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I know enough to know when I’m pushing past my pay grade. I also know that whatever it was Mohlad fought inside the ship was strong enough to hurt him. He may have beaten it, but not without being hurt badly too.
“Pirates,” Helena whispers.
“Pirates?” Nyanna asks.
Helena nods her head and tries to pull back and away but I’m holding onto her.
“Attacked the ship, captured… force…” She breaks into tears so hard that she’s sobbing and can’t talk anymore.
“Give her time Nyanna,” I say. “She’s not ready.”
Nyanna, bless her heart, nods understanding. The door slides open and Desiree comes through now. She comes over to Helena without hesitation.
“Hello, I’m Desiree, Minister of the Faiths,” she says, offering Helena her hand.
Helena stares at her for a long, blank moment, then she bounds from my arms into Desiree. At first I thought she was attacking her but she’s only clinging to her and sobbing. Desiree holds onto her and then leads her out of the room to someplace more private. That leaves the rest of us looking at one another. Nyanna nods and the two Zmaj leave.
“We’ll figure this out,” Nyanna says, heading for the door. “You did great Margaret. Sorry I doubted you.”
“Yeah, well don’t let it happen again,” I say sassily.
Nyanna looks over her shoulder with a wide grin.
“Who knew you really can teach an old dog new tricks?”
“Oh now, get on with yourself.”
Nyanna smiles but then hesitates at the door.
“Your family is waiting, should I send them in?”
“Family!!!!” Mohlad screeches, suddenly awake and alert enough to say something at least mostly coherent. He sits up in bed and slams his big fists down on either side of himself. “Family. Send please. Good look I?”
He runs his hands through his hair, then grimaces as he pulls on the stitches, a low grunt of pain coming out.
“Stop, you oaf,” I say, pushing his arms down.
I push his hair around, giving it the right look of slightly mussed but controlled. He smiles and grabs me around my neck, pulling me into a kiss. It’s sloppy and messy, but full of love.
I pull back and wipe the smears off his face. I can’t do anything about his goofy, drugged grin, but it doesn’t matter because he looks great.
“Family?” he asks and seems to be mostly sober.
“Send them please, Nyanna.”
A moment later the grandkids burst through the door. They don’t stop, running right up to the bed and trying to climb up on it.
“Hold!” I command and they stop midway up. “He’s been hurt. Gentle. Very, very gentle.”
They nod solemnly then resume climbing with less frenetic energy. My older kids come into the room, led by Ands. Ands stands inside the door staring, arms crossed over her chest, but her eyes are full of tears.
“Mom,” she says, clearly trying to hold onto her anger.
“Ands,” I say, keeping my voice calm and even.
She bursts into tears then she runs across the room and hugs me.
15
