sadly. “You are not better then? Would you like Machrus to escort you home?”
The idea of going back down sent of both relief and terror, but the dread won for she shook her head determinedly. “No, really. I just… I don’t know what to do.”
Adelmar only gave Machrus the smallest of glances before she gestured toward the fire with a welcoming smile. “You needn’t trouble yourself over such matters. We are well aware that differences are expected, and you will not be blamed for your lack of knowledge.” Which, she supposed, meant that Machrus would be. That did not settle well with her either.
Renna timidly approached, Adelmar seated on a low… not quite a chair, but not a bed either. It was cushioned, or at least appeared to be, and with the woman’s motion, she was apparently supposed to sit there too.
Machrus remained by the door, his arms folded over his chest, eyeing her steadily. He did not show any overt signs of wishing to leave, but Adelmar had not offered him a seat as well, and she supposed that meant that her time with him here as security had come to an end. She turned to him, coming a bit nearer, her voice low so she could speak to him as privately as possible.
“Thank you for bringing me. I… I do not know if I could have managed without you.”
He inclined his head ever so slightly. “You will be well then?”
Adelmar was quite right. The walls did help, as unless she paid it special attention, there was little difference between this dwelling and Machrus’s. “I’ll be fine.” And she was fairly certain she wasn’t lying to him.
He studied her a moment longer before this time giving a full nod. “Very well.”
He turned and opened the door, but a sudden panic filled her and she grabbed hold of his arm. He looked down at it and she released him hurriedly. There was no need to touch him now, she knew this, and she would have to try harder to keep from doing so. She’d touched him far too much today, especially given his aversion to it. Embarrassment and guilt gnawed at her uncomfortably, and it was almost enough to make her rethink her entreaty, but found that she could not.
“Will you… would you please come back? To help me down? If… if that wouldn’t be horribly inconvenient.” She felt stupid, even asking. She knew he had work of his own, chores and grenpeets to attend. She didn’t know what hi
s business was that had even brought him here at all, and already she regretted having asked him. “Never mind. I’m sure you’re going to be finished first and it wouldn’t be fair for me to ask you to wait.” She stepped back into the room, her stomach already clenching at the idea of making the journey down without him, but he turned to address her fully.
“I will return.”
She sighed deeply in relief, feeling even guiltier at how surprised she felt at his acceptance. “Really?”
“Yes.”
And then he was gone without talk of timing or anything of the sort. But, she supposed, she would simply leave when he was ready, and that would be fine enough with her.
He had shut the door behind him, and it took Adelmar’s quiet murmur to get her to stop staring at it and accept the woman’s initial offer of a seat.
“You both are quite peculiar.”
Renna felt rather distant from the conversation, her thoughts still with the husband she found so unknowable, but tried to shake herself a little so she could focus properly. “We are?”
Adelmar did not smile, and Renna grew nervous at her seriousness. “It is to be expected, I suppose, but even so. Do you not yet understand that he is given to you as well? To be your help. That of anything should be clear to you yet it does not appear to be so.”
The very concept of Machrus being hers at all was nearly laughable. A ceremony did not create such a bond, no matter what they said. Their accord was tenuous at best, birthed of obligation and mutual distaste for the entire prospect—not at all what the Marzon expected of them, she was sure.
She shifted awkwardly, finding the cushion almost too soft and wishing she could sit upon the floor instead. She was cold, even now, and being nearer the fire was a pleasing thought. But Machrus did not like when she sat there and Adelmar would probably think even less of it, so she remained where she was. “I’m sorry,” she said at last, not certain what else she could offer.
Trade (Deridia Book 2) Page 15
