Disaris returned the embrace. “I didn’t mind, and as you say, you didn’t know the weather would be so bad.” She met Bron’seyes over his mother’s shoulder. “Besides, Bron took care of me and Euwey just fine.”
As much as she wanted to throw herself in Bron’s arms and kiss him goodbye, she didn’t want her father to nail her or Bron’s hide to his front door. He still wore that look that warned Disaris he’d noticed something in her behavior she wished he hadn’t and was considering what to do about it. Instead, she offered Bron a friendly wave which he returned with a brief lift of his hand and a piercing stare.
Once she and Reylan made it home, she was hugged by Gheza, cried over by Luda, and hustled into the kitchen where a washtub filled with steaming water awaited her.
Her father had left for the village center to join a group of men gathered there for the purpose of rescuing or recovering any unfortunate neighbors made victims of the storm. Disaris spied on him through a crack in the door between the kitchen and the parlor as he spoke to her mother in low tones before leaving.
Gheza wore the same pensive expression she had earlier. She didn’t tell Disaris what Reylan had said, and Disaris didn’t ask, but she’d paused after gathering Disaris’s discarded clothes for laundering, her gaze frozen on the pile for a moment.
Disaris sat in the tub, soaking in the water as the heat warmed her bones and soothed her tired muscles. She was half asleep in the cooling bath when Gheza nudged her hand with a cup of tea that made Disaris’s nose wrinkle at the pungent smell.
“Drink it,” Gheza ordered. “Every last drop. You’ll have another cup tonight before bed.”
When her mother used that tone of voice, Disaris didn’t dare argue. She downed the tea, gagging at the last swallow. The idea that she’d have to do it again later made her gag a second time. “That’s horrible,” she said, passing the empty cup back to Gheza. “What kind of tea is it?”
Gheza surprised her by crouching next to the tub, her face somber. “Did you bed Bron in that barn?” At Disaris’s horrified silence, she nodded. “I’m not surprised. It was bound to happen, I just wish you had waited a little longer.” She stood and blew out a breath that puffed her cheeks. “Young blood runs hot,” she said. “And is slow to cool. You’re smart, Disa, but you’re not yet wise. I know you. You’ll defy me at every turn if I forbid you to see Bron before he returns to the garrison.” She walked to the dry sink, leaving the cup there. “If, however, you choose to bed him again, come to me. I’ll brew you more of the Blood Lace tea. It will stop his seed from catching inside you.”
Mortified, guilt-ridden, and crushed by the idea that she’d disappointed her mother, Disaris began to cry. “I’m sorry, Amman,” she said in a small voice.
Gheza returned to the washtub, this time with a large drying cloth. “You’ve made a woman’s choice, Disa. Choices like those come with burden and consequence. There are no childish mistakes anymore, only adult ones.” She held up the cloth. “Up you go. I need to move this tub out of my kitchen.”
When Disa met with Bron the following day, she told him of the conversation between her and her mother. “She’s right, you know. About everything.” They stood on the Galloris Bridge, Disaris huddled against Bron with his cloak wrapped around them both. “I made a woman’s choice, and even though I love her, there’s no possible way I would obey a command to stop seeing you. I couldn’t.”
He tipped her chin up to look at him. The affection in those pale blue eyes warmed her from head to toe. “I’m afraid your eitan would find me sneaking around your house for a glimpse of you at your window.” They grinned at each other before his expression turned solemn. He rubbed a thumb across her cheekbone. “I’d never make you choose between me and obeyingyour parents. If that’s what they want, I’ll leave for Burnpool today.”
She clutched the lacings on his heavy tunic. “No! That isn’t what I want, and that isn’t what she wants either. She just wishes for me to be mindful and be careful.” She squinched her face at the memory of the tea. “That tea is vile, but you’re worth it.”
He tucked a loose strand of her hair under her cap and kissed her. Amusement danced in his eyes when they parted, and he fished a small brocade packet from the coin bag on his belt. He held it up for inspection. “Care to guess what this is?” When she shook her head, he dropped the packet back in the coin bag. “Carota seeds,” he said. “They’re supposed to kill a man’s seed for a day after eating them. My mother gave them to me with instructions to chew on them every day I remain in Panrin.”
Disaris covered her face with her hands, certain her hair was going to catch on fire from embarrassment. “Oh my gods,” she said between her fingers. “Your mother. My parents. Who else will be offering us advice?”
He snorted. “It’s a small village, and unless you wish it otherwise, I have no interest in hiding the fact I’m courting you, so expect a wave of opinions and wisdom from half of Panrin and gossip from the other half.”
She froze at his words and slowly lowered her hands from her face to gawk at him. “You’re courting me?”
He nodded. “I want to. I can’t marry you yet. Our parents will say we’re too young. And the Daesin army doesn’t allow its soldiers to marry until they’ve put in seven years of service. But I will marry you then, if you still want me.”
Had she wings, she would have burst into flight from pure joy at his words. But since her feet were firmly anchored to earth, she threw her arms around him instead and kissed him until they both nearly fainted from lack of air. “When have I ever notwanted you, Bron jin Hazarin?” she said. “I’ll wait a thousand years if I have to.”
If she’d only known then how prophetic those words were, she would have kept them behind her teeth.
Chapter Eight
The power of the lim was a force unlike any Bron had experienced before, even during his rigorous training to become a battle mage. Stepping across the threshold of the Hayman Stone’s gate was more than blinding light and the echo of voices chanting and singing. It was the dry gasp of his lungs crying out for air and the scream of his bones and muscles as he was wrenched and flung about in the corona of brightness.
Somehow he managed to hang onto Disaris and his sword, even when they went into a tumble that set his head to spinning and his stomach threatening to exit his throat in one grand heave.
As quickly as it happened, the chaos was over and they were thrown into a space of heat and sunlight, with the familiar smell of cut wheat redolent in the air. He landed hard enough on his back to knock the breath out of him. Something clipped the underside of his chin so that his teeth snapped together, and he bit his tongue.
Disaris, silent amid their wild journey, rolled off him and promptly retched. Bron nearly did the same until all his fighting instincts slammed to the forefront, honed by years of trainingand spilling blood on battlefields. Nausea forgotten, he leaped to his feet and planted himself in front of Disaris, his sword a comforting weight in his hand. He wished he carried a shield as well, or even better, the weapon he was most skilled with: a short spear.
The internal alarms that warned him of immediate danger had not misled him. A quick survey of his surroundings revealed they were no longer in the meadow with the Hayman Stone. Instead, they were surrounded by swaths of wheat fields, as far as the eye could see, in various stages of harvesting. A dozen people clustered nearby, staring at him and Disaris, slack-jawed.
It wasn’t their looks that made Bron raise his sword and plant his feet, preparing for a nasty confrontation. Every one of them held either a scythe or a hand sickle. The tools of warfare weren’t limited to swords and axes. The blades that cleared the fields to feed nations also watered the ground with the blood of enemies.
“Disa,” he said, never taking his eyes off those who gazed back at him. “I need you to stand up and stay behind me. We have company.”
“I’m already here,” she whispered near his left side. “Where are we?”
