“She got off light,” Rath mutters, then sighs.
“She threw the fight,” I say, pitching my voice low. “Iloni is good, but. . .”
I think she did it because she’s dug herself so far into a hole that she couldn’t publicly change her mind and still save face. But losing to her daughter is a point of pride.
“She tried tokillyou.”
“She had to punish me. I married her sonwithout permission. She was within her rights. Let it go, Rath.”
Iloni returns to us and glances at Rathhur, grabbing my hand. “Go with the males. I'll stay with her tonight.”
“But—”
She glares. “Ky’a don’t need you underfoot. Don't be unseemly.”
He closes his mouth, scowling, but obeys. Being home and watching the dynamics reminds me how twisted Human cultures are. Communities run much better when the males know their place.
Iloni drags me to a bench several feet away from the bonfire and we sit. She's moving a little stiffly, and a female approaches with a medical kit. Iloni endures the ministrations with a stoic expression, unflinching when a needle pierces her skin to sew up the various lacerations.
The female pats her shoulder. “You did well. It was a good fight.”
A little Uthilsen boy strides up, an adorable swagger to his steps. He holds out his hands and there's a string of polished beads draped across his wrists.
“My beloved's eyes are brighter than the moon.”
I blink. Hearing those words comes so solemnly in a high, piping voice is odd. He shoves the strand of beads at me and I take them.
“Thank you.”
All right. Maybe his mother wanted to welcome me back home. I'm about to ask, but heleaves. I slip the beads over my head with a smile for whoever gave them to me.
A tall young male, about the age Rath was when I left him, stomps forward with a scowl on his face. His cheeks are dark with color.
I lift an eyebrow.
He clears his throat. “My beloved’s ax drips with the blood of my enemies.”
Each word sounds like he's embarrassed, but he hands me a sheathed dagger with surprising grace, then scrambles backwards. I free the dagger and admire it. It's beautifully done, the sheathe tooled leather.
I must be tired to be so slow but it clicks what he said, and the words of the little boy before him. I frown.
“Were they spouting ancient Uthilsen poetry at me?”
Iloni snorts. She's sprawled with her back against the table, arms crossed over her chest.
An older female walks up, her long thick hair gray, lines at the corners of her eyes.
She waits until I give her a respectful nod, then smiles at me, her voice rich and deep. “My beloved's courage is praised by the Mother.”
When she hands me the gift, I uncover the cloth wrapping it to see a small leather-bound book. Skimming a few pages, I realize it's a journal of Aeddannari herb lore.
I think I know now what's going on, and tears prick my eyes.
“Don't cry,” Iloni says out of the side of her mouth. “He’ll gloat.”
I laugh.
This time Hatthar strolls up to me, his expression uncharacteristically serious. Iloni stretches out a leg likes she’s hoping he’s blind and will trip over it.
