by Ruby Dixon
“And what of me?”
Her hand briefly touches my shoulder as she stands. “Perhaps you must learn to live without those memories.”
The thought is unbearable.
5
STACY
Even though the weather is nice, the day is long. The ease I felt around Pashov yesterday is gone. I’m silent and withdrawn, no matter how much he tries to talk to me. I know it’s not his fault, and it just makes me feel worse. Last night was a mistake. I was weak, and needy, and it can’t happen again. Not until he gets his memories back. I’m not trying to punish him…I just can’t let my heart break into any more pieces than it already has. I can’t take it.
Pashov senses my bad mood and leaves me alone, for the most part. Of course, that’s not surprising, given that I cried myself to sleep on his chest last night. Awkward. He won’t understand why, I don’t think, because he doesn’t know me. He hasn’t lived with me for the last two years. In his mind, he’s only known me for a short period of time. I’m a stranger. And it sucks. It’s best for both of us—and Pacy—if we figure out how to be a team without the messy entanglement of sex.
Especially sex that leaves me hollow and aching for what we used to have.
I know I’m being unfair to him. I love him. I know he’s trying. I just…I just can’t. Every touch that doesn’t have our old routines behind it feels like a betrayal. Maybe that’s crazy of me, but until I can shake it, and until he gets his memories back, that’s how it has to be.
I still feel like the bad guy, though. And I cry a little under the blankets as we travel, riding on the sled that he’s pulling. Because I’m stupid and weak and human and get too tired and slow on my own. So I hide under the blankets and nap, because napping’s easier than holding a conversation.
I sleep all through the afternoon and wake up toward evening, when the sleds stop and tents are unpacked. There’s a bonfire being prepared, but I don’t feel much like being chatty. I slide out of my nest tucked between bundles on the sled, and my muscles groan a protest. I’ve ridden for the last two days. Why is everything so sore?
Then I realize I’m sore between my thighs, and I’m both embarrassed and sad.
“Are you all right?” Pashov asks, worry on his face as he sees me waddle forward a few awkward steps. “Do you need to see the healer?”
“I’m okay.” I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders. “Where’s your mother? I should feed Pacy.” Kemli, bless her heart, has had my baby all afternoon. Maybe she sensed I wasn’t feeling like myself, but the moment she volunteered, I handed him over. Of course, then I felt guilty that I was passing him off to his grandma, and I might have cried a little over that, too.
Man, I’ve been a weepy mess lately.
He tries to take my hand. “They are setting their tent near the others. I will show you.”
“I can find it,” I say quickly, and pull my hand from his.
Pashov nods, his expression carefully blank. “I shall set up our tent, then.”
I hesitate. It’s on the tip of my tongue to beg him to go sleep somewhere else tonight. That even if it’s cold, I don’t think my heart can take another round of this. I glance away, and he turns his back. His tail flicks, and I realize he’s agitated. That’s one of Pashov’s little tells—he’s good at hiding his emotions sometimes, but his tail always gives him away. The side-to-side flick it’s doing right now tells me that he’s waiting for me to kick him out. And then what? Force him to sleep alone by the fire? Shiver by myself? I need to be a mature adult. His shoulders don’t seem as broad today, now that I look at him again. They’re slumped, as if he’s disappointed.
And that makes me hurt all over again. He expects me to reject him. He knows as well as I do that something went wrong last night.
Why does that surprise you, idiot? The moment he came you cried like a fool for an hour and then fell asleep. That has to hurt.
God, I’m just making things worse. I’ve never wanted to hurt Pashov. Ever. I watch him as he unties a strap on the sled, and I bite my knuckle. Should I say something? That I know he’s doing his best? That the problem is in my head? But will that even help? I watch him for a moment and retreat to the fire, because I’m a coward.
I see Kemli’s sharp face before I make it to the fire. Pashov’s mother has a face like a hawk, all pointy chin and strong nose. She’s the opposite of Sevvah, who’s round everywhere, with looping gray braids. Kemli’s hair has streaks of white mixed in with the black, but she doesn’t look much like the mom of three adults and one almost-adult. She’s a fantastic mother-in-law, though, for how fierce she looks. I see her holding Pacy on one hip, talking to Farli and bossing Borran around as he spits what looks like a fresh-killed quill-beast over the newly made fire.
When she spots me, her eyes light up with pleasure, and she waves me over. “My daughter! Just the person I wished to see.”
I smile at her and hope I’m hiding my heartache well. One of the best things about resonating to Pashov the moment I arrived was that I had a ready-made family to greet me and make me comfortable here. Other girls haven’t been so lucky, and I adore Kemli and Borran. I just worry I’m disappointing them now with how difficult this has all been for me. “Sorry if you’ve been looking for me. I was asleep.”
“Not a worry. I am used to going to the community fire and seeing you there, cooking for someone.” She beams. “That will have to wait for a new community fire, I think.”
I do like to cook for people. My instincts lean heavily toward nurturing, and when we first got here, the other girls struggled so much, and I never seemed to struggle. Not with Pashov and his family at my side. So I took up the ‘mother’ role (even though I’m the same age as everyone else) and cooked for people. Two years later, everyone still looks to me for treats, and I admit that I enjoy spoiling everyone in the cave. I miss my janky, makeshift skillet. I miss the fire pit.
I miss my mate.
Ignoring the grief rising in my chest, I put on a brave face. “Was Pacy bad today?” I hold my arms out for him.
He clings to Kemli’s tunic and hides his face, which makes the older woman beam with pleasure. “Not at all. He loves visiting! And he was so good! He sat in my lap all afternoon, and we watched the dvisti herds move through.”
“I’m so glad he behaved. I know he gets restless.” I smile at my little son. “Has he eaten?”
“He has been chewing on fresh meaty bones to get his little teeth ready for good meat.” She smiles at me, and indeed, there’s a long, rounded vertebra in my son’s hand, still slightly bloody. As I watch, he pushes one end into his mouth and begins to gum it.
Yeah, so there are some aspects of ice planet life I’m still not a hundred percent all-in on. I inwardly wince at the sight but don’t pluck it from his hands, because it would offend Kemli. “You’re good to take him, Kemli. I appreciate the break.”
“But of course. He looks just like Pashov at this age.” She pokes Pacy’s nose and beams at him when he giggles. “Handsome and full of smiles.”
My own smile grows tight. Normally I love hearing Pashov-as-an-infant stories, but right now, I just can’t.
Kemli isn’t stupid, though. Her smile becomes bittersweet with understanding, and she looks over her shoulder. “Is my sled still nearby? I have something for you.”
“For me?” I’m surprised.
“Yes. Come.” She hands Pacy to Farli instead of to me, and waves me forward.
I follow, curious. I should feed Pacy to get the milk out of my breasts, but Farli’s surrounded with people and they’re all gathered near the fire. My baby isn’t going anywhere. I follow in the path Kemli wades easily through the snow, and when we get to their half-dismantled sled, she begins to pick through her herb satchel. Pashov’s mother is the tribe expert on herbs and plants, and I’m not surprised when she pulls something out of her bag and hands it to me. I am a little surprised to see it’s a horn, though. A small one, with a bit of leather stuffed into the
end. “What’s this?”
“A balm for your face,” she tells me. “Animal fat with a paste of dranoosh leaves boiled in.”
I dab my finger in the yellowish sludge and then sniff it. It smells awful, but I’m not going to tell her that. “My face?”
She nods. “Pashov says human skin is too soft for this weather. That your face gets red and hurts. He does not like to see you hurting. He asked if I had anything, so I boiled that this morning and let it set.”
I’m surprised, not only at her thoughtfulness, but at Pashov’s. “I…thank you.”
“Of course.” She rubs my arm, her voice lowering. “You are hurting, aren’t you? How can I help?”
I have to blink rapidly to fight back more tears. “My face?” I repeat stupidly.
“Not your face.” She taps at my chest. “Here. I know you struggle. I care for you as my own little Farli. I see how the two of you act together, and today, you seem distant.” Her proud face is full of worry for me. “Forgive a nosy old female.”
“You’re neither nosy nor old,” I tell her, sniffling. She puts an arm around me, and I lean against her. God, it feels so good to be hugged. To be comforted. Of course, then I feel like an even bigger asshole, because I know Pashov would comfort me. “It’s just…really hard.”
“Of course it is,” she soothes, rubbing my back.
“He doesn’t remember anything of me. Of Pacy. It feels like we’re starting from scratch. I don’t want that. I want what we had back. I miss my mate.” I hear my voice, and it sounds petulant. “Sometimes I think it’s him, and then…”
“And then he says something and you realize he does not remember?” she guesses.
I nod, swiping at my runny nose. She nailed it.
“I share your pain, Stay-see. I worried at his bedside for all those long days and nights that Maylak worked on him. We shared our grief. We hoped he would wake up and waited for that moment. Sometimes it seemed as if it would be a dream to see him smile again.” She hesitates, then gives me another hug. “Is it not enough that he is alive and well?”
“I tell myself that.” I clutch the little horn of face-balm in my hand tightly. “Sometimes I feel like I’m being unfair. That I’m not giving him a chance. That it’s my Pashov despite everything and I’m being ridiculous.” I think back to last night, to the sex we had that was so good…and yet so wrong. It was like having sex with a completely different person, and it hurts me deep inside to think about it. “I don’t know what I should do,” I tell her. “How would you feel if your mate woke up and had forgotten everything you had ever shared? All your memories, your habits, your name…your kits you had together?” Just saying it makes me hurt all the way down to my bones. “That when he’d look at you, he’d see nothing of what you shared?”
Kemli rests her chin atop my head and strokes my hair. “I would feel the same as you do.”
PASHOV
She is distant around the fire.
Stay-see joins the others, sharing soup and smiling as stories are told by the warmth of the fire pit, but she does not speak. She does not look at me, either. Our eyes meet by accident at one point, and I see a flash of pain and the shimmer of tears in her gaze before she looks away, hugging her kit tight to her chest.
Eventually, most drift away from the fire except for Harrec, who has tonight’s early watch. When Stay-see gets up from her seat and cradles my sleeping son against her, Harrec smirks in my direction. I know he is thinking about his joke. It has been days and I still do not find it funny. Even now, it churns in my gut like bad food. I scowl at him and put a protective arm around Stay-see, and am glad when she does not push me away.
Inside the tent, though, she ignores me. When we go to sleep, I try to pull her against me to share warmth, but she gently pries herself out of my grip. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I can’t.”
And she puts a rolled bundle of furs between us.
I spend most of the evening staring up at the tent walls, fighting my frustration. Mating with Stay-see should have brought us closer together. Instead, it feels as if she is pushing me even further away.
Something must change.
I am up before the dawn, and I can tell the day will be a cold one. Snow is falling again, and the brutal season will be upon us in a mere handful of days. Maybe two handfuls at the most. I can smell it in the air. It will be another hard day’s journey for Stay-see, and that worries me. I want to protect my mate from the bitter cold, but I have no choice. I think of her red face, burned by the cold wind, and the circles under her eyes. She needs to rest for a few days. The other humans struggle, too, but Stay-see seems to be having a rougher time than most. Is it because of me? Because of her sadness? It fills me with deep concern and eats at my thoughts.
If I could, I would put up a shelter for her right here and let her rest for days, but we do not have that time. The brutal season is nearly upon us, and when it arrives, the snow will not break for endless turns of the moons. She cannot be trapped out here. Not when it grows so cold that the air burns to breathe. She will not survive it.
I must think of her and my son.
I head to the fire to gather food for Stay-see to eat, but there is no meat cooking for the humans yet. It will be a few minutes. I turn away, and I am surprised to see my mother waiting for me.
“My son. There you are. I wish to speak to you a moment.” Her smile is bright, perhaps too bright. I suspect I am about to get a lecture like a young kit.
“Mother.” I lean in and rub my cheek to hers in greeting. “How are you and Father faring in your travel so far? Is your tent comfortable?”
“We are fine,” she says, patting my arm and pulling me away from the gathering crowd. “Your father can sleep through anything, and your sister Farli takes after him. It is me that must endure their snoring.” Her mouth turns up in a faint smile. “But I wish to talk to you of something else.”
“Stay-see?” I guess.
“Yes. My son, I feel you are not very patient with her.”
Patience? I do not have enough patience? I feel as if I have been nothing but patient. I ignore the anger burning in my throat, because my mother is only trying to help. “What makes you say that?”
“Stay-see is very upset with you—”
“Stay-see is always upset with me lately,” I counter. I think of her tears after we mated, and it feels like a knife in my gut. “How can I know how to please her and make her happy when all she does is cry?”
“You are not trying to understand her. She is a young mother who has recently lost her mate—”
“I am her mate,” I protest.
“In her eyes, you are not. You do not remember her. You do not remember your kit. The fact that she is a stranger to you hurts her deeply.”
“I went to the healer,” I say, frustrated, and rake a hand through my mane. “She tells me my mind is fine. That my memories will either come back, or they will not, but she can do nothing else for me.”
My mother reaches up and taps my cheek. “You are alive and you are whole, my son. If you lose those memories, make new ones with her. You are both young. Do not let this pull you apart.”
“She does not want me.”
“She will give you another chance,” my mother says, self-assured. “But you must try harder.”
“Try harder?” How can I give more than I already am? “When she looks at me, she sees a stranger. Just as I see when I look at her. She wants back a mate that I am not sure I can ever be again.” I shake my head. “You think I do not want to be her mate? She is everything I have ever wanted. Her and my son both.”
“Then you must fight for them.” My mother puts her hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye. “Stay-see is hurt and feels she has lost the love you shared. You must prove to her that it yet exists. That it does not matter if you have lost your memories. That you are still the same Pashov here.” She points at my heart.
My mother’s words sting me. Am I not fighting for m
y mate? Do I not do everything she asks? Have I not shown her that I care? How is that not enough? It stings, even when she gives my shoulder another sympathetic touch and then moves back to the fire.
And I am left with nothing but questions and worry.
I must stay busy. Above all else, I must think of my mate and the small kit that is mine as well. I must think of their comfort. I move to the sled and begin to repack it. I will leave the tent for last so my mate can continue to sleep, but some of the gear must be rearranged so Stay-see is comfortable. I tug on one leather knot—too hard—and it snaps, sending me flying backward into the snow. I bite back a curse of frustration.
“You seem troubled.” Rokan appears at my side and offers me a hand up. “Is all well?”
Is everyone seeking me out today? I grip his arm and haul back to my feet. My mood is foul, and I wait for him to begin to lecture me, but the look on his face is contrite. I sigh and dust the snow off my leggings as I stand. “I am not paying attention. This weather concerns me. Stay-see struggles with the cold.”
“All the humans do,” he agrees, a distant look in his eyes. No doubt he is thinking of his mate, the one that talks only with her hands. He focuses on me after a moment and smiles. “The weather should hold up for the next moon, though. This is just bad luck. After this storm, all will be quiet for several more hands of days, until the next full turn of the moon.” He claps my back. “Plenty of time to settle in to our new home.”
I grunt acknowledgment of his words. I think about our new home, like the other hunters do, but I am more focused on my mate and her well-being. I cannot relax while she is struggling so. “It is good to hear the weather will hold out.” If today is the last day of storms and snow for a time, I will take it. There are so many other things to worry about…like the way Stay-see and I are fracturing like an old bone.