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“You can go ahead and ask, you know,” she said, after my tenth silent step.
“Who is his father?” I wasn’t jealous of the man—all mages were sterile, everyone knew it—I just needed to know why he wasn’t here, because who on earth would let Shayla go?
“That’s the only thing I can’t tell you,” she said.
I waited another ten steps before deciding to ask the other most pressing thing on my mind, and I was glad to have a reason for not looking at her, in case the answer was painful. “Why did you leave?”
She made a demurring sound before speaking. “I can’t tell you that, either.”
It wasn’t a useful answer, but better than discovering she’d found me lacking in some fashion. “That’s two things then,” I said, twisting back just a little, so she would know I was teasing. She snorted, and I heard her rearranging fabric until she clucked.
“I won’t affront your eyes anymore,” she said, and I turned around. She had the baby wrapped up in a contraption bound around her ample curves, keeping him against her chest. He was so tiny, tucked against her, and I waited for her to catch up so I could peer down at the both of them. Her long hair was the same golden brown I remembered, catching the early afternoon light, but his sparse hair was almost black, and I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes because they were closed.
“You could never affront me.” I knew as I said it that it was true. “He’s so small,” I said, in a quiet voice, befitting his size.
“He is,” she agreed. “That’s why I have to feed him often. And you should’ve seen him when he was newly born.” She pat his back with a gentle hand. “The birthing maids weren’t sure that he would make it. He came out too soon—but somehow he managed.” She smiled down at him, and I could feel the passage of love between them, almost the same as when I felt my magic. “We managed.”
I realized the baby was the source of the sweetly yeasty smell upon her. “How old is he?”
“Three months.”
I considered the timeline. “Did his father die in the war?” I knew there’d been some new fighting at the borders this past fall, and death would explain the man’s absence.
“Val,” she tsked, and I tsked back.
“Mages are curious,” I said, defending myself.
“Mages are annoying,” she rebutted.
“Which is why you’ve come back to live with two of them?” I challenged her with a grin.
“Yes. Being annoyed by the two of you will be great practice for being a mother,” she said, with an entirely straight face, before falling into peals of laughter which hit me like warm rain.
I couldn’t even explain to her how much I’d missed her—there were no words.
“Can I hold him?” I asked, making a gesture towards the baby.
“With those hands?” she said at seeing the dirt on them, her tone going arch, like I was a child myself, before she laughed again—and every time she did it healed some long-wounded part of me. “Once you’ve washed them later, yes.”
But that didn’t stop her from taking one of them in her own, to hold—so I could help her on the trail, no doubt, now that she was carrying precious cargo—but at no point in time would I take our contact or her current presence for granted. I held her smaller pale hand in my darker one, carefully but not too tightly, the same as I longed to hold her, just to make sure she stayed nearby.
The restof our walk back she told me about where she’d been—just a few towns over, a place I’d heard of but never visited—and how she’d worked for a leather smith there, making intricately decorated pieces for high-born types. We paused once, so she could feed Frenel again, I quietly bemoaned my lack of commonsense that meant I hadn’t brought her any food or water in my rush, and after that she mostly wanted gossip from the towns we traded with. I was unable to tell her anything—I didn’t pay much attention to things like that, even when I went to them with Xelrim.
“You’re useless,” she teased, after she’d asked about the fifth person I didn’t know or barely remembered.
“I’m busy,” I protested.
“With your plants?” she asked, fluttering her fingers in the air to indicate my magic.
“Some.” I shrugged. “I’m not good at it yet though.”
She stopped and looked at me. “But you were so studious!”
“I still am,” I said. “It’s just...” I sighed and looked around for something that might obey me in this critical moment, and blessedly spotted the white flowers of a wild strawberry at the side of the trail. I let go of her hand with reluctance, and knelt on my heels as if I were going to whisper to the thing, pressing it with my will.
Strawberries were kinder than other plants for some reason, unlike the stiff and unforgiving kaorak trees, which moved so slowly and had so little concerns for the world they never listened.
Even so, the plant only shed petals on one flower, and felt sluggish to respond.
