Chapter Forty
Amari watched, shivering, as Orval left her, slipping out through the wooden door on his mission. Roth closed it behind him and threw the bolts with a resounding clunk.
She was terribly afraid for him.
Lara yawned and released her nipple, blinking with sleep.
“I’ll see to her,” Rosalind said, offering Dalan in exchange. “I’ll get her cleaned and lay her down upstairs.”
Amari nodded, heart too full to speak. Dalan stared whining and she took him to her breast. The little boy latched on quickly and she settled down to nurse him, her thoughts in turmoil.
Rosalind headed to the stairs. “Come, Yfin, you can hang that tapestry while I see to Lara.”
“Don’t linger,” Roth said. “In case—” he nodded toward the door.
Yfin nodded and dashed after Rosalind.
“You need to go up too,” Roth said, and Amari looked up, startled. “You need to be bolted in upstairs,” he continued. “In case they try the doors.”
“I just—” she caught herself. “When Dalan’s done,” she agreed, and then cast a glance at Xydell, still and quiet on her pallet. “Should we move her?”
Roth hesitated. “Better for her to be warm and covered,” he said, “but yes. I will carry her up.” He settled on one of the rickety chairs. “Let’s wait and see how this goes. Nothing might happen.”
Amari nodded and tried to focus on the babe in her arms. Dalan sucked loudly, clearly determined to feed well. She rocked him, feeling the stool move with her, rocking faintly on the stone floor.
She could faintly hear Rosalind and Yfin, above, as they talked. Amari rolled her shoulders slightly. All would be well: Orval would return and she would be able to breathe again.
Maybe she could bake a risen loaf over the fire. She’d need a starter, and it would take time for the yeast to grow, but it would be a nice change from the flat breads. Besides, she felt a desire to knead, and the thought of dough calmed her.
The hearth required other chores, of course, and they would need to— Amari started, remembering. Dalan lost the nipple and whined.
Roth looked at her, raising an eyebrow.
“We left the laundry out,” Amari said as she got Dalan re-settled..
Roth chuckled. “Well, nothing says ‘harmless’ like drying laundry. I will get it when Orval returns.” He knelt by the fireplace. “Need more wood,” he said. “He’ll be chilled when he comes back.”
Amari nodded. Maybe she should use the last of the kavage tonight, to warm them all.
Roth didn’t go back to his seat, instead beginning to pace. “He won’t be gone long. He said he’d wander around a bit and then return.”
Dalan released the nipple with a whine, so Amari shifted him to her other breast. Her hands were trembling, and she held him tight as he latched on. No matter what, babes needed feeding and changing and—
“As Hearth Mother, your duty is protecting the hearth. Our babes must have their mother.”
Hearth Mother . Amari’s heart skipped a beat.
She’d never once called him Hearth Father—never…she hadn’t thought he wanted that commitment, hadn’t dared think that—
And now he was out there, wandering around, making himself a target for whoever might come across him, be they friend or foe—
Her heart was in her throat, her fear tearing at her, her regret a rock in her stomach.
He’d gone out there alone. She’d never said anything, never told him— Her breath caught and tears welled. She was an idiot and he’d gone out, maybe to his death, and she’d never said, never told him—
Dalan lost the nipple and complained and she focused back on the babe in her arms. Dalan’s tiny hands grasped at her breast, as if sensing her distress, her need to get up and bring her man back safe.
Amari knew what she wanted now, knew with all her heart what she burned to have. His heart, his smile, his joy in his stupid, odd obsession with ancient texts. Harmony above, below and within, she loved that stupid, stubborn, pig-headed scholar.
She looked at her shrine, her bit of parchment bearing the symbol of the Harmony. She closed her eyes in prayer. Lord and Lady, let him return to me safe and sound and I will build such a Hearth with him at my side and offer you such honor …
Dalan released her nipple and gave a tremendous burp. She smiled down at him and he sleepily echoed her, his tiny lips curving.
Rosalind came down the stairs, Yfin close behind. “Lara’s asleep. If he’s done, I’ll take him.” She reached out for Dalan.
“I want to put water on for kavage later,” Amari said, handing over the babe.
“We need to shift Xydell,” Roth said to Yfin. “Upstairs would be safer.”
A knock at the door froze them all.
“Roth? It’s me,” came Orval’s voice through the door.
Yfin and Roth moved to flank the door. Rosalind took Dalan and ran up the steps. Amari began to follow, then paused in the doorway and held her breath.
“Orval?” Roth asked. “Are you alone?”
“No,” Orval sounded slightly flustered. Amari took a few steps forward so she could hear him better.
“Give me the sign,” Roth demanded, drawing his sword.
“Ahhh,” Orval stalled. “I forgot about that. Wait, just give me a minute.”
Amari choked on a laugh as Roth rolled his eyes. Yfin’s face was screwed up, as if he was trying not to giggle. It wasn’t funny, it really wasn’t, but—
“Damn it, Orval,” Roth said. “Who is with you?”
“I’m with…er, well, friends isn’t the term I’d use. Or they’d use.” Orval said. “But they haven’t killed me yet and they did take the sack off my head.”
Amari covered her trembling mouth with her fingers. What had they done to him?
“That’s not reassuring.” Roth responded.
“It had something to do with pigeons, didn’t it?” Orval asked.
Amari stepped quickly to the main door. “Orval, if it’s safe, tell me a lie. What did you give me at the well?”
“Oh, well, a kiss, sort of,” there was such joy in his voice. “And a bracelet, leather braided with red jasper.”
Amari’s eye welled with joy. He was alive and talking and—
Roth was shaking his head in disbelief, eyes closed as if in pain.
“A walk to the well is tradition in Uyole, for babes three months old,” Orval said, clearly explaining things to his kidnappers. His voice trailed off; Amari could just imagine their faces. “Oh, I was supposed to lie, wasn’t I?” Orval said. “Well, I’m not very good at this. Let’s try again.”
“Enough,” a woman’s voice came through the door, loud enough that Amari took a step back and Roth raised his sword. “I am Bercie of Wareington of the Black Hills. I come in peace, offering no injury or insult to the house.”
“Bercie?” came the softest whisper. Amari turned to see Xydell’s face turned toward the door. “Bercie?”
Amari and Roth stared at one another, then turned again to see Xydell’s pale hands pulling at her bedding. “Bercie?” It was a soft, fragile whisper.
“I will come in alone,” the woman’s voice continued. Other voices, all male, were raised then, clearly in protest.
Roth looked at Amari, who nodded, and retreated to the inner doorway. Yfin, knives in his hands, he pressed himself to the wall, out of sight of the main door.
“I will open the door,” Roth called out, readying his sword. “But none but the Lord High Baron and the woman enter.”
“Leave the door open,” a male voice responded. “So that we can see within. Any treachery will be met with the same.”
Amari held her breath as Roth opened the door.
Cold air spilled in as Orval came inside, followed by a woman in leather armor. She was older, gray, wrinkled, with a no-nonsense, commanding look.
No matter, Amari forgot the woman as she took in the sight of Orval. Disheveled, sweaty, oh dearest Harmony, there was blood trickling down his neck. She must have made a sound, for he looked at her, and with a few brisk steps was at her side, taking her hand. His fingers were cold and clammy and she gripped them hard. He shook his head at her worry. “I’m fine.” he whispered.
He was, he was, he was standing beside her, safe. She put her head on his shoulder and felt the weight of fear come off her chest.
“My Lady?” The older woman, Bercie, stood in the middle of the room, staring at Xydell. Amari knew it must be an odd sight, a woman cushioned and wrapped in ceremonial robes, all crimson velvet and black fur. The wrong colors for an Airion as proud as Xydell, but all they had.
A rustle of cloth and Xydell roused, smiling, her eyes half-open and misty. “Bercie, is that you?” One frail hand reached out, shaking.
“Lady High Baroness.” Bercie took a step forward, staring as if she had seen a ghost. “They told us you were dead.”
“Am I home?” Xydell’s smile was wistful. “Did you have your baby, Bercie?”
Bercie hurried over to her. Both Roth and Yfin reacted, but Orval held them back with a raised hand.
Bercie took Xydell’s hand and slowly knelt at her side. “Oh, my Lady High Baroness, I did, I did, I had a son. We named him Jerrold after—” her voice choked off with tears.
“Oh, lovely,” Xydell’s face lit up. “Jerrold will be so pleased…” She blinked in confusion and her face crumpled. “But Jerrold’s dead, oh Bercie, he’s dead and I lost my babe the same day he died, and they wouldn’t let me return, they wouldn’t let me come home.”
“We sent letters, pleading to know what had happened,” Bercie wept. “But they would only say you both had died, and the Barony went to a Wyvern who—”
“I could do nothing,” Xydell wailed weakly. “I was ill for so long and they told me not to worry my head about such things.” Her voice was brittle, bitter, and angry. “Tithanna tried to help, but no.”
Bercie took Xydell in her arms, and Xydell went willingly, both women hugging and rocking each other in grief as everyone stood in stunned disbelief.
Amari looked at Orval. Did you know?
Orval shook his head slightly.
Their tears trailing off, Bercie helped Xydell settle back in her bedding. “A fine thing, to find you on the floor in a bed of velvet and fur,” she said. She looked over her shoulder at Orval. “Your ceremonial robes.”
Orval shrugged. “Thought it was more important to keep her warm than worry about my so-called dignity.”
Xydell snorted, tugged at Bercie’s hand. “My nephew,” she explained. “He’s a good lad, but no sense of the proper order of things.”
Orval glanced at Amari, his lips in a wry smile.
Xydell yawned, her eyes closing. Bercie went to rise but Xydell tugged at her hand. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered as she faded to sleep.
Bercie eased back down. “I will watch over you,” she said gently. Then she gave all of them a glare and her voice hardened. “There is much I want to know.”
Orval nodded and gestured to the men outside the door. “Come in, come in, let’s all get warm and talk this out.”
Roth stiffened, but to Amari’s surprise, the men, both young and old, sheathed their swords and started to obey.
“Cirda,” Bercie called. “Take word to your father. He’s waiting nearby.” The youngest nodded and headed off.
Amari heard a shuffling behind her as Yfin casually emerged from hiding, his knives sheathed. Orval caught his eye and jerked his chin up. Yfin nodded and headed up the stairs.
Amari gathered her wits. “I’ll brew kavage to warm us.” She released Orval’s hand after one last, heart-felt squeeze, and headed to the hearth.
Bercie’s men settled around on the floor. Roth closed the door and took a chair. Amari noticed he kept his sheathed sword at hand.
“What was done to her?” Bercie demanded softly.
“As to the past, I cannot speak to that.” Orval settled on a bench close by and stretched out his leg. “As to the present,” he drew a breath and began, telling almost all. It took time, and all their kavage, but Amari thought it was well worth it.
When Orval reached the part about the letheon, Bercie growled low. “Oarno,” she snapped. “Go fetch Wethe and tell her what you have heard.” One of the men rose and went out without a word.
Orval continued, explaining what had happened. The kavage was gone by the time he finished.
Bercie tucked Xydell’s hand under the crimson robes. “Help me up,” she commanded, and rose stiffly with aid from one of her men. Once up, she faced Orval. “The Black Hills hates Xy and all it stands for, Airion, Wyvern, makes no difference to us.”
Orval got to his feet and Amari moved to stand beside him. He would have spoken then, but Bercie raised her hand to forestall him.
“For the love of my Lady,” Bercie looked at Xydell and her expression softened, “Orval of Xy, we offer you respite. Shelter, food, and aid, such as we have.” Her grey eyes bored into both of them. “We do not acknowledge you as Lord High Baron.” she said curtly. “And I make no promises for the future.”
“Let it be so,” Orval said, nodding. “There is still much we need to know about one another before we can come to an agreement.”
“Hmm,” Bercie looked at Orval. Amari could see her puzzlement.
They waited in silence then, until there was a knock at the door. “Mother Bercie? It’s Wethe.”
Roth didn’t look happy, but at Orval’s nod, he opened the door. A stout woman walked in, with a younger girl behind her. “Who has a need?”
“Here.” Bercie stepped back, giving her access.
“What am I dealing with?” Wethe asked, frowning down at Xydell. “And why is she on the floor?”
As Bercie started to explain, Rosalind appeared on the stairs and looked at Amari, who leaned closer to Orval. “I am going to go to the babes.”
Orval nodded. “I’ll come up when they’re gone,” he whispered, squeezing her hand.
“Good,” she smiled, pulling her fingers slowly from his. “Don’t be long.” She turned and went up the stairs, eager to get the babes settled. And make her own preparations.
It wasn’t over an hour before Orval knocked, slid inside their room, and closed and bolted the door behind him.
He looked exhausted, sagging back against the wooden door. “They’re gone,” he said. “They should return in the morning with food and things to make Aunt Xydell more comfortable.
“I am fairly sure Mother Bercie thinks a knife in my ribs would be a comfort to her.” Orval shuddered. “Her hate is almost palpable.”
Amari stood from where she sat on the end of the bed and started toward him. He was disheveled, his curls all this way and that, and the blood had dried on his neck.
He looked wonderful.
“Turns out the mayor is Bercie’s son. Should have seen his face. It went from hate at the door to confused by the bedside. Orval wiped his brow. “Mind, the hate is not for us personally,” he gave her a weak smile. “But for Xy, for any authority, actually. All I can offer them is the truth of how bad things are,” He chuckled. “They keep looking at Roth for directions; I think I confuse them.”
He stood straighter, looking at the baskets. “Babes fed? Are you hungry? Rosalind managed to make some—” he blinked as she stepped closer. “Amari?”
Amari touched his neck. “Does it hurt?” she asked, seeing the bruising, the split flesh. “Did one of the healers check it?”
“No, no, just a small nick, really.” Orval stood still, as if wary. “The healers were busy with Xydell, said they would be back in the morning as well.” He paused. “Are you angry with me?”
“For risking your life for us?” Amari asked.
“For forgetting the password.” Orval sagged. “Roth had a few things to say, after everyone left.”
“You were so strong,” Amari whispered.
“Never so frightened in all my life,” Orval whispered back.
Amari pushed him back against the door and kissed him.