Tira stiffens and points to herself. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Come, we are heading back to the village.”
“Tonight?” I demand. Tira is already on her feet and scurrying to obey the Werma’s commands. It seems I’m the only person in all Nelgata who is not willing to do the same.
“Yes, tonight, it is a lovely night, and the sky is well lighted.”
“It isn’t safe,” I growl out.
“I foresee no issues. Now, say farewell to your friend.”
I hike my eyebrow. “Oh, so I’m not going? Just you and Tira?”
“Yes,” the Werma says, moving past me. “I will allow you and your husband the chance to… have the house to yourselves tonight.”
I wrinkle my nose, and Marcello blushes. Tira uses this as an opportunity to slip out the door, her cloak clutched in her hands, not even on her shoulders. I sigh heavily following her back out.
“Tira, wait. You don’t have to allow the Werma to order you around.”
She smiles at me, tilting her head. “It is not a weakness to respect authority, Laduga, so please don’t lecture me. I have done what I came here to do. Now I will accept the Werma’s offer to walk me down the mountain.” She pulls her cloak on. “Besides, this will be a boon for our village, there are many who have need of the Werma and cannot make the journey to her hut so easily as you can on your dragon. My father will be glad to seek her council.”
I bite my lip. “But Tira we are shield sisters. I need you always.”
She reaches out, clasping my arm. “You have a husband now, Laduga, and I don’t even know how to advise you in that matter. That is something you must navigate on your own.”
I feel my shoulders droop slightly. “I did not ask for this.”
“Does anyone request their fates? I think if they did, the outcomes would be kinder. Chin up, my friend, he is a handsome one… for an Imperial anyway.” She chuckles, stepping away. “Never thought you would be the one first wed.”
I step forward, wrapping her in a hug. “Be careful.”
“You as well.”
“I shall see you soon,” I vow. Just as soon as I am certain that I will not die.
I back up a step, turning to see the Werma standing in the doorway. Her eyes are on my friend already slipping down the path. She turns to me, wrinkling her nose. “Fret not, this will be the last time you ever see me. I pray that you treat my memory kinder than you ever treated me.”
“What are—” I begin.
She jerks her head inside. “That boy is your future now. However long or short it may be, it will be determined by him. Don’t make the mistakes I made before you.”
She reaches up, briefly patting my cheek before she turns, hobbling down the path and catching up with Tira. I hear Tira’s cheerful tone echo back to me before I turn and step back into the building. Marcello is at the table, fiddling with the root. He quickly drops it and straightens when he sees me.
“Hi,” he says sheepishly.
I move over picking up the root and dropping it into a mortar. I then grasp the pestle and begin to grind it. I grit my teeth as the movement tears at the scabbed flesh on my palm and tears it open again, but this root will help with the healing process, so it is a necessary pain.
“What were you talking to Tira about back when I first came in?” I demand as I pour water in, watering down the ground up dust.
“Uh… we, uh were talking about you. I’d asked her to tell me a bit about you.”
“Hmmph,” I grunt as I scoop out a handful of the mush which I then smear on my palm and my wrists.
“There is still much that we do not know about each other,” Marcello says as I take his hand in mine.
“That’s how I would prefer to keep it,” I mutter as I wipe the mix onto his palm. I stare at his bronzed skin next to my own pale flesh and shake my head. I don’t know what the Werma was thinking, basing my survival on whether or not I can fall in love with this boy who is my enemy in every way.
I start smearing the paste across the cuts on his palm and arm as I try to ignore the mark on his wrist that now matches my own, telling me that he is not just an enemy now. He is my husband.
