"He'd be thankful?" I guessed.
"Or resentful," she said. "It's unlikely he wouldn't care, but whatever way he does care, those feelings will be strong."
I just nodded. "And I need to figure that out, right?"
"Yes, Mr. Warren," she said, grabbing my arm. "And you can do it while you take me to dinner. We need to be seen."
"And?" I asked, liking how it felt when she was hanging on me like this. "Because you sound like you have other reasons as well."
"I want to see how Zuriah is doing." She smiled up at me. "Sounds like my husband put the fear of God into hers."
I had to glance away because my fool face was growing warmer. "I'm supposed to be impressive." I crooked my arm, bringing her closer to my side as I turned for the door. "If something I say can spare these women some pain, then maybe it'll serve two purposes?"
"You," she said, "are a wonderful husband, Tobias. You make me proud to be your wife."
I swore I grew two more inches at those words. Never, in all my life, had any praise come even close to feeling that good.
Fifty
Callah
Iadored the way one little compliment made Tobias stand taller. In the short time we'd been married, I'd come to realize that men really were treated just as poorly as women. Differently, sure, but just as bad. Since they were bigger and stronger, their punishments tended to be the kind that cut at the mind and heart. Since we were softer and smaller, ours tended to be the sort that broke the flesh.
In the end, everyone lost out.
But while we walked toward the dining hall, I asked him about this promotion. He told me the things a wife should know, the sort that wouldn't be a problem if anyone overheard us. And yet, I knew him well enough to read between the lines.
He didn't want this at all, but he knew it would help. His only goal was to get us out. Ayla's brother could be a real problem, but we'd have to work out a plan for him later. The big thing? He mentioned how unlikely it was for a squad leader to make it back alive. That was the entire reason so many men had been promoted lately.
"But you," I said as we reached our favorite table, "are bigger, stronger, and more devout than the rest. Would you pick me an appropriate meal, Mr. Warren?"
"Of course," he assured me. "Can't have you being tempted, can we?"
That was the line we used to explain my refusal of meat. No one cared when he asked for a plate of grains. No one looked at what I was eating once it was given, but too many times now, I'd had a serving girl point out that heavier meals often made women conceive sooner.
I knew that was the goal for most. Young wives were told they'd be excused from servicing her husband once she was with child. The reality was a very different thing. I'd heard far too many stories from the other wives about it, and yet they didn't dare speak of such things before the young girls.
That was how the elders had kept their power. Too many topics were shameful. Too often, that shame fell on us, the wives. If a man desired us even once we were bred, it was our fault. If we led him on, or moved the wrong way, it wasn't like ahusbandcould be blamed, now was it? We were the ones at fault - always.
Thinking about that, I looked over at the widows' table, wondering if it was more full or less since last week. The number of women being married was at an all-time high, but so were the casualties among the hunters. Unfortunately, most other professions couldn't say the same.
But a trio of women caught my eye. All wore black. They sat at the end of the table, well away from the others. None of that was odd, but the way the one in the middle was sobbing? Such displays of emotion were not proper for mixed company!
Her companions were doing their best to soothe her, and the widow was trying to blot her eyes subtly with her sleeves, but it wasn't working. Each time she seemed to get her composure, she'd end up breaking down again only seconds later.
"What?" Tobias asked as he dropped a plate before me and sat down at my side.
"One of the widows is upset," I said, turning my back on their table to focus on my meal. "I can't help but wonder if she's about to be remarried."
"Ah." He leaned a bit, narrowing his eyes as he looked that way. "No, I think she's a new widow, Callah."
"What?" I gasped, struggling not to whip around to look again. "But then why is she crying?"
He cleared his throat and snapped before pointing at my plate. "Eat, woman."
The words sounded right. The gesture was typical for a man speaking to his wife. I also knew he didn't truly mean it, did he? But when I looked at his face, he dipped his head at my plate, proving he did.
"Okay," I said, taking a spoonful of grains into my mouth.
