by Nicole René
Tyronian’s humor dissipated. “What about them?”
“It’s Kisias. He—”
“Chief Xavier! Chief Xavier!”
They both turned at the frantic tone. Castic was running full speed toward them, panic splayed across his face. He skids to a stop in front of them so suddenly, that he lost his balance and fell backwards. He was quick to recover though, and if fear wasn’t so potent on his face, Tyronian probably would've laughed because of how comical the whole debacle was.
“You have to come, Chief, it’s lady Leawyn!”
Xavier stiffened, and Tyronian caught the flash of fear on his face before he masked it. “What happened?” Xavier demanded, already walking up the hill.
“Lady Namoriee said that her water left her body and now pains have started to hit her!” Castic hurriedly explained, keeping pace with them.
“Shite,” Tyronian breathed. He knew what that meant. Leawyn had gone into labor.
They needed no further prompting. They ran the rest of the way.
“What happened?” Xavier barked once they had reached his hut. Namoriee looked up from where she was attending Leawyn, her face pale but expression set in cool calculation. If Tyronian didn’t know her so well, he never would have been able to tell that she was scared. Leawyn looked terrible. She was pale, her brow was slick with sweat, some of her blonde locks stuck to her forehead, and her face was etched with pain. Namoriee stood, giving up her position beside Leawyn to Xavier who immediately bent down to console his wife who started to cry.
“Where’s Aggod?” Tyronian whispered down to Namoriee when she came up beside him.
“I sent for her, but she hasn’t come. I’m getting worried.”
“I’ll fetch her.” Tyronian glanced over at her cousin’s once more before he left. The healers hut was in the middle tier of the Izayges village so that she could be easily accessible to all the inhabitants, so it took a few minutes for Tyronian to reach it. He was surprised to see Castic already there, his back to him and seemingly frozen half way inside the hut.
“Castic?” He frowned when Castic jumped about a foot in the air when he clapped him on the shoulder in greeting. An unsettling feeling churned in his gut when Castic looked up at him with a numb expression.
“What it is it?”
Castic shook his head, green eyes glazed as he pointed a shaking finger inside, stepping back so that Tyronian could slip past him.
He stopped abruptly at what he found inside.
Tyronian was taking too long.
Namoriee kept one eye on the door, willing for her husband to return, while the other kept busy with counting the ripples that took Leawyn’s body. A pained groan brought her attention back to Leawyn who grew stiff as another contraction swept through her. They were getting closer and closer together.
“Where is Aggod? She should be here by now!” Xavier growled, barely flinching as Leawyn clamped down on his hand tightly with her pain. His mood has increasingly grown dark and volatile the more in pain his wife became. He had never been able to handle Leawyn in distress, and he had been the same way with each of her births.
“She’s not coming,” Tyronian said from behind them before she could reply, surprising them. They hadn’t heard him come in. Her shoulders sagged in relief, rising to her feet. She glanced over at him, but her relief was short-lived when she saw a blank expression staring back.
“Why not?” Xavier demanded.
“Because she’s dead.”
Namoriee staggered back, shock and pain slicing at her heart. Xavier bit out a curse. He tried to calm Leawyn who started to become hysterical at the news.
“B-but she can’t be dead!” Namoriee sputtered, watching him walk up. “We need her. She’s the healer!”
His hands felt overwhelmingly heavy when they cupped the nape of her neck. His solemn gaze pinned her in place.
“You’re the healer now Namoriee.”
Another pained shout shattered the otherwise quiet early morning. Tyronian watched as Xavier paced in front of him, his motions quick and agitated. It had been hours since Namoriee had kicked the men out of the room. It had taken Leawyn’s readiness to begin giving birth for her to get over the shock of Aggod’s death and her newly appointed role as head healer in the village. Xavier had long since grown quiet, his eyes shooting to the door of his hut every so often as he awaited the arrival of his son or daughter. But what had first started as excitement quickly became fear as the midafternoon sun sunk down for the moon, and the moon made way for the rising sun.
Tyronian was exhausted, but he vowed to not leave his cousin’s side until the deed was done.
“Xavier,” he said, tiredly, “you’ve dented the earth enough with your overweight-self. Sit down.” His joke and request went ignored.
“It shouldn’t take this long,” Xavier muttered, “Xillik did not take this long.”
“Each child is different. You have nothing to fear, Namoriee—”
“Namoriee is no healer!” Xavier snapped, pausing only long enough to shoot him a glare. “Her presence is no reassurance to me.”
“You know as well as I do that’s not true. She had been her pupil for years. Or have you forgotten all the times she had helped heal Leawyn?” It was below the belt, throwing in Xavier’s face how many times Leawyn had been in need for a healer early into their marriage, but he didn’t care.
Leawyn’s choked scream sounded, making Xavier whip his attention back to his hut. It was silent for a moment, before the high-pitched cry of a baby broke it.
“See!” Tyronian laughed, getting to his feet. “Told you she was in good hands.” Xavier didn’t even appear to hear him, he was already walking through his door; chuckling, Tyronian followed.
“You have another son,” Leawyn told Xavier tearfully. She looked weak, and exhausted covered in sweat and blood, but still beautiful. He gave them a moment alone by searching for Namoriee.
“You did well,” he said, once he was looking down at her. She looked haggard; her hair was tied up and disheveled, she had bags under her eyes, and her dress was awash with blood and other fluid.
“I feel as if I could sleep for days.”
He grinned at that. “I imagine that Leawyn feels the same way. As will you when we have children.”
His brow furrowed when her expression shifted. As if his words displeased her.
“Namoriee!”
They glanced over, noticing the pained expression on Leawyn’s face and the thinly veiled panic on Xavier’s. Namoriee rushed over to them.
“It is probably her afterbirth,” Namoriee reassured, getting down to her knees and lifting the blanket covering Leawyn’s spread legs to peer inside. She gasped.
“What?” Various panicked voices asked her.
“It is another babe!”
Well, that was unexpected.
Namoriee was struggling to keep her eyes open. Leawyn’s second child came into this world difficulty, having been in the wrong position at first to which Namoriee had to physically turn around. It was grueling, and terrifying, but the moment when she caught her third cousin, she couldn’t help but weep with Leawyn in relief.
Two boys, Rhoxon and Ryder.
She couldn’t believe it.
It was the wee hours into the morning once Namoriee finally could go home, and it was a struggle to keep both eyes open. She glanced longingly at her bed, but she was still covered in filth from childbirth, and she knew she needed to bathe before she can claim sleep. She sighed. At least she had the foresight to have a bath drawn for herself and Leawyn. She checked to see if the water was still hot, only mildly disappointed to feel that it was merely a few degrees above lukewarm.
“Let me,” he commanded gruffly from behind her, starling her. She glanced over her shoulder, following Tyronian with her eyes as he moved until he was standing in front of her. Namoriee swallowed uncertainly, but nonetheless dropped her hands, watching as he undressed her. His fingers removing the buttons of her filthy dress with deft fing
ers. She shivered when he traced a finger over her nipple once it was exposed, causing it to bead.
“I can’t,” she said helplessly. She couldn’t even imagine having sex at this moment.
“I know,” he replied, stroking her one more time before continuing in his task. She helped him push her dress off her by shrugging her shoulders, using his offered hand when she stepped out from the pooled fabric.
“Turn around,” he dictated softly. She shivered, getting a chill when his thumb stroked up the nape of her neck before he untied the leather strip she had tied her long hair up in. The locks cascaded down her back a moment later.
She gasped when he swept her off her feet, abruptly. She looped her arms around his neck to balance herself while he gently lowered her down into the water.
It was silent between them, Namoriee too tired to argue with him as he proceeded to bathe her. He seemed to be fond of treating her in almost a childlike fashion, feeding her when they ate meals together, helping her dress and undress, and now, bathing her.
He treated her like the most delicate of flower, ensuring that the wind didn’t knock her fragile petals form the calyx.
She sighed, enjoying his gentle administrations as he wiped her body with the upmost care with the rag soaked with the oils, making sure he didn’t miss a single stretch of skin. She followed his whispered direction to lean her head back so that he could wash her hair. She smiled slightly at how the darkness behind her closed eyes became even more so. He had covered her eyes with his hands, just to make sure the oily water didn’t touch them. He finished with her hair, and it didn’t take long for her find herself wrapped up in a cloak that he had placed near the fire so that it may be warm when it touched her.
Her feet didn’t touch the ground once after she was dry, Tyronian preferring to carry her to the bed instead. He quickly shed out of his clothes before he joined her, tugging her into his arms until her back was resting against his front. It was silent inside of their hut sans their quiet breathing, the crackling fire and the early rising birds that started to sing their praise to the sun. She was moments away from sleep when he spoke quietly in her ear.
“I have two more cousins, and it brings me joy that my wife helped in the delivery of them all.”
He paused, and Namoriee felt her heart to race at that pause. It was heavy, silent yet loud with vehemence in the delivery of words that she knew going to be important in some way.
“It is my wish—my hope—that I will be blessed by the Gods for my wife to deliver her own.”
They have never spoken about children, but she knew it was what he wanted, and what was expected of her. She was the vessel in which his heirs could grow, and it was her duty to provide him such. They’ve been married for months now, the season that she must make her decision fast approaching. She was surprised that he waited this long to even have this conversation.
But even so, his statement, was terrifying, because though he had simply said his aspiration, she knew, heard, the deep longing in his masculine tone.
She heard the conviction.
He had no doubt that she would bear his children, but what if she didn’t want that? Did she have a choice?
No, she decided, feeling Tyronian slide his hand down to rest on her stomach.
“You’ll be so beautiful,” he whispered.
She didn’t think she had one at all. But despite that…the thought of having her own child, of having their child exacted a strange longing.
“You honor the Gods, and they shall honor you,” she told him. It wasn’t a yes, but it was a start.
That night, she dreamed of little bronze-skinned children with blonde hair, calling her name as they ran from her toward the setting sun, laughing.
It was a surprisingly hot day, one of the few that remained as the days and nights had begun to chill with the promise of season’s change. The hustle and bustle of everyone getting ready for the celebration gave Namoriee déjà vu. It was scarily like the night that Tyronian had first publicly laid claim to her when he had punched Cantos in the jaw during the feast for the visiting tribes. But unlike last time, Namoriee didn’t try to argue over her serving tonight. She knew that her serving days were over indefinitely.
Unless, of course, it was to serve her husband, Namoriee thought to herself wryly.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Leawyn said from beside her. Namoriee looked over at her, effectively breaking her from her thoughts. Leawyn was perched on a chair, barking orders as she supervised the ladies getting all the tables ready for tonight’s feast. The twins were sleeping soundly in the wicker baskets that the women of the tribe made her on the table beside her, despite the level of volume surrounding them.
“What is?” she asked, placing the last plate in her hands on the table.
“That the Sicares would visit on the same night that we celebrate Castic becoming a warrior.”
Namoriee’s hunch about Castic was right; he had been chosen to complete his Prova Sinavi early. She didn’t know who was more worried for him, Leawyn, or Garnette. They had both taken the news hard. He successfully returned to the Izayges victorious yesterday, though, and it had taken him only five days for him to catch his prisoner of war that the Izayges had kept and let loose. He hadn’t even flinched when Xavier ordered Castic to execute him. They were having a feast in his honor, celebrating his accent to manhood and path as an official Izayges warrior.
“The Gods have funny timing, do they not?”
“Yes,” Namoriee said, looking in the direction that Xavier and the Sicares warriors went off to. “It appears they do.” She looked back to Leawyn. “Why do you think they’re here?”
“I don’t know,” Leawyn shrugged. “But whatever it is, I don’t think it was anything good.” She nudged her chin up ahead. Namoriee followed her gaze until they collided on Tyronian, a brooding look on his face as he strode down the hill.
“Go to him,” Leawyn urged, a worried frown on her face. “He doesn’t look happy.”
Namoriee agreed with her, Tyronian looked upset. With a quick ‘I’ll be back’, Namoriee left Leawyn to catch up with her husband. She dodged the busy bodies as she went, which slowed her down, and she found herself annoyed at that fact.
“Tyronian!” she called out to him, going up on her tiptoes to see over the shoulders of the person in front of her but he didn’t hear her. He turned left, leaving her line of sight. She muttered her apologies when her shoulder bumped into the person she was trying to pass but didn’t slow her pace. Once she was finally away from the bulk of the crowd, she picked up speed. He was probably heading to their hut. She hurried her way over, and her shoulders sagged in relief when she caught sight of him once she crested corner.
Her mouth opened to call out to him, when she caught side of the person he was talking to.
She slowed, watching as the woman frowned sadly, touching his forearm sympathetically.
It was Samanthia.
She dropped her hand, and Namoriee breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t touch him again. It was sort lived, as Tyronian said something that had her long brown hair flowing down her back as she tipped her head back in laughter. Tyronian was grinning down at her, and Namoriee felt a sharp pain in her chest when he tipped her chin, looking at her seriously as his mouth moved, telling her something that made Samanthia’s face gentle. When he bent his frame, leaning down to her—Namoriee looked away, her heart pounding. She took a deep breath before she ventured to look back at them but when she did, Tyronian was gone, and Samanthia was looking straight at her, a self-satisfied smirk on her lips. She made a point to wipe her bottom lip, before she, too, walked off.
Numbly, Namoriee turned around and made her way back to Leawyn, her mind wheeling.
The nagging sensation that she was missing something was back, and it made her on edge. Something about the way they spoke with each other seemed intimate, like they were familiar with each other more than what was considered friendly.
She di
dn’t know when Samanthia came here, or why, but Namoriee knew one thing.
She didn’t like her being here. Not one bit.
Kisias was sick.
Tyronian was still reeling from the news that Xavier and the Sicares massagers shared with him when they called an audience.
Their Chief was sick, and they didn’t think he would make it to his next winter.
Kisias called for him, and Tyronian knew what he would ask.
It was the conversation he dreaded, and what he spent most of his youth rebelling against.
He needed to go back to Sicares, that much was for certain, but when he came back would he be coming out as Tyronian, cousin of the Izayges chief? Or with a different title entirely?
His identity was in question, and he had no idea what his answer will be.
Tyronian, of the Izayges, or Tyronian …new chief of the Sicares?
Music, laughter, and great food; that was the setting for Namoriee’s meal—and she wasn’t enjoying any of it. Her eyes stayed locked on the woman who was quickly becoming the bane to her existence.
Samanthia.
All throughout dinner she has been watching how she interacted with the other men in the tribe. Was she flirtatious with all the husbands in the tribe, or just hers?
"Who's that?"
* * *
Leawyn looked over briefly at Namoriee's question, following her gaze to where she was looking.
"Samanthia," she said, turning her attention back to Xillik who was dropping food more than eating it.
"She's pretty."
"She's a whore."
Namoriee turned to her friend. “I haven’t seen her with the others.”
Leawyn shrugged one shoulder, her eyes flicking from one of her children to the next. “I’ve only met her a few times. She tends to come and go as she pleases, but from what I gather she’s not one of Tanna’s girls. She prefers to spread her legs for absent of charge.”
Namoriee’s eyebrow rose at Leawyn’s tone. Her friend usually did not sound this catty—it was both amusing and concerning to her.