by Autumn Dawn
“What’s wrong with her?” Raziel demanded, cutting a sharp look at Matilda as if she knew the answer.
She did. “Let her go, Mathin! It’s a panic attack. Something triggered her hypoglycemia.”
“She might hurt herself,” he protested, undecided.
Andrea tried to bite him.
“No! She just needs space and quiet to calm down. Let her go.”
He opened his arms. Immediately Andrea raced into the woods, ducked behind a tree.
“Find something for her to eat. Meat and vegetables, fruit, anything but sugar. It will only make it worse later.” Matilda jumped from the wagon and followed Andrea. She peeked behind the tree and moved back to wait on the other side.
The sound of distant sobbing made Mathin flinch. Dismounting, he rummaged in his saddlebags for his stash of spicy dried meat and vegetable chips. Holding it in his hand, he stared at the tree hiding his wife, feeling completely useless.
Raziel joined him. “It might have to do with dividing the symbiont. It might have shocked her system. The creature wasn’t fully mature yet, and probably can’t handle the load.”
His lips compressed in a tight line, Mathin nodded. “I hadn’t considered it might reduce the healing affect on her body.” Guilt racked him. It was the kind of thing he should have foreseen.
“It will regrow. It might even be it will happen just this once,” Raziel tried to assure him. “Besides, if anyone should feel guilty, it should be me. I was the one who wanted—“
“This won’t help, Raziel,” he interrupted. If all she needed were time for the symbiont to regrow, he would give her time. In the meanwhile he would take better care of her. It was the very least she deserved.
Curled into a ball behind the tree, Andrea wished she could die. It was so humiliating to fall apart like that in front of a crowd of witnesses. If she were just a little stronger, she’d always felt, just a little more determined, she could beat it. But it never worked. Often it was all she could to hold herself together as she was driving or in public. In spite of her best efforts the attacks would come, sometimes due to slips in her diet, others to stress. Around her periods or with colds had always been the worst, and she dreaded those times. Sometimes her spirits and health had sunk so low as to trigger suicidal thoughts. Even knowing the depression was a hazard of her condition didn’t halt it.
Now Mathin had witnessed her falling apart. Her lips tightened with self-directed anger and shame. If he scorned her, she’d cry inside. If he treated her as if she were made of spun glass, it would be even worse. She wanted him to pretend it never happened. More than one doctor had accused her of making it up to get attention or recommended a psychiatrist, and as a result she was paranoid of making a scene. No one in her right mind wanted to be stared at like a circus freak.
Brush crackled as Matilda rounded the tree, dried food in hand. She extended it to Andrea. “Here. I brought you something to eat.”
Nauseous at the very thought, Andrea turned her face away. She knew she needed it, but she rarely felt like eating when she had to. Still, it was either eat it or sink into a dangerous state on the edge of consciousness. She sighed and forced herself to take it.
An old hand at riding out hypoglycemic attacks, Matilda remained quiet and let her eat. Only after some of the dullness left Andrea’s eyes and she sat straighter did she offer her hand. “Come on. We’ll close the curtains to the wagon so you can get some sleep. No one will bother you.”
Grateful for someone else capable of making decisions for her clouded mind, Andrea took the hand and heaved herself up. All she wanted to do was hide in a hole until she got better.
A root tripped her up, and Matilda immediately placed a supporting hand under her elbow. Grateful for the help, Andrea looked up—and saw Mathin coming toward her, concern on his face.
She stumbled in her haste to avoid him. “No.”
Confused, he stopped. “I just want—”
“No! I’m fine. I don’t need help.” Before he could stop her, she stumbled to the wagon and clambered up the ladder.
Concerned, Mathin tried to follow.
Matilda grabbed his arm. “Don’t. You’ll just make it worse. Give her body time to stop torturing her and then she’ll talk. Right now it’s all she can do to hold together.” They both watched as the curtains on the wagon were jerked shut. “I’ll ride with her and keep an eye on her. I promise she’ll be fine.”
Maybe, but as the day wore on his mood grew darker. It wasn’t in his nature to worry. This thing with Andrea was different, and he was determined to learn all there was to know about her condition. Next time he would know exactly what to do. She was his responsibility.
Late that afternoon Andrea woke from a light doze, shaken from her slumber by the absence of motion. Curious, and feeling much better, she opened the curtains to look out. She drew in a sharp breath, surprised by the sight of the valley below.
Like the prongs of a ring, ready for the diamond, the stone walls of a city rose. Round, it was set on an unnatural plateau in the land, perhaps the flattened remnants of a hill. The rest of the broad valley ran flat and nearly treeless to the distant tops of towering trees.
Before the city was a village. Gardens and orderly groups of trees, possibly orchards, surrounded sturdy stone houses. Ant-like people roaming or riding about on wagons stacked high with hay or crates magnified the impression.
Must be harvest time.
Thunder rumbled in the roiling clouds overhead, signaling danger.
“Are you all right?”
She looked at Mathin, who’d pulled Bloodlight to a stop beside the wagon. “Yes,” she answered sheepishly, feeling foolish for her earlier...display. “I’m sorry for—”
Taking pity on her, he reached out and caressed her cheek, raising her face. “I spoke with Matilda about it, and she told me what I can do next time.” His thumb traced a line from her cheekbone to her lips. “I dislike being helpless,” he admitted softly.
Eyes lowered, Andrea gave her head a slight shake. “I’m sorry you got stuck with such a raw deal.”
“Don’t ever say that again!”
She flinched at the emotion in his voice.
Intense dark eyes bored into hers. “I chose you, wife. I love you. Don’t ever imply it wasn’t anything but the best thing to happen to me. Do you understand?”
Unsure what to say, she nodded. Besides, she couldn’t have spoken past the sudden lump in her throat.
Mathin nodded at the walled city. “Our citadel. The people hurry to finish the harvest before the storms arrive in earnest. Once the hurricanes hit, the fields will be ruined and it will be dangerous to stray far from shelter. Don’t expect to draw a lot of attention as we ride in. Sometimes every minute counts.”
“Good.” The last thing she wanted was a bunch of strangers staring at her.
He looked quizzical for a moment, and then grinned. “I forget you’re not the typical lady. Many I know would be greatly offended at being virtually ignored.”
She shrugged. “If I’d wanted the media’s attention I would have moved to Hollywood. Let’s go. I’d like to sit on something that doesn’t move.”
Mathin hadn’t been kidding. They drew very little notice from the harvesters as they rode in, save for one man.
“My lord.” An older man, well past middle age but not yet frail, approached their party as they rode toward the citadel gates. His frosted hair hung to his shoulders, the strands gleaming in the pre-storm light. A neatly trimmed beard clung to his strong jaw. “I’m glad to see you came so quickly.” As if undecided, he looked over his brown clad shoulder, frowned. “I think this is important enough I can spare a few minutes to speak with you.”
Mathin dismounted. “Speak while you work. My wife and I will join you, though she won’t be able to help. She’s been ill.” He signaled for Raziel to take their party into the citadel, leaving two men behind, ostensibly to help, but also to provide extra protection for Andrea.
/> “I’ll help, too,” Matilda put in, jumping from the wagon. “I’ve always loved harvest time.”
The interested look she cast at the overseer put a frown on Raziel’s face, but he led the men into the citadel anyway. Mathin knew he’d be back the moment they were settled. He put his arm on Andrea’s shoulders. “Andrea, this is our overseer, Tomlin. Tomlin, my lady wife, Andrea.”
Something shifted in the depths of Tomlin’s eyes, a reaction too quickly squelched for Andrea to peg. Wary of it, but willing to be polite, she extended her hand to shake.
Tomlin took it and placed a perfunctory kiss on the back, dropping it swiftly after.
“And this is Andrea’s elder, Matilda,” Mathin continued, unsurprised by Tomlin’s disinterest. Andrea’s pheromone had been tamed, and it would take time to convince the people here that he held her in higher esteem than his father had held his mother.
Offended by Tomlin’s treatment of Andrea, Matilda merely nodded at him.
Unfazed, Tomlin led the way to a hedge of orange, shiny fruit and began loading them into the half-full basket. Matilda claimed another basket and Andrea moved to help her.
Mathin took her arm and frowned.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “The nap did me good, and I’d like to help.”
Reluctantly, he released her. “As you wish, but if you feel the slightest bit ill…”
“I’ll tell you,” she promised, and got to work.
“Your father’s brothers and your cousins have argued for some time over who should succeed you should you die without issue.” Tomlin looked at Andrea as he picked and raised his brows.
“Not yet.” Mathin said quietly. He wouldn’t have Andrea pressured into an attempt to conceive.
A grunt expressed Tomlin’s thoughts on that. “Pity. One of your more hotheaded cousins has stepped forward to assume the roll. Although no one’s officially endorsed his claim, none have refuted it. He’s made much noise about assuming your duties in your absence. We expect him to make a show here before the storms hit.”
“Do you?” Mathin asked, very softly.
Instead of backing down, Tomlin looked him full in the face. “There were some who doubted you’d come, but I sent for you. It’s fortunate for us all that you came before he got entrenched.”
“You couldn’t have closed the citadel against him? Are you not my caretaker?” The conversation was making Mathin angrier by the minute. How difficult was it to enter the citadel, lock the gate and raise the shield?
“By myself?” Tomlin stared at him in challenge. “Your father left the people with a bad taste for the lordship, and you never stayed to change it. For all they know you carry his seeds, just waiting to bloom. Don’t expect an overseer to change what only you can do.”
Andrea froze. Mathin was so still he might have been carved of ice.
“No time like the present,” Mathin finally said in a dangerous tone, his temper barely in check. He walked away.
Andrea watched him stalking down the lane of bushes and trees, seemingly intent on inspecting the picker’s progress. Concerned for him and disliking Tomlin’s attitude, she demanded, “What does his father have to do with anything?”
Tomlin wouldn’t look at her. “You’ll have to ask him, milady.”
Fat chance, with him in his present mood. With a sigh of frustration she resumed picking. At least she’d be sleeping in a decent bed tonight.
Or not.
“What a dump.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, had even muttered it under her breath, but Mathin whipped his head around and glared.
“Sorry!” She put her hands in the air, palms out to pacify him. Even so, now that the words were out, she might as well express her opinion. “I know you said no one’s been in charge here since your sister took off last year, and it looks like it’s been vandalized.”
The spacious hall was a disaster of chipped stone tiles and broken glass from the high, narrow windows. Runes had been painted onto the walls. She might not be able to read them, but if they were anything like the graffiti back home, she wasn’t missing much.
Debris crunched under her feet as she made her way to the hacked up table and smashed chairs. She was no expert, but even she could tell the slashes were fresh. Besides, it didn’t take a genius to note that the rotten, crusted remains of food scattered around and crawling with insects was semi-fresh. Maybe four days old? “Someone had one heck of a party.”
“And forgot to use the facilities,” Matilda added with disgust, wrinkling her nose at the stench of stale urine. “It’s going to take charcoal to lift the smell out of this mortar.”
“It’s worse than that,” Raziel reported grimly, striding into the hall. “The bedrooms are just at bad—all thirteen of them. Every scrap of food in the storerooms is ruined, the chimneys are blocked and the water pipes are broken. I think the only thing in the citadel left untouched is the force field generator. Someone was very determined to starve us out.”
Swearing, Mathin turned away. His wife flinched from him when she caught sight of his glowing golden eyes, which further fouled his mood. “We have what? Two weeks worth of supplies with us, maybe days before a storm whips up, and at least a month before it’s marginally safe to venture far enough to hunt.” Nor was it safe—or wise—to go back. No telling who would be in the citadel when he returned.
“There’ll be a small tithe from the harvest today. The rest had already been stored in here,” Tomlin was unwise enough to point out.
Near ready to strangle him, Mathin fingered the hilt of his sword. Tomlin had more than proved his incompetence. “We will go hunting,” he said in a soft voice, eyes narrowed to slits. “And I will purchase extra animals from the village and what supplies can be had. Andrea.” His tone softened a bit as he looked at her. “Stay near Raziel while I’m gone, and those he puts in charge of you. It’s not safe to wander around. You, too, Matilda.” He sent a disgusted look at the mess around him. “And I hate to ask it of you, but could you see to fixing what you can here? There might be young women in the village for hire. Sort through them and find ones you can work with.” The fire had begun to fade in his eyes, until he took a step and something squished under his boot. Instantly the flame was back.
Without another word, he turned and stalked away, several Haunt falling in behind them.
A little miffed that he didn’t say goodbye, even though she understood his temper, Andrea placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the mess. “Cleaning supplies, Tomlin?”
He glared at her. “I’ve clearly been dismissed, milady. You’ll have to ask someone else.”
He left.
“Did I miss something here?” she demanded, wondering what his problem was. Mathin hadn’t said a word about firing him.
“Mathin gave his duties to you,” Raziel supplied, nudging a chunk of plate aside with his boot. “I doubt he could have been plainer.”
Shaking her head, Andrea went in search of a broom.
“Where are you going?”
Puzzled, she halted and looked him. “I’ve got to get something to clean this up.”
He slowly shook his head. “I don’t think you grasp the scope of your new duties. You’ve got far too much to do to finish by yourself, and Mathin never meant for you to be down on your knees scrubbing. We’ll go to the village, hire girls with mops, buy supplies and return here so you can take a tour and see what else needs to be done.”
Since he seemed to know more of what was expected than she did, Andrea followed him into the village, doing most of the talking at his insistence. Soon she had four girls and a strapping young man marching off to the castle to battle the chaos under Matilda’s supervision.
“You’re going to have to advise me here,” she told him as they looked over the “yak” pens. The sheep-sized creatures milled about, completely unaware of their future as dinner guests. “I have no idea how many we need or how much to pay.” She frowned. “For that matter, Mathin didn’t leave any money
.”
He shook his head. “You’ve got to make yourself known now as a woman who knows what she’s doing and has the authority to do it.” He named an amount she should pay for each animal and explained how to barter to achieve it.
Reluctant but resigned, she strode up to the man in charge of this particular pen and began to haggle.
An hour and a thirteen yak-beasts, twenty domesticated birds and something she dubbed a hippo-cow later, she headed back to the citadel, feeling much more confident. Shopping wasn’t all that bad with Raziel along to give her pointers. Too bad he seemed to regard it as annoying as having teeth drilled. One thing she wondered, though. “How come you guys have this cow thing here, but Jasmine said the Haunt had no dairy animals?”
“They don’t at Jayems’s citadel or anywhere else, for that matter,” Raziel explained, his eyes searching the path for danger even on the short walk back. “The milk beast is very stupid, its milk quite sweet. Not many Haunt tolerate them or care to drink their secretions. This province is unique in that.”
“Their secretions? You have a way with words, Raz.”
“Thank you, And.”
Shooting him a sly glance, she asked, “Would you let Matilda call you that?”
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Do you care?”
Aware what he really was asking was whether she objected, she shrugged. “It’s none of my business, but I’m curious anyway. How’s that for an answer?”
A touch of pensiveness entered his expression. “She was angry about the return of her youth. She loved your grandfather very much, has been lonely without him. She cursed the extra years she’d have to live before she could be with him again.”
“I didn’t know,” she whispered. Matilda rarely spoke of her Grandpa Bob, and she’d never mentioned anything about loneliness. Guilt swamped her. Worse, Raziel’s obvious distress over the situation opened her blind eyes. “You like her a lot, don’t you?”