Chapter Nine
Rolan stared at his bride, heart thundering in his chest at what she’d almost done.
I release you from our…
The mere thought of the words scalded him.
He knew her intentions weren’t cruel. She no doubt blamed herself for their predicament. But her rejection of their vows would’ve left him with no reason to go on.
It would have wholly devastated him.
She had been given to him by the Empress. It mattered not that the evil witch meant to hurt them both.
Abauna looked away, shaking her head. “I have already failed you in so many ways.” Her voice was tight and her cheeks turned the most curious color of pink under the shaded sunlight. “It is my greatest wish to not burden you further.”
“The failure is not yours,” he argued, his disgust rearing its ugly head to make his voice rough. “It is with our society. The ways of our people. The Empress and those who allow her hatred, even partake in it like it’s the sweetest wine.”
The delicate furrow above her brows softened as she looked at him again. The silver of her eyes was indeed quite beautiful. Enough to dissolve his frustration with one innocent blink. And now he wanted to look away before she could see the effect on him.
“We are free of them now,” she mused. “For how long, we can’t know.”
She implied that death would take the two of them soon. But not if he had anything to say about it.
“You can go,” she tried again. “Not even the Ancients would expect you to maintain vows that haven’t been confirmed bodily. We should spend the remainder of our days as we wish. And I wish… to give you the gift of your freedom.”
A gift.
It didn’t feel like a gift at all.
Confirmed or not, their marriage vow meant something to him.
Everything, in fact.
“Like it or not, we are married, and I won’t abandon you. I will keep you safe. I will see you warm and fed. I will perform however you require me. Because you are mine.” And because for the first time in his sordid history, he felt like he was worth something. He couldn’t have kept from being treated cruelly in the past, but he could do this. He could protect his bride.
She needed him.
Not in the ways he wished her to. And she didn’t want to need him for sure. But she did, and despite all that had happened, that made him feel nearly complete.
Just nearly.
“You expect me to continue as your wife?”
Rolan swallowed hard. She didn’t want this. Him. She didn’t want him.
But needing him was almost as good.
“Only in the ways you wish. I will never require you to go further. But I would like to remain your husband.” Please, he added inside his mind.
“Why?”
Rolan frowned. What was she asking?
“Why would you like to remain my husband?” she repeated.
She wanted reasons?
He didn’t know if honesty was the right choice, but he gave it to her anyway.
“Because I have never had anyone before, who was mine, and I wish to keep you.”
This must’ve been the wrong thing to say because her face fell into something forlorn. The sight twisted his stomach and scrambled his mind as he grasped for the right words.
“I… have been alone a very long time, but I believe could be a good groom to you, even in the uncertainty of this wilderness,” he rushed out, but still her expression remained. “I would like to learn how to be… okay… at least.”
She was silent as she looked to the ground, but he heard her heavy swallow.
“We can remain as we are,” she said finally, and he forced himself to ignore the layer of dread in her voice. “But only on one condition.”
What would it be?
Was he to never touch her? Not meet her eyes directly? Keep himself at a distance? He hoped she wouldn’t require him to be silent. That would make it quite difficult to see to her needs.
Rolan braced himself for whatever her requirement was… even if it tore at his self worth, he would meet it. Because unlike before, he would do it by his own free will. He was choosing this, her, instead of being forced to submit to cruelty.
She peered up at him with her alarming silver eyes. “If I agree to this, beast, I want to pull my weight.”
He blinked, trying to make her words clearer. Her weight was slight, he was fairly sure of it by her small frame.
“I do not understand,” he admitted.
“I’m Tricean. I’m used to working. We will share duties, whatever they might be. I will perform my role as much as you do yours. Partners.”
Partners. The word had his heart soaring to the heavens.
“I will even…” she looked away again “... see to my bridal duties as soon as I am able to.”
Before it crashed again.
The muted horror in her tone at the thought of lying with him… he would never unhear it. All the critical things the Empress had told him about his body, his essence, his existence were confirmed by Abauna’s disgust. They would live in his mind always. Because he could ignore the scorn from a female he knew thrived on hatred, but from his bride, it became a truth solid as stone.
“I will never wish you to defile yourself with me,” he promised quietly. “It should never be mentioned again.”
She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came.
“I agree to your terms,” he said. “We shall be partners.”
“Then it’s settled. What do we do now, groom?”
Peering into the darkness of the forest, he considered their next steps.
He hoped there were dwellings among the Barren. Long ago, others inhabited the places beyond the Hold. Even if they were gone, their abodes might still exist. He and Abauna would find one and make it theirs. Then he would make it safe and protect it from whatever threats existed.
First, they would have to journey far enough away, through dangerous terrain that held unknown threats.
There was talk that nothing could survive that far out, not without the help of the whole. But he couldn’t chance it.
Weapons. They would need weapons.
With a knife, he could carve spears.
But where would he find such a tool?
He scanned their surroundings.
Heavy stones could be tied with leather from his belt to make a type of mace. Sand or mud could be used to blind an enemy if one existed.
“We should begin collecting useful items,” he said. “Anything around us that might prove helpful.”
“I… I have a cache of goods I have saved over the years. Just in case something happened.”
“Something like this?” he asked.
Her slow nod told him she had long expected a banishing.
“But I thought they’d let me take a few things with me when I left. So my cache is inside the gates and I don”t know how we could possibly retrieve it.”
“What kind of goods?” he asked. Was it even worth going back for?
“Pots and utensils. Candles. A small amount of rope, but no chains. Chains were too hard to come by for a Tricean. There is some fur and cloth. And… a knife.”
A knife.
The one tool that might make all the difference to their survival.
“We will go after dark. We will be quick, and then we will leave for good.”
She nodded, looking just as terrified to be going back as to be leaving in the first place.
“Until then, let us find shelter in these woods.”
As they continued further into the misty forest, he lifted a prayer to the Ancients. Guide me, please, so that I may keep her safe. Even if you have no care for me, give me the knowledge I must need to keep her.
***
The trip back to the Barbarian Hold was not as quick as Rolan had hoped.
After journeying deeper into the Barren, they’d come across a small cave. It was tall enough for them both to walk easily inside, but shallow, offering only room for them to lie straight if they were side by side.
While waiting for darkness to fall, he had dragged fallen tree pieces to the opening, creating a pitiful covering. But at least it offered some measure of protection from the elements. The forest air was cooler and damper than that of the Barbarian Hold, and he wasn’t sure what would happen come nightfall.
At the last position of the sun, they snuck back to the edge of the woods, moving sideways behind the cover of trees so that they were parallel to the walls.
Abauna had told him her cache was in the Tricean village, a generous distance from the main gates, and that she’d hidden it near the wall. But he still didn’t know how they would get inside. Especially since armed guards patrolled the fence at all times and lanterns lit the perimeter bright enough to be daytime.
But his clever little bride already had a plan.
“The brick crumbles near the southwestern corner where there are less patrols. I believe we might be able to move enough of it for me to slide past.”
“Us,” he’d corrected. “Where you go, I go.”
When they’d dodged the lights of the lanterns and approached the area in question, it turned out she was right. With not much effort, he’d been able to move some of the lower bricks. Enough for her to slide through easily, and him as well. Or so he’d thought.
Midway, he’d become stuck and no matter how hard he shoved at the stones, he couldn’t move them further.
“Listen, it’s not far,” Abauna had said. “I’ll go retrieve the cache and you remain here.”
“No, bride—”
“It will be quick,” she argued, already creeping away. “I’ll return soon.”
“Bride, stop. It’s too dangerous to go alone.” Panic had threatened to overtake him as he watched her disappear into the night, and he’d struggled in earnest against the tight confines of the wall. So much that he’d wounded himself.
When she returned to find him half crazed and bleeding from his side, she nearly dropped the canvas tote that was far larger than he’d anticipated.
“What have you done to yourself?” she’d hissed, rushing forward.
“Are you well, bride? Are you harmed? Did anyone see you?”
“Me? Look at you! You’re bleeding.” Lowering the cache to the ground beside the wall, she knelt to examine his wound, careful not to touch him. “You’ve cut yourself. Does it hurt much?”
“It’s nothing. Tell me of you,” he’d demanded.
Her gaze lifted to his and he saw a deep crease between her brows.
“I am well. All is well. But we should leave quickly. Can you back out of the opening?”
“I believe so.”
He’d managed it, but not without opening his wound even more.
When he was free, he looked her over, seeing that she was indeed unharmed.
“Never do that again,” he’d growled, forgetting to temper his voice. “Where you go, I go.”
She was silent for many breaths before she nodded once.
“We made a deal,” she’d said. “I won’t leave you again. Even for good reason.”
Her words had calmed him enough he could speak without snarling.
“It… it isn’t safe. I can’t protect you stuck in a wall.”
Inexplicably, her mouth quirked at the corner, nearly forming a smile.
“Certainly not.” She’d gestured to his wound. “Nor yourself.”
Was she teasing him? he’d wondered.
And why did the idea of her doing it seem… cute instead of offensive?
He’d thought on it the entire way back to the cave.
When they were safe inside, she’d insisted on patching his wound, and now he was trying his hardest to be still under her careful touch.
“What is that?” he asked as she used a cloth to dab away the blood. Some pungent odor invaded his senses when she’d doused the cloth in liquid from a dark glass bottle.
“Disinfectant. So you don’t get an infection.”
Rolan frowned. He’d been wounded many times and never had anyone worried about him being infected. He’d simply let the wounds heal on their own.
“Is this a common practice among your people?”
She glanced up at him before continuing, as if to gauge his seriousness.
“Indeed, among yours too. Long ago many perished from wounds that had soured. But not now, because we know to do this. We use concoctions to prevent sicknesses that can invade the wound.”
His female was smart. She was knowledgeable in ways he couldn’t be.
Instead of making him feel inadequate… it made him proud.
“That you know of this will be a great benefit to us, bride,” he complimented.
They each had their own capabilities to contribute. She couldn’t have gone through the wall without his brute strength to move the bricks. And they’d have no supplies without her clever forethought.
She scowled in concentration. “Can you lift your tunic some more? It very hard to see how deep the wound is with all this hair.”
“Yes, I suppose it does get in the way sometimes.” He edged up his tunic until it was bunched around his collarbone, exposing his fur covered chest and ridges of abs.
For the first time since she began, he pulled his gaze from her face to where she worked, her small hands moving quickly but carefully to clean his wound. She didn’t cringe when touching him, though maybe it was because she was using a disinfectant soaked cloth as a barrier.
“Good, now hold the lantern a little closer for me.”
He maneuvered the small circular light she’d pulled from her cache. It was metallic like most things the Barbarians had fashioned over the years. Natural resources like wood and rock were quite useful, but the scrap metals they mined from the ground proved sturdier and lasted longer. And they could be polished to a shine if one wished.
“What makes it glow?” he wondered out loud.
“The light?”
He sensed her gaze on him when he nodded.
“There was nothing like this in the dungeon. It was dark almost always. Except in the mornings when the daylight shone through the bars at the top.” He used to fit as much of his big body in those tiny sun pools while they lasted.
“Phosphors,” she said quietly. “The daylight charges them and later they can emit light.”
Powered by the daylight. That made sense because he always felt better after soaking in it.
“Your wound appears shallow and the bleeding has slowed. I think a hearty bandage will be enough,” she announced. “No stitches.”
Good. Because he’d never been sewn before, and would rather not make this night his first time.
“Although…” Her nose crinkled in a funny way. “I’ll have to find a way to tie it. I don’t think the adhesive will work with your fur… I mean, hair… uh, I mean…”
“Fur is fine.”
Her eyes went to his, questioning. “Is it truly?”
He shrugged. “It’s what the Empress and others call it.”
“What would you like it to be called?”
Her question stumped him. No one had ever asked how to refer to his body and its… differences.
“I suppose fur is the most accurate term. I don’t mind it.”
Abauna gave a decisive nod and reached into her cache for more supplies. “Fur, then.”
He tried to pay close attention as she readied the bandage—a thick wad of a cotton like substance with gummy adhesive at the corners—and then tore a long strip of fabric from a roll. She snipped the adhesive off with the edge of the knife, leaving only the bundle of cotton, and then pressed it to his wound.
There was no pain, but her nearness had him going rigid with anxiety. Especially when she had to wrap one arm around his back to reach the fabric strip to the other side so it could be tied.
Don’t move. Don’t breathe.
She didn’t appear to be scared of him like she was their first night. But maybe he was a little scared of her. Because her proximity made him feel suddenly very warm. And very shaky. Weak. It made him feel weak.
“Are you able to… remove it?” she asked as she finished tying off the bandage, and it took him several moments to remember what she referred to.
“I haven’t tried shaving it, but there was a time some was ripped from the skin leaving a large bald patch. Once the skin healed, it was regrown within a day’s time.”
Surprise lifted her face. “That’s very quick.”
“Yes.”
She gave the bandage a careful pat. “All done. You can lower your tunic.”
He dropped the fabric and handed her the lantern which she set near the cave entrance.
“We should sleep now, bride. The night is late and we don’t know what tomorrow holds.”
She nodded in agreement but the hungry rumble from her stomach told him she was in need of sustenance. He was used to going hungry, though in the days leading up to the wedding ceremony he’d been fed like a king.
“Is there food in your cache?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Only water. I packed it months ago. Food would’ve spoiled.”
Sadness wracked him at the thought of his female going hungry. Why hadn’t he considered this earlier when he was busy collecting tree parts for their shelter? While he could go long stretches of time without eating, she could not. He mustn’t only think of himself now.
A mistake he wouldn’t make again.
“I am sorry, bride. Come morning I will find you food good to eat.”
She nodded, the side of her mouth lifting. “Perhaps there are berries in these woods. Or a stream with fish.”
“Perhaps. Now, lie down close to the wall.”
“The wall?”
“Yes, and I will lie beside you with my back to the opening. That way if any danger comes, it will meet me first.”
She went still, staring at him oddly for long enough that he nearly wanted to ask if he’d spoken wrong.
But no, it was his duty to protect.
This was right.
Eventually, she moved to the wall and stretched along the ground, maneuvering her rigid gown to accommodate the position.
My bride in the dirt. A knot formed in his throat at the sight of his utter disgrace.
“Wait,” he choked out, hoping she couldn’t hear the shattered emotion. “Here, stretch this out to lie on.” He’d removed his outer cloak when she patched his wound, leaving him in only his tunic. Abauna could use it as a bed. “It isn’t much, but it will be better than the ground.”
She rose so he could stretch it out. It was just the right size to accommodate her body.
“Thank you, groom. This is very thoughtful.”
It told him plenty that every small kindness he showed her felt massive. His bride had been mistreated, but from now on, with him, she would know how it felt to be cherished.
As much as he was able to. As much as the Ancients would afford.
Rolan shook his head as she lowered herself to the ground. “Thoughtful would be if I’d considered it earlier, as well as feeding you. I fear I will make more mistakes before our time is up, and I can only promise that I will learn from each one. I am a quick learner, so I’ve been told.”
Abauna laid her head on her folded hands, her eyes on him as he moved down beside her, careful not to get too close.
“I’m guessing we’ll both make mistakes,” she murmured. “Plenty of them. We should agree to try understanding when it does happen.”
Understanding. He couldn’t fathom what sort of mistakes his bride could make, but if she was offering him understanding, he would return it unto her.
“I enjoy the way you think, bride.” He could’ve sworn her cheeks turned that pink color, but he couldn’t be sure in the darkness. “I agree to understanding. Also, thank you for bandaging my wound and seeing that it doesn’t become infected. You have been a good wife to me.”
The color deepened as her lids lowered over her eyes. To avoid his gaze? Was he making her uncomfortable?
He would cease talking now. Their proximity was already cause for her discomfort. His voice shouldn’t cause more distress when he could simply turn it off.
Tomorrow there was great work to be done. They would need all the rest they could wrangle from the night.