Thrall (Deridia Book 3)

by Catherine Miller

  Ness's lips pressed together, and she was reminded of his argument with Bendan. He needed to hear from her as well, to be guided by her speech and thoughts, and not simply left to his own. That made it no easier to do, especially when little of this had gone as she had intended, but no good could come of silence.

  She had to be clear, to speak with conviction.

  Because she had everything to lose.

  "The Narada were wrong."

  She waited, hoping he could grasp the significance of what she had said.

  He studied her, probably looking for signs of temerity, or that she had spoken merely to please him, and she wanted to drive away such concerns, so she pressed on.

  "The masters were wrong. The... the Commander was wrong,” even that horrible little voice was quiet, even as she uttered the greatest blasphemy. She felt… free. And it made the words come more quickly, come more easily, as she knew that they were right.

  “What they raised me to believe... all of it. I... I might have been their slave, but that does not have to be me forever. Not... not if I do not wish it."

  Olivar swallowed, sitting up and taking her chin in his hand, watching her closely. "And do you?" he asked, his eyes more intent than she had ever seen them. "Is that what you choose?"

  She smiled at him, a little sad, a little hopeful, tears prickling at her eyes even as she tried to drive them away. "No," she told him firmly. Truthfully. "I... I would like to choose to be with you."

  She loved his eyes. So warm and rich and brown, the darker pupil slightly elongated in the most fascinating way. The Narada’s weren’t like that. Hers certainly weren’t. Just him and the rest of his kind.

  But she didn’t like the unhappiness in them, not when she wanted to see a similar joy to what she had felt earlier.

  “I want to believe you,” Olivar managed to get out, though his expression showed how much it pained him. “You do not know how much.”

  She shook her head, not wanting to contradict him, but finding that she must. “I was afraid to believe that you could want me,” she confessed. Her voice was small, more timid than she would have liked it—especially when she felt so very sure of this—but he seemed to understand her well enough. “I was afraid to believe it would be allowed, even if you did.”

  Olivar stared at her for a long while, and she shifted uneasily in his arms. It was strange how much comfort she could glean from being there, yet how difficult it could also be. Most especially when she did not know his thoughts.

  “You speak of me wanting you,” he said at last, adjusting his hold. Not to pull away, as she’d feared, but so he could run his fingers through the ends of her hair. It soothed her, if only just a little. “It isn’t enough for me to do the wanting,” he insisted, his tone sad and almost chiding. “Perhaps that is the way in other places, but not here.”

  She wanted to interject that she did not care how it was done in other parts of the world, that his way was what mattered, but she kept silent, choosing not to interrupt.

  “I have to prove myself to you, that I am worthy of your affection, your trust...” he stopped when the shaking of her head grew more vehement.

  He had said as much to the Caern, and she’d had to allow it, as it wasn’t her place to speak there.

  But it was here. Especially when he could not be more wrong.

  “You have been doing that since my first day with you,” Ness assured him. “I never imagined there could be anyone as patient and kind as you. Someone so caring and generous. And for you to think that you have more still to prove to me?” She scoffed quietly, still finding that ridiculous. “I will admit there is still much I do not know, but that you are a good man? That I do not doubt.”

  She had hoped that would be enough, but he continued to eye her dubiously, and she let out a huff of frustration. “But does that still not speak of wanting?” she asked him, her tone a bit more flippant than she had ever allowed it to be before. It was odd, using it with him, and she reminded herself that while she was utterly safe with him, there was no call for rudeness either.

  But the corners of his mouth quirked upward, and as ridiculous as it might be, evidently it pleased him all the same.

  “I have thought of you with a proper mistress,” she confided. “Or... at least, a woman of your own kind. I’ve imagined having to live here with her, watching you two be... be all that you should.” She glanced downward, even now the thought causing her heart to ache. But she took his hand and gave it a squeeze, wanting to feel him even if she could not quite bring herself to look at him. Her other hand gave a faint protest even tucked up in its bandages, and she wondered when it would cause her no more trouble.

  Probably when she stopped being so foolish and careless.

  So never.

  The thought made her smile grimly, but it turned softer when Olivar continued his ministrations to her hair. “There was never anyone else, Ness,” he told her, his voice quiet and gentle, as if he was afraid of upsetting her even with his assurances. “So even if you did not choose to be with me, you do not have to fear that happening.”

  She came very near to scowling, but she stopped herself in time. But still, she must have given him a rather incensed look, for it seemed to take a great deal for him to keep from chuckling at her. “You are not listening,” she complained. “I did not want that to happen, because I want you. Even when... when I was sure it was wrong, when I was nothing but a thrall that could never have made you happy, or been right for you...”

  Ness closed her eyes, some of those doubts and worries still too near even now. “I wanted you. I want you. I want to be yours and for... for you to be mine. Few things have ever been called so but...”

  She did not expect for his lips to meet hers. For his hand to skim across her cheek as he placed a chaste kiss against her unhappy mouth, a gentle pressure at first, but more coaxing as she began to soften.

  She waited to feel a twinge of fear, a prickle of wrongness, but it did not come.

  She wanted to laugh, to wrap her arms about him and hold him tight, the bringer of all good things, of warm feelings and more happiness than she thought could possibly be hers.

  The rest of it didn’t matter. Perhaps later they could creep back in, could whisper dark worries into her soul as she tried to wrestle them away.

  But here... with his mouth moving so sweetly against hers, all was quiet except the beating of heart, the gentle pants when eventually he pulled away and she tried to catch her breath.

  He was smiling at her, his ears that funny green that she loved so dearly. She was certain her cheeks were pink, and she smiled back, a little shy, a little unsure, but so very pleased.

  “I might have been the one that accepted you as payment that day,” Olivar told her, even now a hint of darkness in his eyes at the memory. “But I never owned you.” His fingers were soft against her cheek as he touched it, and he leaned forward to kiss it too, almost as if he was compelled to do so. She did not mind. “However, I have been yours since that very moment, I can assure you.”

  She found that difficult to believe, but she said nothing. She hadn’t trusted him then. Not a bit. But if he had wanted to think so well of her from the beginning, she was not going to dissuade him.

  “I don’t know why,” she did confess, still finding it incredible that he could think so well of her. She was of a cowardly sort, she was more soft-spoken than he would like. She did not know how to cook for him, or care for his home. And despite Prim’s pregnancy, she was rather dubious that she would ever bear a child for him.

  He kissed her again. Not as deeply as before, just a simple press of his lips against hers, as if he could will away her worries if he distracted her well enough. She didn’t doubt that he could if he truly wanted to.

  “Why do you say that?” he asked, his lips drifted over her temple. She shivered, just a little, but not from cold. She could not say precisely why.

  The words spilled easily. Her failings, her worries for
her inadequacies, despite whatever affection he held for her. And he held her, and listened, all the while stroking her hair, kissing her brow, and proving just as distracting as she’d feared.

  “I worry that you will wake one day and realise how much better you could find in a man,” he confided when at last she’d finished speaking.

  She turned, aghast, her mouth dropping open a little. He tickled her chin with the end of her hair, giving her a sheepish smile. “It is true. You have known so few good people, Ness, and I had the privilege of being the first, yes, but in time...” he shrugged, looking away from her, and she couldn’t allow that. Not when she knew the turmoil she felt whenever she was the one to drop her gaze.

  “That is ridiculous,” she told him firmly, the tone sounding strange to her ears. It was her voice, to be sure, but she had never used such a thing. It wasn’t her place or... it hadn’t been. But she could do as she pleased now, as incredible as that still seemed. A part of her was waiting for all of this to be some great mistake, that misfortune would come again and she would be forced back into the role of thrall.

  But she could not live in that fear. Not any longer. Not when it could mean losing all that was best in her new life.

  “I did not want Bendan when I saw him,” she reminded him.

  Olivar smirked at that. “I am certain Alindra would be glad of that.”

  “I did not want her either.”

  His eyes widened, and he swallowed. “That is... also good.”

  She leaned forward, for the first time pressing her lips to his. It was quick, and perhaps a little off centre, but she’d done it, and meant it. “I just want you. Always.”

  Olivar grew more serious, his hands settling at her waist, as if to keep her still but also hold her close. “I know you will not understand the significance,” he told her. “It is... it is done in our ways. And I would still like to show you, if you would care to accompany me.”

  She didn’t truly understand what he was referring to, but it seemed important, and that was enough reason for her.

  She loathed the idea of moving, of abandoning their place on his bed, but he was already helping her, and she finally realised that he had laid her on the blankets with her boots still on her feet. She comforted herself that his were on as well, but she told herself that as soon as she was well, she would inspect his blankets for any signs of soiling and wash them thoroughly.

  Belatedly she remembered her hand, and she eyed it resentfully. She would be a help soon. When she’d healed properly, and there were no more pains, she would work. Not because she would be beaten otherwise, but because she wanted to make a home with Olivar. Because he should live amongst clean, fine things, and have someone to help him achieve that.

  And, hopefully, that someone would be her.

  “We are going out again?” she asked as he helped her to her feet.

  He hesitated, looking back to the bed and back to her. “You need rest,” he answered resignedly, as if he was only now remembering the incident with the colnass. That was quite all right with her—she would prefer it be expunged from everyone’s memory, including her own.

  She shook her head. Perhaps it was talking with him, or the kisses, or the sleep she’d had on the boat, but she felt well recovered. Or, most probably, it was whatever medicine the Arterian healer had given to her that had helped so very much.

  But she did not care for the reason, she only wanted to please him, and it was most gratifying that she could give him honest assurances of her wellbeing.

  “I will tell you if I cannot walk any further,” she promised him. “But I am not as sick as all that.”

  Olivar hummed a little, not wholly convinced, yet his eyes already flitted to the door. Whatever he wanted them to do was obviously important, even if she couldn’t understand the reason for it. At least, not yet.

  “It should wait,” Olivar hedged with a sigh, already moving to help her back into the bed. She took a step backward, giving him as firm a look as she dared.

  “Is it of significance to you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  His lips thinned. “Yes.”

  She did not wait for him, did not try to convince him with words, as she was not particularly good with those. Instead, she simply exited the room and headed toward the main door, her fingers already on the large latch when she heard the hurried footsteps behind her, Olivar’s hand coming to cover hers.

  “You do not know where we are going!”

  She smiled at him, easing her hand down, happily noting that he kept his tucked neatly around it. “Then you shall have to join me,” she entreated softly, making sure she was not impudent, merely teasing.

  Olivar sighed again, this time with a hint of humour mixed with his exasperation, and she gladly accepted another kiss to her temple. “You are becoming impossible,” he complained, and she felt a momentary fear as she looked up at him, hoping that he had not taken any of what she had said or done as disrespect.

  But there was warmth in his eyes, and she relaxed, chiding herself for being so quick to doubt. She would have to work on that, and quite thoroughly too. He would not accept her as a wife if he believed she had any fear left of him, any worry that she could not speak and act truthfully.

  And she wanted to be his wife. So very much.

  He led her down the stairs, past the workroom and out into the village. The shadows were growing longer as the day wore on, but the heat was not quite so oppressive. People watched them as they walked on, smiling amiably or simply nodding in acknowledgment. She tried her best to mimic the gestures, but Olivar did not even seem to notice them, too intent on wherever he meant to take her.

  She baulked a little when they neared the water, afraid they were going to turn toward the Caern’s house again. She should be willing to go there, and would be again, but not now. Not when she had hoped that Olivar meant to show her something. Share something with her.

  His hand tightened around hers as he took her down a different bend. “Not today, Ness,” he assured her, apparently recognising her hesitance without her having to give the reason. “I will have to speak to him about today, but not now. There’s something else I must do first.”

  She nodded, grateful but nervous all the same. She didn’t want him having to talk about what had transpired in the Arterian village, of her injury. He would see her as a liability, and likely deny them any necessary permissions to marry.

  It made her ache to think of that.

  He took her by the water’s edge, the river running quickly, breaking against rocks in a gentle thrum as it gushed beyond. It seemed more rapid today, as if the water itself was as anxious as she, but she didn’t know if such a thing was possible.

  She glanced up at Olivar’s face and found a peacefulness there that she’d rarely seen. He was generally of a cheerful disposition, always ready with a smile or an encouragement, but here...

  He must have felt her gaze for he looked down, a question in his eyes.

  She flushed, adjusting her hold in his hand, finally deciding simply to be truthful. “You like it here,” she observed, hoping he didn’t mind that she had been watching him. She reasoned that it must not be too rude, for he watched her a great deal and did not think it wrong.

  “I do,” Olivar confirmed. “There is freedom here. And connection. With my boat I can go anywhere, see anyone...”

  He seemed sad at that, and she turned her head, giving his hand a squeeze as she tried to get him to elaborate. He smiled, a little thinly. “My mother is many leagues in that direction.” He pointed, and her brow furrowed, not knowing what a league was or why he was only now mentioning that his mother lived. She had assumed the woman had died, but obviously that had been premature.

  “Are we going to see her?” she asked, trying to make sense of all this.

  Olivar sighed, shaking his head. “No. Though I would like her to meet you, someday. But that journey is a much longer one.” He looked over in that direction again, somewha
t wistfully. “When my father died, she... she wanted somewhere new.” He grimaced, though she thought it was meant to be a smile. “The benefit of trade, yes? Places to go, people to welcome you. She held the vassa, not my atha. And when he died... She had lost two husbands here, after all. I did not blame her for it. I do not now. But still, I miss her.” Ness had to bite her lip to keep from saying anything against the woman. She did not know why she felt it necessary—it should have been expected given her history that all mothers be separated from their children. But Olivar was saddened by the woman’s absence, and that troubled her a great deal.

  She rested her head against his arm, hugging it to her. “I am sorry,” she murmured, and when his tension eased, she knew she had spoken rightly. Better to offer sympathy than to criticise another that he clearly loved.

  She swallowed, a lump in her throat. He had never actually said that he loved her. It was... implied, and his affection for her was generously displayed, but he had not expressly stated it.

  It made her nervous, that perhaps it was his sense of duty that made him want to secure her place here, rather than the return of feelings that had become so strong for her.

  He made a coughing noise, and she looked up at him in concern, and he was forcing a much more cheerful expression on his face. She didn’t like that it was necessary, wanted his happiness always to be genuine. So she stopped and waited for him to turn, crooking her finger as she bid him to lean down.

  He did so, a hint of confusion on his features, though that cleared quickly when she kissed him. Once, twice, until he was returning it in kind, and she hoped the sadness was sufficiently driven from his mind.

  She pulled away first, her hands at his face as she studied to ensure he’d had enough kissing, and this time his smile was full of warmth, and it was easy to return. “I am sorry,” she said again, sealing her sympathy with one last kiss.

  He wrapped his arm about her as they continued walking, tucking her neatly against his side. “There is no need, Ness,” he assured her. “I have family enough. I have Bendan. And Alindra too, if ever she decides to accept him. And...” he glanced down at her, as nervously as she’d ever seen him. “And I hope to have you.”