Thrall (Deridia Book 3)
Page 38
“Those who wear the vassa agree to do the will of the people,” the Caern reminded them. “You are trusted with barter and trade, with goods that oftentimes are not even your own. By making such a statement, Olivar, you are saying that you are unwilling to put aside your own feelings for the sake of the people. For their furtherance and betterment through what dealings might arise in the future.”
Olivar briefly closed his eyes, and she could readily see his resolve when he opened them again. “Yes,” he confirmed, his arm about her waist keeping her close.
The Caern sighed deeply. “I cannot sever ties with the Narada,” he said regretfully. And to Ness’s surprise, she found that he was looking directly at her.
She swallowed, feeling very uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “I never would have asked you to,” she assured him, hoping to alleviate any thought that she might have directly contributed to Olivar’s position.
The Caern grimaced. “I am certain you would not. I do not think it would occur to you to ask anything of me at all.”
There was no point in denying it. He had proven himself to be a far better man than the Commander, but a fearful respect still dwelt in her that would certainly keep her from making any special requests of him.
Especially if it included asking him to ostracise an entire people, justifiably or not.
But perhaps, if she was very humble, there was something small she could ask of him.
“I do not want Olivar to lose his vassa,” she told him, trying her best to look him in the eye as she spoke. “I... I understand why he does not wish to see them again, but...”
The Caern held up his hand, and she immediately quieted. She did not expect for him to raise his voice, the din of the harnel quieting when they recognise the speaker. “Would any give objection to utilising other tradesmen for future dealings with the Narada?”
Ness’s eyes widened at the round of hisses that went throughout the people, and she stared at them uncomprehendingly. She had not expected him to ask the question so bluntly, with so little explanation as to Olivar’s reasoning or her own involvement.
It was simple, it was direct, and far too sudden for her to be confident in the people’s answer.
Their expressions made it clear what they thought the Narada, though she saw some whispers of explanation for those who had not fully understood the Caern’s use of their tongue. She bit her lip, feeling awkward that such would be necessary, and she resolved yet again learn more of the Onidae’s words so no accommodation would be needed.
The Caern held up his hand again. “Olivar has suggested he be removed from the honour of your service entirely, as he has refused to do trade with that people again. What say all of you? Should I rescind the vassa?”
None spoke at first. A few looked to each other, and to her great discomfort, she felt many eyes turn toward her and remain there. She wanted to hide, wanted to disappear entirely, this scrutiny so much worse than what she had endured during her simple declaration that Olivar was hers.
But eventually the eyes returned to the Caern, and voices came with their own opinions.
That the circumstances were special.
That others could easily be found should any still wish to give trade.
That it was only right that Olivar should be so respectful of her.
The Caern smiled as he sat back in his chair, glancing back at Olivar. “When I send you to trade, you are the voice of our people. And I believe they have spoken in your favour.”
She did not know what to say, not when she had expected an entirely different outcome.
Though perhaps it was time to alter those expectations. To expect kindness and consideration rather than the harsh censure she had known.
“Many thanks,” she managed to get out, bowing her head to the Caern. Not because she feared him, though a little of that lingered. But because she wanted to show him the respect she felt.
“None of that now,” he began as he stood, his hand resting on Ness’s shoulder. “I will leave you to your crempets. I can hardly resist them myself.” He leaned down so she would not be forced to crane her neck so far to look at him properly. “And Ness,” he continued, and though she knew it was foolish, her stomach still clenched nervously to be singled out. “I have spoken to Ragmar of his treatment to you. He will not trouble you again, of that you may be certain, and I will not require Olivar to give reimbursement.” He grinned, if it was possible for a man of his standing to do so. “Another thing you would not have thought to ask of me.”
In truth, she had quite forgotten the matter, too distracted by first their travels and then the lovely process of becoming wedded.
“I...” she began, not certain what she meant to say but feeling as if she was meant to acknowledge his generosity in some way.
But the Caern shook his head, continuing. “I am sorry that your welcome here was less than it should have been.”
She did not mean to contradict him, but in that she felt that she must. “You have a very great people. I am... sincerely grateful that you allow me to be among them.”
The Caern returned to his full height, releasing her shoulder as he did so. “They are yours now too, Ness.” His eyes drifted to Olivar briefly. “Have your husband remind you of that if ever you start to forget.”
Ness watched him mingle with the others, mostly listening and speaking rarely. If ever she needed a contrast to Commander, that was a terribly good one.
She felt Olivar rest his chin on her shoulder, his breath tickling when he spoke. “What are you thinking about?” he asked softly. “Another man, perhaps?”
She did not bother to worry herself that she had done something wrong, for there was no mistaking the teasing lilt to his voice. “No,” she answered. “Only... They were so quick to accept that you did not want to trade with... with the Narada any longer. Why? Why would they agree to that?”
Olivar leaned back and she turned, the better to look at him. “You have to ask that?” he questioned, genuine surprise in his tone.
She glanced back over the people, the ones who had come when they heard that Olivar meant to share an announcement, the ones who had cheered and hollered at her acceptance of him.
“I don’t deserve you. Or them. Or... or any of it.”
Much had changed for her, but that remained a steadfast truth. They were goodness and kindness while she...
Perhaps she was not all that her masters had said she was. They were wrong about a great many things.
But to go from nothing to absolutely everything...
“I could argue that,” Olivar said, tucking his arms around her and holding her close. “I very much want to.” He placed a kiss on her cheek. “But perhaps in time you will come to see things my way.” She opened her mouth to reply, but he distracted her with another kiss. “That you are sweet, and kind, and that anyone should ever be rude or wish to hurt you...” his grip on her tightened. “It is impossible to even consider.”
She wanted to thank him, for even if she could not fully accept that—at least not yet—there was no denying that he had been right about a great many things.
He had been right that he was her friend.
He had been right that his home could become hers.
He had been right that they could wed, and they would be welcomed rather than censured.
“Besides,” he continued. “They accept Bendan well enough, so how high can their standards truly be?”
She smiled at that, especially when Bendan turned from his own conversation to glare at his brother.
She felt Olivar’s finger on her cheek and she turned, and found him smiling back at her. “That is what I like to see,” he murmured softly. “You are lovely, sweet wife. Most especially when you smile.”
She bit her lip, reminding herself that now was not the time for tears.
It was to be a celebration.
“I would like my crempet now,” she declared, revelling in his answering chuckle as he situated her bac
k into her chair and pushed the plate toward her.
“I may ask for you to share, you know,” he cautioned. She pulled the plate a little closer to her and he laughed, pulling her chair closer to his own—not so he could thieve, but simply to have her near.
She did not mind in the least.
She saw the doctor in the corner, and he nodded his head toward her, but did not approach. His smile was broad, and she found herself nodding to him in thanks. He had helped heal her wounds when first she’d come, and he did not deserve her resentments from others she had known.
She saw the women from the market that had made the clothes she now wore.
She saw Alindra and Bendan stealing kisses and secret smiles, and knew that they were just as happily wedded as she was with Olivar.
The warmth she felt toward these people was nearly overwhelming, and she nestled closer to Olivar.
For without him, she would have nothing.
“You all right?” he asked, his fingers playing with the end of her braid.
She nodded, and found that it was true. “I’m just... happy, I think.”
He pressed his lips against her temple. “Good,” he declared. “Just as you should be.”
And when she glanced at him, there was no mistaking the answering warmth in his expression, as he felt—at least a little—as she did.
The affection she felt toward these people, for their ways, was not merely gratitude or an extension of what she felt for her husband.
She cared for them for their own sake.
And they, no matter how impossibly, cared for her.
And knowing that made her crempet all the sweeter, made her smile all the brighter.
She felt a moment’s guilt when she thought of the people she had left behind, of the torment and despair that they would still endure. But as she sat, with her husband and his family, it made it a little easier to push away those thoughts. Dwelling on such things would help no one, and would only end up hurting Olivar.
And that was the last thing she wanted.
Perhaps things would change now that Prim’s people had joined their ranks. They held memories of a time before, when they had knowledge beyond anything that even the Onidae had imagined.
She did not know. It was just as likely they would succumb to the master’s training, just as the previous generations must have done. But to choose to think that only made her feel worse, and that held no purpose either.
So she scowled when Olivar swiped one of the crempets, simply because she knew he liked to tease and evidently be teased, and she did not mind when he leaned down to kiss her in apology, his lips sweet from the cream.
“We are married,” she reminded him, however unnecessarily. It had perhaps been true the night before, but now...
For it to be seen and acknowledged...
It felt all the more real.
Perhaps she did not know what that truly meant yet. She’d had so little of relationships modelled for her. But then, perhaps that was a good thing.
“That we are,” he agreed with a grin.
Nothing for her to unlearn, nothing for her to try so desperately to forget.
Just Olivar and Ness.
Just how it should be.
Also by Catherine Miller
THE DERIDIA SERIES
Mercy
Trade
ADDITIONAL WORKS
Destruction of Obsession
A Rose in Winter
A Civic Duty
A Nymph Without Mercy
The Making of a Lady
The Phantom’s Witness