Mercy (Deridia Book 1)

by Catherine Miller

  He opened the door and eyed the bed longingly for all too brief a moment, but Kondarr’s words forcing him to move quickly, the first trickle of fear infusing his belly.

  “There is no need for such a suspicious tone, Kondarr,” Rykkon assured him, following with Prim as the other male led them toward the village. He fought for calm, to keep his tone as even as if he spoke the whole of the truth, though he could not forget the way Kondarr had looked at him.

  Looked at them.

  “I have returned with plenty of grenut, just as I had hoped—enough to last the season.”

  Kondarr gave a low grunt. “I have no doubt that you did. I only wonder what or who else you found on that journey of yours.”

  Rykkon tried to tamp down his rising ire, the anger mixing with fear creating a rather sickening concoction. But despite his efforts, he still felt his fists clenching, his pulse racing. “And what if I did? Why would that be such a terrible thing? For your healer to find some momentary satisfaction, to find counsel that is not tainted by hate and ill-will? Where is the dishonour in that?”

  If Kondarr was surprised by his outburst, he did not show it. “I care little for what you do, but I also will not cross the will of the elders. And they have made it known that you are to remain here.”

  “Even when they are wrong? When their commands are against what is good and decent? When they encourage all of you to spurn a healer’s mate? A position that was once held with great regard, I would remind you.”

  Kondarr glanced at him before he shook his head, a deep sigh escaping him. “Are they so wrong? It is true, the mates of old were revered and well cared for, but there is a larger principle that you seem to forget.”

  Rykkon glared at him. “And what is that?”

  They were within the village, a few of the females stopping in their work to stare at their party, frowns upon their faces. He wondered at the cause—if merely the sight of them was enough to produce such a reaction, or if perhaps news had travelled of his absence and it was clearly met with disapproval.

  “Mates are a distraction,” Kondarr continued, holding up his hand to stay Rykkon’s objections. “Do not deny it. I speak from my own experience as well. You are torn between your duties—between their needs and that of the people you serve. The elders speak for us as a whole, try to do what is wisest for us all, even when it means asking for personal sacrifice.” He was quiet for a moment before he sighed yet again. “Little Maisreen got lost in the mists three nights back. Her mamé was frantic. And because the Narada had arrived, only a few males could be spared for the search—the rest had to remain to protect our people here. Do you think that choice was a simple one? Our young mean everything.”

  “The Narada could be sequestered!” Rykkon protested, horrified to think of one of the younglings lost in the ever thickening fog. “You only further my point that the elders can be wrong!”

  “Yes, they can,” Kondarr conceded, surprising Rykkon somewhat in the process. “But negotiations with the Narada would mean the end of the war, the loss of more precious lives—our young and grown alike. It is not an easy position, to be one of our leaders, I would say the most difficult of them all. But unless I was willing to assert myself as elder—a position I have never trained for, have never shown a particular affinity toward—I would not be so quick to criticise the authority of those currently in power.”

  Rykkon had little to say in response, his anger quickly replacing with the same general confusion he felt when it came to matters beyond his own ken. Kondarr had a point, perhaps rudely phrased, but no less relevant. It was simple to think for two—of what was right for Prim and himself, what would keep them safe and alive, even happy. But for an entire people?

  Prim must have noticed something in his expression, for she tugged at his hand. “What’s going on? I only caught a little of that.”

  He was rather surprised she had caught any of it at all, their lessons in Arterian having lapsed of late. He glanced at Kondarr, but he merely continued on, ignoring both of them and voicing no objection to the human tongue. “We are to meet with the elders. And... it is likely that members of the Narada will be with them when we do.” Prim shivered, but she kept her expression carefully blank, and he was pleased at her fortitude.

  “Kondar... suspects that we saw someone during our journey. He did not directly mention my parents, but the implication was there.”

  Prim glanced at the back of the other male, before she shrugged. “He isn’t stupid. Did he say you were going to get in trouble for it?”

  Rykkon hesitated. “Not precisely. Though if we had taken longer...”

  Prim nodded. “Then maybe this was their way of giving you time with your parents, strange as it is. Warning you that they know, that they don’t approve, but they haven’t killed us yet, so that’s something.”

  Rykkon gave her a pained look. “Please do not jest in such a way.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her of the lost youngling, and belatedly realised he had not asked after her wellbeing. “Maisreen,” Rykkon addressed to Kondarr. “Was she found? Does she require healing?”

  Kondarr glanced back at him, and as they neared the meeting place of the elders, Rykkon knew there would be little time for more conversation.

  “She had climbed the tallest tree she could manage. She may be small, but she has learned her lessons well. She was hungry but unhurt, though a wandering carmekt gave her a fright. The hunters took it down to avenge her.”

  Rykkon nodded, relieved at the outcome, and he tried not to think about what would have happened if she had been maimed with no healer to help her.

  There was a host of warriors stationed around the meeting call, both to keep away listening ears and to protect those inside. Kondarr nodded to a few as they passed, and Rykkon steadily ignored the curled lips of distaste as they were allowed admittance.

  “Healer,” he heard called as he entered the room more fully. “We began to fear you had left us completely.”

  Rykkon took a steadying breath. He hated this room. Hated seeing all of the elders in a line, staring at him with varying emotions. He was gratified that most seemed impatient, their eyes frequently straying to the Narada who began hissing as soon as Prim walked into view. There were more important matters than his absence, and at least two seemed to know it well.

  There were five in total, Lorrak seated in the middle, his eyes steady and hard as he raised a hand and called for silence.

  Prim was pressed close to his side, and he wrapped an arm about her, hoping she could manage to hide some of her trepidation.

  Lorrak looked them both over, and Rykkon noted a distinct tendril of weariness about him, though he was quick to cover it with a stern glare. “You have returned.”

  Rykkon gave a low nod. “As I always intended.”

  “And you have nothing to report? It is not often we have patrols venture so far.”

  He could not actually know how far Rykkon had travelled except for a vague approximation based on the amount of time they were gone. He gave Prim a reassuring pat, glad for a moment she would not hear what he had to say, yet knowing he did not wish them to be able to extrapolate his exact whereabouts.

  “Travelling with a mate was slower than I anticipated. I apologise for the delay.”

  He allowed them to extrapolate their own meanings, and he knew they would easily replace mate with human and find more reason for her to be lacking. Guilt niggled at him immediately for Prim had journeyed well, her times in the Wastes fully to blame for her difficulty covering long distances.

  Lorrak gave a grunt and waved his hand in dismissal. “Perhaps next time you will realise it is better she remain here. Your feet will have ample motivation to hurry when you are worried for her.”

  Rykkon tensed. “Am I to take that as a threat, elder?”

  Lorrak looked at him steadily. “A reality. As you say, she is slow.”

  “Yes, yes,” the elder to Lorrak’s left cut in. Rashmek was olde
r, an impatient man who thought discord an odious reality of elder life, and Rykkon had never quite decided what to make of him. He appreciated that the male did not show much interest in him in any regard, but sometimes his desire for expediency kept him from listening fully. “Our healer has returned and now our guests have seen for themselves that we have a supply of humans. Shall we not bargain and be done? I believe we all know what must happen.”

  “Yes,” one of the Narada hissed from the side, his small beady eyes never straying from Prim. “If you give us the location of this... this colony, we shall have an agreement.”

  Rykkon knew it would happen. There was no other course that seemed possible for his people. He had wanted to think otherwise, but that had proven naive. He turned back to the elders. “Have I no say in this?”

  Lorrak glanced back at him, his mouth a grim line. “For what purpose? Have you any great wisdom? Have you been contracted as elder since last we spoke?”

  Rykkon clenched his fist, fighting for calm. “They are my wife’s people. And she is a member of our people through her mating to me. That is in the rite. Surely we could discuss the matter.”

  Rashmek looked mildly horrified. “We have done nothing but discuss it, healer,” he protested, his voice growing more firm as he seemed to remember his position. “Your position is a strange one, Rykkon, none of us deny that. Perhaps you feel some... kinship with these people through your mother’s blood.”

  The elder at the end spat upon the ground. “Tainted. Half-breed.”

  Rashmek gave a nod to Yarrik. “Yes, we all are aware of that, thank you.” He took a quick breath before continuing. “But we are your people, Rykkon. Your faeder trained you for our care, and you must think of what is best for all of us. Just as we must do.”

  They were his people.

  He knew that, with every sleepless night he spent at a needful bedside.

  He knew that with every young he helped draw first breath.

  Then why did they seem to forget except when it was convenient?

  “If you believe thusly,” he began, his voice remarkably steady. “Then I would ask that you admonish our people regarding the treatment of myself and my wife. We are to be afforded the respect that my position holds. There are to be no more attacks, no more guarded whispers of offence. Nothing.”

  The elders all looked at him, and one even began to smile. “Rykkon,” he began, his eyes never wavering from his. Polark typically said little, and Rykkon knew him less than any of the elders before him. “You seem to misunderstand the nature of respect—it is not requested. It is commanded. Not from us, but from you.”

  Rykkon wished to lash out, to remind him of every method he had attempted to bring about such a result, and yet he was still viewed as he had always been. What more could he possibly do?

  Lorrak interjected, nodding toward Kondarr who came forward obediently. “They are dismissed. We have no more time for this. I believe we all are aware of what must be done, no matter how... distasteful we find it.”

  The Narada did not seem to take any great offence, their eyes still trailing Prim’s movements as Kondarr ushered them from the meeting hall.

  There was no doubt for any of them that the people of Mercy would soon be overtaken.

  The walk back to their dwelling was a sombre one. Kondarr led them steadily forward until Rykkon eventually halted. “This is foolish. Where else do you think I would take us?”

  Kondarr half-turned to him. “I am sure I have no idea. But my orders...”

  “Were to see us out of the meeting. Which you have. And now I should like to take my wife home. In private.”

  Kondarr looked at him fully for a moment, before turning from them both and walking away. “As it please you,” he said in passing, choosing not to give any insight into what had transpired, no opinion on whether he agreed with the elders choices.

  Rykkon looked after him, his fists clenched tightly until Prim came, wrapping her hands about one of his. “Come on,” she murmured. “People are watching.”

  He did not much care if the entire village had come to see, but she was urging them home and there was nowhere else he would rather be. But his ire was simmering, his frustration at his impotence making his words fast and biting. “They are going to do it,” he told her, feeling stupid that he should still have trouble believing it. “Even now they are telling the Narada of your people, of how to find them.” Prim patted his hand, and his eyes narrowed at her. “You knew?”

  Prim glanced at him. “It was pretty obvious. I made out some, and your face said the rest quite clearly.”

  Rykkon suddenly felt some of his remaining strength seep out of him. “I looked a fool.”

  Prim reached around his arm, hugging it to her. “You looked like a man defending his family. There was nothing foolish about it.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, to remind her that while he held compassion for her kind, he did not consider them family. But she waved him off, clarifying her intent. “I don’t mean them. I don’t... even now I don’t think of them that way. You were defending me. What I wanted. What I felt was right. And I thank you for that.”

  Rykkon looked down at her, a bit unsure. “You do not even know what I said.”

  Prim shrugged, keeping his arm close. He noted two of the village females watching them, though their expressions were not entirely hostile. Perhaps a little curious, perhaps a bit unsure, but they did not appear to be ready to pull a blade on either of them. Rykkon still had to tamp down the urge to pull Prim away from them. But that would mean dislodging his arm, and he quite liked it there, his hand between hers, his arm nestled between her non-milking breasts.

  So instead he hurried their steps, anxious to be away from watchful eyes.

  “Well, why don’t you tell me?” she suggested.

  Suddenly, he wanted nothing less. But she had asked, and he had been the one to remind her of the barrier between their languages, and he wished for some advice on how to proceed. “I wished things to be different. For at least that good to come of what is to happen.” He shook his head. “They scoffed at me. Respect is to be commanded, not requested. What does that mean? How is that an action? How do you change the attitudes of an entire people?” His agitation mounted, cycles of treating his people, their reactions varying from longsuffering acceptance to open aggression, feeding his indignation. “I have treated them well. I have cared for them no matter how they have spoken to me, how they have treated me. What more can I do besides deny them care entirely? But to do that means I lose my only value.”

  And thus had been his difficulty since he was a youngling watching his faeder at his work. There were no solutions. Only resentments and the careful navigation of animosity that hopefully would keep him, and those he loved, alive.

  Prim was looking pensive, and he wished she would speak to him, find some way to fix what was so wholly broken.

  Precisely how she must feel toward him when she asked for help with her people.

  And yet he had failed her even in that.

  “I am sorry I could not do more,” he told her, wrapping his free arm about her and kissing the top of her head. Above all else, he needed her to know that. “I am sorry that I could not help them.”

  She did not cry, did not show any sign of the despair he was certain must be lurking somewhere beneath her calm exterior. She patted his chest and touched his cheek, and then she bade them keep moving.

  “You are very quiet,” he complained, wishing for her voice to distract him from his tumultuous thoughts.

  “I have a lot to think about,” she informed him, and he supposed that was true—though he was confused all the same. There was nothing left to try, no petition they could make. The decision was final, the Narada likely already venturing back to muster their armies to invade Mercy as soon as they were able.

  “Such as?” he prompted. He would settle for her verbal musings if she could not offer him the assurances he needed.

  Her pu
rsed lips were not an encouraging sign. “When we get home, I want to look through your mother’s things. From the crash.”

  She had mentioned that before, when first they had left his parents, but he had dismissed it rather quickly. They were relics, from a time before, one that he did not pretend to understand. “There is nothing of interest, I assure you.”

  Prim glanced at him as the dwellings became sparser, the trees thicker. They were nearing home. “I don’t mean to be insulting, but I don’t think you had any idea what you were looking at. Neither did your mother. So it really could be anything.”

  Rykkon wanted to protest, but what she said was true, so he kept quiet on the subject. “And if I am right? If there is nothing helpful, what then?” He wanted to ask if she would put away her thoughts of her people, of the rashness that urged her to go to them when they had no hope to offer them. He hated to see her so distressed, so miserable in her helplessness—though she seemed remarkably calm at the moment.

  Prim looked at him, silent for a while as they continued onward. “If... if there’s nothing there, I’ll let it go.” She shook her head, and a little of the frustration he had seen so often in her became strikingly obvious. Perhaps she was not quite as calm as she appeared. “I’m not stupid. I heard you when you explained how poorly they would react if I went to them without any solutions. But I just... I need to know that I’ve done everything I could.” She continued to look at him, her eyes intense and pleading all at once. “Can you understand that?”

  How could he possibly deny her anything when she looked at him in such a way? “We can look,” he conceded, “but please, do not be too disappointed when there is nothing there of benefit.”

  She gave him another pat and he tried not to believe it was patronising. “Of course not.”

  He eyed her dubiously, but said nothing more. There was clearly more on her mind, but she remained quiet as well, and he chose to enjoy the rest of their walk—his mate safely tucked beside him, no tears staining her cheeks even though the ruling was not what they had wished.

  When they neared the house, he bypassed the door, pushing away his disgruntlement at being denied a proper homecoming yet again. But Prim’s attention was plainly elsewhere, and he would not make any attempt to lure it into thoughts of relating. Not until he could be more certain that the distraction would be welcome rather than merely a nuisance.