Beautiful as they were—as inviting as the autumn air was—the changing season reminded her of death. The rest of their modest harvest would be brought in soon, and they'd have to take the necessary precautions to ensure the food didn't rot over the coming winter. Then she'd have to sit down and give serious consideration to what she'd tell Jace about why she was retching more than she ate.
Cayra carried on towards the well. She wasn't ready for that conversation, not yet. She wasn't ready to understand what was happening, but her suspicions were few. Part of her wanted to rationalize the changes in her body with blame, pointing fingers at the governtary. There could be anything wrong with her, brought on by bacteria, toxins, or a virus unleashed in the air. In some ways, those explanations would've been more palatable.
It was too far a stretch to believe, even for her.
No, she was left with a more telling truth, a frightening fact that would change everything: a baby, bringing not only life but death to how things had been.
She was terrified.
The night she'd approached Jace and Roan about being with them, she'd expected rejection. Since then, they'd made love several times, reveling in the desires pulling them closer together.
This was the price.
Is it wrong to want my period just this once in three months? Cayra leaned over the well and peered at the water, trying not to imagine Jace's expression once he found out. Why can't I just be happy about this? We wanted a family, and now I'm wishing for the opposite. What kind of idiot wants to sabotage a chance like this?
She squinted at her faint reflection. This idiot, that's what. The one that can't be happy without being paranoid.
If only she knew what to expect. If only she knew how Jace would take it…
I should just tell him. Tell them both. Get this off my chest instead of keeping it secret for longer. I've kept quiet for weeks. I was doing so good. Now I'm just driving myself crazy. It isn't worth it… is it?
Cayra leaned against the well then nudged the bucket on the ground with her toes. If she was pregnant now, it meant one of two things: either her body wasn't the problem but Jace's was, leaving him unable to give a child as expected of their clan leader, or she was still the problem but Roan's magic had done something to make it happen.
Neither explanation made her feel any better.
What would Jace think? And Roan… she didn't know how he felt about children one way or the other, let alone what he'd think of her possibly carrying his child.
Maybe I'm not pregnant, and I'm just overanalyzing. Maybe it's stress. We've been worried about the military attacking, with them up and moving and all. And I haven't been sleeping well. Maybe I'm just being weird. Maybe it's autumn coming on strong. Still…
If she was pregnant, she didn't want to know.
If she wasn't pregnant, she was damaged, and she didn't need the reminder.
She couldn't stand to be disappointed either way.
A woman laughed. Another giggled. Cayra watched the women pass by her, their heads covered by the hoods of their green knit sweaters. They spared a glance in her direction and looked away quickly.
Were they talking about her? Laughing at Roan?
Silent in her annoyance, Cayra lowered the bucket into the water. The women wouldn't have been the first to insult her. No less than a dozen of the clan's women had questioned her actions. More than one wife had cautioned her not to let Roan into the marital bed. Not a good plan, they'd said, so she should claim her husband and tell Roan to piss off before things got bad.
As if the way people stared at them weren't bad enough.
Cayra dragged the bucket over the edge of the well. She was aware of how others in the clan deemed it a joke, the idea that she and Jace could be happy with another man. How many times had she been told it wouldn't work? That it was ridiculous? While she wanted to believe they meant well, she was angry with the women who badmouthed Roan. They pressed upon her almost daily that she should be jealous, particularly since they would be. After all, what woman in her right mind would share her husband?
And what man, especially a clan leader, would share his wife?
A man's jealousy could destroy everything, several women had warned her. Even if Cayra wasn't consumed by pride, Jace could be. Or Roan. Both were strong and knew how to handle themselves. If she wasn't careful, her husband and their lover would come to blows, straining her marriage and breaking the clan apart. Only when she dared them to better support their argument did they make the more valid point.
Roan's past.
Cayra sighed. Alim and Hart had also warned her, pointing out Roan's questionable life. The governtary had kept Roan captive for too long, messing with his head. He was the equivalent of a timed bomb, a sleeper sent to hide among the clan. He was no different from a land mine or lethal chemicals.
Roan could kill them all.
Her stomach turned again. Cayra took a deep breath and started back for her tent, the rhythmic sloshing inside the filled bucket making her feel worse.
"Roan'll screw it all up, and then you'll have to choose," Hart had warned her multiple times.
Or maybe Roan would choose for her, Hart added one time, his voice lowered. Roan could kill Jace or Cayra anytime he wanted. In the least, he could run them off or trade them to the governtary to protect himself. They had no way of knowing why he was really there—if he was as loyal as Jace believed.
They might have invited their enemy inside.
"The first step: infiltrate the leadership and bend them to his will. The second step: destroy the clan," Hart had told her. "And guess what? He could be moving onto step two any day now, all because you couldn't keep it in your bed where it belongs."
Before he'd finished the last word, Cayra had told Hart to leave.
I need to believe Roan is more. He can't be as bad as they want him to be.
Cayra walked through the camp with her head lowered. To save herself and everyone else, she couldn't look at anyone, not when she was angry, tired, and ready to fight anyone who insulted Roan. She'd had enough. Despite their fears, she cared for him. He was good to her. And what was between them felt natural, enjoyable for all of them, even when it was just Roan and her.
Cayra's face warmed at the memories. Roan no longer shirked her touch. After one night of sharing the same bed, their relationship had blossomed. True, he didn't regard her the way he did Jace, but he touched her just as intimately. Like his hand on her hip, tenderly shuffling her aside from one of the tables during dinner, and the gentle grace of his fingertips on her neck while he brushed her hair out of the way. Or the time Roan had walked in on her giving herself a cloth bath one afternoon, and the sensual, quiet way he'd taken it over. His hand had moved over her naked back in soft strokes, stoking an arousal that ended only after they made love on the bed, the wet cloth abandoned on the rug.
So much for the attraction being lost. Cayra caught herself before she laughed out loud. If anything, their new relationship enhanced what was among them. She felt safe.
The truth was simple: she was falling for Roan. Even more, he gave her hope.
Once inside the tent, Cayra dropped the bucket and lay on the bed, her headache shooting pain behind her eyes. Today wasn't one of her better days where she could forget the past and pretend the future wouldn't be painful. Instead, it was a day of memory, disbelief, self-pity, and loathing. Too much was missing in her life. Death had left her traumatized and lonely, pushing her into the cruel games depression played on the mind.
As much as she tried to fight the ugliness inside her, sometimes it was too difficult to bear. Working with plants helped. Cultivating life eased the pain of death. Perhaps that's what kept her working as clan horticulturist rather than the duty and altruism she wanted people to believe.
And what the plants couldn't soothe, Jace could. Countless times, he'd held her while she cried or stopped what he was doing to help her. Only he knew of the darkness in her mind, of the sickness her so
ul couldn't shake. Always the doting husband. Always trying to make me feel less… less.
Still, she felt alone.
Cayra caressed her stomach. She wanted to create life, not just witness its creation then nurture it like a nanny. Giving life could help her escape the darkness, making up for the losses weighing her down.
If anything, she wanted to be the daughter her parents had hoped for. All her life, she'd looked up to them, adoring them for their kindness, patience, and relentless care of their family clan. Her older sister, Maria, had been wild and impulsive, throwing her heart into any man's hands and taking each day as it came. Meanwhile, Cayra was diligent and focused, working with the land and people the way her mother had taught her. To make them proud was all she'd wanted as a child, and it was a wish her heart still held dear.
She needed this one thing, for them. Otherwise, too much of what they'd done would be for nothing. Clan Deliverance couldn't end with her. The governtary could not win. The clan had fought too long to give up.
The same with Clan Teach. I can't be the reason Jace's family line dies out. I just can't. And I can't keep insulting his pride. I have to think of the future of our clan, of the leadership to come. Maybe, just maybe… Cayra squeezed her eyes shut, wishing Jace was with her. Given the way she felt, she would've told him everything right then, his reaction be damned.
But he wasn't in the settlement. He was with the sentries, searching for signs of rogues or soldiers nearby. She had to wait.
And by then, all my courage will probably be gone. Like everything I ate for lunch.
Cayra stood and crossed the tent to her box of letters. Jace was doing important work, practically routine, she reminded herself and rifled through the letters on the top of the pile. It wasn't enough to hear reports that the ever-increasing military activity had ceased in the region; they needed proof, and they needed to stay alert in case it was a lie or, even worse, a trap.
Because who really swoops in for weeks, does whatever it is they're doing, then swoops right on out again, almost completely overnight? They couldn't have been so close and ignored everyone. What in God's name were they doing out here? Couldn't have just been for rogues. Apparently they're still skulking around, anyway. What gives?
Roan believed it was a trick; Cayra was inclined to agree.
She stared at her clenched hand and the correspondence with the clans in Old Windsor. At least she had that much. If Clan Teach needed to leave—no matter when, no matter how fast—the other clans would allow them to take over Windsor Eight, an abandoned region far south-east of what remained of the Detroit River. Teach's access to water would be limited, but rights could be negotiated, as the Windsor clan leaders had written.
And we'll take it, if we need it. Thank god for Madre's old clan alliances. It's better than nothing. I just hope it doesn't come to that. Especially… Cayra touched her belly again. Of all the times this could've happened, you had to choose now.
Beneath her doubts, she dared to hope it was more than mere coincidence. Maybe it's a sign we won't be going anywhere. Maybe it's a sign we'll stay and have what we wanted. Maybe this is exactly where we're supposed to be, doing exactly what we should. Maybe we'll work it out, and it'll be nothing.
If only maybe wasn't all she had.
*~*~*
"Cay?"
She heard Roan's breaths before she heard her name. Cayra groaned and rolled onto her back, covering her eyes with her hand. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. Damn bed, being more comfortable than standing.
The mattress sank under the weight of Roan's body. "You okay? Can I get you something?"
"No, just…" Cayra peeked through her fingers, making out Roan's face in the dim light. "I'm fine. Still recovering from last night. You tire me out, Jace and you and those wicked hands of yours." She smiled, expecting him to do the same.
He did nothing.
Cayra pulled herself up. Either he was in one of his moods or something had happened. "What?"
Roan pointed behind him. "Jace isn't home yet."
"Relax. He'll be home by sunset."
"It is sunset. Dusk, to be more precise."
"Well, I don't—" Cayra blinked. "The other sentries will be back—"
"Before him, half an hour ago. They all checked in. He hasn't."
"Wait, what are you—"
"That he should've been here first; that I should've gone and not him," Roan muttered. "I told him to stay put. I told him I'd go. Now we've got six sentries who haven't seen hide nor hair of him since four hours ago."
"Roan, this isn't funny."
"No, it isn't, which is why I need you to get up, pull yourself together, and be ready to put some kind of plan in action. Search party, preferably." Roan held her hands in both of his. "Just take a breath and think only of what you need to do. Don't do that crying thing right away. Just wait, let me see what we can do, and—"
"Cayra! Cayra!" a man yelled from outside the tent. "Governtary!"
Dozens of voices screamed to hide.
"No," Cayra whispered. She leapt from the bed and rushed through the camp, pushing past the people running in the opposite direction. Two bright lights flickered erratically beyond the edge of the camp.
At the edge of the settlement, she stopped dead.
The truck's engine made little noise. The frame was all wrong. Beyond the headlights, the truck was all black, unmarked, and armoured with what she guessed were bulletproof panes. Behind them, over the treetops, a helicopter approached.
The soldiers were coming.
"Oh god." Cayra covered her mouth. "Oh god."
Roan spun her towards him. "Keep it together. Don't fall apart now. Do what Jace told you to do. We're going to tell them to shove it. We're going to—"
"I know what we're doing," Cayra snapped, her annoyance pouring out without intention. "It's not easy being on this end of it."
The truck stopped more than a dozen feet away, the thick tires crushing at least one week's worth of ripe yellow squash. Destruction, wherever you go. Couldn't even leave us that.
Cayra raised her hands over her head, palms facing the truck. There were at least two people in the vehicle, maybe three, assuming she wasn't completely blinded by the high beams.
The front doors opened.
"We're not looking for trouble," Cayra shouted. "Just let us be, and we won't do a damn thing. No one has to get hurt."
Boots hit the ground. Two bodies slid out of the truck, one on each side. The driver was a short, middle-aged man, his right cheek marred by a burn scar. A tall, younger man stood on the passenger side. They aimed their rifles at her. One click. Another click. The guns were primed.
In their dark assault gear, the soldiers were dressed to kill.
Cayra nearly collapsed, her knees weakening. She'd always imagined this was what Deliverance saw before their bodies turned on them. The helicopter didn't help. It didn't take much creativity to imagine what was on board.
Her hands shook, but she forced them higher. "Just… leave us," she told them. The words should've come out in a shout. Instead, they were nothing more than a quiet demand.
A hand touched her back. Cayra tensed, straining the muscles in her shoulders.
"I've got you," Roan said. He raised his hand, ungloved and directed at the soldiers.
The longer she stared, the more she swore the air around his fingers glowed faint yellow and orange.
"Put it away, Ven," the driver shouted, knocking the door with his rifle. "We're not interested in what you can do. Just making a delivery."
The younger soldier hauled a body out of the truck.
"I believe he belongs to you," the driver yelled.
The taller soldier threw the man in his grasp to the ground in front of the truck, the body illuminated in the headlights.
Cayra doubled over. "Jace!"
Roan grabbed her waist before she could hit the ground. He struggled to pull her up, grunting as she fought him and stumbled.
R
olling in the vegetable patch, Jace groaned. His skin was pale and pasty. Small dark blotches dotted his neck. Jace raised his wrists, bound before him with cord, and pulled himself up.
He fell over quickly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"No." Cayra pushed against Roan. She had to get to Jace. He wasn't right.
"Cayra," Roan warned.
Using his weight against him, she broke free.
"Cayra!" Roan fumbled to grab her again.
Cayra ignored him and hurried forward.
The soldiers scurried around Jace. Dropping to one knee, they prepared to shoot her.
"Don't come any closer," the driver yelled.
She stopped and gulped a shaky breath. "I'm trying to save him. What did you do?" When the guns didn't lower, Cayra raised her hands. "I won't hurt you. Just tell me what you did. I just want to help him."
"Cay…" Jace groaned, moving sluggishly in the dirt.
"Incentive, compliments of the federal government," the driver answered. "Your man has a strain of something that'll stay in him until his organs start shutting down and he's dying. Then it goes airborne and virulent. Whoever goes near him will get it and pass it onto everyone else. It kills entire clans. Unless he gets the antidote before it goes that far. It'll break the sickness down and poof, all better. So how about we make a deal?"
"What deal?" Cayra asked, clearing her throat. Why couldn't she be more like her father, with a big, booming voice and confidence that could withstand duress?
The young soldier waved his gun. "Let's start with what you want: your leader back and your people's survival. It's pretty straightforward, so the government's keeping it simple. They're interested in what you know about the other clans. Who, where, how many. Firepower." He pointed at Roan. "And they want him back."
"No," Cayra thought she heard Jace mutter as he pushed himself up.
The soldiers nudged Jace with their elbows. Jace fell back.
"Think really hard, lady," the driver told her. "They just want information and their property back. You do that and they'll let you stay or leave—your choice. They'll even give you the medicine to get your man healed up quick before he infects everyone else. He'll die if he fights it on his own. You'll die, too. He'll kill everyone here."
For the Clan Page 13