There were carvings on it, she noted, peeking out from her place slightly behind Olivar. He hadn’t put her there, not like a master would have, but she would rather the Caern see Olivar first. If he was the one to open doors, that is.
She couldn’t imagine the Commander doing that, but that was much of her problem. Her expectations were always based on the Naradian way, even when she was proven time and again that the Onidae were different.
She remembered how it felt being dragged from the harnel yesterday, the tight hold on her arm, the fear that had coursed through her at the unknown. That hadn’t been so very different than what she’d endured with the masters, but even now she did not think it the same. That was an event, not a pattern, and Olivar was trying to set it right.
She still didn’t know how that might be accomplished, but evidently it included waiting on this step for a man she did not truly wish to see.
She heard movement behind the door, and she wondered what sorts of serving-folk the Caern might have. Perhaps they weren’t the same as thralls—his opinion of her had made it clear that no such person was in their midst—but surely someone cooked and cleaned and opened doors so that only important matters were brought before him.
But when the door opened, it was the Caern himself, looking at Olivar with some surprise. “I did not expect you so soon,” he greeted, stepping backward and gesturing that they might enter.
They were expected at all?
“Welcome to my home, Ness,” the Caern said to her as she passed, and she froze a little.
She did not know the proper response, did not know the protocol here, so she bowed her head. “My thanks,” she gave in answer, her hand tightening around Olivar’s. She wished she had stayed home.
“You do not have to look so nervous, child,” the Caern urged her, brushing passed her and Olivar so they could follow him. “We are merely going to talk.”
“Were we summoned?” she whispered up to Olivar, hoping the Caern wouldn’t hear and think her rude.
Olivar smiled, but there was a tension in him that she did not miss. “It means he has already heard part of what happened.”
Her nervousness grew. “Oh,” she murmured. That was bad, wasn’t it? Olivar wanted them to come so they could speak truthfully and share the whole of what happened. Could she really contradict one of the Onidae?
She determined that Olivar was going to have to do most of the speaking because she did not think she’d be able. Not with the lump in her throat.
The Caern brought them to a large room, a fire crackling in the hearth. She did not know what she expected, but it wasn’t this. This... felt like a home. The ceilings were tall, beams with intricate carvings supporting the roof. It took a great deal not to stare. But the furniture was not dissimilar to Olivar’s. She had blessedly never seen the Commander’s living spaces, but she had never pictured this. He was... hard, and she had expected his quarters to be similar.
The Caern’s appeared welcoming in their comforts, and he took a large chair by the fire for himself and gestured that they could take the two opposite.
It meant she could no longer hold Olivar’s hand, which she did not like at all, and the chair itself made her feel too-small. Her feet did not touch the floor, and the seat was too deep for her to sit against the back, leaving her perched on the edge. Her body was too stiff to relax, and already she felt the twinges of soreness in her shoulders. She tried to ease some of her tension, tried to get her unwilling muscles to loosen, but they remained uncooperative.
“You are here about yesterday, correct?” the Caern enquired, looking to Olivar, for which she was glad.
Olivar had managed to adopt a posture of relative ease, sitting back in his chair. His eyes betrayed him however, lingering anger about the previous day making itself known. She hoped the Caern would be understanding.
“How much have you heard?” Olivar asked, his big hands clenching and unclenching along the arms of the chair.
The Caern steepled his. “Enough,” he hedged. “I did try to warn you,” he reminded Olivar. “You did not seem willing to believe me that there could be some... disagreement with your choice.”
Olivar’s lips thinned. “He had no right.”
“No,” the Caern agreed. “He did not. As I will certainly tell him when next I am in town.”
Olivar did not appear satisfied. “I recognise that I... have erred.” Ness looked at him sharply, and he glanced at her, giving her a soft smile. It was not enough to comfort her fully, but she supposed it was at least a little something that there was no apology, no sadness when he looked at her. She thought there would be if he intended to fully admit she was a mistake.
Not that it stopped worry from gnawing at her stomach.
“I brought Ness into my home because I thought it right, and time had only furthered my belief that it was so. However,” he conceded, bowing his head slightly in supplication. “I overstepped my assignment. I agreed to an exchange not first granted by all the members involved, and for that I am to blame.”
The Caern looked at him thoughtfully. “This is true,” he affirmed.
“However,” Olivar continued, looking back up at the Caern once more. “The fault is mine and I should be the one to pay for it. Not Ness. What Ragmar did...”
The Caern held up his hand, stopped him from continuing. “I agree with you, Olivar,” he assured him. “If Ragmar had a dispute, he should have come to me for settlement. His actions were misguided, and I will speak to him. I can assure you, there is no need to convince me to intercede on Ness’s behalf.”
Olivar appeared somewhat appeased at that, settling back into his chair as the Caern continued. “I am pleased that you are able to take responsibility for the situation, and are even willing to provide restitution. I do not know if I shall require that from you yet, however, as I will need to speak with Jocen and Ragmar more fully. It was their trade that was shorted, after all.”
Olivar’s jaw tensed, and the Caern gave him an understanding smile. “It is possible that Ragmar forfeited his portion with his actions yesterday. We shall see. But I think it important that we finally discuss the matter of your vassa.”
Olivar stilled.
Ness didn’t know what made her speak. She knew better, knew that nothing good had ever come from drawing the attention of one in authority. But maybe there could be good for Olivar, and that mattered far more to her, whether it should or not.
“Please,” she entreated, trying to keep her voice from being too small, even though she could already feel herself shrinking as the Caern’s eyes settled on her. “Please don’t punish Olivar because of me.”
“Olivar is it? No more master?”
She could not exactly judge his expression, but he did not seem angry with her for speaking. She shook her head timidly, still watching him warily, her eyes flitting to Olivar to see if he was upset with the interruption. He smiled at her, an encouraging thing, and she was glad.
“No,” she agreed aloud. “Just Olivar. Just Bendan. Just... Alindra.” That one still seemed a little difficult, but she supposed that was because the mistresses were to be so revered. But Alindra wanted to be her friend, and Ness found that she reciprocated that desire.
The Caern seemed a little surprised by her declaration, but his smile was pleased. “Perhaps there is hope for you after all, Ness,” he mused. “I had heard that you voiced a rather robust refusal to Ragmar yesterday.”
Ness’s cheeks flushed, still finding it difficult for them to speak of that so calmly. Never did she think that her obstinacy would be met with praise rather than censure.
“I have decided,” the Caern continued. “That you will go on another run.” He shook his head slightly when Olivar began to relax. “A trial, Olivar. It should be a simple one, only to the Arterians and back, but I will learn more of your conduct. If all goes well, then it is my intention that your vassa shall remain yours.”
Olivar nodded, a little uncertainly, his eyes stra
ying to her.
She wondered why, as that seemed a generous offer from the Caern. She did not like that there was any possibility that Olivar should lose anything at all, but she was confident that the trade would go well.
“Wives go on trades,” the Caern added softly, apparently noting Olivar’s trepidation. “Not...” He glanced at her, his head tilting slightly. “I am not certain there is quite a word for what you are, child.”
She bowed her head at that. She wanted to give him thrall, but she doubted it would be received well.
Bendan had called them equals, but also admitted that did not apply to the Caern.
“I cannot leave her alone,” Olivar insisted, though he kept his tone respectful. “She...” he shook his head. “I cannot.”
The Caern looked surprised. “You are refusing the trade? Would you like to return your vassa yourself?”
Olivar looked pained, and guilt niggled at her to see him so. He could say that it was worth it all he liked, but there was no denying that she was the cause of this. He wanted to be here for her. If it was just him again, then there would be no need for a trial at all.
“I am asking,” Olivar began carefully. “For consideration. For acknowledgement that these circumstances are unique, even if they were also chosen by me.”
The Caern eyed him steadily. “You ask permission to take her with you? An untested girl that has not your skills, your language, your knowledge of protocol? Without even the protection of your name in marriage?”
Olivar tensed. “I would marry her, Caern, if I knew for certain that she accepted because she truly wished it in return—that I had proven myself in all the proper respects.” Ness stared at him, her eyes wide. He could not mean that. Not... not really. It was the solution to a problem, nothing more. “But since I do not know that, I can only ask this favour of you. I cannot leave her alone, not yet.”
She wondered why it did not occur to him that she might stay with Alindra, but she remained silent. It wasn’t her place, and truthfully, she was not certain she could find any words at all.
Not when he spoke of marriage.
She felt the Caern looking at her, but she could not bring herself to glance at either of the men. Her heart was beating too quickly, her mouth had grown dry, hope mixing with disbelief curdling in her stomach.
“Ness? What do you say to that?” the Caern asked her, expectation clear in his tone.
“I...” she swallowed, trying to force some measure of moisture into her mouth, but it did not help. She held her hands tightly clasped together, finally daring to peek at Olivar for help. He smiled at her in understanding, but she could not be certain that he did understand. Not when she wasn’t even sure of her own thoughts.
“I should not have spoken thusly, Caern. It is not fair to Ness. Not when I have not...” he looked at her again before shaking his head. “It was not fair.”
He was always so good to her. It made her look at him properly and offer a smile of her own. Perhaps it was not fair, as he’d said, but now that the subject was broached... she could not say that she regretted it. Not when she had harboured such secret wonderings—as impossible as they still truly were.
Olivar deserved so much better than her. A proper mistress, who knew his language, who could keep house, who could bear him children.
She had only the potential for two of those things, and the last was so very important. Wasn’t it?
He had never mentioned it, other than to be glad she was not with child when she’d come. She assumed much, and perhaps that was a mistake, especially when it came to Olivar.
She tried to remember all he’d said about the Onidae mating customs. His mother had chosen two men, one after the other had died. Alindra had not yet consented to call Bendan husband because he had not proven himself fully to her. She did not know what that meant, exactly, but she could not believe anything less needed with Olivar.
He was... all that she had not believed could be in a person. He was kindness and comfort and... and home.
And he doubted she thought that way?
She wanted to set that right, but she felt horribly awkward saying so before the Caern. She still wasn’t certain that a union such as theirs would not be seen as wholly perverse, and if it was...
Yet more reason to encourage Olivar toward a marriage that would not have his people censure him.
Why would he even want to marry her?
She couldn’t trap him. Couldn’t pipe up that she was willing, that she would do anything at all if it meant she got to keep him, if only for a little while.
She could only sit, somewhat miserably, as she watched Olivar and the Caern argue about whether she should be allowed to go on this next mission.
“You have seen her,” Olivar reminded the Caern, a hint of exasperation seeping into his tone. “She is nearly silent most of the time. She could hardly be a bother to any of them.”
The Caern gave a grunt, eyeing her speculatively. She kept her eyes focused on the floor. “And when they ask how you have acquired her? This girl trailing behind you on a trade? What will you say?”
Olivar’s lips thinned. “They are not as the Narada. I will speak truthfully if they should enquire, and that would be the end of it.”
Another grunt, this time a little more thoughtful, a little more speculative.
“This is your only trial, you understand,” the Caern answered finally. “If you choose to share it with Ness, then I suppose that is your prerogative. But Olivar,” he continued, leaning forward and his voice growing serious. “Neither of you will embarrass our peoples. You are taking responsibility for this girl, and that includes any bad behaviour. You say she can be trusted in these circumstances, and this is as much a test of your judgement as it is the ability for you to conduct a simple trade. I would suggest you make the most of it.”
If Olivar was offended by the Caern’s words, he did not show it. He only nodded, and she thought she saw a hint of relief in his expression. She could not imagine why it would be there, so perhaps she imagined it.
Her own nervousness was mounting, as they stood, as Olivar bowed and she followed suit. He had never asked if she would want to accompany him—wasn’t entirely sure why it was important to him. Was it because of yesterday? She would stay locked away in his rooms, if that was his concern. None would need to know she was there, for she would be so very quiet...
Because surely that would be better than going on a trade with him, or speaking or doing something out of turn, and being responsible for Olivar losing his honoured place amongst his people.
“May your trades be productive,” the Caern told them as he escorted them to the door. “And Ness,” the Caern added, causing her to stop and look at him, as she was certain that is what he intended. “I am glad of your progress. Truly. May it continue, and you find your place here.”
She bowed her head again for she did not know what to say to that. Olivar’s hand settled around hers, tucking his thumb between her fingers so it was a proper hold, before he led them from the Caern’s dwelling.
She did not know what subject to broach first, so they walked in silence, Olivar giving her frequent glances but not speaking either. It was strange, for them, and she did not find it pleasant, though his hand around hers was a comfort.
It was strange this... this displeasure she felt. When nervousness met with a pointless resentment that had no place being there.
“Ness,” Olivar entreated. “Please, say something.”
She looked at him, but only briefly and because she knew that’s what he wanted. “I have not your skills,” she reminded him at last. “Not with words, not with custom. I am... wholly unprepared to accompany you. I will embarrass you, embarrass your people, and then it truly will be my fault when your vassa is taken.” Her mouth stumbled over the foreign word, but Olivar understood it well enough.
“I disagree,” Olivar said in some surprise. She supposed it was a little startling, that she should speak to him so,
but he did not chastise her for it. She was not certain what it would take for him to admonish her, but evidently it was not even this. “I would not take you if I did not think you were prepared. And any questions you have, I will happily answer. I... I should have asked you first,” he conceded, when she apparently she did not give him the response he was looking for.
It startled her, that she almost agreed with him. When had that changed? He kept telling her that she had a voice, that it was for using and not giving simple, blind agreement. But she had not thought she believed that. Not until some part of her soothed that he should acknowledge the importance of him asking her beforehand.
“Your opinion matters here, and I...” he huffed out a breath, shaking his head as he rubbed at his neck. “I did not want to leave you behind,” he confessed. “I did not want to leave you somewhere when I could not be there to... to help you if anything went wrong. Perhaps that was selfish.”
Perhaps it was, she did not know.
But it could not change what had been settled, for she was not returning to the Caern to ask for an amendment.
They would be going to these... these Arterians.
And there was nothing she could do about it.
16. Trade
Ness adjusted the woollen covering about her shoulders, grateful for Olivar’s insistence that she bring it along with them.
She hadn’t believed that any part of this above-world might be considered cold, but trailing through the seemingly never ending water was enough to change her opinion. They had started out early, the first sun not even peeking above the horizon when Olivar had woken her, urging her to dress and to hurry after him. He kept his hand in hers, finally picking her up entirely as they made their way to the waterfront. She had been too sleepy to protest or offer any assurances that she would do better at walking, instead relaxing into his arms and nearly dosing off again.
She had been sorry when he put her down, but she hadn’t voiced any complaints. Things were strained enough between them already.
Thrall (Deridia Book 3) Page 26