His hold on the male furthered, and he choked, his eyes widening as he tried to shake his head in denial. “A-a gift!” he managed to rasp out. “F-for Prim!”
Rykkon’s eyes narrowed as he considered the male’s truthfulness, but it was not until Prim’s hand settled upon his arm that he allowed Desmond to draw a full breath. “You would give me one? Truly? There are so few...”
Desmond nodded furiously, now that Rykkon’s hand had slackened enough to allow it. “I do not know if you need it, need help with...” he pointedly avoided looking at Rykkon who had yet to fully release him. “If you need help,” he finished lamely. “But there isn’t much I can offer you, except this.” He reached out, holding the gun to Prim without making any move to point either end to her.
Rykkon did not know how they fired, where the fire came from, but he was absolutely certain he did not wish Prim to have access to one.
She would hurt herself for sure.
He made to intercept it, but she was already taking hold of it, and he would not risk startling her by plucking it from her grasp.
“Prim,” he said instead, attempting to reason with her. “Those are dangerous.”
Prim nodded. “They are. When you don’t know how to use it, or you’re on the wrong end of one.” She ignored his outstretched hand, placing it inside her satchel. “Thankfully, they taught us how to use them, and I don’t intend on pointing it at anyone.”
Rykkon opened his mouth to protest, to remind her of its capabilities, but she quelled him with a glance. “I’ve seen your children with knives, Rykkon. Big ones. But they handle them well because they’ve been taught. We didn’t know which of us would survive, so we all got a little training, just in case. I won’t hurt myself, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Her eyes grew suspicious. “That is what you are concerned about, isn’t it?”
He could plainly see that this argument was a fruitless one, and he no longer wished to discuss it in front of Desmond.
But before he could dismiss the matter, Prim took a step closer to him, Desmond having scurried away as soon as he was released, her hand coming to rest upon his chest. “Do you trust me?”
He looked down at her, searchingly, trying to determine why she asked. Except, in this, perhaps it did not matter. “Yes,” he confirmed.
“Then trust me.”
He allowed the subject to drop. He did not pull the object from her bag, did not remind her of what it was capable.
He would simply trust that she knew more than he.
“Desmond,” Prim addressed, not stepping nearer to him. The male still seemed rather wary, but he nodded to her all the same, the coil still held protectively in his arms. “Thank you for this. I think it’ll help. Really.” Rykkon frowned, but did not ask her how it would do such a thing. Now was not the time.
Desmond nodded again. “I am sorry for what happened here. To you. We should have... I should have done more to help you.”
Prim fiddled with the edge of her bag, but her eyes did not waver from the other male. “Yes, you should have.”
His Prim, so blunt and unyielding when she wished to be.
Desmond grimaced, but did not offer excuses, did not try to explain away the treatment Prim had faced while in the care of her people. Her father. Rykkon’s resolve grew on how to deal with that particular injustice. But Prim made no move to leave yet, though he was growing anxious to depart.
“The Narada should be here within a few days. I don’t know exactly when, but it’s better to be long gone before they do.”
“Of course,” Desmond affirmed, though the reality seemed to finally be occurring to him, the excitement over Prim’s gift giving way to the load of work that would have to be done. He looked down at the coil yet again. “I suppose... I suppose seeing if this still works should come first. That would make my instructions to everyone else very different if it doesn’t.”
“We’d like to come too,” Prim informed him, Rykkon glancing at her in surprise.
“We would?”
Prim patted his hand, and upon Desmond’s agreement, they ventured out into Mercy once more.
Rykkon would have thought their vessel one of the many dunes, but he realised now they had simply constructed a covering for the craft which had become hidden by the sands, disguising the open space beneath. This had been here all along?
It was in the opposite direction of the tunnels, so it seemed reasonable to him that his people had missed it, but seeing it now...
He would not pretend to understand its function. It looked similar to a sailing craft of the Onidae, but perhaps he merely thought so for he had no other comparison to make. There were pieces of metal in varying shapes that constructed the side and bottom, a large open platform upon the top where he supposed people would stand. But with no water? Only leagues of sand that stretched out for even further than any Arterian truly knew.
Desmond had opened a compartment and was fiddling with brightly coloured cords, settling the coil within and pressing various colours inside of it. Rykkon was still trying to take in the scope of the supposed ship while Prim pointed to certain things, trying to explain their function. “This will make it rise, allowing it to be propelled over the sands and out of the Wastes. You see?”
He did not. Not at all. The concept still seemed too foreign, too impossible, but he supposed the few ships of the Onidae were incredible in their way. But he had seen a log floating through the water, then a raft, then one of their impressive vessels.
This...
He had to trust Prim. Even if what she said defied his logic. But his mamé had said this was true, that they had come from the skies and this—all of these bits of mismatched metal, in all their varying shapes and sizes—were the wreckage from that voyage.
Something Desmond did must have awoken the ship for something began to whirr, the vessel begin to shake, but slowly, oh so slowly, it began to lift from the sand.
Prim’s smile was huge as her eyes flitted between the craft and Rykkon’s face. “You see now?”
And he did see.
He felt her hand settled into his, and Desmond emerged, wiping at his hands and looking rather amazed that the thing worked at all.
At least someone else understood how Rykkon felt.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say that I was right,” Prim informed him, and they both stepped backward as the sounds grew louder. It did not rise particularly high, not even to Rykkon’s knee, but Desmond appeared pleased with it and he supposed it would be sufficient. He gave Prim’s hand a squeeze before turning to the other male.
“You will take your people that direction,” he ordered, pointing toward the east. That left two other options for where the Arterian’s might be located, and Rykkon thought that well enough for maintaining their secrecy. The colonists must go somewhere, and though he did not know what awaited them there, it would be upon them to do what was right.
But some of them were incapable of making those choices, and knowledge of what he had yet to do settled over him.
Desmond made to ask the reason for his command, but he stopped himself, instead nodding his head. “You may want to be careful going back through. Some people might have heard that.”
Rykkon nodded, though a pressing matter would see them returning into Mercy all the same.
“Journey well,” Rykkon said in way of parting. “I do not know what you shall find to the east, but may you find safety and long life.”
Prim piped in. “And get along with whatever people you find there. That’s important. Don’t just plop down and think you can take what you want. Find something that’s actually available.”
Desmond sighed, but there was a smile about his lips. “We had a plan, you know, should we ever have found the coil. We’ll be a proper colony, not conquerors.”
Rykkon, gave a low nod, satisfied at his caution. “Good,” he said, turning away and pulling Prim along with him. They had accomplished their task, and he was anxious to be on his way home.
>
“Good luck!” Prim hollered back to Desmond, who waved to her in return.
When they were a short distance away, Rykkon turned to Prim, asking for the location of their last bit of business.
Prim froze. “Why do you want to go there?”
Rykkon looked down at her. “You know why.”
She eyed him for a moment before she swallowed deeply, her breath shuddering just a little before she led him to the correct tent.
She peered inside before turning away sharply, nodding her head in confirmation.
Rykkon slipped within and saw the male. The one who had brutalised his mate, had caused her such misery, and dared to still call himself her faeder.
Rykkon’s blade was quick. There had been no honour in his life, and there was none in his death, his head rolling from his shoulders. It was quick, the male not even waking from his slumber as he met his end.
Rykkon wiped the blood from his blade upon the male’s shirt. And before he consider how he felt about what he had just done, he returned to his mate and held her close, walking out into the Wastes and leaving Mercy behind.
“Did you do that just because of me?” she asked, her voice small.
He would have. But there was more to consider. “He was a dissenter and a trouble maker. He was responsible for a revolt—he was never interested in good relations between our people. And, for some reason, others chose to listen to him. How would he benefit the new world your people wish to build? Would he encourage them to trade with their neighbours, or to fight? To die needlessly?” Rykkon shook his head, hoping she understood. “I did it for you, for what you would have done long ago if you had been gifted with the poison to use on worthless, dishonourable males. But I also did it for the people your kind wish to become.”
Prim was quiet for a while, before he felt her arms wrap about him, her head resting against his chest even as they made their way to the tunnels. The whirring of the strange sand-vessel still thrummed in his ears, and it was strange to consider that this would be the last time he made this trek.
Mercy would be empty, the only human he saw the one within his arms. Or, perhaps, his mamé too.
Someday.
“I don’t want to talk about him,” Prim declared abruptly. “I don’t want to ever think about him again.”
Unrealistic, Rykkon was sure, but he would allow her to believe such was possible if she wished.
“Very well,” Rykkon assured her, choosing instead to scoop her into his arms, to feel her grip upon his neck, to relish the very presence of her.
She had not asked to stay.
And that was more than enough for him.
And her people would live—or at least, had the chance to—and as she sighed and rested against him, as he felt a kiss being pressed against his chest, he thought that seemed to be quite enough for her.
27. Prim
“You do not have to join me,” Rykkon reminded her. He was to check on Sanren and her young, Lenra having come to the door that morning, sheepishly asking if he would.
“Faeder said it was all right,” she assured him, wriggling her hands together and trying and failing not to peer behind him to see if Prim was nearby.
“Did he now?” Rykkon asked, his arm still sporting the scar from the last encounter with Sakmet.
Lenra looked down at the floor. “Mamé yelled at him a lot when she started feeling better. Said she should take us all right then if his... his pride was more important than his family.” Rykkon could tell Lenra did not quite know what that meant, but she was evidently quite good at reciting conversations she overheard.
He decided not to press her further should she reveal something that might get her into trouble.
He had promised to come later, and she had scuttled off, and he watched her go with a strange sort of wistfulness as she frequently got distracted on the path, stopping to look at every flower and insect that caught her eye.
Rykkon turned back to Prim, still nestled in bed, her eyes blinking slowly. “Morning,” she greeted, nuzzling back into the furs.
Days had passed since their journey into Mercy, but she still seemed weary. Her mood was good, far less withdrawn and thoughtful than it had been, and he supposed he was keeping her up quite late.
He had missed her.
And relating was a welcome distraction from news of the outcome from the Narada arriving to find an empty colony.
He rejoined her in the bed, knowing that he would have to leave soon to see to Sanren, but he had resolved that whenever possible, he should allow his time with Prim to take precedence, at least when a life was not at risk.
“Prim,” he mused gently, his hand stroking up and down her side as he gathered his thoughts. “There is something I have meant to discuss with you.”
Prim hummed, indicating that she was listening, though her eyes had drifted closed again. He wished they would open so he could see that she took no offence at his words, but he supposed her sleepy state might smooth some of her potential ire should he begin in the wrong way.
“Faeder... Faeder explained that your people do not have the Announcement.”
Prim frowned, one eye opening to peer at him. “Seeing as I have no idea what that could be, I’m going to say no.”
Rykkon hesitated, but pressed on. “It is when a female... a new mother... informs her mate that she is to have a child.”
Prim blinked once, slowly, before she turned and sat up. “And you... I’m supposed to...” She shook her head. “You’ll be waiting a very long time for that!”
Rykkon flinched back, stricken. “I see.”
He made to get up, Sanren and her youngling a welcome distraction to her mate’s rejection, but Prim took his arm, holding it so he could not leave without dislodging her. “I don’t mean that I want us to not have children,” she told him softly. “But other than getting... bigger, I don’t know many of the early signs. That’s what I meant. You probably know more than I do.”
Rykkon grimaced. “Our females are different. They... they know.”
“Oh. Well... I’m sorry, then. If it... if it helps, I will tell you when I think I am?” Her tone suggested it as a question, and for the first time, Rykkon was disappointed that her people were gone. There were none to ask, and his parents were too far away to ask for what they should be waiting for that would indicate Prim was growing their first young.
He supposed it would require patience and vigilance on both their parts—except a niggling worry still plagued him. “Are you still doubtful about having young with me?” He hated how small his voice sounded, how voicing the words seemed to give them power, a possibility for affirmation that he could deny would devastate him.
“Rykkon,” Prim soothed, struggling from the furs so she could sit upon his lap and rest her hand upon his cheek. “It was never about having them with you. And... I’m starting to think that maybe... maybe I’d be all right at it too.”
Rykkon shook his head, leaning forward to kiss her foolish mouth. “False. You shall be more than all right.”
Prim smiled, a little thinly, but genuine all the same. “With you with me.”
Rykkon kissed her again for her impertinence. “As if you would ever make a youngling with another.”
Prim scoffed openly at that and he made her a cup of teshon as she went to the stream, readying herself for the day. She pronounced upon her return that she would be joining him in the village, and though he had assured her that it was unnecessary, she was unmoved.
There was little point in arguing, especially when she kissed him so sweetly as she took her cup from him. “I’m sorry that I can’t offer you a proper Announcement,” she murmured before taking a sip.
Rykkon would not lie and tell her that he was not slightly disappointed at having to wait, but that did not mean he must be hurtful. “Just as you would choose no other, nor would I. Even if that means waiting to hear of our youngling. We will simply learn together.” He looked at her guardedly for a moment. �
�But that means you must not take offence if I make enquiries.”
Prim’s brow furrowed. “Why would I do that?” She glanced down at her person. “Oh, you mean, if you think I look pudgy?” He was not familiar with that word, but as she poked at her torso, he rather thought it was an unflattering description. Prim shook her head. “Just be careful how you ask, and I’m sure we’ll do fine.”
Rykkon hid his grimace at the word, but allowed the subject to drop. He would know her suspicions as they came, and that would have to be enough. He could not blame her for her body’s limitations—it would be most unfair to do so—and so he put away thoughts of Announcement and would simply accept that she would tell him what she could.
When Prim returned from the stream, dressed and freshly washed, he ensured she consumed a proper meal before they exited the dwelling. He caught himself at the doorway, feeling suddenly nervous about leaving. They had yet to do so beyond trips to the stream, nothing requiring that they venture into the village.
“You all right?” Prim asked him, eyeing him curiously.
“I have... enjoyed being at home.”
Prim smirked. “I’m glad to hear that. I’d be rather insulted that you didn’t fully appreciate your homecoming.”
Some of his tension loosened at her teasing and the reminder of joining with her, and his grip on the doorframe lessened. “Everything goes wrong when we leave here,” he reminded her.
Prim’s smirk faded into a soft frown. “I suppose it does. But even more reason for us to go—it means people need us. And I’ll tell you a secret,” she promised, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You like being needed.”
Rykkon had leaned forward to hear her better, but he jerked backward. “I do not!”
Prim shrugged. “Yes, you do. You like being here with me, of course you do, and you like what we get to do together, but I think you like using your skills. You like seeing a wound mend because you knew how to treat it, you like each child you help enter the world. It gives you purpose, and that’s not a bad thing.”
“It is my trade,” he protested, somewhat lamely. He did not know why he denied it, except that it almost felt like a betrayal of her to have something important to him that was tied to his people.
Mercy (Deridia Book 1) Page 36