“Is her speech so limited?”
His faeder sighed, shifting the rough-hewn on the fire to better catch the heat. “She is excited. If she would calm a little she would not have such a difficult time.” He glanced at his wife, who was watching them both, chewing at her lip as she tried to quell her tears. “I never thought about how much I could miss her voice. She would chatter at me so when we were first mated, and I thought I might go mad, but now...” He grimaced. “I regret ever thinking I might prefer the silence. On her bad days she cannot speak at all, and on her better her words are short and clipped. This morning she was able to speak clearly but apparently...”
He did not need to finish the thought, Rykkon knowing clearly what he meant. His mother was still affected greatly by stress or excitement, and his coming had exacerbated that. “I am not sorry you have come,” his father assured him. “On her best days she insists that she is well enough to go home. To you.”
Rykkon smiled sadly, not sure now if that would ever be possible. He could acknowledge now that a small part of him had hoped to find his mother perfectly healthy and ready to return with them. He had known that was not possible—if such were true, they would have returned long ago. But it was a hope he had harboured all the same, and one he would have to release lest disappointment taint the sweetness of their reunion. “I have missed you. Both of you.”
“I would hear everything of the village, if you will speak of it. How you have fared being their healer.”
His mamé suddenly appeared behind him, giving her mate’s arm a firm tap with her hand before gesturing to Prim. “Her.”
Prim startled to be so acknowledged, suddenly looking very unsure from her where she stood near the workbench. Rykkon belatedly realised that he should have found her a spot to be comfortable, her feet still blistered and sore and she would not feel comfortable in a strange home to do so herself, regardless of how similar it might be to their own
Prim obviously thought his mother was voicing some disapproval, for she began creeping toward the door, but his father seemed to understand her intention better, for he gave an apologetic smile.
“Of course. First we must hear of your mating and how it came to be.”
Rykkon was not sure he had ever seen Prim more uncomfortable than in that moment.
“Are you all right?”
Night had come, the day having passed all too quickly. They would have so little time here, their return journey making it impossible for them to stay long, and his throat felt strained from the amount of talking he had done. After the first sun had set, Prim had excused herself outside, and when she did not return, he chose to follow.
He ignored the worried glances of his parents as he did so. He had been on his own for many cycles now and could well take care of himself—assuming wild malmouts did not feel the need to give him any more surprises.
He found her not far from the house, looking through the gap in the trees with a thoughtful expression on her face. She was huddled under her wrap, her legs tucked up underneath, and she looked so small in such a tight ball. His to care for and protect. His to worry over when she looked so pensive.
“Prim?” he tried again, this time causing her to look at him.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, giving him more cause for concern.
“I am not fond of untruths,” he cautioned, settling down beside her.
Prim gave a sad sort of half-smile and one of her shrugs. “You should be in with your parents.”
“Yes,” he affirmed, giving her shoulder a nudge. “As should you.”
Prim looked away. “You deserve to have some privacy with them.”
Perhaps that was true, and he would speak with his father alone when they could better discuss his mother, as well as the situation that Rykkon and Prim would return to. But until such time, there was nothing they had spoken of that would be inappropriate for her to hear.
“I do not require it, as of yet.”
Prim released a shaky breath, before nodding, untwining her limbs and making to stand. But he caught her arm before she could do so, tugging her down onto his lap, ignoring her startled expression. She was not usually positioned so unless they were joining, but he would have her close as they spoke, the darkness making it difficult even for him to see her properly—he could only imagine how black the night must be for her.
“What displeases you so?” he pressed, needing to understand her reluctance. “Do you not like them?” He hurt a little as he waited for her answer, not certain why it was so important that she look upon them with approval, but finding that he needed it.
She patted his chest, though he was uncertain that was what she aimed for, her hand trailing up toward his shoulder. His father had pulled out some willomn and added it to Rykkon’s teshon, easing the greatest of the aches and making it possible for him to speak at such length without giving in to the tenderness of his already damaged throat.
“They’re very nice. And they clearly love you a whole lot.” He relaxed, but only a little. Clearly something troubled her.
“But?” he prompted.
She was silent, and he would have thought her simply content to sit upon his lap and be held for a while, but there was still a bit of tension in her shoulders, a tightening of her mouth that assured him that something was still not right with her.
“You have a family. One that you may not get to see often, but... more people to love you and care about you. And I... I’m jealous, I guess. And I hate that about myself, because I’m glad for you—for them! But it just reminds me how... how really alone I am.” She chuffed out a breath, her arms reaching around herself once more, withdrawing from him further even as she remained seated as she ever was. “So I came out here to give you some time with them, and to try to push away these thoughts I have.”
“What thoughts?” he asked, his voice low, choosing not to react at all until she had spoken more fully. He pushed away a lock of her hair, not daring to touch her more.
“That we aren’t as similar as I thought,” she confessed quietly. “I... I didn’t like that you were as lonely as me, but it was like... someone finally understood me. And seeing you all together... I don’t have a family waiting back for me in the colony. Just a man who hates me and the memory of a long-dead mother.” She wiped at her eyes, shaking her head. “And now I’m wasting your precious time with them because I’m being a ninny.”
He did not know what a ninny was, but it was clear that his mate hurt deeply, and he could not ignore that. He was glad to see his parents—more than he could have imagined—but she was his family, his home, and that did not change upon one visit with his progenitors.
“We are similar,” he noted, pulling her close and hunching slightly so he could rest his chin upon her shoulder. “Though not the same. I knew the love of both parents, while you knew abuse from one of yours. I longed to see mine again, while you agreed to wed a stranger in order to escape from yours. But we are more than our circumstances and parentage, Prim. I thought you knew that.”
“I do,” she murmured.
“And I love you for more than that.”
“I know,” she confirmed, even more quietly.
“Do you miss your mamé? Seeing my parents?”
She hiccoughed.
She choked.
And then she sobbed, leaning against him all the more as a heart long-broken voiced its sorrows for a woman who had died long ago, yet was mourned even still.
All the while aware of the two figures watching him from the doorway, wrapped up in each other much as he was with his wife, knowing that nothing he could say could fully soothe his mate’s grief.
Not when he had been restored with those he loved.
And there was no possibility for her to experience the same.
So instead he simply held her all the nearer.
22. Counsel
“Sorry,” Prim muttered lowly when she was at last composed enough to enter his parents’ home onc
e again. Her face was red and blotchy in places, her eyes swollen. Rykkon moved to the large jar in the corner, satisfied to see that his father stored additional water much as he did. A rag followed next, and he was able to offer Prim a cooling cloth to help soothe away the last of her upset.
“There is no need for apology, if we upset you with our questions.”
They had not pressed for many details in regards to Prim—his mother clearly wished to know more, but her words failed her, and she was growing more and more frustrated. Perhaps in the morning she could ask what she wished, but until then, his father’s enquiries had been more in the direction of the village, how they were treated, and if they were happy with their arrangement.
With how close he settled Prim next to him on the bench, his arm around her as she wiped at her eyes and cooled her cheeks with the cloth, he would have thought that entirely obvious.
Rykkon had been loath to discuss the details of Prim’s history, even with his parents. He trusted their intentions, they simply wished to know more of their son’s mate, but he had feared upsetting her to hear of it all again, yet had managed to accomplish that quite thoroughly despite his attempt at consideration.
He was surprised, then, when she answered on her own, even as he was concocting his own reply to explain their absence. “No, really, you’re fine.” Rykkon still hated that word. “My father wasn’t like you... he was mean as anything, and it just... was a little overwhelming to see what a family could have been. I’m sorry I interrupted your talk.”
With that she looked away, pressing the cloth to one eye as she avoided looking at the rest of them, his father giving him a dismayed look.
“He beat her,” Rykkon confirmed in their own tongue. “It was why she was so anxious to leave with me—she did not believe she had any other hope of it ending.”
His faeder’s eyes narrowed as he looked Prim over again, and Rykkon held her a little nearer. There was no need for him to consider healing—he had seen to that when first she came to him, and now she was whole and healthy. “She is well,” he assured, somewhat stiffly.
His father sat back in his chair, a guilty look upon his face. “Forgive me. It has been a long time since I have been able to use my skills. Apparently my instincts are still present.”
Rykkon nodded, but caught Prim glancing at him, though her head had not moved at all. He smiled at her. “Are you hungry?”
She shrugged, but she typically did that regardless of her hunger levels. Sometimes he wondered if she had simply gone so long without food that her body had given up telling her when her stomach was empty.
From the way she acted, that seemed all the more likely.
He went to their packs, ignoring his father’s protests that they had plenty, and retrieved a few strips of dried meat, offering them to his family. It was seasoned well, and flavourful, and he had introduced Prim to it on their journey. She had baulked at first, which he well understood, given what meat they would have found in the Wastes. Insects were rarely appetising.
But this had come from a large beast, taken down by three of the warriors in a hunt, and he had traded well for it. He rationed his stores of meat as he was not the most proficient at hunting, but their travels were occasion enough. Prim seemed to have more energy after consuming it, and that was what mattered most.
His faeder nearly refused it, but his mamé nudged him, giving him a look that Rykkon could not readily interpret, before both accepted his offering.
“You are mate to our son,” his father said rather abruptly, and Prim’s head jerked up to look at him, her mouth full. “I... I am sorrier than I can say that you did not have a family of your own, and I cannot say that any has wanted us before,” he glanced at his wife only to find her nodding rather sadly. “But as I have said, you are most welcome here. You are welcome in our home and in our family, should you wish to call us one.”
He settled back, taking a large mouthful of dried meat, nodding to himself at the flavour.
Prim did not seem to know what to do or say at his declaration, fiddling first with the cloth Rykkon had brought her, then slowly swallowing. “People are stupid,” she said at last, and Rykkon smiled at her words, common as they were becoming between them. “I can’t see why they wouldn’t want to be a part of your family. Not when you’re so kind.”
His mamé rose, patting his father’s hand when he moved to follow her, before she came and gave Prim a hug, holding her close and smoothing her hair. “Love... son... much,” was all she could manage, but Prim seemed to understand well enough. She was stiff at first, the embrace obviously unexpected to her, but his mother could be persistent, especially with her affection, and eventually she conceded, returning the gesture.
Perhaps a bit awkwardly, perhaps without the same way in which she seemed to melt against him. But it was returned all the same. “Very much. He’s... everything.”
Rykkon should have felt only a warmth at her words, but instead he was reminded of her ridiculous talk after the attack from the malmout. She thought he would be perfectly able to continue on should something happen to her, but she worried for herself—where she would go, how she would live. And while every part of his being rebelled at the thought of planning for such an eventuality, he could not allow his pride to overwhelm the possibility of such a future.
Prim needed her own things, her own ability to feel capable aside from him.
And it was his responsibility to see that she felt so.
But, seeing her with his parents, he was reminded that there was a place for her that did not include the colony. He was uncertain of how she could make the trip on her own, but if she was forced to...
She was resourceful.
She had survived in the Wastes, after all.
He shook away such thoughts, for now, not wishing to become gloomy when things did not have to be so.
“And what of you?” Rykkon asked, their conversations thus far centring upon himself. “What has life been for you?”
His mamé looked to his faeder, his expression rather grim. “Perhaps we can speak more come morning. Your mamé does best when she gets plenty of rest.” The mamé in question thinned her lips, and gave him a glare, but he quelled her upset with a stare of his own. “You may argue with me all you like, but it is well true. Would you not like to speak with him yourself in the morning?”
She huffed out a breath, her shoulders slumping, before she gave a worried look toward Rykkon.
“I shall be here, Mamé,” he assured her.
She appeared ready to argue more, tears glistening in her eyes, but as she opened her mouth to speak, only to struggle and grow frustrated with her inability, she seemed defeated, turning to her husband and allowing him to lead her from their dwelling to tend to her evening ablutions.
Prim sat beside him still, looking terribly overwhelmed and worn herself. “Should you like to rest too?” he asked her.
She looked out the small dwelling with some bemusement. “Where?”
She was right to question it. The bed was rightfully secured by his parents, and there was not a great deal of space upon the floor.
“Would you prefer to sleep outside?”
She glanced over at him. “Would you?”
He considered that. It would be far warmer within the confines of the house, and he supposed it could be a pleasant thing to sleep so close together.
But the part of him that he had not recognised before—the one that had come to accept his solitude and find some measure of comfort in it—felt almost a chaffing at the thought of being cloistered so close.
“I will see to the fire,” he told her, and saw in her faint smile that she agreed.
She followed him outdoors after a time, and she looked much more like herself when she emerged from the house. He kept them close to the side of the dwelling, using one of the largest furs to create a shelter away from the cold air and breeze.
He rather thought mists would descend while they slept, so cold and dam
p did the air feel. The fire was next, carefully banked so it would not risk spreading to the house, but bright and full so as to give warmth. Prim came and spread their furs into their little camp for the night, and at the prospect of sleeping so closely with her, it looked most inviting.
There was little purpose in changing for sleep when their layers would help keep them warm, but they made the trek to the privy in any case, for they would feel all the better washing as best they could manage, rinsing away as much from their travels as they could. The path to find it was an easy one, his father having made a purposeful ridge on both sides so his mamé would not grow confused as to the way.
His faeder was holding his mamé’s hair so it would not fall into the water as she splashed water on her face, her sleeves carefully pushed upward so they would avoid a similar fate. He smiled at their approach, but kept vigilant watch over his wife.
Rykkon wondered if that meant she had taken a tumble in the stream more than once.
“I would speak to you later, if I may,” he murmured in their tongue, his father looking at him in some surprise. “I require... counsel.”
His expression sobered before he gave a low nod. “When your mamé sleeps, I will come find you.”
His mamé had finished her washing, and his father held a cloth at the ready so she could dry herself, and they made to leave. But his mamé turned before they made any distance along the path, turning back to Rykkon and hugging him tight. “Love,” was all she attempted to say, and that was quite enough for him.
“I love you as well, Mamé. You rest well and I shall see you in the morning.”
He ignored her sniffles as she pulled away, complacent as her husband wrapped an arm around her and led her back to their dwelling.
Prim emerged from the privy, washing her hands and pushing her sleeves up so she could do her forearms as well. “Prim,” he said hesitantly, trying to decide how to approach his need to speak with his father alone. She had offered such a thing, but that was when she was overwhelmed, and he doubted that it counted.
Mercy (Deridia Book 1) Page 29