“You are not an inconvenience,” Machrus declared, pulling out a garment from the bottommost of the trunk. “They were all very pleased that you agreed to meet with them at all, and they did not care about the means.”
Renna wanted to believe him—mostly she did—but her nervousness made it difficult. He held out the garment, and from the amount of fabric at the bottom, she was fairly certain it was a dress of some sort, which she confirmed when she shook it and held it up against her. She remembered the shift she’d been given upon her arrival, short and flimsy, the cold easily seeping into her skin. This at least seemed to go all the way to the floor and if she was allowed to still wear her shawl...
She fingered the cloth thoughtfully. “Am I supposed to be wearing things like this all the time? I never thought to ask about that custom.”
Now that she thought of it, few of the women dressed as she favoured, but since they had supplied her new clothes, she had assumed it was all right. She looked to Machrus questioningly.
He was giving her one of his dry appraisals. “You dress as you wish. I care not.”
Well, that was comforting.
And now she was wearing a dress and cooking a dubious meal, and he was still so infuriatingly calm about the entire situation.
Her heart raced when there was a knock upon the door—just one, quick and sure—and she stared at it, her eyes wide. Machrus made no move to open it, instead preoccupied with her. “Shall I ask them to depart?” He asked that as though it was a genuine offer, and it was enough to force her to at least muster a pretence of composure.
“Of course not,” she declared, tugging at her skirt again. The fabric did feel lovely, swishing prettily as she walked. The length was perhaps a little concerning, obviously made for someone with greater height. But if she was careful about it she could move well enough. “Will you be opening the door or shall I?”
He did move then, not to the door but to the cook pot, placing a cloth upon the handle to protect his hands as he carried it outside, leaving her to follow.
She did not know if she should be affronted that he’d just disappeared with her labours, but her disgruntlement was more that she would have to now exit their home alone.
She swallowed, adjusted her shawl and pushed her hair behind her ears and told herself she was being a right ninny for feeling so anxious.
His family was... large.
Not only in number, but also in size, and she was suddenly very grateful that Machrus had informed her that they would be greeting them outdoors and not all crammed into his comparatively small dwelling. The knock evidently did not signal their arrival, merely their desire that Machrus and herself join them. Woven mats were scattered about the hillside, some laden with food and jugs of what she supposed would be drink, others already sporting a few of the older children who were talking quietly amongst themselves.
She stood awkwardly toward the house, watching her husband deliver the pot to one of the mats, a woman greeting him with a smile and a nod, which he returned with slightly dimmer enthusiasm. But he did smile, and he did remain to talk with her, and she felt an uncomfortable clutch at her belly.
This was his family, she reminded herself firmly, and she would not be so ridiculous.
She looked about the gathering for any sign of Adelmar. A familiar face would have been most welcome, a friend to help her navigate a sea of strangers, but she was nowhere to be seen. Guilt weighed on her to think that perhaps she had stayed away on purpose. If she had, then Renna was the one to blame, having behaved so badly when invited into her home, and it would be her responsibility to mend it.
If ever she found the opportunity.
She took a hesitant step forward, mustering the last of her courage as she decided to join her husband, but she was intercepted by Edlyn. “You look terribly nervous,” the woman observed, reaching out a hand and giving Renna’s arm a comforting squeeze. “I remember meeting them all when I was new. There were a great deal fewer then and still, my hands were all atremble.”
Renna relaxed, if only a little, her feelings no longer seeming quite so absurd. “I’m sure you’re all very nice,” she said in answer. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Machrus keeps saying I’m being ridiculous.”
Edlyn glanced over toward him, and to Renna’s relief, she merely smiled. Adelmar likely would have glared. “I can believe that. None of the men have been able to truly understand what it is like to join this family. They were born to it, of course, so I suppose it is expected that they should feel so easy within it, and be blind to how intimidating it can be.”
Renna nodded in agreement. “But there’s no reason to be?”
Edlyn shook her head. “You are already married to the surliest of them. If you can survive him, then the rest of us should be little trouble.”
Renna smiled, a bit hesitantly. She didn’t know if she should agree with Edlyn, but there seemed no point in denying it outright. He was surly, and often cross, prone to a cold temper that led for all sorts of awkwardness. That his sister-in-law might recognise that was more comfort than she realised, especially since she did not seem to find as much fault in him as Adelmar so often did. Her tone was warm, and that was enough.
“We’re managing,” Renna replied, watching as Machrus was approached by two men she had never seen before. They must be more of his brothers. They clasped hand to forearm in greeting, warm smiles meeting a cool nod. One of them pushed at Machrus’s shoulder and she was gratified to see a quirk to Machrus’s mouth. Apparently even he was not impervious to the charms of family.
“My husband,” Edlyn declared, following Renna’s eye line. “He considers it his personal responsibility to ensure Machrus smiles at least once during their meetings.”
“That is kind of him,” Renna mused, unable to tear her eyes away from the brothers. “Machrus’s smiles are few.”
Edlyn glanced at her, a hint of sadness touching her features. “He has always been the quietest of them. But he was not always as reserved as he is now. We still hope he will find his joy once more.”
Renna felt the weight of expectation, and she shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know how to be that for him, Edlyn, nor would he want me to be. Especially not when I don’t even know what he lost.”
Edlyn patted her shoulder. “Give him time, please. One of the... conditions of Machrus agreeing to the match was that we would remain silent on certain subjects, so there is little I may offer you on that front but...” she sighed, shaking her head. “Please, do not harden yourself to him. He is a good, kind man, and I believe in time you will see that for yourself.”
Renna swallowed, feeling awkward and, admittedly, disappointed that Machrus should have extracted such a promise from his family. She wished to learn of his history, the better to understand him, the better to know him, and a part of her had hoped that this meeting would provide such an opportunity. But he clearly would not thank her for prying, and she did not wish to provoke his ire, not when obviously he held his secrets so dear.
“I will try,” Renna answered. “That’s as much a promise as I can make.” The woman’s plea was a fair one, as was her concern. It would be easy to settle into a coldness between them, should her own desire for friendship not overwhelmed her natural spite.
“Then I shall have to hope that it will be enough.” Edlyn pulled her hand away and gestured toward the others. “May I introduce you to my husband?”
The greeting was not nearly as formal or stilted as Renna feared it might be. At their approach she was met with a hand grabbing her forearm, so large and warm that it almost startled her, and she just barely remembered to grasp his in turn, mimicking the welcome she had just witnessed earlier. “Sister! It is beyond time that my selfish brother should share some of your time with us!” There was no heat to the criticism, only a playful smirk at his brother’s expense, and when Machrus merely rolled his eyes rather than grew angry, Renna took it for the teasing it was meant to be.
“I�
��m afraid that is more my fault than his,” Renna still clarified, her arm still held by this new man. She tried to remember his name, but Adelmar had only mentioned it in passing long ago and it escaped her.
“Lorken, you may release her arm now,” Machrus instructed, impatient but not quite ordering. “And you are meeting her now, so there is no reason to dwell upon the subject.”
Lorken shook his head, allowing their arms to drop and moving to his wife’s side. “Isn’t right that Edlyn should meet her first is all. She is my new sister first.”
Edlyn nudged him, her smile soft, and gave Renna an apologetic glance when she must have noted Renna’s pinked cheeks. Machrus had tried to tell her how important it was to meet everyone and she’d failed in that. “None of that now,” Edlyn urged. “We are here and when you are ready for us to be. That is what matters most.” This was evidently directed at her husband given her look and his rather sheepish expression in answer.
“Very true,” Lorken conceded, his fingers twining with hers. “Though the next time Machrus takes a bride, I will insist that I be a part of the greeting party.”
Renna looked at Machrus worriedly, and though his jaw clenched momentarily, he did not appear too angry at the pronouncement. “There will not be a next time,” he stated stiffly before turning to her. “Perhaps we shall meet some of my more courteous brothers?”
Renna nodded, a bit uncertain. She was certain Lorken had been teasing, poorly as it might have been, and she noted Edlyn gave him another nudge and a cross look. He had meant nothing by it, and she would not begin to question herself more than she already did. Her place here was... perhaps not secure, but she was beginning to doubt that she would be driven from her new home with calls to divorce and secure Machrus a new bride at the smallest provocation.
Rochlere was the smallest of the brothers, though that was saying little. He would still have stood nearly a head taller than most of the men in the colony, though his shoulders were on the narrower side in proportion to his height. Renna flushed when she noticed that his wife was seated in his lap. He gently set her aside before he rose to greet her, this time their arms clasping only briefly before he released her.
“Sister,” he greeted, this time more formally. “My wife, Naida.” He helped her to her feet, and their difference in heights was so striking she would have mistaken the woman for his child if not for his introduction.
His wife was of a pretty sort. Her nose was... odd in that it was relatively nonexistent, nearly flat with only the smallest ridge that might suggest she could breathe through it. Her dark hair was braided and twined with ribbons, the same colour as her blue-tinged skin. Naida pressed her hands flatly together—she had only three fingers on each hand in addition to her comparatively short thumbs—and gave a bow. “Renna,” she greeted quietly, her gaze never leaving the mat at her feet.
It was a posture she’d seen many times before—a wife trying to appear as small and insignificant as possible, diminutive. To shrink and hide away, to be invisible so that perhaps she wouldn’t be hit, wouldn’t be noticed, wouldn’t have to hear an angry word.
Renna looked to Machrus for direction. Nothing of his demeanour suggested something was amiss, so she gave a rather tight smile, her stomach still clenching to see it. “I am... very pleased to meet both of you.”
The introduction was apparently over for Rochlere sat down again and pulled his wife to him, holding her close and simply sitting there, no words passing between them.
Machrus gestured for her to follow him, likely to the last of his brothers, and she dropped her voice low so as not to be overheard. “Is she all right?” She glanced back at the couple, feeling ill at ease at Naida’s obvious deference.
Machrus, however, was unconcerned. “Her people are of a different sort. She had chosen to retain her custom, so she is as you see her.”
Renna opened her mouth, wanting to argue the point, but she quickly closed it again. Naida might appear as some of the colonists did—beaten down until they were quiet, mindful shells, ready to obey the least command. But from all that Machrus said, she could not imagine him, or one of his brothers, being the one to provoke her into behaving thusly.
Yet doubt niggled, persistent and biting, that the Marzon were allowed to do what they liked, providing that the original people found no objection to the bride’s treatment. And if her people were the ones to have instilled that in her...
Machrus had turned to her, staring down steadily. She had not noticed that he had stopped so she nearly collided with him, but he grasped her arm to keep her balanced. “I do not like your expression.”
Renna blinked at him. “That was a rude thing to say,” she replied without thinking, before closing her eyes to collect herself. When she nervously opened them again, she found that Machrus was not angry, only serious, and she tried to quiet her offence in favour of understanding his meaning. “What about it do you object to?”
Machrus chuffed out a frustrated breath, muttering about bonds and convenience, though she missed quite a few words in between. “I cannot determine if you are concerned or angered. There is cause for neither.”
Renna smoothed her hands down the skirt, silky and light, trying to find the words to communicate her thoughts to him. It was always difficult to maintain a balance of gentleness and honesty, but she would continue to try. “There were women like that back home. Quiet and withdrawn, never looking at anyone or speaking too loudly. It... it always came from terrible things happening. Sometimes... sometimes by their husbands or just... life in the Wastes.” Machrus’s mouth tightened, so she rushed on. “But I remember what you said. It’s different here, and I’m going to believe that,” or certainly attempt to, “but you must understand, it is difficult to put aside what I’ve seen and not just... assume things.”
Machrus continued to stare. “But you will try? None of these people will thank you if you view them, and their people, so harshly. I would never suggest that what you have experienced is not as harrowing as you say, but at times...” He glanced behind them thoughtfully. “Your perception can prove faulty.” He used his hold on her arm to turn her back toward his brother and Naida, his voice low. “Does it seem as though he abuses her? That he feels anything but affection for her, and she for him?”
Naida was nestled in his arms, Rochlere’s head tucked down by her ear, whispering to her softly. Her eyes remained downcast, but there was no denying the gentle smile upon her lips, the way she leaned into him so trustingly. “Do you see it?” Machrus asked, his breath hot as it tickled her ear. “Do you see his care for her?”
“Yes,” Renna murmured, strangely envious of what she had so quickly assumed was something to be pitied. And that stupid longing flared anew, and she had to close her eyes lest it continue to grow stronger. “And I’ll try.” Apparently she was to make that promise quite a lot today. “I... I want to learn, and not assume.”
Machrus released her. “Good.”
And then he was walking, and she was left to catch her breath, to still her heart, to forget how warm he was against her back.
When she collected herself enough, she hurried after him.
The last of the brothers stood off to the side, watching over a grouping of children as they loudly disagreed over the rules of a game. He did not intervene, even when the two oldest boys glared and looked prepared to engage in a more physical debate, and Renna wondered at his inaction. But soon a girl stepped forward, placing her hands on both of the boys’ chests, her voice stern as she chastised them and pronounced the new game they would be playing.
Both boys sulked, but acquiesced, the children running off after quick glances to their adult minder for permission.
“Sister,” he acknowledged with a nod. She wondered if it was of some importance that each of them call her that, but such custom had not been explained to her. He did not move to grasp her hand, his own arms crossed over his broad chest. “Brother,” he added as well.
She had thought Machr
us was the most silent of their family, but Dundrel seemed prepared to make an attempt for the title, and they stood awkwardly for a while—well, she did. The two men appeared perfectly content in their quiet. She glanced at them both, wondering if she was allowed to break it, but neither was looking at her. If Machrus had expected her to behave in a certain manner, he could have communicated it beforehand, she decided crossly. And if she wasn’t allowed to ask questions, he could have told her so.
“Is that your wife?” she asked at last, gesturing to the woman Machrus had spoken to when delivering her contribution to the meal.
“Yes,” he confirmed with a nod. “Marella.” A few children had gathered around her, and though at this distance she could not hear the words, it was evident they were trying to scrounge a few crumbs. The woman swatted them playfully away.
He fell silent again and Renna looked to Machrus, feeling frustrated and awkward. “Would it... is it all right if I go and introduce myself?”
Machrus nodded his assent, eyeing his brother strangely for a moment, and Renna frowned at both men. There was... tension, at least to her, and she wondered if they might argue as soon as she was out of hearing.
She was curious as to the cause, but the uncomfortable feeling of standing there made it easy to scurry away, even if it was towards a stranger. Marella smiled at her approach, wiping her hands on a cloth before standing and, instead of grasping her forearm, embraced her fully instead. “Renna, welcome.”
Renna returned the gesture as best she could, though her motions felt a bit stilted and unpractised. It had been so long since she had been hugged. She had clung to Machrus easily enough, when terror had bidden her to do so, but this simple exchange had become foreign, and that saddened her.
Marella pulled away, gesturing for Renna to share her mat. “Machrus tells me that you made this yourself.” She gave the contents a stir, and Renna noted it looked just as stringy and congealed as before, if not more so.
Trade (Deridia Book 2) Page 23
