by Grace Draven
“Truly? I find that difficult to believe. You’re well-spoken, intelligent, with a strong frame and handsome face.” Thoughtful and humorous, too, possessed of confidence but lacking in arrogance. Those were the things that truly endeared him to her. That he was pleasing to the eye didn’t hurt, but Halani had never been in danger of falling for a pretty face.
“Speaking of nectar on the tongue,” he said. “Trust me, if I’m ever in the position to counsel a boy just reaching his first beard, I have a wealth of information to share on what not to do when trying to charm or court a woman.”
“Oh, come now, it couldn’t have been that bad. And we all fail at courting at least once.”
“But I failed spectacularly and often.”
The storyteller inside her perked up, sniffing out a good tale in his words. “I want to hear this.”
He groaned as if in agony. “You would dine on my humiliation?”
“While I have my doubts it’s as bad as you say, I promise not to gloat over your supposed botch-ups.”
He soon had her laughing helplessly and cringing in sympathetic embarrassment. “I warned you,” he said after one awful recounting of his attempt at wooing a nobleman’s sister.
Halani wiped away tears of mirth, her sides aching. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t laugh. It sounds awful, but you tell it in such a way . . .”
“I’m pleased to make you laugh.”
He was doing much more than making her laugh, though she’d never say that to him—or herself—out loud.
They circumnavigated the caravan line, ending up back at her wagon just as one of the women hailed her from another wagon for help in passing out lunch to the drivers. Unconcerned by the interested looks she and Malachus received from the others, Halani offered him a wide smile as she dismounted from the half-snoozing Falcon. “Thank you for inviting me to join you in racing the wind on this fleet-footed steed,” she teased.
Malachus leaned out of the saddle, close enough that if she stood on tiptoe, she could kiss his smiling mouth. “Now that you know of my courtship debacles, my dignity is in your hands and at your mercy, Halani of the Lightning.”
There it was again, a moniker he’d attached to her name that only made sense to him. “Will you ever tell me why you call me that?”
He winked. “Maybe.”
“If you do, I promise your dignity will remain intact.”
“Ah, spoken like a true free trader. A bargain is struck. I promise to tell you before I leave.”
The reminder that he’d soon leave them made her smile falter. His did the same. “No dark thoughts, Halani,” he said softly before straightening once more. “I’ll see you later tonight for supper and a reading lesson.”
Halani lived for the reading lessons. For her, they were true magic—making sense of previously fathomless symbols, connecting them in ways that created a fountain of knowledge to fill her mind and made her thirstier every time she drank from it. She practiced on her own each chance she got, though her favorite time to do so was in Malachus’s company. He was a demanding teacher and the worst sort of distraction. More than once she’d lost her concentration in learning her letters or the rules of how they were put together while listening to the way he read in that low, accented voice.
Supper on the fen road wasn’t the communal one enjoyed while they stayed on the outskirts of the Goban market. With the wagons in a line instead of a circle, it was easier to stay near one’s own wagon and tend to household tasks. Both Halani and Malachus had joined one of the free trader families for supper. A meal for a story or, in this instance, something from one of Malachus’s books.
Halani was happy to cede him the stage and listened, as enthralled as the others, as he read accounts of Winosia’s history, the rise and fall of its kingdoms, its deities and religions.
“The monks who fostered you, who did they worship?” Their host for the evening, Kadena, puffed on the pipe he’d lit. “And why aren’t you a monk too?”
Malachus traced the edge of his book with a finger, his expression far away as if he recalled the years spent in the Sovatin monastery, learning from the monks who passed on their storehouses of knowledge to him. “I considered it, but I’m a wanderer.” Several heads nodded. Wandering was in the blood of every free trader. “I lived with the brotherhood for a long time but was restless, ready to fly away by the time I was old enough.”
That nomadic nature had brought him here, where he’d crossed paths with Halani, and for that she was thankful. Even were he not on a quest to break his mysterious curse, that same nature would send him away from her. She pushed aside the melancholy thought and concentrated on what he was saying.
“The brotherhood worship the sky god, Pernu, and his wives, Ninsurgha of earth and Suela of rivers. But they are devoted most to Pernu, the father of draga, of men, and of horses.”
Halani touched the medallion Gilene had gifted her. It lay cool against her bare skin, hidden beneath her shift. “The Savatar have a similar story,” she said. “Though it’s their fire goddess, Agna, who created all three, and it was woman she created first instead of man.”
“I want to hear how Pernu made a draga!” One of Kadena’s large brood of children waved the toy he clutched at Malachus as if to spur him on with the suggestion. “Something besides Kansi Yuv and old Golnar.” Several more children added their support of the idea.
Malachus pretended to consider, cajoled by the pleading and whining from his audience until he gave a long-suffering sigh and said, “All right. I’ll do it, though not tonight, and I can’t promise I’ll tell as good a story as Halani does.”
“We don’t mind!” one child said, bouncing up and down in her older sister’s lap.
With supper finished, Halani and Malachus bid their hosts good night. The provender wagon occupied a spot farther back in the train than Halani’s did. When he offered to walk her to her wagon, she readily accepted.
They strolled toward their destination with the slowness of Falcon’s relaxed gait. Lamps hung on hooks attached to the wagons’ exterior boarding cast pools of light across the fen road, lighting their way. At her wagon, Halani reached into the neckline of her shift to pull out her medallion. She unclasped the chain and offered the necklace to Malachus. “Take a look at this. A gift from Gilene before she left. It was she who told me the story of Agna and her children.” She showed him how to disconnect the medallion’s three pieces, then repeated the Savatars’ creation myth.
Malachus inspected the silver abstracts representing draga, woman, and horse. “This is finely wrought work. I didn’t know the horse people of the steppes were also silversmiths.” He held up the draga design for more study. “Agna’s first child and her most powerful? While the draga wasn’t Pernu’s first, she was his greatest and most beloved.”
Halani focused on one word in his statement. “She?”
“Pernu’s draga was a female named Vuri Silyn, the first of her kind.” He interlocked the three symbols together once more. Instead of handing the necklace back to Halani, he reached around her to attach the clasp, fingers drifting slowly across her nape so that she shivered. The medallion rested against her breastbone again, still warm from his touch. Malachus cupped her face, hard hands cradling her jaw. “The medallion is unique, beautiful. Much like the woman who wears it.”
“Nectar on the tongue,” she whispered, eyes drifting shut as he lowered his head.
“As I’m about to discover.” He kissed her—a leisurely exploration of her mouth that invited her to do the same to his. Halani wrapped her arms around his back, mapping the ridges of muscle there as well as the indentation that marked the length of his spine. The vibrations of his low groan tickled the inside of her mouth as she slid her tongue across his to taste him.
The hands that had cupped her jaw moved to her hips, fingers kneading her flesh while drawing her ever closer into
the shallow cove his body made as he bent into her. Heat rolled off him, a fever of desire. When they paused to draw breath, Malachus continued kissing her, only this time it was to feather a path across Halani’s cheek and over the bridge of her nose. He halted and pulled away just enough to gaze into her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that. I know better than to succumb for reasons beyond count, but mostly because I think when I leave this caravan, I will be incomplete.”
His words acted as a cold-water splash on Halani’s ardor. Her invitation for him to join her in her wagon hung in her throat. She, who had guarded her heart for so many years, had surrendered it to a cursed outlander on a quest. Would she give away her soul as well if she took him to her bed? The thought both horrified her and sent the blood surging hot through her veins. For her own sake, she put physical distance between them and returned his half smile, certain hers wavered. “Not so,” she said. “You’ll take memories of your time here with you.” And me, she thought. You’ll take part of me.
“Halani,” he said, her name an invocation on his lips.
She backed up her stair treads to the threshold, never breaking the gaze they shared. Her heart clattered against her ribs. “Good night.”
It was a coward’s retreat, yet leaning against her closed door in the wagon’s darkness, she felt no shame. Better to run than to fall.
The following day left no time for melancholy reflection or even awkward conversation. The sun’s glory didn’t last, and the sky clouded again, promising another deluge and the danger of lightning. Kursak eyed the gravid clouds and cursed.
“Gods damn it!” he said, virtually snarling the words. “Are we going to have to sacrifice a sheep to get this to stop?”
“I doubt some poor ewe’s blood is going to make a bit of difference on whether or not the rain stays.” Halani, standing next to the wagon master, dragged her hands over her face and sighed. “I’m very much done with being soggy.”
Kursak slapped Seydom on the back, his face grim. “We’ve loitered enough. Ride the line and tell everyone to pick up the pace. We travel all day with short rests and then through the night.”
As if it heard his words and laughed at his plans, the sky opened, and the rain fell in windswept sheets. Halani drove her wagon, calling out encouragement to her mule even as the thunder boomed above them and lightning illuminated the roiling clouds. The hard rainfall raised such a noise on the fen, she had to shout to be heard. She almost didn’t hear the command to halt that traveled down the caravan line, startled when her seat rocked to one side and Malachus climbed up to join her.
“Stop your wagon, Halani. Problem at the rear.”
As if sensing Malachus’s presence, her mule’s ears lay back, and it pranced in its traces. Halani tightened the reins, bringing the vehicle to a gradual halt. The wagon in front of her went a few wheel rotations more before doing the same. “What’s going on?”
“Broken front axle on one of the supply wagons.”
She groaned. “This couldn’t be worse timing for a wagon repair or on a worse wagon. Has word gotten to Kursak?”
Malachus wiped rain from his face. “He saw the break when it happened. They’re unharnessing the team now. I’m headed back to help with unloading while your wheelwright sees what can be done to fix it. Be ready to overnight here. No one’s going anywhere until we get the axle fixed.”
She was about to reply when he grabbed her hand and planted a hard kiss in her palm before leaping off the seat to jog back the way he came. Her hand tingled where he kissed it, and despite the rotten news and equally rotten weather, Halani smiled.
Malachus had joined those chosen to lift the wagon onto the jacks, his back to one of the long sides, knees bent as he waited for the command to lift. His shirt lay plastered against his skin, and at some point he’d tamed his hair into a queue at the back of his neck. It reminded Halani of a horse’s tail, thick and straight.
“That’s a fine bit of male persuasion there,” Ruviti said, joining Halani where she watched the men work. “You’re lucky to have that in your bed for the trip.”
In circumstances less worrisome, Halani might have laughed. This time she only replied in a distracted voice, “He doesn’t share my bed.”
Ruviti nudged her arm. “Come on, girl, we’re not much help here. Let’s join the other women to prepare food. They’ll all be ready to eat the wagon by the time we’re ready to serve it.”
Halani resisted. “I don’t think I should leave. I brought supplies in case someone gets hurt.”
The other woman didn’t give up so easily. “Gods forbid someone does, but if so, you’ll be here fast enough to help. Right now you’re a distraction.” She nodded toward Malachus, who watched them from his place by the wagon. He briefly looked away to reply to something the free trader next to him said. “He may not be in your bed, but it’s obvious you’re in his thoughts, and right now isn’t a good time for that.”
Heat flooded Halani’s cheeks from a mixture of guilt over the notion she might be a hindrance instead of a help and delight in the idea that Malachus’s thoughts were as wound around her as hers were around him. “You’re right,” she told Ruviti. “Let’s go.”
By the time the food was ready, Halani’s stomach was growling its own demands for sustenance. She and three others, along with a bevy of older children, volunteered to bring the men the food in carts covered in oilskins.
Malachus’s fingers were cold when he took the bowl of stew she offered him. He inhaled the steam rising from its surface, closing his eyes as he did so. “I’m hungry enough to eat the bowl itself.” He opened his eyes once more and smiled. In the day’s dreary half-light, his irises were as dark as his pupils.
As much as she would have liked to spend time talking with him while he ate, she couldn’t stay, and she left him with a generous portion to devour while she delivered more to the men surrounding the wagon. By dawn the wagon was fixed and reloaded.
Kursak called a quick gathering of sleepy, drooping people, his own face gray with fatigue. “I know I said we’d keep moving, but that wagon axle took us by surprise. Most of us need rest. Without it, we’ll get careless and make mistakes. Those of you who managed to get a little sleep last night will have to see to things today. The rain’s still coming down, but the road isn’t flooding. This is as good a place as any to stay another day and night. We’ll head out in the morning and take it slow. “
The group dispersed, and Halani made her way to Malachus where he waited on the other side of their temporary circle. His eyelids sat at half-mast as he gazed at her. “We’ve worked you hard since you’ve been with us. Not much sympathy for a convalescent. Are you sorry you traveled this far with the caravan?” A flutter of anxiety winged its way up from her belly to tickle her rib cage.
He offered her a sleepy smile. “No. I’m only sorry I won’t be able to travel farther.” He reached past her to grasp her braid and pulled it over her shoulder. “Before I go, I hope you’ll let me see your hair loose one more time.”
Halani blinked away the suspicious ache in her eyes. She shouldn’t cry. It changed nothing. “Leave your clothes on the lamp hook outside the wagon. I’ll come for them to wash and not disturb you.” She turned away before he could see the telltale redness in her eyes.
The rain continued another two days before stopping. Twice Malachus had ridden next to her for a short time, once on Falcon, once on the more lively Batraza, until Halani’s mule bucked in its traces to protest the mare’s nearness.
“Kursak thinks we’re near the end of the fen road,” she told him. “Soon we’ll reach the place where it meets up with the main road leading to Domora.” He could leave at any time. There was nothing keeping him here any longer, neither her nor the rain.
The weather had provided her uncle a decent span of time to reach Domora and sell the draga bone. She assuaged the guilt of her deception by telling hers
elf that Malachus had mentioned nothing regarding a search for a bone, that his run-in with the mercenaries was truly a coincidence, and that the curse he hoped to break was more of an annoyance than a life-or-death dilemma. If she told herself these things enough times, she might almost believe them.
“Then we need to have a reading lesson tonight, even if Kursak doesn’t want to stop.” Malachus frowned. “We haven’t had a moment to sit together for one since the rain started again.”
“I’ll make sure he stops.”
Malachus chuckled. “Say it like that, and I’d be worried about telling you no if I were Kursak.”
“Kursak doesn’t fear me in the least.” He was ten years older than she and much like an older brother who tolerated his younger, irritating sister.
“But he does respect you. I think if you asked him to swim across the fen for you, he’d do it.”
“Thank the gods for his sake, then, that I’m not so frivolous.” She winked at Malachus. “I have many faults, which I’m sure he’d be happy to share with you.”
His chuckle became a laugh, and he executed a deep bow from the saddle before riding toward the front of the line to report to Kursak updates on the rest of the caravan. Halani could only guess he must have said something else to the wagon master regarding their travel, for he ordered a halt for the night and a call for a supper gathering to celebrate the fact that the end of the fen road was close. Even if more rain came, they were out of flood danger. The land had risen higher, the road now well above the waters.
Halani had just turned her mule over to Nathin to lead back to the herd when Kursak approached her, Seydom beside him.
“Let’s take a walk. I want to show you something.”
Curious, she followed him and Seydom to a spot where she had a clear view of the southern horizon and the vague shadow of a tree line that marked the end of the fen. By fast horse, they could reach that marker in half a day.