“Then what?” he pressed, sitting a little straighter and leaving no room for doubt that he intended her to give an answer.
She hesitated. She wanted to hedge, to find a way to drop all this and make him understand that she regretted her outburst and all that had come after it, but he was glaring a little, and words were dying on her tongue even as they formed, and it wasn’t fair that he expected her to talk when he was looking at her so.
Machrus shook his head, obviously displeased. “It is not right that you grow frustrated with me for my silence when you are equally culpable. You fill it with other chatter, but all the better to hide what you do not wish to discuss.” He held up his hand when she made to interject, silencing her. “Do you think me wrong?”
She wanted to, but she also wouldn’t lie to him. “No,” she admitted, not quite able to look at him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I have observed,” Machrus noted drolly, “that women tend to endure bouts of contrariness. I cannot say it is my favourite aspect of your sex, but one that I do not find shocking.”
Renna didn’t know if she should laugh or feel indignant. She settled on a tearful smile. “I’m sorry. Really.”
He shook his head. “Your apology is unnecessary, but I shall accept it for your sake. However,” he continued, leaning towards her. “My assessment stands. You clearly are in need of speaking with someone, and as your... friend,” she ignored the way his lip curled as he said that, “I suppose that means it shall have to be me. What will you ruin if you tell me of your troubles?”
She grimaced. Her fingers found the cord about her wrist, warring with herself. “I’ll ruin what little we have,” she confessed at last. “Ruin what we could have. Because you won’t think that I’m... you’ll see that we insulted you by... by letting me be your wife.”
“I see,” Machrus murmured, returning his attention to the sky overhead. “And what is it you believe is expected of one of our brides? What qualities are you so lacking in that would make your offering such an affront?”
Her breath caught, her mouth grew dry, and she could not believe she was truly about to answer him. But it felt right to, not in the sharing of a confidence, not in his ability to give assurances that all would be well—for she truly did not expect any such thing from him.
But it would eradicate those stirrings in her that remembered longing for more, for a love as her parents once shared, for loneliness to be stripped away by companionship, by attention, by affection...
“Because,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper, though she knew he heard her clearly enough. “Because in all the tales of the Old Days, girls chosen for... for political marriages were... they hadn’t...”
“Yes?” Machrus urged.
She released a shaky breath, looking at him wretchedly. “They hadn’t already had a baby.”
15. Trust
Machrus stared at her. “You have been married before?”
His voice was calm. Inquisitive, but not outright hostile. That did not make her feel any better.
“No,” she whispered, shame coursing through her. It was far from uncommon in the colony—babies were plentiful, though children were comparatively few, as were the couples that claimed matrimony. But that did not help her situation now, when she felt her place here so tenuous, when he would see that she had been a dreadful choice to play wife to him.
Machrus’s mouth tightened. “And your people permit this?”
Her throat felt raw. “Which part? The... the conceiving?” Her cheeks flamed just to think of it, of that progression of time that had led to... to Maisie. Those events seemed separate to her, though realistically she knew they were not.
“No,” Machrus rebuffed forcefully. “That a man should get you with child without also being required to take you to wife.”
“Oh,” she murmured, trying to find an adequate response. “They... he wasn’t... he wasn’t really that sort of man.”
She had thought he was. He had been kind and attentive after her parents had been given up for dead. He had sat with her and held her close as she cried, had told her she was loved—that he loved her.
And she blindly, foolishly, stupidly had believed all of it, so desperate was she for it to be so.
Machrus said nothing for a long while, and she had to wait there, uncertain if he was angry—and for the first time, she wished she understood how to use the bond herself. She felt wretched for thinking it, but that did not change the desire. In theory, she could slip into his mind, could see what he was thinking, feeling, and adjust her own excuses accordingly.
Except even as she considered that little glowing warmth, it felt closed and immovable, and so she sat, and waited, and fidgeted.
Until she could take the silence no longer.
“Say something. Please.”
A grunt was his only reply.
Renna sighed, shuffling a little closer. He did not move away, but she could see the tenseness in him. “Are you... are you angry with me?”
He did not deny it, his cool eyes coming to meet hers, green and glittering. “Why would you choose such a man?” That was not a denial, and her stomach clenched. She’d known better than to confide in him!
She sat back, rubbing her fingers against her soft leggings, wishing her heart didn’t ache so much. “I... it was after my parents died. He... he was kind and... there and...” she swiped at her cheeks, brushing away her tears. “I hadn’t intended for us to... to be that way... with each other. I’d seen the other couples... so many babies and too little medicine, too little food...”
Renna felt him watching her, and she sniffed indelicately. There was nothing else to say, really, and she sat staring at the water beyond, softly rushing, grenpeets shuffling and bleating in equal turns.
She was startled when Machrus drew closer. She was always surprised by how much larger he was than she, their close proximity allowing no room for doubt. She swallowed thickly, eyeing him warily.
“Renna,” he began slowly. “Did you truly want to be with him in that way?”
She carefully smoothed her features. “Does it matter?” she asked him honestly. “It happened. And... and Maisie was the result.” Her daughter was what mattered. A tiny, precious thing that was all hers, her perfect skin yet untainted by the suns, her dainty fingers unmarred by work.
The getting of her, the fumbling, confusing, hurting time with him had just been a reminder to put away hope of anything romantic. She’d been foolish and accepted his comfort, had leaned on him too closely, had come to rely on his company overmuch. After all, as she’d been reminded many times by the older women who tutted at her ever growing belly, what he wanted from her was nothing new, and she should have known that from the beginning.
Except she was naïve and gullible, and his kisses had been sweet, and his words even more so.
Machrus continued his staring. “It matters,” he declared gruffly.
She looked up at him grimly. Which part of it? Did she retain her virtue in his eyes if she struggled, if his advances had repulsed her? They hadn’t, in the beginning. She’d let him kiss her, and to be held was a lovely thing. The brush of his hand against her breast was... startling, but she hadn’t stopped him. The press of it far lower had made her lurch away. But he had such a way about him, of reminding her of all that he had done for her, and all he asked was this one thing... one bit of repayment for his kindness, his friendship...
The rest was... unpleasant, and she’d cried afterward, feeling more alone than she had in a long while. And when he had ignored her from that moment onward, she did not know if she was grateful or sick with grief.
“It wasn’t what I wanted,” she said slowly, knowing that part was true. “I didn’t... my parents had taught me better than that, but I felt like I... owed it to him somehow. For spending time with me, and listening to me...” She glanced away from him, unable to bear the weight of his unwavering attention. “I just wanted a friend,” she c
onfessed sadly. “I just wanted my family back.”
Machrus stood abruptly, and for a moment, his face so furious, the bond flaring with nothing but indignation, she almost felt genuine fear for the first time with him.
He stalked away from her, not going far before lurching back, pacing and muttering too low for her to understand.
“M-Machrus?” she stammered out, hoping he would calm. She’d seen others irritate him, had seen circumstances cause his anger to unfurl, but it had yet to be solely because of her. Because of something she had done.
She stifled a sob, a hiccough escaping instead. She clamped her hand over her mouth to stop another one from coming.
What was wrong with her?
Maybe he was right. Maybe the bond did terrible things, unleashed all sorts of emotions that had no business being expressed. She certainly felt as wild as that.
He turned to her. “He should have been punished,” he pronounced, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “You owed him nothing.”
This is why she did not like to think of this part. There were too many feelings attached, conflicting and often muddled through the haze that night had become. “It got me Maisie,” she reminded herself, for what felt the thousandth time.
“That is no excuse,” Machrus insisted, sitting down with a deep huff, his anger contained, but simmering. He stilled. “Do you not see that he wronged you? That he brought dishonour upon himself for his treatment of you?”
He was seated closer to her than he normally allowed, but her fear had ebbed and she did not mind his presence. She smiled thinly, patting his arm. “That is very noble of you. To... to think that way. But I can’t ignore that I bear some responsibility for it. I chose to spend so much time with him. I chose to kiss him back which... which I suppose would naturally lead to... to more.”
Machrus was glaring at her again and she quieted.
“Do your men possess so little governance? In this I would ask for your honesty, lest they approach our women with such intention.”
Renna paled, already preparing to hedge. Her people needed her to defend their interests, but there was no denying that... incidents... had occurred within the colony. Desmond did what he could to instil order amongst the people, but life in the Wastes was hard and often untamed, and some used the lack of law to further their own interests, regardless of who was hurt in the process.
“I...” she swallowed. She hadn’t lied to him yet, and she wasn’t going to start now. “There have been... occasions... when our people have not acted as they should.” Parents sometimes harmed their children, children sometimes bullied the weaker among them when no one was there to look. Men took advantage when a pretty girl was left alone. Her mouth grew dry, and she felt as thirsty as one of the grenpeets. “Our colony isn’t perfect, but I don’t know of a place that is.” She looked to him a little desperately. “Is yours? Things don’t ever go wrong? People always act rightly and kindly and...”
Machrus took a deep breath. “Not always,” he allowed. “But they are punished for their misdeeds. Their wounded are not allowed to believe they were somehow equally at fault for the wrongdoing.”
She flinched. Wounded. Is that what she was?
“Maybe now that they’ll have a home, things will get better,” she suggested, praying it could be so. “People will be productive. Boredom can lead to terrible things. Desperation too.”
Machrus eyed her speculatively. “You attempt to excuse it?”
She sighed. “No. But I would... I would ask that you look at the broader context when making up your mind about them. About... about me. Our situation was a desperate one, and that did not always bring out the best in people. And I do include myself in that.”
Machrus frowned. “You still believe I will view you harshly based on this?”
“Won’t you?” she asked, her voice tightening at the prospect.
“Must we speak of this again?” He made a gesture toward the water, and she did not require elaboration to realise he was yet again directing her to remember their marriage ceremony.
She wanted to roll her eyes, but contained the impulse. “Yes, I know. We were both cleansed of all that came before. But you can’t tell me that it’s impossible that those befores might alter your opinion of me. It just doesn’t work that way!”
Machrus stared at her intently. “And yet that is what I shall continue to maintain. It is wrong, what was done to you. That you should have faced childbearing alone and abandoned is...” he shook his head. “You have my sympathy, not my contempt, Renna. You seem to have many fears, but let them be something else.”
A lump settled in her throat. “It’s really all right?” she asked, for the first time hope beginning to fill her that perhaps it actually might be. “That... that I was chosen? Or... or should I be sure no one else knows?”
It still worried her that perhaps she didn’t understand this bonding situation enough, and maybe everyone would suddenly be aware of the sordid history of their newest bride, but Machrus merely gave her one of his incredulous looks. “You needn’t hide here, and you may confide in whomever you wish. Calgrus spoke rightly, before, when he said that your presence brings us honour. The details of your past do not amend that.”
She found herself incapable of words, so she simply nodded her head, overwhelmed.
He sat there with her for a time, content to watch the grenpeets and lost in their own thoughts. But she should have known that a question would be most pressing, and even as he asked it, she could not blame him for doing so. “Where is Maisie?” He struggled with the name. He had said it once already, back when the bond had shown him the glimpse of her devastation, but it was clearly foreign to him.
Her arms gripped tightly about herself and she could not bear to look at him. He deserved an answer, if only she could summon one. “She...” Renna swallowed, fighting for calm, for peace, for the ache to ease for just a moment so she could speak of this. “She died. In the Wastes. She was mine for four hundred and twenty-seven days, and then she was gone.”
She did not cry. It hurt still, it always would, to remember those last days with her. But though her voice was soft and strained, it did not waver.
“How?” Machrus asked, as gently as she’d ever heard him.
She released a shaky breath. “There was a sickness. Just a fever, but she was so little, and no matter what I did, she just... couldn’t get better.”
She looked at him then, her eyes wide and entreating. “You believe that, don’t you? That I did everything I possibly could?”
She remembered how hot Maisie’s skin had been at the end, the heat from the suns only making her tiny body shiver all the more, no longer even able to sweat, so parched had she become. No matter how many water soaked rags Renna had placed in her mouth, nothing seemed to take away the chapped nature of her lips. No rub down with a wetted cloth could take away the blazing red that her once pale skin had become.
“I believe you,” Machrus assured her. She relaxed, profoundly grateful. He raised his hand, closing his eyes briefly, before he seemed to settle on something as he ever so tentatively laid it upon her shoulder—as much comfort as he had ever offered her. Even just his hand was heavy, but it was a touch simply for its own sake, nothing required, nothing forced, and something warmed in her.
“I have seen...” he stopped, shaking his head. “Some things cannot be healed, no matter how we wish it. My heart grieves for you.” His voice did not portray any great compassion, it was just as much a rumble as it ever was, but his eyes were filled with sincerity, and it was enough for a sob to lodge in her throat, five carefully controlled breaths needed to cause it to loosen.
“Thank you,” she whispered, meaning it. “I... I was afraid that you might...”
He looked at her expectantly, and her cheeks reddened. “I didn’t know what you’d think. Maybe... maybe women who have lost children are seen as... as failures somehow. Lesser goods.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
&
nbsp; He eyed her sceptically. “Yours are a strange people if that is the conclusion that could be reached from your tale. The world is full of tragedy, and blame is perhaps a temporary consolation, but rarely do I think it of true benefit.” His eyes narrowed at her. “Do you blame yourself? For your daughter’s death?”
She hesitated, wondering how truthful she should be. “I... have,” she settled on at last. “She was mine to care for, mine to protect. And... I loved her. So much. And then she was gone, just like everybody else.” She shook her head, some of her more anxious thoughts finally finding voice. “Do they die because of me? Because I love them? Maybe even too much, and so they have to...”
Machrus was giving her such a dry stare that she stopped short of finishing her thought.
“I know of no one that holds so much influence over the nature of the world. It is true that some suffer more than others, but to say that those around you are punished because of you...” he shook his head ruefully. “You are not a taint, nor a blight to those who have known you.”
Renna sniffled, wiping at her nose with her sleeve. “It’s probably good you’ll never love me then, so you’ll never have to find out if you’re wrong.”
Machrus sighed. “You make that sound cruel,” he remarked, his hand falling away from her shoulder. “Do you find it so?”
She thought carefully about her answer. The ache that came when she thought of Maisie was there, was always there, as steadying as it was painful, and it made it easier to speak of such things.
“I think... when I was young and imagined having a husband of my own, I thought he would love me. That we’d... we’d be friends and partners like my parents.” Machrus eyed her grimly. “But in terms of... you specifically,” she turned to him. “I understand you’re worried about emotions being forced on you. About a bond that might conjure those feelings that otherwise wouldn’t appear. That scares me too. The last thing I want is for either of us to be coerced.”
Trade (Deridia Book 2) Page 21
