Machrus had been right. Her old name did sound strange. She remembered being called that, remembered it being a part of her, but suddenly she felt removed from it—as if it no longer encompassed who she had grown to be.
“Renna,” she told him, wondering at her ability to do so. She’d never corrected him in anything before—it was an odd experience. “Renna is my name now.”
Desmond looked between them in some consternation, but he smoothed his expression quickly. “Renna,” he repeated, nodding in apparent approval. “A nice name. Did you get to pick it yourself?”
The building was only one large room, thick posts supporting a second level up above. A ladder in the corner was the only way up, and Renna could see small faces and large eyes peeping up from the opening above.
They were hiding the children?
“No,” Renna answered him, though she was distracted by her surroundings. “It was a gift.”
Desmond’s brow furrowed, clearly not understanding the custom, but she did not feel much like explaining it. She was here to learn of them and how they fared, not speak of all that had passed for her.
She had asked Machrus once how he’d chosen her name, when they were huddled away in their bed, content and satisfied. His fingers had been playing with her hair, using the ends to tickle at her exposed skin.
He’d stilled when she’d asked, and she felt his wariness. “You dislike it?”
She kissed his bared chest, the raised nature of his markings tickling at her lips. “You know I don’t. I just wondered how you came up with it. You weren’t expecting another wife, so you couldn’t have had names in reserve.”
Machrus grew even more tense, and she leaned over to judge his expression better. “Not for a wife, no,” he confessed, his voice strained.
She opened her mouth to ask for what, then, but something in his eyes made her pause, made her think. And the realisation came, giving her stomach an uncomfortable tug.
For the children he’d never had.
If she should feel strange that he gave her a name for a daughter that had never been, she could not summon it. She could only hold him, a small part of her heart softening in sympathy. She’d wanted Maisie as soon as she’d gotten beyond the accompanying fear at the actual having of her. She remembered the ache that followed, of empty arms.
But before that... there had been want. There had been love. And Machrus had never gotten to experience that at all.
“Is that something you want?” she asked quietly.
Machrus sighed deeply and resumed his ministrations to her hair when it became clear she would not grow angry with him. “I have found that my... desire for children has little influence on fulfilment. To hope for it now when our species are... unknown to one another would mean being open to disappointment.”
She thought of Rochlere and Naida. Both had to enter their marriage knowing that children could never be. Had they hoped for them anyway? Or were they chosen because their preferences were in keeping with reality?
But through the bond she could feel his longing, even though he tried to keep it adequately smothered. And she had no reassurances to give, not when there was so much they could not know.
So she had simply kissed him and held him close, not knowing what else she could offer him.
But now her irritation welled at the frightened faces peering down at her, wondering why they should be so wary at being visited.
Desmond must have followed her eye line for he ducked his head, seemingly in embarrassment. “It is all right,” he called out. “They are just guests.” His smile grew a bit tighter, a bit more forced. “You are only visiting, correct? You are not...” his voice lowered, and he looked to Renna with worry. “He’s not returning you, is he? The agreement still stands?”
Her exasperation grew even more and she found herself glaring at him. He blinked, not expecting such a reaction, not from her. Always meek, always willing to do as she was instructed—what reason could Machrus possibly have for returning her?
“No,” she said harshly, Machrus’s grip on her finger tightening. He tried to calm her through the bond, but she could feel that he was tampering down his own annoyance. “I came because I was worried about you. Machrus agreed to bring me.”
Desmond relaxed, his smile turning apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he said, in a voice she supposed was meant to be sincere. “I was not expecting you today and we...” he sighed.
Renna tried to gather herself, to find her composure. Her anger would only lead to unpleasantness, and she didn’t want that. Not today. But doubt niggled at her. She remembered those foolish rebellions against the Arterians, the ones that were always met with death—but only from the colonists. They weren’t... planning anything, were they?
Machrus looked down at her, and she felt his confusion.
Desmond seemed to reach a conclusion, which she hoped was one of honesty. “I’m afraid we’re still a little... leery,” he tried to explain, appealing to Renna for understanding. “I keep telling everyone that things are different now, that the Marzon,” he nodded toward Machrus, “are nothing like the Arterians, but... it is hard to change what has become so ingrained. I’m sure you’ve dealt with that too, Hea... Renna,” he corrected hastily, noting her pointed look.
She relaxed, if only a bit, for she did understand that. Habits were difficult to change, but not impossible. Expectations could alter. And they were going to have to if her people meant to survive here.
“You have to try,” she told him gently, yet firmly. It wasn’t her place, it never had been, but as she stood here, her previous leader before her... she wasn’t intimidated any longer. She was not under his authority, wasn’t really a colonist. She had been, had worked and lived among them. But she was a Marzon now, and wanted to be.
So perhaps that meant she was qualified to give advice, if just a little.
“The Marzon are the best people I have ever known.” She didn’t feel guilty for saying that to Desmond, nor to the people who were starting to creep down the ladder and gather about in a loose semicircle. “I hope you’ll appreciate that, and all they’ve given you. Given us. They aren’t like the Arterians. Not at all. I... I hope all of you thrive here, and so do they.”
A swell of pride, not her own, gave her pause, Machrus’s hand coming to wrap more fully about hers.
“Well, of course we do,” Margaret announced, pushing through the others in her usual brusque way. “But there’s nothing wrong with a bit of caution, is there?” She made it to the front, giving Renna an appraising look. “But if you think you’re just here to lecture and can go away again without also telling us something of yourself, you’re sadly mistaken.”
They weren’t using the translator, and Renna wondered if they thought that meant it was safe to speak as they pleased, as if Machrus could not understand them. She wasn’t certain why the Marzon might want to maintain the pretence, but she wasn’t going to be the one to reveal that the language had conferred with the bonding—or anything about the bond at all, really. Those things were private, between her and Machrus, her and her new people, and keeping them so meant a great deal to her.
“Margaret,” Renna acknowledged with a smile, more genuine this time.
“Come along, my dear,” she urged, brushing by them on the way to the door. “The cavern should be relatively empty this time of day. We can talk there.” She looked up at Machrus, hesitating briefly. “If your big fellow won’t mind?”
Renna glanced up at him. His mood was sombre, and a touch careful, but he was not upset—that was something.
“That’s fine,” Renna encouraged, glad she would see more of their living arrangements.
Margaret did most of the talking, showing them their food stores, two women stationed in front. They nodded respectfully as they passed, but Renna knew well why they were there. They had done well with their provisions, but they would keep careful watch over the stores lest thieving deplete them too rapidly.
How
quickly she had forgotten such a way of life, of suspicion and mistrust being so terribly commonplace. She shook her head. She would not criticise too harshly. They needed time, to build, to grow. And, hopefully, to soften.
Margaret was correct, the cave was mostly empty, the others either in the main building or perhaps out tending to other tasks. There was a large fire in the cave, the smoke making her eyes burn, but she did not complain.
A girl—Mellie, she thought her name was—noted their arrival and scrambled over to the fire. She dipped a long-handled spoon into a large pot toward the side, and poured three cups full, bringing them over with her eyes lowered. She gave a low bow to Machrus as she offered him one, and he eyed her warily, accepting it with a negligible nod of his own.
Margaret took her cup and sat on the hard-packed earth, gesturing for them to join her. Renna gave Machrus a look, ready for his objection, but he settled down quickly enough, no hint of distaste crossing his features. Apparently his desire to give no insult overrode his own sensibilities. Renna sat as well, opening her cloak a little as she did so, the heat of the nearby fire within the confines of the cave making it almost too warm.
She took a careful sip, noting that the edge of the clay cup was rough, not at all like the thickly glazed creations in her own cupboards at home. But it obviously had been made by a colonist’s hands, and it functioned well enough.
And maybe with time the craft would be perfected, and they would have neighbours to trade with for other, finer goods.
It was a start.
The liquid itself was mostly water, steeped with some kind of leaf. It wasn’t as pleasant as some of the things Machrus had made for her, but it was warm and kindly offered, so she took another sip.
“Are you pregnant yet?”
Renna spluttered, staring at Margaret with wide eyes. The older woman was looking at her middle expectantly, completely ignoring Renna’s crimson cheeks.
“What? No!” Her blood hadn’t come for a while now, but that was nothing surprising. She’d gone much longer without it back in the Wastes, even when she wasn’t carrying Maisie.
Margaret strangely looked saddened by her denial. “Ah, I’m sorry then. You were such a good mother to your little girl. I’d hoped you’d get that out of it at least.”
She’d thought her a good mother?
That shouldn’t matter to her. Machrus had told her that he did not doubt that she had been, that she’d done everything possible for Maisie, even at the end. But Margaret had been there, had seen it all, and to hear that now, so long after when she’d needed it most...
Machrus eyed her carefully and she had to swallow thickly, her throat suddenly tight. “I don’t even know if we can, Margaret,” she reminded her.
Margaret’s attention slid toward Machrus, this time subjecting him to her appraising gaze. “He looks man enough,” she said with a shrug. “Maybe it’ll just take a little time.”
And as Renna’s eyes met Machrus’s... she found that she actually hoped that would be true. So much of her life was different now. She would not be alone, have to face the hardship of pregnancy by herself, face heat and exhaustion while harbouring a precious life inside of her. She would have him. And, at the end, something small and helpless that she would love with her entire being.
And even if it was just for a little while...
It would be worth it.
Because it would be something shared, something sacred.
And so wholly theirs.
And an answering want echoed through the bond, a longing for the possibility, for a child that could be their own.
So she sent a little prayer, timid and unsure, that maybe, someday, it might be true.
And that maybe, if it would be all right, that this time she might be able to keep it.
They talked for a while, Margaret prying answers from her about the Marzon—of her treatment, of their care of her.
If she was happy.
And she thought of how different her answers could have been, would have been such a short time ago. And she was so very grateful that things had changed and she could speak so well of them now. She kept hidden what she wished, about her early days, of how difficult the transition had been, the loneliness. But she did not pretend that all had been easy, either. Margaret seemed to understand, regardless of how little she said of the harder times, and she reached out, holding onto Renna’s hand.
Machrus watched the movement carefully. Not wary, but assessing all the same. Was it to see how comfort was given within her people? She wasn’t exactly sure.
“I’ve worried for you, my dear. Don’t think you’re forgotten. We’re very grateful for what you did, for the sacrifice you made. The Marzon are kind folk, and you don’t need to fear that we’ll do anything we shouldn’t. We’re hunting and building, just as we always hoped, and we aren’t going to mess this up.”
Renna smiled, more relieved than she cared to admit. “You keep them in line,” she urged, grasping Margaret’s hand in turn. “I... I can’t say thank you for pushing me to... toward the trade. It could have turned out so differently.” And it almost had, but she pushed those thoughts away firmly.
Margaret grew solemn. “I know, girl. Believe me, I’ve imagined it all.” She shook her head, exasperation seeping into her tone. “I’m not sure the men understood it quite so well, but I’ll keep reminding them. Things might have turned out all right, but it wasn’t without risk, and they wouldn’t have been the ones to pay for it.” She sighed, her lips thinning. “Things did turn out all right, didn’t they? He’s a good man? His leader said he could be... challenging, but...”
Renna glanced at her husband, saw him watching her, and she smiled. “The very best.”
And to her absolute horror, she saw tears in Margaret’s eyes, and suddenly she was pulled into a tight embrace. “I am so glad,” the other woman breathed. “The guilt I would have... well, never mind that. I’m just glad.”
And Renna had to bite her lip to keep from crying too.
A few people approached Renna, girls she had grown up with, their shocked faces revealing that they had genuinely believed they would never see her again. It hurt, knowing that. It made it clearer that to them she was a sacrifice, sent away for the good of all, her wellbeing inconsequential.
So her smiles were a little stiff, a little forced, even though she was glad for them all the same. Their children were safe, they were hopeful for the future, and that was enough.
Because with each stilted conversation, she grew in the realisation that she no longer belonged here. Her people were elsewhere, her place was elsewhere. She was loved, and cared for, and she was satisfied that those she had first known, first called hers, would live on in her absence.
So it made it easy to hold out her hand to Machrus, for him to help her to her feet, as she asked him to take her home.
There were more people coming from the forest as they exited the main building, having taken their leave from Desmond. He wished them well, had even embraced Renna rather timidly, whispering his thanks into her ear. She did not know how to receive such gratitude, not when she felt so odd about the entire situation. The outcome had been good, yes, but she still wasn’t certain that they’d been right to ask it of her at all. So she merely wished him well, and nodded at the others, accepting Machrus’s hand as he led her out.
Machrus watched each of the new faces carefully. There had been relatively few men in the cave, their responsibilities likely taking them out during the day to gather wood or look for game. Such provisions had been scarce in the Wastes, but still they tried, the little they received from the Arterians only going so far.
When his eyes narrowed on a small party, this time he could not fully mask his suspicion. They were merely standing before a large tree, probably discussing its suitability for building when the days grew warmer and the ground more able to be cleared and fortified.
He did not approach them, only led her further away from the colony, but her curi
osity was piqued and she found herself tugging at his hand. “What was that for?”
Machrus glanced down at her. “To what do you refer?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t play dumb. What were you thinking about when you were looking at those men?”
Machrus’s jaw tightened and he looked away from her. “I am not certain you would be pleased with my answer.”
She thought on that for a moment, wishing he would just answer plainly. They walked in silence for a little, her thoughtful, him carefully avoiding feeling anything at all, when the reason came to her, niggling and painful.
Her stomach clenched, just to think of it, but she forced the words from her lips all the same. “He isn’t here. He... he chose to stay behind, when we fled the Wastes.”
Machrus glanced down at her, not confirming that she had guessed rightly, though he lost some his tension all the same. “Why would he have remained?” His voice was gruff, the subject of Maisie’s father an awkward one.
She fiddled with the edge of her cloak, not certain how to explain to a man who had lived such a different life from the one she’d known. “It was familiar. Terrible, but... known. So some of them chose to stay. I... wonder what happened to them, sometimes. Desmond said a new group was coming to... to enslave us. Maybe some thought that was better than trying to live on our own. Or maybe they thought they could escape later.” She shrugged, not knowing what else to do.
“But you did not stay,” Machrus reminded her. “You were brave. And braver still when too much was asked of you.”
She looked to him, her eyes steady. “I don’t regret it. I hope you know that. I’m glad I am married to you. That your people are now mine.” She glanced behind, to the people who lingered, whispering over the near-strangers that had departed. Those Marzon. “This isn’t home. I’m not sure it ever really was.”
Maybe when her parents lived. When they made her feel safe, and loved.
But that was Machrus now. That was his family, teasing and warm, so generous with their knowledge and skills, with their friendship and laughter. She was wanted.
Trade (Deridia Book 2) Page 38