“Nalin?”
He turned at the call from behind him, identifying the voice as he did so, knowing before his eyes told him who had spoken his name.
“Bala.”
She reached him, embraced him, and then pulled back to look at him. “You’re a mess.”
He shrugged. He hadn’t combed his hair before setting out this morning, and the ride had left him covered in dust and sweat. “Just lack of sleep. When did you get back?” Bala had headed home to Seffa a few weeks earlier, leaving Nalin to watch over Elsba who refused to leave until he could see his sister.
“Only a little while ago,” Bala replied. “I found Father resting, so I went to your quarters, but you weren’t there.”
“I was out riding. When can we talk?”
“How about dinner tonight? Father and I—”
“No,” Nalin interjected. “Your father has been through enough. You and I need to talk.”
“What do I tell Father?”
“Oh, just make light of it. Tell him I’m in need of the company of someone my own age.”
“He’ll think it’s romantic,” Bala said, lowering her eyes.
“He may,” Nalin replied, “but he knows my first loyalty is to the Heir. He won’t make too many assumptions.”
“Oh, yes. Right.”
Nalin sensed the disappointment in her voice. She’d reached out, and he’d pushed her away. “So,” he said. “My quarters, just after sunset?”
“Yes, of course.”
Nalin heard a note of sadness in Bala’s voice, wished he could have offered her more than friendship, but that could never be. “I’ll notify the staff,” he said.
“Good,” Bala replied. “Till then.”
The two separated, Bala heading down the hall and Nalin bounding up the stairs to his quarters. He found himself smiling. It was good to have Bala back, good to feel happy about something for a change. Good for Elsba, too, who had missed his remaining daughter.
That night, as a fierce spring storm raged outside, filling the dark with thunder and fury, Nalin and Bala sat on Nalin’s couch, a small table before them set with a full meal from the lone cook in the kitchen downstairs, and they talked.
“I’m so glad I made it back before this storm got here,” Bala commented, and Nalin looked up from his plate at her, the unceasing hurry-home-hurry-home echo relegated to a remote corner of his mind.
“I’m glad, too,” he replied. “It is spectacular, isn’t it?”
“So,” Bala said, “what’s going on?”
Nalin sensed Bala distancing herself from him, even while she appeared to remain engaged with their goal. It was how it must be should he join with Ariannas.
He nodded, finished chewing a piece of mutton, then spoke very softly, as though the wood and stone of the building listened. “I think Lorain is pouched.”
“How do you know?” Bala asked, setting down her fork, her brown eyes wide.
“I don’t know anything, but I ran into her this morning, right before you and I met up. She was rushing out while I was coming in.”
“And?” Bala had forgotten all about her meal and stared at Nalin in what he could only assume was an eagerness for details.
“She was headed back to the Keep, and you’d think she’d be showing that pouch mouth of hers off to its best advantage for her Ariel. I know I would if I were off to see my lover. But no. Completely covered up, hiding what I think was a slight bulge to her belly. And there was this softness to her.”
“Lorain?” Bala asked, incredulous.
“Not the sort of sweet softness that most people adopt when they’re carrying. But her hard edges held less bite. I don’t know. Maybe my judgment’s off.” He rubbed his forehead to clear his mind.
“An Heir for Ariel could complicate things,” Bala observed.
“Only if it emerges before our Heir can make her claim.” Nalin marveled at the words of optimism coming out of his mouth. It seemed to be a Tuane trait, that refusal to bow to despair, and their sense of hope for the outcome despite all the odds must have infected him.
“And it won’t,” Bala replied. “Do you know where they are?”
Nalin set down his knife and sat back. “Not a word, though I never expected to hear from them if all were going well. They should be on their way back, though, if everything’s gone as planned.”
“That’s good then, right?” When he failed to respond, she brought her face up closer to his and repeated, “Right?”
He pulled back. “Yes. Right.”
“And so we wait,” she said and returned to her dinner.
“We wait,” he muttered, his stomach tying up into knots just thinking about something that was still nearly two weeks away.
“I think I’m going to try to see my aunt.”
Nalin studied her, then shook his head. “I haven’t even been able to get in to see Ariel since before you left. I doubt your luck will be any better.”
“Maybe not,” Bala said with a wink, “but the heir of Minol begging for an audience every couple of days will complicate his life, if only a little.”
“I love your spirit, and I’m so glad you’re back.” Nalin studied her, marveled at the hints of Jozan in her soul but couldn’t help but smile at the differences between them—her more grounded approach to life, her calm in the face of clamor. He had been stuck here in this damn city far too long. At least now there would be more than the easily fatigued Elsba to talk to when the night grew too long or the day, too unbearable. And in the back of his mind, the litany wore on. Hurry home. Hurry home.
Lorain lay on her side, Ariel snoring away at her back, his arms wrapped around her. She watched the room flicker alight with each strike of lightning from the storm which swirled outside, and with each flash, she would stiffen in anticipation of the great rolling boom that inevitably followed. She had always hated thunder. Not the lightning, mind, though the lightning provided its own sense of doom, foreshadowing as it did the dreaded splaying of her nerves by the shattering rumble of the spiked bolt from the heavens. She realized that she’d be useless in such storms to the child within her pouch once it emerged.
How the Destroyer can Ariel sleep through this?
She extricated herself from his embrace, sat up in the bed and looked out on the balcony, its doors open because Ariel claimed a closed-up room left him sleepless. It’s a cool storm for spring, she thought, yet he had refused to allow her to close out the rain and the cold. And the damn noise. She, on the other hand, might have been able to sleep through the storm if she could have shut the doors on the crashing and thrashing about from outside.
She slipped out from under the covers and got out of bed. Just past the Empir’s antechamber was a perfectly good bedchamber, what should have been her bedchamber by now, and she needed her sleep. There she could close out the storm to a degree sufficient to allow her to rest, and she started for the door.
“Lorain?” His voice was sleep-ridden, and she suspected he’d never remember this conversation in the morning no matter how long it endured.
“Yes?” she said sweetly as she turned back to him. Until another lightning strike, she wouldn’t be able to see if his eyes were open or not.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Don’t. Please?”
She smiled. He might not remember, but she’d learned he couldn’t lie to her in this state either. She knew she dared not question him about the matters that really plagued her—most notably, what part he’d played in his mother’s murder at Solsta—because he would recall that. But she could ask the seemingly inconsequential.
“Did you say anything to Nalin about your Heir, my love?” She fairly cooed the words and hated herself for it. Ah, well, what was the use of her elevated station if she couldn’t take full advantage of it?
“No,” he replied, and she could hear the pout in his voice. “I promised, remember? Now, lie down again, will you?”
“In a little while.” She padded back to him on bare feet, kissed her fingertips and then lightly brushed his cheek with them. He moaned softly, already resuming his slumber, and she left him.
Once in what served as the Empir-spouse’s bedchamber, she pulled the curtains fully closed and then crawled in under the covers. Warmth at last, she thought, and as she lay there, her head hidden beneath the blankets, she dismissed her suspicions after her run-in with Nalin this morning. He had looked at her oddly, and she’d immediately believed he must know she was pouched. But how could he if Ariel hadn’t told him?
It was possible, of course, that Nalin had guessed. She thought she was hiding it rather well, but as she rubbed the slight protrusion of the babe hidden deep within her pouch, suckling at its teat, she realized her flat belly had evolved into a lump to accommodate the hungry thing. So, had Nalin guessed? No matter. Ariel planned on announcing the good news, including—she hoped—their intention to join, to everyone at the Opening Banquet in a few weeks.
Warm, freed of the white flashes shattering the darkness, the great crashing muffled somewhat by the walls, closed doors and blankets, Lorain finally drifted off. As long as she could keep Ariel from doing anything stupid, she was safe.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KORIN’S CHOICE
Korin stirred the embers of the fire, then placed another log on it and waited for the log to catch. What a difference a mountain range made. In Thristas, the sands reflected the sun’s rays such that by late afternoon he and Lisen would have felt a bit like roasted meat if they’d dared to travel in the daylight rather than taking cover. Here in Garla, though, spring still tickled at the remnants of winter. The storm they’d endured out in the open three nights ago had proven winter’s persistence on this side of the Rim. They’d huddled together under a tree in the rain and the thunder, their cloaks saturated and useless as protection from the drenching after a few minutes. At least the storm had passed through quickly, leaving them to dry out before dawn.
It had been four days since their stop at Rossla Haven, and all the while he’d known, without telling her, that he was bringing her here, to the Khared. The People had chosen this name for this simple set of connected caves concealed in the hills just off the river because “khared” meant safe place, and this place was that. Here, he and Lisen had enjoyed two nights and days of calm and relaxation, with a few hours of training thrown in as well. One more night and they’d have filled up those few extra days they’d gained leaving Thristas early. Then tomorrow, they’d set out on the final leagues of the journey that would lead them to Avaret and the Heir’s confrontation with her brother.
Korin stared across the fire at the young woman whose destiny loomed in a future but a few days away and wondered whether either of them would survive. Rather than refreshing her, the wait here had worn her out. She’d grown cranky and sullen, rather unlike her usually brash but game-for-anything self. Certainly he’d seen her drift into the occasional bad mood in the past, but she always drifted back out fairly quickly. Not this time though.
She stared back at him, and her milky skin glowed even paler than usual in the moonlight.
“I don’t feel right,” she said. “I think…I think there’s something wrong.”
Korin considered getting up and going to her, but he didn’t want to further alarm her. “Is it the watcher?”
“No,” she said, her usually clear eyes dull, almost lifeless. “I…I need to sleep. And I feel sick…oh.” And with no more warning than that, she vomited.
His own belly cramped up in response, which he thought odd, and he jumped up and went to her. Had they eaten something they shouldn’t have? But as he whisked her up from beside the fire and carried her into the first of the caves, he realized, in one sudden and powerful stroke of knowledge, that what he felt had nothing to do with his stomach. The meaning of the feelings that he’d previously dismissed—the need to be near her, the little twitch of his pouch at her touch, the desire to make every rest stop a home—grew as clear as a desert morn before the wind kicked up the sand. He knew as surely as he knew his name and his rank. The cramp in his pouch had brought it all into focus. Lisen was pregnant.
“I’ll be all right,” she protested weakly as he lay her down on the soft earth just inside the cave.
“Stay there,” he ordered. “I’ll move the fire closer. Just give me a minute.”
He rushed back out, grabbed the pile of wood and some kindling and prepared it for a new fire right outside the cave’s entrance, and all the while, his mind counted out the days. When he added up the days since they’d left the Rim, the days traveling from Mesa Terses, the days in Mesa Terses since the Farii, he could draw only one conclusion. He shook his head, grabbed a stick, lit it from the old fire and brought it to the relocated wood, all the while shielding the tiny spark from the breeze. He set the kindling to burning, and while he tended to the maturing new fire, he looked into the cave at Lisen. Her eyes remained unfocused, as though she had no idea what was happening. But how could she not know? He smiled at her, hoping to comfort her, but reassurance was not one of his strengths. She only grimaced back.
Once the fire was going to his satisfaction, he returned to where they’d begun and stomped out the old blaze. And when all that was done, he finally went to the Heir, to Lisen, the woman to whom he’d once declared love.
She gave the Tribe what they asked for, he thought in amazement. Her fertility.
“I’m so tired,” she managed weakly.
She doesn’t know. She really doesn’t know, does she. Perhaps the years in the haven? Wouldn’t the sooth, at least, have taught her about this? She would have known how important it might be one day. Or maybe she said nothing…for a reason.
“Then sleep,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.” He sat down beside her and thought about where they were, this place Thristans used when they ventured over the Rim, a mile or so east and south of the Fork of Jaster where the Ancer fed into the Rukat and widened its flow. To the sound of the rush of the two rivers joining, he allowed his mind to work through what had happened.
No matter what she knew or didn’t know, she had lied to him. She had lied about what had happened in the Farii and had thought that that would be the end of it. Had she believed no one would know? Had she believed he wouldn’t know? Wouldn’t at least recall what he’d said? If she’d ever been taught about mating, maybe she would have made different choices. And the nausea and the vomiting, all at exactly the right time after Evennight. How could she not have known? But she didn’t, he thought, again with amazement.
Raised in the haven, she’d have only seen four-foots force out their fully formed young. Never aware of the miracle of transfer, never exposed to a pouched parent. Had the sooth taught her nothing? She knew too little of what existed outside her experience. But he knew. He knew she had lied, just as he knew that in the coming few hours he’d have to make the decision for both of them.
“What’s wrong with me?” she mumbled, her eyelids drooping on their journey to slumber.
“You need rest,” he replied, tossing it off as though it were nothing, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t a lie—just keeping the truth from her until he could figure things out. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”
“The headaches, the sickness.” She sat bolt upright and stared at him, eyes wide. “I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying.” He felt her forehead for fever and found her skin slightly warm to the touch but not hot—normal during a pouching. “Sleep.”
She allowed him to ease her back down on the ground, and he reached behind him to grab his pack, pulled a blanket out and covered her with it. Within a few brief moments, she was asleep beyond rousing.
“Lisen,” he said in a normal tone. “Lisen?” This time a bit louder, but she still didn’t stir. She lay curled up on one side, but he knew she would soon stretch out to begin the mysterious process of birthing the baby so it could make its way to the pouc
h.
He returned to his musings. The most immediate decision lay in which of them would accept the babe.
“Lisen?” he said very softly, but she didn’t answer. It was like a drug, this hibernation that occurred at the time of the transfer and could last up to a full day and night. He would never be able to awaken her now, leaving him with a dilemma. He considered the options. Either he carried or she did, or they let the child die.
He sighed. There was no choice, not really. Under no circumstances should she confront her brother with life in her belly. It would weaken her, distract her, slow her reaction time. The body’s insistence on preserving the life within would cloud everything else, and with concentration being her only advantage over her brother, Korin surrendered to what he knew he must do to keep her mind trained on her goal.
Again he sighed. He’d never expected this. He was a soldier, an Emperi guard. And yet—this woman had softened him, though not necessarily for the worse.
The Bonding, he thought. If they had indeed mated in the Farii, and clearly they had, they were now one. So the Elders and most Farii chosen claimed. Mating with Mantar a part of the act forged two souls together, leaving them forever inseparable. Or so they said.
Not then, he realized with wonder. The softening had not begun then, but long before that, on that trail through the mountains of northern Prea where their eyes had locked over the muddied Jozan Tuane in the rain. As a result, he’d missed all the clues of her pregnancy. He’d even failed to notice his own changes. Until now.
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