CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Y our hair!” Rand gasped , a tray of food rattling in his hands.
Shock and disappointment distorted his expression. Hurt shone from his eyes.
A sudden urge to cry welled up within her. His hurt hurt her. Abruptly. Unexpectedly.
“What happened,” he asked.
The lump in the back of her throat was heavy and hard to lift with a light tone. She hurried towards him and took the tray to give herself a second to find her words.
“I thought,” she began, setting the dinnerware on a small table, “you wouldn’t notice. They say men are not keen to such things.”
“Look at me.”
He took her by the upper arms. Upwards, his hands slid over her shoulders. Between his fingers, he feathered and combed her hair. All the while, those deep colored eyes seemed to bleed.
“Why?” he asked.
A shivering heat flushed under her skin, and she swallowed to keep her voice steady. “I needed something to wear while my clothes are mended. They barter here.”
With both hands, he raked through her hair, pulling it back from her face. “You could have—”
She caught his wrists. “I wanted to.”
“There’s a jeweled dagger tied to my waist that could have bought you every dress in the store.”
“Hair grows.”
He pulled his arms back, pulling her towards him. Tight he held her. She felt the cadence of his heart. She felt his breath on the top of her head.
Pressed to him, she was miniscule, and it was divine. Together, they could stand here for eternity. His strength would never waver, and she would never need anything more. If he should fall weak, her arms would support him, and she would take the weight of his body.
Words were behind her lips. She buried her head into him and his grip tightened. Around his waist, Petra slid her arms, and the gravity of his breathing changed. She felt him drop his forehead into the nook of her shoulder and neck.
“Petra...”
“Rand, I—”
“Please don’t say it.”
“But I...”
“Not when I hate myself like this.”
“Why,” she asked, delighted by how her words were muffled against his chest.
“Men under my care died. My thoughts are haunted by their faces. But then I see you and I...I see nothing else but you. I had given up marriage for life in Shivalry without reserve. Then we met. I told myself I would be happy to see you live well. I told myself I was not breaking vows by helping you when it was in my power. Now my vow is broken, men have died, and yet,” the timbre of his voice trembled. “I’m glad you’re mine.”
He tried to inhale but a sob choked him and the tears that followed were violent.
Petra reached up. Now it was she who smoothed hair away from his face. The way his shoulders heaved, and the sound of his stuttered inhales pulled a strength into her she never imagined. He could go limp. He could collapse, lay all his body into her and she would lift him up.
Even now, he leaned more fully into her. She widened her stance to meet his weight and felt no strain. Here, in this moment, whether he shielded her from the world or whether she shouldered him to fight against it, there was refuge. Peace and safety.
I love him.
They stood thus, for a long time.
Eventually, Petra begged him to eat.
With her sleeves, she dabbed his face free of tears and urged him to sit. From a clayware kettle, she poured the tea unique to this region, steeped with dried larvae that had been harvested during the brief spring and summer. The aroma was high and acrid, and the bitter flavor made her teeth clench.
Before he served himself, Rand served her the thick porridge and dried meat that was a staple of the cold months in Mynydd. Petra teased that she was about to eat without looking like a lady.
“My stomach feels like its eating itself and that tea is worse than any medicine I have ever had.”
He smiled. “It’s unpleasant. Usually, it’s served with the spent pupae at the bottom of the kettle to be eaten after the meal.”
“And if we were eating with others, I would not offend them by abstaining. But as we are alone...” she trailed off, making a squelched face.
“I removed the bugs,” he replied with a chuckle. “I don’t want you to vomit when you need to eat.”
“You need to eat, too.”
Rand ate faster than Petra, though she felt like she inhaled the meal. And although the tea was terrible, it was hot and fortified her bones. Rand drained each cup in one draught.
When they finished, their conversation emerged easily. Petra told him about her encounter with Bodil and her further dialog with Bodil’s daughter whose effervescent natter offered insights into daily life at the fort. She also told him about the public bathhouse and the ingenious method for keeping the water from freezing.
Rand listened attentively and explained how his day had gone. Apparently, she and him were offered a more cordial greeting than the men who arrived first. Yates and the others waited overnight for egress. Guards on the parapet raised bows and arrows at them. Yates had to argue and plead with Forwin, calling him out on his military training not to knowingly leave brothers-in-arms injured.
Petra questioned why they should be so cruel. Why should they resent them? Rand said it had not been so under Leopold. The change in command had changed much.
“It’s as if they don’t want the help you bring.”
“Forwin has his own aspirations, I think.”
“To what end? To see the charge he has been given fail?”
“Pity Bodil’s daughter is not old enough to listen to the conversations adults hide from children.”
“She told me her mother was enamored with Leopold.”
He smirked. “I would have all my answers if men were as honest as children.”
She agreed and the conversation changed to how days passed at Mynydd. It was common for women and men to dine together in the large gathering hall, attached to the lone kitchen in the fort. There was only one common meal served. Additional meals were taken separately, and the kitchen belonged to the community. Rand would work his men into the guarding shifts already in place. He suggested Petra move through her day parallel to the women.
“I will ask Bodil. She does not appear to dislike me, after seeing how you caught me when I fainted.”
“It felt like my arm was being pulled from its socket to see you fall.”
“Speaking of that pain,” Petra said, “you need restful sleep.”
“I am restored when you’re near.”
His tone was suddenly soft and pulled honest thoughts from her like warm water pulls color from fabric.
“I feel something similar. Like I have deep roots, and no wind can shake me.”
Rand stared at her. The burgundy color of his eyes poured over her, full of warmth and spice. She was enveloped. She had never seen him so clearly. She felt his breathing within her chest. The small space between them on the bed palpitated and her skin hummed with longing to be closer. If she did not shrink the space, she would come apart from vibration.
She slid towards him.
“You could command me,” he said, his tone uneven, “and I would sleep with you as a man sleeps with his wife. But I—”
“I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t betray you like that,” she managed, though she had no control of her breathing.
He put his arm around her waist and pulled her into him. Easily, he moved his one leg to the side and the shape of her backside filled the groove of his pelvis.
“Even though you want it?”
She was water.
“I...I want to be a good wife. If that means we live brother and sister, then I will be happy because I have not taken anything else from you.”
He sighed. “You haven’t taken anything from me, Petra. You have given me everything. I cannot reconcile it, yet.”
Her body was already his. Her place of intimacy, gifted by Heaven to enable life, quaked. Petra crossed her legs. The pit of her stomach roiled in such a pleasurable way; she could not think. His body set hers aflame. To feel his chest expand with every inhale—she belonged to him.
“I want what you want,” she whispered.
“Then stay with me like this. Don’t turn around.”
***
S HE WOKE WHEN SHE FELT him pull from her. Through the lone window, the morning’s bright light was dulled by a continuous curtain of snow. Rand stood in front of the casement, darkened by the light behind him. He looked like a version of himself that might come to her in dreams, obscure and illuminated. Menacing in a dazzling way.
How easy it would be to laze in the bed and watch him straighten his appearance. Perhaps one day such an indulgence would be hers, yet there were more important things now. They needed to be present at the communal breakfast and chip away the prejudice against them.
She pushed the blankets aside and stood. He put his back to her while she pulled on the new dress, and waited to turn until she cleared her throat. Securing her hair would need to wait until she could fashion a scarf or procure hair pins. The people of the fort did not need to see her like an adolescent with untied hair but there was nothing to be done.
Rand smiled when she combed it with her fingers but said nothing, not interrupting the pleasant silence of a husband and wife readying themselves for the day.
Both cloaked and prepared for the punishing weather, they left the tower, along with what seemed like most of the fort. Conversation swarmed around them like curling drafts of snow. Petra followed Rand’s lead in choosing not to talk, letting the residents make up their minds about initiating conversation.
However, it seemed as if Lindy had been on the lookout for Petra, calling and waving to her without any decorum. Bodil turned and smiled, before looking like she had never seen a man, staring at Rand. In fact, Petra noticed there were many subtle glances at her husband. Sometimes, they occurred with looking at her, too.
Her hair caused some widened eyes; however, she was positive her encounter with Clive had already moved through many hushed conversations. Gawkers only looked to confirm because seeing is believing.
All in all, the way they looked at Rand and Petra she was not sure if she was flattered or annoyed. Pride and jealousy mixed in a strange way, and she wished he would take her hand, though there was no need.
Right now, it was important she and him appear as captain and wife, attentive to their station and duty, not one another.
As they all walked, like a hungry entity, wind swirled between bodies, searching for a way under clothing. The children clung to their mothers. Men tucked their chins. Volatile with snow, the wind tried to blur their vision and slow their walk, gaining more time to feed its frenzy.
Once inside the communal hall, roles and jobs were immediately attended to. Several women moved to the kitchen. Others hurried to a tall breakfront, taking and placing eating utensils atop the long rows of short-legged tables. The men who did not stoke the large fireplace un-rolled thick mats that had been stood up on the far end of the space. These were placed beneath the tables so diners would not be forced to sit on the cold floor. Other men moved out a door at the back before returning, toting buckets of fresh water from where Petra assumed the cistern stood.
Rand moved to help carry water. Petra decided she would help the women laying out utensils. Likely the kitchen had a rhythm she did not want to interrupt.
Not a few of the women looked askance at her but none matched their expression with words. Petra wondered what was more befuddling to them. Her hair? Wearing the wedding gown of a deceased woman? Or a woman of assumed repute doing mundane labor.
When all the dishware was set and the fireplace yawned to life, the women moved behind the mats and the men took their seats first. From the kitchen, other women emerged, hefting large bowls and wielding ladles with the accuracy that everyday tasks bring. A rice grain and husk porridge in a cloudy broth was dolloped into every dish. From another serving dish, a dried piece of meat was pushed to the bottom of the bowl. Others came around with possibly the largest kettles Petra had ever seen, pouring the larvae tea into cups.
Delightful .
Determined to keep her expression bland, her throat already clogging in rebellion at swallowing the bugs, she noticed the serving women went back to the kitchen, followed by the others. There they all served themselves before returning to the men and sitting beside them. The children tucked in where their little bodies fit and appeared to be the only ones who were allowed to fill their bowls twice.
All of this was done in relative silence. Not until the porridge was finished, and everyone sipped on the nourishing beverage, did conversation emerge, hale and hearty. The cold reception she and Rand had received was almost impossible to imagine now.
At the same time and over one another, the residents of Mynydd talked. The entire hall filled with discussions about the weather, the health of the cows, news from abroad, and the cost of goods. Children were allowed to raise their voices and join in, asking unanswered questions without fear of being hushed.
Here were the real people who made their lives between stone walls. Petra wanted to join in, partake in a portion of normalcy before she forgot how. An enchanted mark claimed her body, its power yet unknown, binding her to the man beside her; talking about how much milk the cows were giving would be balm.
However, Rand did not engage with anyone. And as they were strangers here, it would be rude of her to insert herself into conversation. So, she listened too, replying mentally.
It helped when she got to the bottom of the tea. Three turgid insects with wilted legs looking like they might burst from the slightest pressure awaited swallowing. Rand had drained his cup in one draught. She would ask him later if it was because he did not want to chew the dregs.
Although she would not risk looking around, Petra was positive eyes watched her at this juncture. Did the captain’s wife have enough respect for others to eat as they did? Or was the woman of Vale, her finery lost, too delicate?
Likely there were worse customs elsewhere. Once Aldney told her that the testicles of stud elk were cooked with sugar before being preserved in salt. The emperor believed the chewy treat offered him virile benefits.
I should rather eat that, I think. At least it would taste like something else, in addition to what it was.
With a sharp inhale, she tipped the cup back and commanded her throat not to close. Her tongue retreated. The wilted legs tickled her cheeks and one of the bugs burst. Its juices were grainy and sour. Her mouth wanted to expel but Petra clamped down her teeth and stomped her foot. Through shut lips she sputtered a cough but swallowed.
Under the table, Rand patted her knee.
At the end of the meal, the men rose first. The women collected the dishes and returned to the kitchen. Those who served seemed to be exempt from washing. Instead, they swept the hall. The children were hurried out, reminded to tend to their chores.
Petra walked to the kitchen. Pushing her sleeves up, she stood beside Bodil, one of three rinsing dishes in a large tub. Drying appeared to be reserved for the older women.
When she came alongside, she noticed the other women looked at Bodil, who sanctioned Petra’s presence by handing her several dirty bowls.
I’m sure you were the first to know about my hair. I have a feeling Lindy did her household tasks with one eye over her shoulder. This is good. I hope Rand finds an in, too.
***
B Y THE MIDDLE OF THE day, Petra moved between one group who hemmed garments and the women who worked in the stables. Each group was down a set of hands, one from a broken arm and the other needing to be confined in the late days of pregnancy.
There were cows and goats to be milked and a mound of tattered clothes. Although Petra was not as fast as the others with a needle, she was proficient enough and the women were friendly in showing her more types of stitches. In the barn, she filled buckets with ease and impressed the others. Holding baskets sparse with eggs from the few remaining ducks and chickens, the women could not help themselves in asking where a lady learned to pull teats.
Petra was pleased. Not only was she likely to hear more about the fort, but her friendliness with the women would also be translated to husbands, brothers, and fathers.
“The captain’s wife is a woman of the people.”
“The captain’s wife knows things of common life.”
“Her husband must not have his nose in the sky.”
***
S ENT TO TRADE EGGS for medicine added to the hay that kept the fort animals from “the bloat,” Petra was passing through the square when she heard a holler. Squinting through the showering snow, she saw a bare arm waving from the bathing house. A woman’s arm. An elderly woman, judging from the crinkly flap of skin that wobbled as she beckoned. The grandma tried to talk over the wind, but it was too strong for her aged voice.
Redirecting her steps, Petra walked over.
“Fine lady! Fine lady! Can you help an old Baba?”
“I can.”
Behind the partition, Petra set the basket down and pulled the hood of her cloak back. At first glance, all she saw was a body so wrinkled it did not look naked. Folds of skin hid what remained of femininity. The grandmother held a reddened cloth and gestured over her shoulder.
Petra saw numerous sores. Most had scabbed over but one bled fresh.
“What happened?” she asked, taking the soiled cloth.
“I thank you, fine lady.”
Petra wrung out the cloth.
“What happened, grandmother?”
She chuckled. “A lot of time it’s been since I have been called such, to be sure. I thank you. My bones are not smooth. My motions jerk, they do. The cloth caught on the scabbing it did.”
“Where did you get these sores?” Petra asked.
Yet before the woman could answer, a crashing thud exploded behind them, followed by men yelling and screaming women.
“Eternity, save us, it will!” the Baba shrieked.
“Stay here!”
Petra ran out.
In the middle of the square, smoke and broken stone all around, sat a boulder. From under it, a pair of legs twitched, shuddered, and then ceased to move.
Dizziness struck Petra and she faltered.
Bodies ran in all directions. Children wailed and men cursed. She saw the soldiers of the fort rush up the steps to the battlements, dodging the arrows that were beginning to rain down.
Unsure if her body would listen, her equilibrium askew, and the snow teasing her with its directions, she thrust herself forward into the din.
“Come! Come here!” She waved her arms, shouting so hard her lungs hurt. “Get inside here! They have a catapult! Don’t risk running to the tower!”
“Lady Petra!” a little voice cracked.
“Lindy!”
The little girl stood, her mother nowhere in sight, getting shoved and trampled on by the throngs of soldiers.
Hoisting up her skirt, Petra ran towards her. Bodies slammed into her. A set of rough hands shoved her sideways and then another rammed her forward. Feet trampled on her own. Frenzied bodies smashed into her, knocking the wind from her chest. Lindy was screaming, reaching her arms in the air. Petra used her elbows to make space. She let the rattle of her heart scare her into not feeling pain.
“Lindy, I’m coming!” she gasped.
Another boulder clipped the edge of the battlement, falling short. Petra heard the feral shriek of the life it took followed by more screams. Debris shot in all directions, and she saw bodies go down with ugly gashes across their heads.
Cold bile flooded her mouth.
She vomited as a strong arm caught her around the waist. Rand swung her over his shoulder and turned back towards the bathhouse. Bodies ricocheted off him. His stride did not waver.
If his eyes were not yet opaque, he would still hear her. Sacrifice might not completely have taken him.
“Rand! The girl! Lindy!”
“There’s no time!”
“ Get the child !”
His body obeyed. He snarled like a tiger and cursed but spun around and ran towards Lindy. More arrows rained down, as thick as the snow, their aim erratic and destroyed by the wind.
Lindy shrieked when Rand lifted her, tossing the child over his other shoulder.
“Lindy! Take my hand,” Petra yelled. “It’s going to be okay!”
“Where’s my mother?”
“I don’t know. We’ll find her. But you must be safe first!”
Dutifully, she nodded though her eyes were red with tears and wreckage dirtied her face, already cut and nicked by the violence.
Behind the bathhouse partition, Rand set them down. The elderly woman was on her knees, sobbing and praying. Lindy clung around Petra’s waist.
Rand grabbed Petra’s shoulders. “Stay. Here.”
“I will! Go! Help them!”
His grip tightened and the tendons on his neck bulged. The opaque veil shadowed the outer rim of his eyes.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Push me.”
“What?”
“Push me,” he panted. “With all your might. Push me away from you. I can’t leave you!”
Her side burned. She felt the ancient mark rebel. She was not meant to send him away. His body was hers and she was entitled to it. She would be punished if she acted against the incantation.
Stop this. Listen to me. He has done his duty to me. Release him for the others! Do you hear me, Eternity? If he is mine to command, then this is my command!
Her arms felt like stone weights were tied to them and the entire side of her body cramped, forcing her to double over. Feeling sweat prickle at her hairline, instantly frozen in the air, she swung her hands upwards and grabbed Rand’s hips. With all her body’s weight, she leaned into him.
“Go!”
He blinked. Burgundy glimmered. And he ran into the fray.