Chapter 21
We hunkered down to camp at dawn. Oshruli was nervous about his first sunrise. It’s traditional to teach children that the sun is something to be feared. A massive, all-encompassing boogieman that will burn them to death. Lhoris and I had assured him many, many times it was a lie, but he was still worried. Luckily, Oz knew this stretch of the north road and guided us to a … not cave, but a hollow someone had carved out of the leeward side of a rocky promontory. It had just enough cover to keep our small group out of the sun, and probably rain if there had been any. There was even a blackened spot where a fire had been kept.
Oz slipped away to forage with Oshruli in tow, murmuring, “I’m sick to death of mushrooms. I need something green!”
Lhoris and I settled camp. I noted that he placed our bedrolls on either side of Oz’s. My stomach clenched.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that Oz wouldn’t hurt me. But my body didn’t seem to understand. It only remembered Adukli’s torturous attention while I was unable to resist my duty to the offspring within her. I could feel the phantom weight of her sitting astride my abdomen, the burn of the red-hot nail against my throat, the stench of burned flesh as she branded me with its tip at the end of every feeding. I rubbed the blotchy field of healed burns along my left jaw and neck … thousands of little craters.
“Brother, are you well?” Lhoris asked, assessing me with his healer’s eyes.
I wiped fat beads of sweat from my cold forehead. “It’s possible this will be difficult for me,” I answered and gestured toward her bedroll.
Lhoris nodded. “I’m here, this time, Lobikno. And Oz actually cares about you.” He pursed his lips. “We will get through this whole thing together, the four of us.”
“A family,” I nodded. Though it was hard to consider Oz’s place in relation to me. She was supposed to be my friend—my sister. Not the mother of yet another child of mine. I’d wanted to be done siring offspring and I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about the relationship she was already forming with Oshruli. After pushing Adukli’s bond aside for decades, holding Oz at arm’s length should have been second nature, but it was a struggle. “Would you have a child with her?” I asked.
“Yes,” Lhoris answered instantly with a lopsided grin. “You know, I’m actually quite jealous of you in this,” he admitted far too cheerfully considering the topic. “But I’m confident I will be involved in raising this nibling.” He nodded toward where Oshruli and Oz wandered into the surrounding fields. “And that one.”
I lifted an eyebrow and pursed my lips. “I suppose you’re not wrong.”
I could hear Oshruli asking Oz questions she couldn’t understand. Oddly enough, she was answering correctly even though he couldn’t understand her either.
“What is that?” I imagined him pointing to whatever plant she was gathering.
“Hm, this is chickweed,” she answered.
“What do you do with it?”
There was a pause before she spoke. “I am going to eat this,” she said. There was another pause. “See?” She must have eaten some of it.
“See?” he repeated.
“No, this is chickweed.” She had him repeat the word after her. Then she had him repeat the word eat.
“She’s just dreadful with children,” Lhoris snarked.
“Fine,” I snorted. “Maybe this won’t be the worst.” I knew that much was true because I had already experienced the worst. “But this, here and now,” I gestured to the bedroll, “is going to take some time to not … dread.”
Lhoris’ cheer faded. “Like I said, we’ll get through it. Oz is alarmingly intuitive and capable of great empathy. She wants us to believe she’s too tough to have real feelings, but she does.” He eyed me. “Just like someone else I know and love.”
I only grunted in acknowledgement.
“She already knows the why and how of this process. And believe it or not, she will be sympathetic to your pain. Connect with her,” Lhoris urged, though his lip twisted in distaste. “It’s best for everyone involved.”
“I don’t think I can,” I shook my head and swallowed. How could I explain it to him? He didn’t have the same scars I did. I was glad he didn’t, but it meant we didn’t always get each other. Would he understand that, while I know she is just as much a victim as I was, that hers is the face of my most recent rapist? “The incident fucked me up again, Lhoris. Having my bonds severed made it worse.” I met his eyes. “I’m not ready for this.” I fisted the corner of her bedroll and shook it harder than I’d intended before letting go. “And I don’t want her. Never did.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Lhoris said, holding his hands up in front of him palm out. “I just thought talking to her about this might make this easier on you.”
Oz’s footsteps approached. Oshruli sat atop her shoulders, squinting against the pale, pre-dawn light. She frowned and handed me the boy’s shoes. “He refuses to keep them on,” she explained.
“Ozanna called those things shoes, ahba,” he spoke over the tail end of her words. “I told you already I don’t like them.”
I sighed.
“They protect your feet and keep them warm,” Lhoris explained. “You’ll get used to them.”
“He kept trying to take his clothes off too,” she reached up and tickled Oshruli’s socked foot. He squeaked and pulled his foot away.
“They have a hard time with clothes when they have to start wearing them,” I hedged and gave my brother a flat look. “Lhoris particularly hated wearing pants.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Well,” Oz sighed. She gave him a heated look. “Some things don’t change.”
He offered her a wolfish grin and I was suddenly very tired of being in their presence. “I had hoped you two would knock it off now that Emma isn’t around,” I grumbled. It shouldn’t bother me that they flirted. Stupid bond.
“Come here, pipsqueak,” I called to Oshruli. He scrambled down Ozanna’s cloak. “Shoes stay on until we go to sleep.”
He groaned but came to sit in my lap where I could tie the tiny leather slippers back into place.
“He did as you said?” Oz asked.
“Yes,” I nodded. “It’s the bond I have with him. He understands my concern and relents because he knows it’s for his own good.” I tousled his fluffy white hair. “Which is why he’s not losing his shit about sunrise. He’s still worried but trusts my experience enough to brave it.”
“Oh, that’s … well brilliant,” Oz said as she sat down on her bedroll. “Will it be that way for me and this one?” She rested a hand on her belly.
“I have, no idea,” I shook my head. “I know nothing about half elves.”
“Nor do I,” Lhoris offered. “Not in these matters.”
“Well, my inner elf isn’t very strong,” she said. “I won’t get my hopes up.”
“The bonds between children and their parents are potent,” I admitted. “We invest a lot of ourselves in bringing them into the world. Some people think it’s the massive piece of ourselves in the child that we resonate with, that forms the bond. As the mother, you’re constantly tapped.”
“Is that why I lost the first one?” she asked, her brows pinched.
“Oh, gods no,” Lhoris shifted and took her hand. “It would have called to me if it needed more than you could give.”
I shook my head. “That one just wasn’t meant to be.”
“Ah,” she nodded. “I can live with that.”
I’d never considered that she’d felt badly about losing it. I assumed she’d simply moved on since she hadn’t meant to get pregnant in the first place.
Oshruli climbed out of my lap and nervously paced outside the hollow, as if watching for a ball of fire to fall from above. The sky had shifted from dark blue to a pale yellow.
Oz cleared her throat. “I know you don’t look at me and think I’d want to be a mother, Lobikno, but I do. I always have. I want to be the mother I didn”t have. I want my children to have a real family with parents that are there. I want this child,” She placed a hand on her belly. “And that one,” she nodded to Oshruli, “to feel loved and valued … not substitute a cause where they should have people that love them. You and I have that common ground, I think.”
Lhoris gave me a smug look, but kept his mouth shut.
“Yeah, I guess we have some of the same ideas,” I admitted, though I didn’t meet her eyes. They were far too understanding.
“But,” her voice trembled a little, “I also know that the circumstances are hard for you. I’d be willing to …” she paused, “I know the right herbs to end the pregnancy if it’s too painful.”
My heart cracked again. So did hers. I felt it. My hand flew up between us, as if to halt the words mid-air. “Please don’t,” I whispered. “I can’t lose another.” Too many lost. “If it wasn’t meant to be, it would be one thing.”
She pressed her lips together and swallowed. “Oh, good,” she whispered back.
Damn her for being such a good fucking person. It would be so much easier to block her out if I could just hate her.
Oshruli realized the sun was coming up off to the side of the promontory and would occasionally peek out to check on it. He gasped when the first rays broke over the treetops below us. I called him over and put my shadow glass on him, though he had to hold them in place. “Don’t look directly at it, son,” I warned. “It’ll hurt your eyes worse. Though you might get to see a lot of color around it if you’re lucky.”
“Okay,” he nodded and scurried back out to peer around the edge of the promontory.
“He knows not to look right at it?” Oz asked.
“Yes, dear,” I snorted. “You don’t have to mother him constantly. He’s leaning heavily on my bond.”
She made a sour face and rolled her eyes before moving to sit with Lhoris.
I eyed her suspiciously. “Why are you so quiet?”
“I don’t want to upset you further,” she nestled against Lhoris, sitting across the cradle of his crossed legs. “You’re afraid of me and it doesn’t feel good.”
I sighed. There wasn’t anything to say to that. She wasn’t wrong and it couldn’t feel good. “Maybe this connection is a little volatile,” I said while I got to my feet. “I’m usually better at blocking it out. Sorry,” I apologized lamely. “I’ll go take Oshruli for a walk and clear my head.”