Rthan
Rthan shut his mouth tightly before he said too much in anger. Go on, he thought. Try me again. Threaten me. I can take it—and give back twice as hard.
Brena's face flushed red, just like his own. Her eyes burned with fury. He knew she was about to shout something—an insult or a command—and he welcomed it. Anything to remind him she was the enemy.
But before she could speak, a voice called from outside the hut. "Mama?"
A girl, about twelve or thirteen, pushed aside the reed curtain that acted as a door. She was holding a squirrel.
"First of all, I'm still not talking to you," the girl said quickly. Her voice rushed so fast, with such a strong Yellow Bear accent, that Rthan only understood half of it. "So don't think I've forgiven you. But I need that leaf paste you made for the boy with the burned knee. This squirrel got into our lodge, and the girls were chasing it, and it got scared. Then the boys heard the girls screaming, so they came to help, but they started chasing the squirrel too, and it ran through the fire pit, and I think it got burned, see?"
She held the squirrel up to her mother's face.
"Gwenika, this is not a good time…" Brena said, moving to block Rthan from her daughter's view.
Gwenika noticed him in the shadows of the hut. She tried to peek around her mother. "Oh! Is that your slave?"
"No! Yes." Brena frowned. "Gwenika, go. I'll talk to you tomorrow. I'll be teaching."
"But I need the burn paste—"
"Now, Gwenika."
"Fine. I don't care. I'm not talking to you anyway." The girl ran out of the hut.
Brena covered her face with her hands. When she lowered them, her face looked older. Fear stayed in her eyes, and it carved deep lines in her skin. She looked straight at Rthan.
"You win," she said, her voice flat. "You're right. I can't tame you. I can't keep you. I know your kind. My husband was the same. You care only about glory and honor. You don't care who you hurt or leave behind while you go off to prove yourself by sticking a blade into another man."
She turned away. "I'm sure you'll try to escape. Maybe take a hostage. Maybe kill a few people before they kill you. Fine. You can have your wish. But I won't let you near my daughters. I'll give you back to Hertio in the morning."
She threw herself on her bed with her back to him. "By the sun, I hate men."
Her words killed the fire of his desire—but woke something else. A soft, painful ache.
He cursed her silently for what she had done to him. She had made him hear his daughter's voice again—in the fast, bright chatter of Gwenika. Meira would be Gwenika's age now, if she had lived. But the faery who had taken Meira's place had tricked him. That fae daughter would stay a child forever, never grow into an Initiate, never become a bride, or the mother of his grandchildren. Gwenika gave him a glimpse of what could have been. The wound of grief opened again.
The fire cracked and muttered. The root vegetables were roasting, and the smell made his stomach twist with hunger. No one spoke. Rthan turned, trying to loosen the ropes, and looked at Brena's back. Her tunic had slipped, and he could see the raw scars where he had once whipped her.
"Brena." It was the first time he had said her name. She didn't turn around, but he could tell she was listening by how her back tensed.
"I would never hurt you. Or your children. Not even to escape."
"Ha." Her voice was dry and tired. "Once you tried to escape, your good heart would float away like a leaf in the river."
"I can promise I won't try to escape if you or your daughters are nearby," he said. "Then you would be safe. No danger of being taken or hurt."
She made a short sound of disbelief.
The fire crackled again. Then he said, "But I still can't give my loyalty to your people. Or your fae. I can't."
Brena sat up and looked at him. Her eyes asked a question. He nodded.
"Then I'll hold you to that," she said.
She got up from the bed and untied him. Then she shoved the legwals into his arms. "For mercy's sake, put these on."
She pointed at the tubers near the fire. Their skins were brown and crispy now. "Your dinner." Then she pointed to a reed mat far from her bed. "Your bed."
Rthan pulled the tubers from the fire. They were hot, so he tossed them from hand to hand until they cooled. Then he bit into them like a starving man. He didn't thank her. He didn't deserve thanks.
She went back to bed without saying good night.
Even though he was tired, he lay awake on the mat, watching the shadows dance on the round ceiling from the last glow of the fire. His people would attack again.
And when Yellow Bear fell…
What would happen to Brena and her daughters?