“I... tried,” she hedged. “I don’t think it came out right.”
Marella waved off her concern with an elegant hand. She had markings too, not quite the same as Machrus’s family, but similar. Her eyes were shaped differently, larger, and more striking, her skin nearly the colour of sand, the marks swirls of purple that only served to highlight her features.
She was beautiful, almost intimidatingly so.
And Machrus had spoken easily with her.
The thought came unbidden, and immediately she realised how petty and horrid that was. This was his sister, by marriage, true, but that seemed to matter little to the Marzon. And she knew she was prone to foolishness, but this was not something she would indulge. Not even for a moment.
She forced herself to relax, though it was more difficult than she had thought it would be.
Marella looked toward their husbands, frowning a little, and Renna turned to do the same. They were arguing, just as she’d thought, Machrus’s expression stony even as Dundrel shook his head.
“Was he courteous?” Marella asked, her voice sombre.
“Dundrel?” Renna clarified. “Yes. He didn’t take my arm like the others, but that doesn’t really matter.”
Marella did not appear to find that so easy to dismiss, shaking her head and casting her husband a disappointed look, regardless of the distance between them.
She reached over and patted Renna’s hands. “Forgive him. He is closest to Machrus in age, and he... had reservations when Sladec informed him of your marriage. I will speak to him about his manners.”
Renna felt a clutch at her belly, her earlier anxiety returning. “He didn’t want him to marry me?”
Marella hesitated, and Renna felt worse. The truth was easy to speak when it was something pleasant. It was far less so when it was not. “Dundrel,” she began, her words carefully chosen. “He feared that Sladec was asking too much of Machrus—we have already lost him from amongst our daily ranks, and the thought of him withdrawing even more so...” Marella shook her head. “My husband loves his brother dearly. His concern was for him alone, and had nothing to do with you.”
Renna smiled thinly. She understood. She did. She might not like it, but knowing there was someone so concerned with Machrus’s wellbeing was not a bad thing. It made her itch to know the cause, to learn about what event had driven Machrus to make his home away from his people, but she paused before blurting out enquiries. He would not be pleased by her prying, he of all people seeming to value privacy above all else, and she was not certain she could knowingly violate that trust.
Marella was eyeing her worriedly. “Renna? You will not fault him for it, will you? He means no personal offence, truly.”
“I won’t,” Renna assured her, the other woman appearing greatly relieved. “It is simply... odd. When I first came, I thought all of you would react more as he did, but you’ve all been so kind.”
Marella smiled, turning back to her pots and giving each item another stir. “It would be a sorry thing if we were not,” she mused. “We have all been in your place, Renna, and remember it well.” She chuckled softly, her eyes drifting toward a grouping of children. “Even after three babies of my own, I can recall how frightened I was when Dundrel said his vows and walked me into the river.”
Her eyes grew distant, her voice more thoughtful. “But then he held me close, and he was so strong, and I knew that nothing would ever hurt me when he was near.” She blinked, seeming to return to herself. “But that was merely my experience. I hear that Rochlere came home bloody when Naida scratched him.”
Renna couldn’t believe that. “Naida?” The docile little creature she’d seen? Even with her own struggles against Machrus, she hadn’t hurt him in any way.
Marella smirked. “Surprising, no? Though to be fair, her people are quite sensitive, and their joining took place during the cold season.” She shook her head, still grinning a little. “She felt dreadful for it and her people were horrified. But Rochlere would not even consider reneging on the arrangement.”
That niggle of envy returned, that even so soon into their marriage, he could know that he wanted her. She shoved it away as best she could. “Is that why he holds her as he does? Because she gets cold?”
Marella rolled her eyes. “It began that way. But now I believe they simply enjoy the contact.” She looked at Renna’s shawl, tugging at the end gently. “Are your people much the same? Is the cold bothersome to you?”
Renna shrugged uncomfortably, adjusting her shawl. “I don’t know if we were supposed to be. But I lived in a very hot place for all my life. It makes it more difficult to adjust, I think.”
Marella peered at her worriedly. “The snows should be coming soon. Do you think you will be well enough?” She narrowed her eyes at Renna’s garments before nodding to herself. “I will tell the others you require more warm clothing.”
Renna hesitated. “Snows?” The word meant something, a vague sort of knowing, as if she’d learned of it in childhood but since forgotten the scope of it.
Marella eyed her quizzically before her features softened. “When it grows so cold that the rains freeze in their clouds, it comes down in streams of white instead of water. And when the ground is equally frozen, it forms drifts.” She reached over and patted Renna’s hands. “But we will ensure you are adequately prepared. It is far less troubling when you live in the trees, but somehow I doubt moving back would be good for either of you.”
Renna sank back, embarrassment trying to overtake her worry over this new phenomenon. She would be even colder soon? Then, guiltily, she thought of what it would mean for her people if the temperatures dropped lower. She hoped that one of the Marzon had explained about this snow, about the world freezing over until the weather shifted once again.
And if none of them did...
Machrus had said she wasn’t a prisoner here, that visits would be permitted after a time, and that lingering tie, the responsibility she felt toward her people, convinced her that perhaps it was time to enquire about travelling back to them. To see how their building went, if they had food and what they required.
Even if she could do little to help them if the colony was not progressing as they had always hoped.
But Marella was not the one to discuss this with, and especially not today. Today was for good impressions, and as much welcoming spirit as she could muster. But another doubt tugged at her, one that Marella could answer. “Did... did Adelmar tell you about how badly I behaved?”
“I recall no such an occurrence,” a voice over her shoulder declared, and Renna clutched at her chest as she turned about.
“Adelmar,” she greeted, bowing her head. Sladec was with her, their children already scattering toward their cousins, before belatedly realising she should likely be on her feet when she did so. “I’m... I’m terribly sorry about what happened before. I was a guest in your home and I was rude, and I do not want you to think that I...”
“Hush,” Adelmar cut in gently, leaning forward and giving her another embrace. “You were confused and hurt by a subject you had yet to fully understand. Has Machrus rectified that at least?”
Renna nodded her head, Adelmar pulling back to witness the gesture. “But I’m still sorry.”
Adelmar sighed softly. “Then I shall accept, if only to ease your conscience.”
Renna relaxed, if just a little. She wasn’t certain how to greet Sladec. Desmond never had any type of ceremony attached to his position, satisfied with a brief hello and for you to stop working when he wished to speak. But things were different here, and she felt awkward and uncouth as she debated on how to welcome him.
He must have noticed her discomfort for he took the initiative, holding out his arm to take just as his brothers had done. “Sister,” he addressed her, unnecessary given how many times they had already met, but the title had begun to warm her.
Maybe she belonged somewhere, if only through a marriage that was, admittedly, less than ideal.
“I must apologise for our tardiness,” he continued, Adelmar interjecting before he could continue.
“He thought it best to give you time alone with our kin, since we have been permitted time with you already.”
Renna blushed, the awkward feeling increasing as she was reminded that these people seemed to covet time with her, the notion almost overwhelming.
But her heart began to calm when a grumbling voice interrupted, this time his manner only bringing her relief instead of insulting her with his actual words.
Machrus’s arms were crossed, his expression rather gloomy, but he was near and some of the tension in her eased to have him so.
“If we are quite finished fawning over my wife, perhaps we could eat?”
And she ignored the sympathetic looks she received, the brusque way the women began directing first adults, then children, to help themselves to the vast array of foods.
Because that stupid, foolish part of her, thrilled to hear him call her wife.
17. Torn
“You are very quiet.”
Renna hummed in the dark. She was facing away from him in his bed—their bed?—just as she always fell asleep. She did not always awaken that way, often turning so she was nuzzled into the barricade of blankets that had become their nightly construction, her cheeks always burning in embarrassment when she realised she had come so close to him in her sleep.
“Am I?” she whispered back. They did not often talk upon going to bed, both of them prolonging their need for sleep until necessity dictated they succumb. On occasion she would do so first, and it was only later, almost as if certain she already slumbered, that he would join her. He was always careful to keep from jostling her overmuch, but inevitably she woke whenever he entered, sleep often elusive as she suffered through the awareness of just how close he was to her.
“Yes,” Machrus confirmed, the bedclothes rustling as he apparently turned toward her. She did not move to do the same. “Are you troubled by something?”
His family had departed hours ago, and she supposed she had been quiet for the rest of the day.
They had been very kind to her, their easy manner with one another helping to soothe away the last of her anxieties, though she still felt like an outsider amongst them. But Machrus assured her that would pass with time and familiarity, and that at least she could well believe.
“Renna?” he tried again. “I know you are not yet asleep.”
She swallowed, pulling the blankets up a bit further, rubbing the soft weave against her upper lip in comfort. Beneath it all was Maisie’s, tucked away within the rest, and if Machrus had noticed her contribution, he had made no comment of it. “I’m worried about my people,” she answered at last.
She felt the blankets rustle as he came even closer—presumably so he could see her expression, though she kept her face neatly burrowed in her blankets. “Why?” She was grateful that he did not try to remind her that she was of the Marzon now, that they were her people now, not the colonists she left behind.
“Marella said,” she began, trying to find the words to express her concerns without also flinging accusations. “She said something about snow?”
She could feel his confusion, and perhaps even a hint of frustration, and she doubted it had anything to do with their bond. “Yes? What of it?”
She finally did turn, a bit of her own frustration mounting. “That means cold, right? Frozen rain and a ground too hard to work? And last I saw of them, my people had almost nothing.”
The room was too dark to see much of him, the drawn curtain over the glowing rocks emitting just the faintest glow. But still, she knew he stared. “That is no longer the case,” he assured her, though she took little comfort in it.
“They’ve been warned then?” she pressed. “They know it’s coming and to prepare shelters, and to gather food, and to find better clothing, and...”
She halted when he laid a hand upon her shoulder. She didn’t know if she hated or loved that it felt so warm even through her nest of blankets. “They have not been left to starve, Renna,” Machrus soothed—at least, in his way. There was a hint of exasperation, as if she should know this, trust it, trust them, but it comforted her all the same. If only just a little. “In the initial talks they were warned of the upcoming season. I am uncertain of how the building is progressing, but as a sign of good faith between our people, we have given them some stores of food.”
A lump settled in her throat. She did not doubt that he spoke truly—everything she had seen this past day of the Marzon’s manner and care suggested that they would have been as generous as he claimed—but at least to herself she could admit that perhaps she lacked confidence in her own people.
Even if it made her feel guilty to even think it.
Their dreams had always been large, but their skills had been left to weaken over time, and some of them had never been developed in the first place.
“I feel like I have to go back,” she finally admitted. It should not have been difficult to do, yet it was, though she did not know if that was more due to Machrus or herself.
“I see,” Machrus acknowledged, his tone strange.
She turned over, looking at him at last. “You said that was allowed,” she reminded him. “That I could go back to visit.”
He was staring at her closely. “And that is your intention? To merely inventory the progress of your people?”
She frowned. “What else would it be?”
He glanced away from her, fixing his eyes to the ceiling. “It is wrong for me to question you. I should not have asked.”
This time it was she who drew nearer, trying to understand what he had tried to ask of her and was not redacting. “No, I’d like to know. What were you thinking about?” He was avoiding her attention as much as he could, frowning at the woodwork above, looking a bit cornered all the same. It was likely wrong to press, but she was curious now, and if he feared something, she would have him speak honestly. “Machrus?”
She reached over and poked his side, hoping the gesture would prompt him into speaking. It made him turn and scowl at her, but she was not dissuaded. “You can tell me things too,” she assured him. “You wouldn’t have asked me that if you weren’t worried about something else.”
His eyes flicked away from hers once more, but she didn’t try poking him again to stop it. “You never mentioned such a desire before now. I am left to wonder if you found something wanting with meeting my family. Or,” he continued, his voice so low she wondered if he meant for her to hear it at all, “with being my friend.”
Renna sat up, uncaring that her sleeping shift was thin and she usually went to great lengths to keep it entirely covered. “You have it entirely backward,” she said firmly, leaning over him so he had no choice but to look at her properly. He could get up and leave if he truly wished to avoid her—physically she was of no strength or stature to force him to do anything—but he made no move to do so. “I’ve thought about visiting them before, mostly when I wanted advice or was just... lonely. But I didn’t understand you enough to know it was truly all right to ask, or if I was breaking some rule by even bringing it up. But now... don’t you see?”
At his dry look, she realised he most certainly did not. She gave a huff, not truly annoyed, not when she could be equally dense about matters too. “Your family wants me to be happy. I understand that now. And I think... I think you do too. So if I feel like I need to see my people, to talk with them and see how they are progressing, I’m not afraid that you’ll think my loyalties are divided or that I’ll be giving grave insult. I... I trust you.”
The realisation was so clear to her now that a bubble of laughter burst forth, cheerful and real, and before she realised what she had done, she was collapsing downward to give Machrus a hug.
But given her exact positioning, it was more akin to simply lying on top of him.
She felt him tense, felt his hands come to her arms, as her laughter abruptly ceased as she recogn
ised her error, and she scrambled back to her side, back over the ineffective barricade of blanketry, absolutely mortified.
“I’m sorry,” she told him adamantly, shaking her head, and clapping her hands over her burning cheeks. “I don’t know why I did that.”
She huddled against the wall, waiting, Machrus simply staring blankly at the ceiling again, the prolonged silence making her all the more anxious. She expected him to rage at her, to harshly reminder her of the nature of their marriage, that hugging was certainly not to be tolerated regardless of their tenuous friendship. It was unpleasant touching her, after all.
But he simply lay there, and she could take it no longer. “Machrus, please, say something.”
It probably wouldn’t have been so bad for her to have done it any other time. Friends were allowed to embrace. Perhaps she’d been hugged too many times today, the reminder of the contact making it far too easy to repeat, even upon the obviously unwilling.
Her heart sank, and lip wobbled, and she blinked rapidly to stop any foolish tears from falling. What she’d done hadn’t been wrong. Not exactly anyway. That she’d touched him without his permission... that was probably wrong. But the want to hug him itself... that hadn’t been. Even if now it made her eyes sting and her heart race as still he made her wait.
“It is traditional,” Machrus said at last, her head darting up to see if his expression had changed. “That your family is invited here for the first meeting.”
She didn’t know if she should be grateful that he simply chose to ignore her gaffe, but she was, relaxing back into the wall, her blankets clutched in her lap. “I don’t have a family,” she reminded him softly.
She’d seen one today. One that had laughed with her and welcomed her as best they could. Their meal had been a joyful one, and though at times she still felt awkward—when she did not know the children’s names, when they spoke of shared histories, of places and experiences that had nothing to do with her. But overall, there was a warmth that was infectious, an ease that settled a part of her that for so long had been neglected.
Trade (Deridia Book 2) Page 24