The nomad’s northern camping ground, because it had to be large enough and flexible enough to contain the two nomadic groups that banded together in the colder months to share resources, had both a feasting hall and a meeting hall. Unlike the tents that could be disassembled and transported to the next palisade, these two structures were solid with pillars for the corners, along the sides and grand arches for the rooves, filled in with thatch. Any gaps between the pillars along the walls were filled in with tapestries, hung and pegged, making both locations warm and enclosed.


    To Suvau’s unending gratitude, the two chiefs had decided to make the meeting hall the recovery space for his people. Food was cooked and brought to them and even the sternest nomad could not resist handing over a warm piece of clothing to the poor souls who had been sharing cloaks and going without shoes. For the first time, even since escaping Mavour, there were signs of relief and even tentative hope on their faces. There was something indomitable about the nomads, kindred spirits in a sense that they, too, knew what it was like not to fit into the ‘permitted’ civilised mould of Terra.


    The language barrier was always going to be a problem but it seemed to fade into the background as the nomads came in, one by one, handing clothing and food to the Mauls. Words weren’t necessary…although Suvau realised he would have to speak with his own people and tell them the cautionary tale of Giordi Gavoli and Chief Elk’s daughter.


    He looked around for the minstrel, knowing the scars on his back would punctuate his tale strongly. He couldn’t see Gavoli but he did spy Revna reclined against a mound of cushions, a baby in her arms. From the way she was holding him, he knew she was filling his belly but the way Oska was sitting nearby, Suvau suspected that the baby was not Revna’s son, but actually little Ermaus. His beautiful wife sat next to her brother, holding, what Suvau suspected, was Mali, Revna’s son, speaking with Oska who nodded and talked.


    He wondered if Oska would ever tell Yolana what happened in Maul.


    But his wife was no fool. She would work it out, if she hadn’t done so already.


    Revna finished feeding little Ermaus and handed him back to Oska who had gone from reluctant father to adoring. He thanked Revna who took Mali back from Yolana. Suvau watched the exchange, smiling with contentment, his wife tucking her hair behind her ear. She leaned down to speak with Revna and the chief’s daughter nodded and almost waved Yolana away.


    Suvau watched Yolana as she walked to the flap between tapestries, leaving the meeting hall for some unknown reason. But as she was about to slip out, she turned and caught his gaze…and the look in her eyes left no room for doubt. Suvau got to his feet and followed her out of the meeting hall, gasping sharply at the cold snap in the air. Yolana was already moving away, letting her swaying hips do all the talking. Suvau hurried after her as she wove her way through the nomad camp, between tents to one in particular and ducked inside. Suvau didn’t hesitate, feeling the flaps of the tent close firmly behind him, Yolana’s arms wrapping around his neck, her lips pressing against his.


    “Revna said we could use her tent.” She whispered. “I have missed you so much…”


    Suvau had never had a problem responding to his wife’s passion in the past. He welcomed her as much as she welcomed him. But tonight, the way she was caressing him, brought the memory of Jocasa’s bedchamber back to him and he shuddered then removed Yolana’s hands from his body.


    “Yolana, before we…you must know what happened in Mavour.”


    Probably not the heady sentiments she was hoping for but Yolana immediately recognised her husband was uncharacteristically reserved.


    “Very well.” She said, kneeling in front of him as he sat on the bed.


    Suvau looked at his clasped hands, feeling how tightly his fingers were straining. “The evening we were to escape…I was summoned to a noblewoman’s bedchamber.” He licked his lips, giving a half shrug. “She…saw me fight in the pit.”


    “I suppose she wanted that kind of passion in bed.”


    Suvau was relieved he didn’t half to spell out what Jocasa intended to Yolana but he was faced with another doubt and looked into Yolana’s eyes desperately.


    “I swear, I never yielded.”


    Yolana didn’t look relieved and he realised that she never doubted him. However, she was concerned. “Then why is there shame in your eyes, Suvau?”


    He closed them. “Because…even though my head and heart both said no, my body…” Suvau covered his face with his hands, feeling sick at the memory. “It was no little reaction…and the worst part was, she knew it.”


    “I see.” He cringed, waiting for her to berate him and he was resolved to accept it. “Was she…subtle?”


    Suvau let out a little huff. “As subtle as a cat in heat.”


    “Beautiful?”


    He dropped his hands and gazed at her. “Nothing compared to you,” he insisted, “but yes…a lovely Terra.”


    Yolana took his hands and kissed them. “Well, I am not saying I would not scratch her eyes out should our paths ever cross,” he chuckled softly, “in a vulnerable position, your head and heart restrained a very natural, involuntary reaction of your body.”


    Suvau gazed at her, overcome with relief and appreciation for his wife.


    “I love you, Yolana,” he cupped her face, “only you with all of me.”


    Yolana let him kiss her, feeling his lips trail across her cheek and down her neck. “Head, heart…and body?”


    “All of me.” Suvau’s rumble could have been mistaken for a wild cat’s purr.


    Yolana pulled away from him slightly, her eyes gleaming with intent. “Show me.”


    Aalis made sure Gustin was tucked in warmly, being very careful not to knock his arm which was wrapped firmly in a sling so that it rested against his chest. The young man winced but remained asleep, highly sedated. He was in a quiet corner of the meeting hall, the final step of freedom for him being the most painful. She crept away from him to where one of the Mauls, Palo, was standing.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    “I doubt he will sleep the night through,” she admitted, “so if he wakes, have him drink this pouch of goat’s milk.” Palo nodded. “I will return in the morning to check on him.” Aalis reassured Palo before walking over to Verne.


    “Well done.” Verne nodded.


    “You helped.” Aalis insisted.


    “Hey, I could have just as easily broken the wrong arm without you telling me what to do.” Verne looked at where the young man slumbered, Palo taking up bedside vigil. “Do you think it’ll work?”


    “I am not sure,” Aalis sighed, “his arm was badly healed for a number of weeks. Hopefully he will regain full use of it but at the very least, now that the break is set properly, it will not pain him like it did before.” She yawned and covered her mouth, embarrassed. “Sorry.”


    “We’re all tired.” Verne nodded then yawned. “See what you started? Come on, you’ve done enough.” She put her hands on Aalis’ shoulders and propelled her out of the meeting hall. “You also need rest.”


    “I will not deny I am rather tired.” Aalis pulled her mantle close around her shoulders. The meeting hall was deliciously warm and easy to sink into a stupor within. The cold slap of air woke her up and kept her from tripping over her feet. After leaving Mavour, Aalis had returned to wearing her thicker, heavier over gown with two layers beneath that could be seen as she walked. She retained her fur mantle and wore her nomad fur lined boots which were excellent protection against the bite in the breeze.


    Verne walked beside her, comfortable in her boots and trousers, tunic, vest and cloak. “I was worried about the nomads when we first met them,” Verne admitted, “I was sure they’d gut us in our sleep…but they’d have to be just about the best people in all Terra.”


    “I heartily agree with that.” Aalis rubbed her gloved hands together. “I think they also enjoy stories and the tale of the liberation of the Mauls from Mavour. Chief Elk and Chief Bear were entranced.”


    “With Caste relating the story.” Verne chuckled then sobered. “I’m not sure how much he would appreciate relaying it, enforcing his reluctant capitulation in it and hearing it applauded.”


    “No, perhaps not.” Aalis shivered. “The air is so dry…”


    “Might snow overnight.” Verne peered at the sky, unable to see many clouds. They wove their way along the winding path between the nomad tents. “Aalis, when Giordi said he was going to put little Ermaus out in the wilds…did you know he was faking?”


    Aalis sighed and shrugged. “I…had a brief vision of what he intended.”


    Verne eyed her from beneath the bandana that was part of her archer appearance. “When he touched you?” Aalis cringed. “It’s just you said you sometimes…never mind.”


    Aalis swallowed. “I am not used to talking about it,” she said quietly as they picked their way over tent pegs and cords drawn tight, “but yes, when Giordi grabbed Ermaus out of my arms, I had a sudden impression of what he wanted to do.” She looked at Verne shyly, wondering if she was about to find the limits of the archer’s understanding.


    “You can read minds?” Verne asked with a hint of admiration.


    “I do not think so,” Aalis shook her head, her dreadlocks pinned back within her hood, “it was more like…such a strong thought and intent in Giordi’s mind that it hit me but it took a moment or two for the entirety of his plan to sink in.”


    “That’s remarkable.”


    “You can talk. You picked up on his intent just from the title of the parable.” Aalis tilted her head. “I remembered it afterwards but you knew it straight away.”


    “Let’s not forget,” Verne warned, “that there were two endings to that story. There was the happy ending and then there was the awful ending. Giordi could have intended either.”


    “But you knew he would not.” Aalis pressed her lips together. “You must really care for him to trust him like that.”


    Verne blinked. “Judd trusted him too and I don’t see him playing dress up and prancing about like a demented noblewoman.” Before Aalis could protested, Verne shrugged. “Besides, he’s probably forgotten all about Lyla Borelia by now.”


    They pulled the flaps of their tent aside and slipped into the quiet space that had not changed all that much even though it had been dismantled and reassembled three times since Chief Bear originally allowed them to occupy it. Inside Giordi sat cross legged on the covered ground, quill in his teeth, ink well beside him with parchment covered in scribbles and his lute in his hands, plucking on the strings.


    “Giordi?” Aalis took the quill from his mouth. “What are you doing?”


    “I was suddenly struck with inspiration.” He beamed, a smear of ink at the corner of his lips. “I had to write it down.”


    “More on the ballad of LaMogre?” Verne asked, immediately sinking into her male persona, quiet and terse.


    “No, no, this one is quite new.” Giordi held out the parchment. “Would you care to hear?”


    “As long as it is not comparable to the ‘Lament of Sir Olrig the Wise’.” Aalis warned. “Fifty four verses are a trial when I am not sleepy.”


    “That’s the honest truth.” Verne muttered.


    Giordi cleared his throat. “Ahem, well, allow me to regale you with just the first few verses…because that’s all I have.” He plucked the strings, tuned them then began to play.


    “Oh maiden fair,


    With raven hair


    Won’t you hear my desperate prayer?


    Oh maiden who,


    With eyes of blue,


    My roaming heart you did subdue.


    Oh maiden kiss,


    Sweet Terra bliss


    Now I can only reminisce.


    For maiden fled,


    No word she said


    And now my heart is dead.”


    Giordi lifted his head from the parchment. “Too much?”


    Aalis hand to put her hand over her mouth in a thoughtful pose just to disguise her need to clamp her jaw shut which had fallen open in astonishment.


    “Well…I…”


    “You hate it?” Giordi moaned and leaned back on the ground, his lute tumbling out of his hands. “Ugh…I know…it’s not enough.”


    “The ending killed it for me.” Verne said in a bored tone. “And now your heart is dead? What is that, some sort of dramatic minstrel lie?” Giordi sat up and missed Aalis’ glare at Verne who dropped her chin lower, her eyes going quite flinty.


    “It’s…if you must know, it’s how I felt after she left.”


    “After who left, Giordi?” Aalis asked. “I have not heard you speak of her before.”


    “Lyla Borelia,” Giordi smiled warmly, “I met her at the feast in Mavour. Lyla…even her name is musical in the way it just rolls from my tongue. Lyla…” Verne snorted. “Snicker all you want, stoic archer, but I was not expecting to be so overtaken by a single evening.”


    “Aren’t most of your dalliances in the space of a single evening?”


    “Perhaps, but this was no dalliance. It was…” Giordi smiled wistfully. “It was so much fun.”


    “Fun?” Aalis said before Verne could speak.


    “We laughed so much,” Giordi chuckled, picking up his musical notes, “usually when a woman laughs at my attentions, it’s flirtatious.” He giggled dramatically. “Oh Gavoli, how droll you are.”


    “Kill me now.” Verne rasped.


    “But with Lyla, it wasn’t like that. We just laughed and spoke on many things. She has a fantastic wit about her and her observations of the world, probably because of her isolated upbringing. And she had wonderful ideas about paintings, seeing things I thought no one else but I had seen…and we danced…badly.” He sighed. “Best night ever.”


    “I see,” Aalis shifted sideways, out of Verne’s reach, “was she beautiful?”


    “She was…incandescent.”


    “That’s just a word to get out of saying that she wasn’t beautiful.” Verne said, striking out verbally because she couldn’t reach Aalis.


    “I admit she wasn’t as voluptuous as many of the other women but I swear, there was something,” Verne held her breath as Giordi pondered his words, “luminous about her. Fresh, like she had come forth from a giant flower, fully formed, having observed the world from a distance but finally a part of it…I should write that down.”


    While he was distracted by his fleeting thoughts of brilliance, Aalis risked a glance at Verne and her expression could have curdled cream. But before there was any mouthing of words or stern sign language, the flaps to the tent opened.