The Duchess's Descendants (Jordinia Book 3)

by C. K. Brooke

  The Jordinians had established their own pocket in the village by then. The Oca had helped them build a fire pit, and shown them how to raise and maintain their borrowed tents. The soldiers had taken to hunting with the tribesmen, learning how to lay traps and forge their own tools.

  Drew had gone into the forest with them a couple of times, supposing he ought to earn his keep, but catching his own dinner was off-putting. He hated the way the hares shrieked in their blood-filled traps, and the sound when their necks were snapped. After a few weeks, he’d stopped eating meat altogether. Seeds and berries were easier to find, and the women served him vegetables and maize ground with a mortar and pestle. Most of it could be tasty if he was hungry enough, although some was downright inedible.

  Another evening approached. Drew paced the fire, restive. His men were assimilating, but they had to be careful. They still had a task to fulfill. And languishing around with the Oca wouldn’t accomplish anything.

  Terrance tossed a crabapple to Ansel. The officer caught it and chucked it back in sport. Behind them, Findlay added a branch to the ongoing fire, as Milo laughed over a story Rylon was recounting.

  Johanna, being the only female, was spoiled with a tent all to herself, and emerged from her private shelter to join them. “Are those hares cooked yet?” she asked. “I’m starving.”

  “Almost,” Bram answered, rotating a row of spits over the fire pit.

  “You look brooding,” Ansel remarked to Drew.

  “I am brooding.” Drew glowered round at them all. “It seems some of you are forgetting that we’re here on royal business.” Their heads lifted. “I think it high time we discuss how we plan to move forward. If anyone’s got ideas, please,” he extended a hand, “by all means.”

  “But is there a rush?” asked Rylon. He glanced between his friends for support. “Don’t we have plenty of time to—?”

  “We have an agenda. Remember?” snapped Drew. “And as long as we’re all lollygagging here in Oca-ville, we’re wasting my uncle’s time and money. Mud-fishing down in the river for days on end, fooling around with those little arrowhead thingies, flirting with village girls all the livelong night—and I mean you in that last bit, Milo.”

  Milo grinned, unabashed.

  “All due respect, sir, but it’s not exactly ‘wasting,’” Officer Pearson cut in. “It’s surviving.” His companions voiced their assent. “If we let the Oca show us how to inhabit the land, then we’ll have a better chance at survival, once we leave the village.”

  “Yes, but when will that be?” Drew indicated the faint crescent in the sky overhead. “We’ve been here a moon already. I would think we’ve outstayed our welcome.”

  “What about Ludwig?” asked Johanna.

  Ludwig. That was a whole separate beehive, for which Drew knew perfectly well he was responsible. Half the time, his brother wasn’t even with them. He was constantly with Kya. He actually referred to her as his wife. Privately, Drew considered her Ludwig’s concubine.

  He swatted a band of gnats away, irate. “What about him?”

  “We can’t just up and leave.” His sister sat on the log opposite him. “Ludwig is part of the tribe now. And, in a way, so are we.”

  Drew gawked at her. “Are you Jordinian or not?” he demanded.

  She closed her mouth.

  “We need to get to work.” He addressed the group at large. “We came to explore. Surely not all this land is Oca territory? What’ll they know if we draw up a couple of maps? They can’t hoard this place forever. Don’t forget, the islands are ours now.”

  New voices broke into their circle, interrupting the discussion. Drew suppressed an enormous eye roll. It was Ludwig, all of his teeth flashing in an exuberant smile, the likes of which Drew had never witnessed at home. As usual, Kya hung on his arm. The man uttered something to her in Ocanese and she cooed, rubbing her nose against his.

  Kya stepped back, and Ludwig brought his thumb to his heart—the Oca’s farewell gesture. Drew noticed Ludwig had let her weave a small, beaded plait into his hair.

  “Isn’t Kya eating with us?” asked Johanna.

  “Not tonight.” Ludwig sat down beside his sister. “She’s s-s-serving the widows their evening meal.”

  “That’s kind of her.”

  “Aye, they cared for her when she was young, so she feels compelled to care for them as they grow old.”

  Drew glanced up. His brother had managed that entire sentence without stammering once. But Ludwig didn’t seem to notice.

  “Lood-veeg,” Kya sang to him, departing, “I lahf you!”

  “Ca vis ma-jungo, Kya!” Ludwig beamed after her. He turned to his siblings, giddy. “We taught each other how to say I love you.”

  “Wow,” said Drew, “how horribly unappetizing.”

  “Bitter,” he heard Johanna mumble.

  “Tart,” Drew fired back.

  “I am appalled,” came a woman’s voice, “that you would call your sister a tart.” Professor Lovell appeared, balancing a woven basket of flat breads and a water gourd in her arms. “And to answer the question you posed, my lord, indigenous peoples inhabit all of the North Isles.”

  Johanna relieved her of the basket and Catja set down the gourd. Unfortunately for Drew, the professor assumed a seat beside him. “There are many other tribes besides the Oca, each unique, and each belonging to this land as much as it belongs to them.”

  “I didn’t ask you anything.” Drew scowled at her. “Honestly.” He looked at his guards. “Who invited her to sit with us?”

  “What do you propose we t-tell our uncle, Professor?” Ludwig deferred to her as Bram began to distribute skewers of hare meat. “Our task was to m-map these isles…and return to our homeland with the information.”

  “You can still chart the land.” Catja received her skewer, nodding in thanks to Bram. “Dag and Zuri can go with you. Kya, too. They can help you navigate, steer you clear of danger. And you can record the Ocanese names for every mountain, river and sacred landmark. Show that to your emperor.” She bobbed her skewer in his direction. “Let him see the land is already taken.”

  “Oh, he’ll be thrilled,” said Drew sardonically. “That’s exactly why he funded this mission.”

  Catja stared at him. Bluntly, she inquired, “What happened to your nose?”

  Johanna made no effort to stifle her snigger.

  Drew rubbed his crooked bridge. “I broke it, once.”

  “How?” Catja peered at him over those annoying spectacles. “By sticking it where it didn’t belong?”

  “Ha. You’d think, but no. I was a child. We were ice skating. My brother Sasha shoved me, and I fell, facedown.”

  “Poor baby,” remarked the professor coolly. Drew was quite sure he detected no sympathy.

  Ludwig smirked. “He certainly c-c-cried like one.”

  “I was only twelve. And I don’t need to tell you my autobiography.” More blasted gnats swarmed around his face, and the man smacked them away. “Good God, these little buggers are everywhere, aren’t they?” he complained.

  Catja bit into her skewer, unaffected. “They’re called hinga.”

  “They leave you alone,” he observed. “I suppose I just appeal to them.” He heaved a mock sigh. “They can’t help it. I’m irresistible.”

  Catja set down her dinner. She reached into her trouser pocket, fishing for something, and withdrew a small tincture. “Bend back your head,” she commanded him.

  “What?”

  “Just do it.”

  Drew arched back his head, watching as she uncorked the tiny glass bottle. “I don’t like exposing my throat to you like this, Catja. I fear you’ll go for my jugular.”

  She ignored him, dotting its contents onto her fingertips. “They’re attracted to the sweat glands around your lymph nodes.” Leaning in, she began to rub a st
rong-smelling oil onto his skin.

  Drew wasn’t expecting the tiny frisson at the top of his spine at the proximity of Catja’s concentrating face. Her complexion was clear and olive-tinted, her eyes a brilliant blue behind her lenses. In spite of himself, he stared. He wondered why he had ever thought her plain. How had he failed to take proper notice of her features before?

  The pleasure of her touch unnerved him. Her hand worked gently, massaging small circles over his throat. It was rhythmic, soothing. Arousing….

  If she wasn’t careful, she was going to excite him. Not knowing what else to do, he cleared his throat. Abruptly, she stopped.

  She turned away, recorking the tincture, though not before Drew noticed a kiss of rouge at her cheeks. He hitched an eyebrow. Was she blushing?

  The oil felt minty on his skin. He dabbed at it, inhaling the aroma. “What is this stuff?”

  “It’s pure extract from the vanga leaf,” Catja explained. “The smell repels the insects.”

  “Fabulous. And do you have anything that repels verbose little scientists, too?”

  “Your personality more than accomplishes that, my lord.”

  “Oh, ho!” Drew slapped his knee. “Score one for the professor! Oh, well-played, Cat.”

  “Never call me that.”

  Ansel handed him the woven basket. Drew lifted out a helping of flat, unleavened bread. They ate in relative silence, passing around the water gourd, the soldiers tearing into their game. Drew was pleased to notice a reduction of gnats around him. He glanced at Catja, wondering if he ought to thank her. However, she seemed not to want to talk to him.

  Eventually she rose, wiping her hands on her trousers. “I’d better bring this back to Tani.” She swept up the empty bread basket. “I’ll tell her you enjoyed it.”

  “Are you coming back?” Drew didn’t know why he asked.

  She regarded him, looking equally bemused. “No,” she replied, after a pause. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Goodnight, Professor.” Ludwig tapped his thumb to his breast. She returned the motion.

  “Night, Cat.” Drew leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “I hope you’ll dream about me.” Her expression darkened, which only made him chuckle. “Actually, what am I hoping for? I know you’ll dream about me.”

  She huffed, turning to leave. “Have a good evening, you all,” she bade them.

  “Oy, Cat, if the hinga come at me again, I may need to wake you and have you rub more of that oil on me,” Drew called after her. “Possibly on other parts of my body. Or, who knows, maybe you’ll need me to rub you down with it, too? I’m pretty open.”

  She stalked off, flashing him a rude gesture with her finger.

  Saucy. “Oh, that can be arranged, darling!” He cupped his mouth, ensuring his voice carried. “Let me know if you get chilly tonight; we’ll heat up your tent, you and I!”

  She disappeared between a row of huts. Inexplicably frustrated, Drew shoved a hand into his pocket, fumbling for a cigar. But of course, he’d long since smoked them all.

  He caught his sister shaking her head at him. “What are you looking at?” he snapped.

  She sighed. “I’m looking at a miserable jackass.”

  Catja stood with her arms crossed, frowning. A handful of crates, each more than a decade old, was stacked in a corner of her tent. Just a handful. She was almost out of supplies. She and her father had thought their provisions would last a lifetime. But the Oca had needed more help than they’d anticipated.

  She traced the splintery old wood on the top crate and rifled through the dwindling stock of bandages, dusty tinctures of amber alcohol, and a rusty syringe she couldn’t use anymore. The Jordinians were still in the village but, Catja suspected, for the wrong reasons. With their royal statuses, she knew they could help. Yet, she didn’t trust they would without demanding something in return.

  It had been more than a moon since they’d come. Catja couldn’t deny it felt almost miraculous to engage in fluent Halvean, after so long with the Oca. But the newcomers were also everything she feared. Presumptuous, ambitious—in other words, typical mainlanders. Their ruler had scribbled his signature onto a scroll of paper, and they thought that meant he owned the land. The land that she, her father, and the Oca held so dear, the only home she’d known since….

  She found the item she was looking for and lifted out a small tin. She shook it, rattling the tablets inside. At least it wasn’t empty. She folded open the flap of her tent and stepped out to the fading sunlight. The woman tried not to draw attention to herself as she went to the shady grove in the back of the village.

  The massive clay jugs kept there were large enough to fit several children inside. They held the communal source of water that was collected from the river every so often. Through the day, villagers went there to draw a drink and splash their faces, or with skins and gourds to fill and bring back to their families.

  Catja withdrew her tin. Discreetly, she selected a tablet and dropped it into the first jug. She took another and released it into the next.

  “What are you doing?”

  She jumped, almost spilling her few remaining tablets. She clamped the tin shut, swiveling around.

  Great. Andrew Cosmith, of all people, had snuck up on her.

  “I—it’s nothing.”

  “Let’s see.” Before she could stop him, he plucked the tin from her hands and lifted the lid on its hinge. “Tsk, tsk, Cat,” he grinned mischievously, “this certainly doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’ What are these?”

  “They’re just capsules to sterilize the water, rid it of any pathogens in the river.” She flushed. “Once, dysentery broke out among the tribe and it was terrible. This only prevents it from happening again.”

  She wished she could smack the smug grin off his mouth. “I thought we weren’t supposed to interfere with their way of life,” he said in a sing-song voice.

  And he was right. But she’d decided long ago that she wouldn’t very well stand by and let the tribe get sick. “I’m only helping them.”

  “By interfering.” Andrew held out the tin, still smiling. Catja snatched it back and stuffed it into her pocket. “So,” he stepped in, “a little bit of interfering can’t be all bad, can it? Especially if it brings a taste of…civilization?”

  The sun was setting behind him, outlining his unkempt hair in a golden glow. Catja could determine every umber wave. He was standing much too close.

  She took a step back. “Lord Cosmith—”

  “Drew,” he corrected her.

  She examined her hands. “Look, I realize you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye….”

  “Do you want to go swimming?”

  She was caught entirely off-guard. Whatever she’d been about to say evaporated on her tongue. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Not in the river.” He pointed to the woods. “I found the hot spring the other day. I want to try it out. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

  Catja resisted as he tried to pull her forward. “I’m not going anywhere. Besides, you can’t use the spring without asking the chief first whether he’d like to go in before you.”

  He snorted. “Funny you should be concerned with rules, when you break them all the time.” He indicated the village’s water, where the sterilization was taking effect.

  “There’s a difference between breaking rules and saving lives,” she contended.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged, releasing her hand, and took off into a jog for the trees.

  Catja gaped after him. “Wait,” she cried. “You can’t go into the forest on your own. You don’t know what’s in there! Are you even armed?”

  He made no indication of hearing her. She groaned to the twilit heavens, having no choice but to go after him. “There are snakes and bears,” she called, hurrying into the brush. “It really isn’t safe at n
ight!”

  He didn’t slow for her, only wove between the trees beneath the darkening sky. She followed the sound of his boots, crunching obnoxiously wherever he treaded. “Andrew, stop!” she ordered him, but to no avail.

  After several minutes, she caught a haze of steam rising with the dusk. The man had learned his way around, she’d give him that. She came upon the spring in the clearing, its translucent blue waters shrouded in a cloud of mist. He stood behind the steam, already unbuttoning his blouse.

  She turned away, facing a row of firs instead. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Undressing.” She could hear the insufferable grin in his voice. “Don’t be shy, Professor. You can watch.”

  She heard the sound of his trousers and belt hitting the ground. “I’m fairly confident this is not something I want to see,” Catja declined, her cheeks burning in the drifting steam. She fanned her face.

  Slipping into the spring behind her, the man emitted a long, drawn-out purr of pleasure. “Oh, Cat,” he moaned suggestively, sending a most unwelcome tremble behind her knees. “You’ve got to join me. Really, you must.”

  She turned. In spite of all better judgment, she was rendered momentarily speechless. The man rested his neck against the opposite bank, arms outspread. They were strong, his skin fair, his chest hard-looking and dripping wet, the rest of him barely concealed by the rising vapor….

  Catja crossed her arms, averting her eyes again. Damn it. Why had she gone after him? She should’ve let a snake bite him. It would’ve been just as well.

  “Aren’t you getting in?” he coaxed her. “You came all this way. Admit it—you want to. That’s why you followed me.”

  She glowered at him, unable to fathom his audacity. Yet this only seemed to encourage him. His tone was positively wolfish. “Go on. Strip down.”