Chapter 5
STACY
Even though the weather is nice, the day is long.
The ease I felt around Pashov yesterday is gone.
I’m silent and withdrawn, no matter how much he tries to talk to me.
I know it’s not his fault, and it just makes me feel worse.
Last night was a mistake. I was weak, and needy, and it can’t happen again.
Not until he gets his memories back. I’m not trying to punish him…
I just can’t let my heart break into any more pieces than it already has. I can’t take it.
Pashov senses my bad mood and leaves me alone, for the most part.
Of course, that’s not surprising, given that I cried myself to sleep on his chest last night.
Awkward. He won’t understand why, I don’t think, because he doesn’t know me.
He hasn’t lived with me for the last two years.
In his mind, he’s only known me for a short period of time.
I’m a stranger. And it sucks. It’s best for both of us—and Pacy—if we figure out how to be a team without the messy entanglement of sex.
Especially sex that leaves me hollow and aching for what we used to have.
I know I’m being unfair to him. I love him. I know he’s trying. I just…I just can’t. Every touch that doesn’t have our old routines behind it feels like a betrayal. Maybe that’s crazy of me, but until I can shake it, and until he gets his memories back, that’s how it has to be.
I still feel like the bad guy, though. And I cry a little under the blankets as we travel, riding on the sled that he’s pulling. Because I’m stupid and weak and human and get too tired and slow on my own. So I hide under the blankets and nap, because napping’s easier than holding a conversation.
I sleep all through the afternoon and wake up toward evening, when the sleds stop and tents are unpacked.
There’s a bonfire being prepared, but I don’t feel much like being chatty.
I slide out of my nest tucked between bundles on the sled, and my muscles groan a protest. I’ve ridden for the last two days. Why is everything so sore?
Then I realize I’m sore between my thighs, and I’m both embarrassed and sad.
“Are you all right?” Pashov asks, worry on his face as he sees me waddle forward a few awkward steps. “Do you need to see the healer?”
“I’m okay.” I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders.
“Where’s your mother? I should feed Pacy.
” Kemli, bless her heart, has had my baby all afternoon.
Maybe she sensed I wasn’t feeling like myself, but the moment she volunteered, I handed him over.
Of course, then I felt guilty that I was passing him off to his grandma, and I might have cried a little over that, too.
Man, I’ve been a weepy mess lately.
He tries to take my hand. “They are setting their tent near the others. I will show you.”
“I can find it,” I say quickly, and pull my hand from his.
Pashov nods, his expression carefully blank. “I shall set up our tent, then.”
I hesitate. It’s on the tip of my tongue to beg him to go sleep somewhere else tonight.
That even if it’s cold, I don’t think my heart can take another round of this.
I glance away, and he turns his back. His tail flicks, and I realize he’s agitated.
That’s one of Pashov’s little tells—he’s good at hiding his emotions sometimes, but his tail always gives him away.
The side-to-side flick it’s doing right now tells me that he’s waiting for me to kick him out.
And then what? Force him to sleep alone by the fire?
Shiver by myself? I need to be a mature adult.
His shoulders don’t seem as broad today, now that I look at him again.
They’re slumped, as if he’s disappointed.
And that makes me hurt all over again. He expects me to reject him. He knows as well as I do that something went wrong last night.
Why does that surprise you, idiot? The moment he came you cried like a fool for an hour and then fell asleep. That has to hurt.
God, I’m just making things worse. I’ve never wanted to hurt Pashov.
Ever. I watch him as he unties a strap on the sled, and I bite my knuckle.
Should I say something? That I know he’s doing his best?
That the problem is in my head? But will that even help?
I watch him for a moment and retreat to the fire, because I’m a coward.
I see Kemli’s sharp face before I make it to the fire.
Pashov’s mother has a face like a hawk, all pointy chin and strong nose.
She’s the opposite of Sevvah, who’s round everywhere, with looping gray braids.
Kemli’s hair has streaks of white mixed in with the black, but she doesn’t look much like the mom of three adults and one almost-adult.
She’s a fantastic mother-in-law, though, for how fierce she looks.
I see her holding Pacy on one hip, talking to Farli and bossing Borran around as he spits what looks like a fresh-killed quill-beast over the newly made fire.
When she spots me, her eyes light up with pleasure, and she waves me over. “My daughter! Just the person I wished to see.”
I smile at her and hope I’m hiding my heartache well.
One of the best things about resonating to Pashov the moment I arrived was that I had a ready-made family to greet me and make me comfortable here.
Other girls haven’t been so lucky, and I adore Kemli and Borran.
I just worry I’m disappointing them now with how difficult this has all been for me.
“Sorry if you’ve been looking for me. I was asleep. ”
“Not a worry. I am used to going to the community fire and seeing you there, cooking for someone.” She beams. “That will have to wait for a new community fire, I think.”
I do like to cook for people. My instincts lean heavily toward nurturing, and when we first got here, the other girls struggled so much, and I never seemed to struggle.
Not with Pashov and his family at my side.
So I took up the ‘mother’ role (even though I’m the same age as everyone else) and cooked for people.
Two years later, everyone still looks to me for treats, and I admit that I enjoy spoiling everyone in the cave.
I miss my janky, makeshift skillet. I miss the fire pit.
I miss my mate.
Ignoring the grief rising in my chest, I put on a brave face. “Was Pacy bad today?” I hold my arms out for him.
He clings to Kemli’s tunic and hides his face, which makes the older woman beam with pleasure. “Not at all. He loves visiting! And he was so good! He sat in my lap all afternoon, and we watched the dvisti herds move through.”
“I’m so glad he behaved. I know he gets restless.” I smile at my little son. “Has he eaten?”
“He has been chewing on fresh meaty bones to get his little teeth ready for good meat.” She smiles at me, and indeed, there’s a long, rounded vertebra in my son’s hand, still slightly bloody. As I watch, he pushes one end into his mouth and begins to gum it.
Yeah, so there are some aspects of ice planet life I’m still not a hundred percent all-in on. I inwardly wince at the sight but don’t pluck it from his hands, because it would offend Kemli. “You’re good to take him, Kemli. I appreciate the break.”
“But of course. He looks just like Pashov at this age.” She pokes Pacy’s nose and beams at him when he giggles. “Handsome and full of smiles.”
My own smile grows tight. Normally I love hearing Pashov-as-an-infant stories, but right now, I just can’t.
Kemli isn’t stupid, though. Her smile becomes bittersweet with understanding, and she looks over her shoulder. “Is my sled still nearby? I have something for you.”
“For me?” I’m surprised.
“Yes. Come.” She hands Pacy to Farli instead of to me, and waves me forward.
I follow, curious. I should feed Pacy to get the milk out of my breasts, but Farli’s surrounded with people and they’re all gathered near the fire.
My baby isn’t going anywhere. I follow in the path Kemli wades easily through the snow, and when we get to their half-dismantled sled, she begins to pick through her herb satchel.
Pashov’s mother is the tribe expert on herbs and plants, and I’m not surprised when she pulls something out of her bag and hands it to me.
I am a little surprised to see it’s a horn, though.
A small one, with a bit of leather stuffed into the end. “What’s this?”
“A balm for your face,” she tells me. “Animal fat with a paste of dranoosh leaves boiled in.”
I dab my finger in the yellowish sludge and then sniff it. It smells awful, but I’m not going to tell her that. “My face?”
She nods. “Pashov says human skin is too soft for this weather. That your face gets red and hurts. He does not like to see you hurting. He asked if I had anything, so I boiled that this morning and let it set.”
I’m surprised, not only at her thoughtfulness, but at Pashov’s. “I…thank you.”
“Of course.” She rubs my arm, her voice lowering. “You are hurting, aren’t you? How can I help?”
I have to blink rapidly to fight back more tears. “My face?” I repeat stupidly.
“Not your face.” She taps at my chest. “Here. I know you struggle. I care for you as my own little Farli. I see how the two of you act together, and today, you seem distant.” Her proud face is full of worry for me. “Forgive a nosy old female.”
“You’re neither nosy nor old,” I tell her, sniffling. She puts an arm around me, and I lean against her. God, it feels so good to be hugged. To be comforted. Of course, then I feel like an even bigger asshole, because I know Pashov would comfort me. “It’s just…really hard.”
“Of course it is,” she soothes, rubbing my back.
“He doesn’t remember anything of me. Of Pacy. It feels like we’re starting from scratch. I don’t want that. I want what we had back. I miss my mate.” I hear my voice, and it sounds petulant. “Sometimes I think it’s him, and then…”
“And then he says something and you realize he does not remember?” she guesses.