Trade (Deridia Book 2)

by Catherine Miller

  The thought of that frightened her a great deal, though she was glad she could speak of it so calmly. She didn’t want to love a husband, didn’t want to love Machrus, not only because he had made it so very clear that he did not intend that affection to be reciprocated, but also because she was not certain she could survive that heartache again. Closeness meant sex, and sex inevitably led to children.

  And she’d lost her heart already, had it ripped out and crushed by the weight of that loss, and she did not think she could bear to ever experience that again. It was easier to remain distant, to utilise the guardedness of her husband, practical and helpful in quelling of any attraction that might have stirred against her better judgement.

  But in her softer, weaker moments, lying next to him at night, so close and warm and there, she found her thoughts drifting, to wondering, and wanting, and she was ashamed of that. She should learn from the past, not prove to herself yet again how susceptible she was to the prospect of love and attention.

  The breeze was cold, each day seeming to be a bit more so, and it sent a shiver through her, and she burrowed a little more into the fine things he had given her. A lack of love did not have to mean ill feelings, and she understood his position. He would care for her, perhaps even befriend her a little, but that was all. And it would be enough. More than enough.

  “You worry for that as well?” he questioned cautiously. “It is... not unreasonable to desire more from one’s spouse. I would not be angry with you for that.” He shook his head, looking out at the water with perhaps just a touch of wistfulness. She blinked and it was gone.

  “I know that,” she assured him. “But you wouldn’t thank me for it either, not when it’s so clearly the opposite of what you want to give.” And what she should want from him.

  Machrus shifted, his mouth pressing firmly, and she almost scanned the area for sign of danger. But then he was addressing her, and she realised his struggle was internal, and not due to some dangerous creature’s appearance.

  “Do you think of her often? Your daughter?”

  She hadn’t expected him to ask that, but it was at least something that she could answer most honestly. “Every day. Without fail. Even when it hurts too much. The sky will have a particular shade of blue and I’ll think about her eyes. I’ll hold the... the blanket you saved for me and remember her smell.” She paused. Did he understand how much that meant to her? “I don’t know if I thanked you enough for saving my things. I know it went against custom, but... that was the blanket I used to wrap her in when she was a baby. It was the first—for a while, the only—thing I had to give her, and to imagine it just discarded...” she shook her head, not wanting to picture it. It was safe in Machrus’s room, which was more than it had ever been in the colony.

  Machrus appeared slightly uncomfortable with her thanks, nodding quickly and looking at anything but her. And for a moment she wished he had not shuttered the bond so completely, that perhaps he might feel just a bit of her sincerity.

  She yelped when a grenpeet pushed at her shoulder its green head and floppy ears brushing against her arm as it nibbled at a bit of moss growing upon the rock. She scrambled away, more wary than frightened, already certain of Machrus’s amusement at her display. But by the time she glanced at him, his face was entirely neutral. He reached out and gave the grenpeet a pat, apparently also a nudge in direction for with a bleat the creature moved off again.

  “It is not reproachable to be on your guard, though I would remind you that they mean no harm.”

  She cleared her throat a little, strangely grateful for the interruption to the seriousness of their discussion, of the memories that even now struggled to resurface. “I know that,” she replied, only a little grumpily.

  It was difficult to spend so many days with them and not begin to appreciate at least some of their playful nature. And Machrus was sweet with them, though it seemed strange to attribute such a word to him. He was patient and attentive, never raising voice or hand when their rambunctiousness had to be curtailed. He was firm to be sure, and they respected him, but she was pleased to see he was not a hard master to them. “He startled me, that’s all.”

  Machrus hummed in agreement. “I fear that your ears might suffer from some malady, his feet make quite the clamour against the rock.”

  Renna scowled at him. “I was distracted, then. With a reminder that my husband will not love me.” She had meant it in jest, a retort to his own teasing—at least, she had hoped he was teasing her and did not truly think something was wrong with her hearing—but from the way he tensed, any hint of humour disappearing, she knew she had gone too far. “I am sorry,” she hastened to amend. “I didn’t mean that in spite, I promise. I said I understand and I do, and I don’t begrudge you for it. So don’t... please don’t think that I’m over here pining for something that will never be. I’ve been very content with how things have been lately, just as they are.”

  Machrus did not appear wholly convinced, but he eventually gave a nod. Yet his expression did not change, his appearance once more guarded, and she rather thought he had nodded simply to stop her talking rather than from a true acceptance of her apology.

  She sighed. Nothing was going right today.

  “Tell me something of you,” she pleaded at last, hoping to distract him from her blunder. That was likely the wrong thing to say as well, but she’d revealed too many truths already and did not think herself able to speak of any more. She did so want to stop crying. Her nose felt swollen, her eyes equally so, and only now was her breath beginning to steady and her voice to lose some of its rasp.

  His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Such as?” There was no denying the mistrustful edge to his tone.

  She shrugged, but when he continued to simply sit and stare, she provided the first prompt that came to mind. “Did you always care for the grenpeets?”

  He blinked at her, slowly at first, then turned his attention to the flock in question. “No,” he answered at last, when apparently he deemed it a safe enough enquiry to do so.

  She waited patiently for elaboration, and it was only when he glanced at her and saw her expectant look that, with another sigh, he continued. “It is... unusual for a man in my family to take up such a trade. Our skills are to lean more toward social constructs and growth, to manage and inspire our people.” He looked at her again and she nodded. If his family produced the rulers, it seemed logical enough that each of the children would be trained in such.

  “But you wanted something different?”

  Machrus, if possible, grew even more sombre. “Sladec assigned this flock to me...later in life. Evidently I was not performing well enough in my usual duties.” There was no missing the bitterness in his voice, but she was afraid of prying. She had to be gentle with him, as ridiculous as that sounded, but it made it no less true.

  She bit her lip, wondering what was safe to press further. Something had happened, of that she was becoming more certain, but she could not imagine what, and guessing could only end badly.

  “You seem to have adapted well,” she complimented. “I can’t imagine anyone caring for them better.”

  His eyes flickered to hers, and for once she could see that she had surprised him. And he almost appeared pleased by it. “Thank you,” he replied carefully, watching her for... something. “You do not... you do not find it beneath you?”

  She openly gaped at that. “Whatever for?”

  Machrus turned back to his grenpeets. “Some of those we treaty with find it... demeaning if the husbands to their daughters are men who work with their hands. We must be careful with such matches.”

  Renna scooted closer, holding out her hands so he could see them once again. “You’ve seen these,” she reminded him. “There’s no doubting that I’ve had to work with mine. I’m certainly not going to begrudge you working with yours.”

  He nodded at that, going quiet once again, and she was left to sit and think, her hands once more tucked within her sleeves, tryi
ng to decide if it was all right to ask him more.

  He had said that it was good for her to speak, to confide, and though it hurt, would always hurt, she was glad she had done so. He didn’t despise her, and that was... everything to her.

  “Machrus?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Yes?”

  She took a breath, softened her voice, and hoped he wouldn’t be upset. “Did... did something happen?”

  He barely glanced at her. “When?”

  She swallowed, already trying to think of how to retreat. But she’d begun, and she wasn’t sure how to ever bring this up again. “I don’t know when, just... before. Did something happen to prompt Sladec into giving you the grenpeets?” His jaw tightened. “It’s just... you... I remember once he accused you of wallowing. And I...”

  His eyes narrowed, fierce and rather intimidating, and the words died on her lips. “You wondered at the cause?”

  Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she offered only the barest of nods. “Only to know you better,” she clarified lamely, hoping he could see she meant well.

  Nothing about his expression suggested that he understood, so stony did it become. “That is not something I care to discuss,” he answered stiffly.

  She pressed her lips together. She’d spoken of things she held dear, of losses she had suffered, and for him to be so dismissive...

  But no. She’d chosen to disclose those things, and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—grow bitter when he chose something different.

  “All right,” she relented, pleased that she managed to hide any lingering peevishness from her tone. “We won’t talk about that then.”

  Machrus did not appear wholly convinced, eyeing her doubtfully. She smiled at him, likely not as brightly as she intended, but hopefully in a reassuring manner. “Really. I’ll drop it. We can talk about something else.”

  He sighed, his head cradled in his hands, the knife forgotten at his side. The wind rustled the leaves, the suns warm and the air cold, but none of that mattered. Not when she had upset him. She laid her hand upon his back, carefully, tentatively, and when he did not slink away, she supposed that meant he did not mind overmuch. “I’m sorry,” she murmured gently.

  He shook his head, more firmly than she would have expected. “Do not be,” he commanded, not harshly, but forcefully. “You have done no wrong.”

  “Maybe not,” she conceded. “But if it brings you pain, then I’m sorry for it all the same. Whatever the reason.”

  He smiled at her then, a foreign thing that added something to the ache in her heart that was ever present, likely for how strange it looked upon his features. Sad, that, for a smile to seem so odd.

  “Most gracious,” he reaffirmed, more to himself than to her. He would peer at her occasionally, just a glance and never for long, and she wondered if he was waiting for her to ask something else. The day was growing later, but still he sat. And so, with a breath, a bracing of her too-small courage, she tried again.

  “You have two brothers?”

  His shoulders relaxed and from the smoothing of his features, she knew she had guessed rightly. A small part of her was resentful that she should be forced into such measures, of using conjecture and her own perceptions to piece together what he wanted of her, but she was too pleased to have done rightly to dwell on such things.

  Someday she might know him as well as Adelmar did her own husband. But until then, she would make do with muddling through their stilted conversations, and rejoice when one of her supposes happened to be correct.

  “Four, actually,” he answered easily—or as easily as he did anything. He was always so formal with her, but she was growing just a bit more used to his tone, and she found it a bit lighter than was his usual. “Dundrel, Rochlere, and Lorken are those you have yet to meet.”

  Four brothers? There were some larger families in the Wastes, but they were rare, and nothing about his manner suggested his brothers were anything but alive and thriving.

  She swallowed, more envious than she could say.

  “And they are all married?”

  Machrus flexed his hand, something flashing in his eyes that bade her be careful. “Yes,” he answered simply enough. “Their marriages were arranged for the continuation of the treaties, just as ours were.” His hand unclenched. “There is much counsel they would give you, I am certain.”

  Renna smiled, a little dryly. “I’m sure.” Edlyn had been nothing but friendly the few times they had spoken, and Adelmar equally so, and that boded well for the other wives that had been chosen for Machrus’s brothers.

  “Do you have sisters as well? Or only through marriage?”

  Machrus snorted, shaking his head wryly. “The ones I gained through treaty were more than enough. I cannot imagine what it would have been like to have faced my youth with them as well.”

  She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Perhaps the nature of brothers and sisters was a universal quality, unhindered by species and upbringing.

  Not for the first time, she wished she had a sibling of her own. She’d had one, once, older by a few years, or so her mother had said. But he’d died before she was born, and she’d always felt sorry that her grief was for an idea, for the prospect of a brother, rather than person he had been.

  They sat quietly for a time, until the grenpeets grew anxious it was clear that they wished to return to their pastures. Machrus stood with a whistle, floppy ears perking as much as were able, the flock already beginning to return.

  Renna followed as well, ready to depart, but Machrus halted her, his hand upon her shoulder. “Would you... would you be amiable to trying to meet my family again? There are things I would wish to remain unspoken, but... that at least I could offer you.”

  She did not know if it was a fair concession, especially not with how her last attempt had ended. But despite everything she wanted to know more of him, and if he could not talk, then she supposed becoming closer to his family would help in that as well.

  And perhaps some of them would prove more talkative.

  That thought alone was enough to make her nod, absently at first and then with more purpose. She would not pry overmuch, but the prospect of learning anything more was a tempting one. “But... you’ll go with me, right? Like... like before?”

  He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “As before,” he confirmed. “But if you would prefer, I will ask them to join us here. Perhaps you would be more comfortable, yes?”

  This time her smile was genuine. “I’d like that.”

  He gave a solemn nod and followed his grenpeets, leaving her to follow at her own pace. Though even now she knew he would not let her keep too far, would wait a respectable distance until he could be certain she was safe and coming along too.

  And somehow her steps were lighter, her heart a little less heavy.

  And it was good.

  16. Sister

  “Are you sure this looks right?”

  She lifted the spoon dubiously. The smell was pleasant enough but the texture seemed strange, strings of white clung to the wood. She’d followed Machrus’s instructions carefully, and he promised that the dish was simple and difficult to blunder, but looking at her creation she was rather certain she had found a way to do so.

  He leaned over her shoulder. “It looks as it should,” he assured her, taking the spoon and tasting it. It apparently met with his approval for he gave one of his low nods. “They will be pleased with it, so you needn’t fret.”

  That was easy enough for him—it was only his entire family that was coming, an event that likely occurred frequently before she had invaded his home. But for her... she did not know these people, and already she had inconvenienced them by allowing Machrus to arrange for them to come here, and when he suggested there be a meal also...

  She wanted to contribute, wanted them to see that she was a useful sort of person, and foolishly had convinced him to let her help with the food. She regretted it fully now, certain that it would be dreadful and,
too polite to do otherwise, they would choke down her offering with all the grace they could muster, while she successfully managed to cement herself as the failure of the wives.

  It was enough to set her heart racing, for her to straighten her dress, to tug at the skirt, feeling ridiculous also for trying to dress up for the occasion. But when she had hesitantly asked him what would be most appropriate, he had at first waved away her concern with a flick of his hand. “They will accept you in whatever manner you choose to greet them.”

  She’d glared. “So if I wore nothing at all? That would be fine too?” She wasn’t usually prone to such retorts, but she was nervous, and he was infuriatingly calm about the entire matter.

  And he had the audacity to blink back at her placidly. “Is that a custom of your people? I cannot say that would be received quite so well, but if they hear it is usual within your race, they would oblige as much as they were able.” He shook his head. “Though I will not be joining you in embracing that particular practice.”

  She slumped down hard onto the lid of the trunk, wanting to argue and continue to pick a fight until some of her anxiety manifested some other way. But that was unfair, so instead she took a few breaths before addressing him again. “Please help me choose what to wear,” she said at last, her voice much more controlled than it had been. “I’d like to do things properly this time, since... since I’m already inconveniencing them.”

  He’d stared at her for a moment, and just when she was about to despair that he would dismiss her again, he gestured for her to move. He opened the lid and seemed purposeful as he rifled through the contents, shifting everything just so as he looked for the garment he wanted.

  She had not paid much mind to most things inside. Most were his, with varying degrees of stitchwork that she supposed signified they were for different purposes. Any of the clothes at all were much finer than anything back in the colony, but some were outright ornate in comparison.

  She stuck to simple tunics and leggings, the most similar to what she had worn all her life, straying only to the sleeping clothes because Machrus had looked at her most oddly when she’d come to bed still fully dressed.