16. The First Mother #6
“You said on the road you normally sleep sitting up, anyway.”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
I wasn’t eager to be near the edge. Even as a person who didn’t move in my sleep much, I didn’t want to risk forgetting in the morning. I scooched my back up to the wall of roots, next to him, and he leaned back against it, too.
“Are you still hurting?” I whispered.
“Hmm?”
“You’re still moving awkwardly. If another part of you is injured, I could—"
“Ah, no. I’m just…I’m just tired.” He lied.
He didn’t owe me the truth. How much longer would I even be his wife? I was poisoning his life, and he didn’t owe me anything. “...alright.” I tried to rest, tried to get comfortable against the roots.
“You…” he went quiet.
“What is it?” I tensed. Had I bothered him? It seemed unlikely but—
“You could lean on me, if you liked.” I couldn't see his face. “I wouldn’t mind.”
I tried to read his shape. “You’re sure?”
His voice was still odd. “It would keep me warmer, wouldn’t it?”
That was probably it, a war between needing body heat and his reluctance to give false hope.
I could lean on his shoulder. Shoulders weren’t particularly intimate.
I could touch his shoulder before he was lost to me.
I scooted closer, and he opened his arm, and this wasn’t what I was thinking about when I imagined leaning against him, the curve of his body and his thigh seemed like too much.
But what would he think if I said no? I didn’t want to be the five-dozenth person to push him away.
I didn’t want to hurt myself clinging to something I’d have to lose. But maybe it was alright not to let go until I had to. Maybe I was allowed to hold on to a piece of happiness before it was gone.
It wasn’t like he’d never had my body against him before. Heat stained my cheeks again, and I looked down and away, hoped he couldn’t see in the light of the moon.
I leaned against him, two of us reclining, his arm draping over me.
“Is this okay?” He was a little hoarse.
“It’s fine,” I said, too quiet. “It’s…warm.” The wind caressed us, sent the hairs standing up on his skin, and I should not be feeling every detail of his skin.
“I want to be careful not to remind you,” he said. “I know…you don’t choose when you flinch. You don’t choose when you remember.” He swallowed. “I’ve spent my whole life being told I remind people of my father. I’d hate to remind you of yours.”
The lights below us twinkled. In another, better life, I’d have wanted to be with him down there, celebrating around fires, maybe dancing. Did orcs dance? He seemed like he’d be good at it. He seemed like he’d like to.
“You don't remind me of him.”
“Hm?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, forced the words through the pain in my throat.
“You don’t remind me of him. You don’t look like him.
You don’t sound like him. You’re not…you don’t have to worry.
” He didn’t move, and I pushed through, “That’s one benefit of marrying an orc.
I’m lucky. You’ll never remind me of anyone who’s hurt me before. ”
We sat in the quiet, pretending it was reasonable to sit on this ledge and hold each other.
“You don’t remind me either,” he said, quiet. “Not of anyone. In case you ever wondered.” His jaw was set above me. “You are…a singular experience.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I tucked that away, for a later night, for a time it would be alright to breathe, and to cry.
“Do you have a place you want to go?” he asked. “If you decide to leave here?”
“My mentor has a sister who will take me, in Mereborough,” I rasped. “I’ll learn medicine again, and never be forced to marry. I can live my own life.”
His breath crossed my forehead. “That’s…that’s good,” he said, a little wooden. “I’ll make sure whatever you choose, that you get there safe. You won’t have to go alone.”
The warmth of him against my cheek, the cool of the air, felt right. “I should stay longer though, right?” I whispered. “So they can’t hurt you.”
His Adam's apple bobbed. “I’d be obliged.”
I let myself rest in this little piece of space where things felt less terrible. “I got you into this mess,” I mumbled. “I’ll stay till you’re out of it.”
The sound he made was something like a laugh, but he didn’t argue. The wind was cool.
“Vrathgar?” I whispered. He hummed in response. “I should have asked, before I sang to your mother. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t worry me. I know…you wouldn’t hurt her.” His breath crossed my forehead.
“I really can’t,” I whispered, “ensorcell minds.”
“I know. I figured that out.” HIs arm tightened, just a little.
“How?” I knew it shouldn’t matter, but I wanted to know.
“Because you would have at the start, when you didn’t want to sleep with me.” That knot tightened in my gut. “I knew you couldn’t ensorcell me when I realized you’d planned to kill me. Because if you’d been able to control me with song, you wouldn’t have tried with flesh.”
I curled closer, as if I could hide from this in his shoulder, in his chest.
“It’s okay,” he murmured.
I fell asleep curled up under his arm, and I woke wrapped tight against him.