Trade (Deridia Book 2)

by Catherine Miller

  “That is the dwelling of the sanmir. It was created in ages past, yet upon my decision to depart from our trees, we could repeat it just as easily as those who had first devised the pattern.”

  “You... you did all of that?”

  “Some,” he hedged, though there was still that hint of pride that suggested he had done more than that. “There were other craftsmen. Knowledge is not enough to perfect a skill. The mind may know the process, but the hands must also know the tools, the muscles the pressure to apply.”

  She tried to think of what she had given to the Marzon. She grimaced, thinking that they must now be well versed in the collection of Hasart beetles. Her language also would have been given. What her parents had taught her of plants and cultivation. But perhaps... perhaps the knowledge of those things would be a benefit to her people, for her. They could speak without the need for the translator. Her familiarity with which plants were poisonous had likely kept her from being harmed accidently while in the Marzon’s care.

  She began to relax a little, her thoughts becoming more ordered as upset gave way to rational thought. But before she could ask anything else, Machrus posed another question, one that set her heart to racing as she tried to clamp down anything that might pass through their bond unwittingly.

  “Perhaps you would like to tell me what you feared would be exposed?”

  Renna stilled. “I think if I wanted to talk about that,” she answered stiffly, “I wouldn’t be worried about all of you finding out.”

  Machrus hummed, a low sound more akin to a grumble had it come from anyone else. “Yet that you fear at all suggests that you do not understand another of our customs. Did we not discuss the cleansing during our marriage? That all to have come before is forgiven.”

  Renna gave him a thin smile. “A very nice custom,” and one she ached could be true, “but we can’t always help what we think and feel. Not fully anyway.”

  She waited for some affirmation that he agreed with her, but he simply stared for much longer than she would have liked—almost as if all her secrets would be laid bare if only he looked long enough. It unsettled her, made her fidget, and she chose to break the silence first. “You don’t like talking about yourself either,” she reminded him, not accusing, but appealing.

  “Not from shame,” he countered, his voice more placid than she would have anticipated. “I think that a very great difference.”

  She could not dispute that, not when she saw the merit in it. She still wondered what fuelled his own silence, what kept him stern and cold when his people, as a whole, seemed quite the opposite.

  “I will not look,” Machrus continued in what he must have meant as an assurance, although she held herself a little more tightly at the prospect of such a possibility.

  “You won’t? Really? Even if I never choose to talk about it?” She looked at him, probing, trying to find any hint of deceit in his expression. But his eyes were steady, much as they always were, steady and sure. Not always kind, rarely that, but resolute. Evidently there could be times when that was a comfort.

  He frowned, but still he inclined his head in confirmation. “Even then. However,” he persisted just as she began to relax, “I believe you would benefit from divulging your history to someone.”

  “You?” she asked, a twinge of bitterness hardening her tone more than was proper. She watched him, waiting for his recoil, for him to rescind his suggestion at the possibility of her laying claim to his ear, but he did not.

  “If you like,” he answered simply, and she could not mask her surprise at that. Nothing his words or actions over the course of their marriage suggested he was interested in learning of her, of helping her feel at ease beyond what elements would ensure her continued survival. Meals, water, a place to sleep, all had been given. But not conversation, whether the most trivial, let alone of a more personal nature. “Though there are plenty who would gladly hold your confidence.” That sounded more like him.

  She grimaced, but felt immediately guilty for having done so. She had received nothing but welcome and consideration from his people, and to return it with ingratitude would have made her mother scold her soundly for her behaviour.

  “I don’t feel safe,” she confessed aloud, not truly meaning to. She flushed, clarifying what she meant since it was obvious he had heard. “That is, talking about it with one of you. I heard what you said, that you won’t... that whatever happened before will be overlooked, but I don’t know your rules, what you really expected of a bride. What criteria I was supposed to fill.” And likely failed to fulfil. “What am I supposed to do then? When in trusting one of you I share too much, and it... it ruins everything?”

  Machrus sighed, glancing away from her for just a moment, obviously considering. “Then we are at an impasse. For you cannot receive the assurance you require without first confessing what you believe to be an issue.”

  Her shoulders slumped miserably. “I guess so.” She wiped at her eyes, her nose stuffy from her sobbing. She was tired, achingly so, and she must look rather frightful. She couldn’t seem to muster anything close to caring about it, but she supposed that was another thing her mother would have scolded her for.

  Machrus did not say anything else, he merely rose and stared at her intently before seeming to decide something, and he extended a hand down to her.

  She took it, almost warily, surprised when he did not immediately release her. He closed his eyes briefly, his mouth the tight line she had so often seen it, before he finally spoke. “Trust will come with time. It always does.”

  Perhaps in his experience, but not in hers.

  But before she could share any of her morose musings, he turned and led her back toward home.

  And he never let go of her hand.

  13. Implore

  Days passed, just as they always did. She slept beside Machrus at night and spent her days within his home, boredom eventually overcoming her trepidation of upsetting him with her experimentation.

  He never commented on the use of his stores, and the food she created was at least edible—not as finessed as what he would likely have concocted, but it was filling and she felt at least a little accomplished for having done it herself.

  Even if she was saddened that he had not taken the time to show her how.

  At first she thought that things might be different following their excursion amongst his people. His care of her had been much appreciated, and there had been at least a moment’s hope that perhaps he would be more willing to converse with her.

  Except they settled into their regular silences, and with it, a bit of her despaired. So she cooked, and she tidied up what she could while he was out, his home a marvel. She played with the cord that hid away the shimmering stones that provided light in the underground, the pulley system that worked the fabric a wonder on its own. She supposed it shouldn’t be, not when her people had things like translators, guns—if only a few—and a ship that once had flown through space itself.

  But to her they were dying relics—reminders of a place that held no relevance anymore. With each successive generation, those artefacts would hold less meaning, the technology decaying into uselessness. Trinkets of a world unknown, tools that could not ever be replicated.

  The thought made her listless. Her people would become something new with their acquired lands, with rule and order helping to curb some of their more desperate habits. At least, so she hoped. But it also left her without a people, without a place to belong.

  Cooking held no interest for her, and after consuming a meal prepared by her husband, she sat at the table, running her finger across the delicate lines of the wood. She was vaguely aware that the front door had yet to open, but it was not until Machrus approached her directly that it registered he had not disappeared for the day as was his routine.

  She blinked up at him, her own words seeming far away, and she simply waited for him to tell her what he wanted.

  He did not speak, and she wished it surprised he
r, going to the door and opening it, sighing deeply as he did so. It did not latch behind him, and her shoulders slumped, rising from the table so she could close it properly herself.

  Except he still stood there, waiting in the doorway. “Coming?”

  She looked at him, bewildered. “What?”

  He leaned against the frame, eyeing her. “Would you care to accompany me today?”

  Her mouth opened, words failing her. If she had an ounce of pride left, she would send him on his way. It wasn’t right, the way he treated her, giving her a teasing morsel of his attention before returning to his aloofness. But even as she thought it, of allowing spite to win as she spurned him for a change, her feet were rushing to find her shoes, to dawn her shawl, to hurry along before he could decide to rescind the offer.

  He was still lingering the doorway as she rushed by and into the morning sunlight. The air was crisp and she pulled her shawl to cover her ears, lest shivering convince him it was better she be left behind.

  Machrus shut the door fully, grenpeets already beginning to draw nearer as they noticed their company, and he motioned for Renna to follow him.

  “Do they still frighten you?”

  She appreciated that he asked instead of merely assessing her emotions for himself. “Not so much anymore,” she replied, trying her best to make it truthful. They were... endearing, in a way. The little ones, anyway. With their impish nature, their energetic wiggling. But she still didn’t trust them fully, not when she wasn’t completely certain of what they considered a meal.

  She yelped when a small body pushed against the back of her legs, making her stumble forward. Machrus appeared at her side, steadying her, and if she was looking terribly hard, she was almost certain he was amused.

  Evidently she had strayed too near a few prancing little ones, the largest of them butting his head against the others. They did not seem to mind very much as they either scampered off or returned the gesture in kind. Evidently her legs were seen as an equal challenge because one of them tried coming at her again. And with a quick scramble, she hid behind Machrus, her throat tight.

  Machrus knelt down and tapped the little beastie on the nose. “She is your mistress now. You be kind to her.”

  The grenpeet pranced away, eyeing them both with what to her appeared blatant rebellion, but Machrus merely shook his head, a smile playing about his mouth.

  Well. At least one of them was enjoying this outing.

  “They are playful when they are young,” Machrus explained, glancing back at her. “He does not intend to hurt you.”

  She forced herself to relax. “Sometimes you can hurt someone without meaning to,” she reminded him, though with little force behind it. If she gauged the age rightly, the grenpeet was just a baby, testing out his strengths, and she wouldn’t begrudge him for it. Much. She’d try anyway.

  “What are we going to do out here?” she asked, trying to calm down and think rationally. They were small, and Machrus obviously did not fear them at all. She didn’t have to act so foolish.

  Machrus gave a sharp whistle, a flock of heads rising from the grasses as the grenpeets acknowledged his call. “Come along,” he said in lieu of answer.

  She could turn around and walk back to the house, spend the day in a self-imposed silence rather than the one she was sure to experience here with him, but still she followed. The air was fresh, the cold—at least for now—a welcome change from the smell of wood smoke.

  The grenpeets did likewise, some ambling, some trotting, but all making their way obediently as they trailed behind, some even passing them in what must have been a habitual venture.

  The silence was pleasant enough in this context, with fields giving way to trees, ever punctuated by the bleat of a disgruntled grenpeet. It was odd seeing the creatures within the brush of forest, so used was she to them peeping up at her from a grass covered knoll. But they managed well enough, the sound of the river alerting her to their purpose here.

  Her trepidation grew, however, not trusting the last time she was near water with the man beside her.

  The larger grenpeets waded into the water with confidence, the younger ones allowing the gentle lapping only to touch their hoofs before scampering outward again, finally seeming to gather enough courage to allow long tongues to lap at the water.

  Machrus went to an outcropping of rock, sitting down upon it with a sigh. She stood awkwardly, wondering what she should do, but he gestured for her to join him. He reached into a crevice in the rock and pulled out a long casing of folded leather. She watched as he unrolled it, revealing a surprising variety of weapons. All were neatly tucked within the skin, and each carefully maintained if judged by the gleaming, unblemished metals.

  She eyed them warily, and Machrus took one in hand. “Going to murder me with that?” she asked, only partially in jest.

  Machrus gave her a sharp look. “Other creatures are drawn to the water as well. It is best to be prepared.”

  Renna nodded, knowing well that calm water drew all sorts of dangers. Most animals in the Wastes had seemed to adapt to the heat, but there were some that still would wander into the camp, turning violent when their journey was interrupted by an unwitting colonist.

  “Were there many creatures? In your life before?”

  It took her a moment to realise he had spoken to her, and another to recognise what he’d asked. “Yes,” she affirmed, her stomach clenching just to think of them.

  “And I suppose none of them were gentle.” He looked over his grenpeets, then beyond, apparently watching for any predators. She sincerely hoped that none would appear. She might have no particular fondness for his little green charges yet, but she would never take pleasure in seeing a flock frightened and hunted.

  “No,” she confirmed, trying not to think of the claws, of the sharp teeth and scaled flesh that made up most of the animals in the Wastes. “I’m not sure anything could grow up to be gentle out there.” She glanced at him worriedly, hoping he didn’t realise she had been partly referring to some of the people within her own colony.

  Machrus frowned, obviously considering her words, and she fidgeted a little as she waited. “It must be... difficult then, to believe that not everything is vicious.” His words were a bit stilted, a bit forced, and she smiled grimly that his commiseration might be so. But still, he was trying, and she would be appreciative.

  “I am trying,” she assured him. “I know things are different here, and I’m going to get used to that... to how things really are, not just assume everything is as I’ve known it.”

  Machrus leaned back slightly, still frowning. “I am to assist you in that.” He certainly did not seem pleased at the prospect, but she never expected him to be.

  She shifted slightly on the rock, not just to ease the numb feeling in her backside but also so she could look at him better. “And if you did, if you helped and we talked and things grew easier, what are you afraid would happen?”

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever taken quite that tone with him, and it was confirmed by the look of alarm that ever so briefly crossed his features. She had to force herself not to shrink back, not to amend her words into something more mild—not when she very much wished to know his answer.

  Finally he shook his head, sighing yet again. “You have seen them,” he replied resentfully. “Adelmar, Sladec, Edlyn... they were all arranged as we are and yet they are...”

  “Happy?” she suggested, seeing nothing that suggested they were otherwise. She had not yet met Edlyn’s husband, but if his manner was more like Sladec’s than Machrus, there seemed no reason to suspect unhappiness.

  Something in his expression suggested that was not the word he had wished to use, but he accepted it.

  “And that upsets you?” she asked carefully, trying to keep her bewilderment from turning to incredulity. “That they might be happy together?”

  Another sigh. “I do not wish unhappiness on any of them,” that was saying quite a lot given how Adelmar tended
to goad him.

  No one had ever confused her like Machrus.

  “So you would simply prefer us to be unhappy.”

  Machrus sat up straighter and she thought for a moment he had seen a predator, her eyes scanning the grenpeets and the riverbanks, noticing nothing amiss. Apparently it was his own thoughts he warred with. “I wish contentment for both of us,” he clarified. “But there are things... things that the bond, our union, pushes to the side that sometimes can be too great a sacrifice.”

  Renna shook her head. “I don’t think I understand you.”

  He shuffled a little closer, his eyes brighter than she had ever seen them in his vehemence. “You did not wish to care for me when we wed, yes? You did not want to grow in fondness, to make our marriage what most would consider a true joining. Is that not what you related?”

  Her mouth grew dry to hear him put it so plainly. “Y-yes,” she stuttered. “But I thought you felt the same!”

  He gave a slow nod. “I do.”

  She huffed, frustrated that she still could not grasp his meaning. “Then what’s the problem?”

  He leaned forward, and she willed herself to stillness, to keep from scuttling back. He was making her nervous, whether he intended to or not, but she tried to keep her composure.

  “The problem is that in a long line of these arrangements, I have yet to know of a couple who did not grow to care for one another. To... love one another.”

  She wanted to ask him how he could be so sure—certainly if these treaties were so common in their ways, they had been performed for generations—but she remembered their shared knowledge and supposed he would indeed know that to be true.

  “Oh,” she breathed, still wrestling with the concept. “I see.”

  “Do you?” he questioned, still looking at her intently. “Have you come to question if that care is a result of time and companionship, or merely a result of the bond? Because I have.”