Eleven

Sleep had not been restful. Dreams of Myrin killing his boar expertly and being embraced had been paired with dreams of failing to kill his own and seeing derision marr Marravae’s soft features. More depended on the outcome of this hunt than Volas could ever remember having risked.

Rising from his cot he didn’t bother to dress, merely wrapping and tying a cloth around his loins to preserve modesty as he would on a hunt at home. There was a small river near the camp he could wash himself in to rinse the sourness of his dreams from his body.

As he made his way to it, it seemed the servants were barely awake and the guards were half dozing at their posts. Under his scowl they straightened and gripped their weapons more securely.

The morning air was cool and the ground beneath his feet wasn’t the familiar soft moss of the Reach but it still felt good to be out under the trees, energizing. The river water wasn’t as frigid as he’d expected however. Striping himself of the cloth and wading in still felt good. The rinse made him feel better as if the dreams had been clinging to his skin and he was now free of them.

Making his way back he was amused to see Gaeleath stepping out of his tent already dressed to stretch and give him a slightly accusing look.

“You’re up early, Volas.”

“I’m eager for the hunt.” His eyes followed Gaeleath’s to Marravae’s tent.

“I’m surprised my sister isn’t awake yet. Father usually commands her to stay in her tent until he’s awake when they hunt.”

“She may sleep longer this morning,” Myrin sounded smug.

“Marravae isn’t known for sleeping late.” The Cemiri Prince half turned to give the Cuphisian a speculative look.

Taking a step closer, Volas spoke quietly, “He bedded her last night. Had I known the sounds were coming from her tent I would have intervened.”

Gaeleath nearly bolted for his sister’s tent.

“I had intended to tell him.” Myrin stepped out as he fastened his shirt. “But not immediately.”

He opened his mouth to speak but the sound of Gaeleath beginning to shout his sister’s name spurred him toward the tent.

Pushing open the flap, he saw immediately why. The Cemiri had half dragged her to the floor and her eyes hadn’t opened even with his yelling. Volas crouched next to them and took the unconscious woman, holding her by the neck to keep her head up as he laid her on her side on the floor and began rubbing her back forcefully. Her brother came to kneel at her head, holding it by the crown in his lap and gripping her shoulder allowing the Arek to use both hands on her back.

“What are you doing?” Myrin came in with a concerned look.

Suddenly, the unresponsive woman began to vomit, her body striving to empty itself from every direction at once. The Cuphisian looked sick and darted out calling for servants.

“I’ll take her to the river to wash.” Volas spoke softly as the woman shuddered and began to wake.

“I’ll come with you.” Gaeleath wore a grim expression and he barked commands at the entering servants to clean the mess and bring clothes for himself and his sister to the river. The small decorative knife he carried came out of its sheath and he cut the soiled night clothes off of Marravae.

An unsoiled sheet protected her modesty as Volas carried the confused woman to the water. As she went into the water she seemed to wake more fully and he stepped back allowing the two Cemiri to wash together. They were no longer speaking the common tongue, choosing instead to converse in the peculiar lilt of Cemiriss.

His personal servant brought him his hunting clothes and he dressed as he waited for them to finish. When they finally emerged from the water Gaeleath looked murderous. He waited to approach them until Marravae was dressed.

“The Zophin in her tent was tampered with. He noticed she drinks it fast because she dislikes the taste. I suspected from the start the way she warmed to him was a result of the drinks he gave her and he no doubt entered her tent in the night hoping she would have finished the glass I took from her.”

Marravae’s amber eyes held both fury and shame and her hands were balled into fists.

“I don’t remember feeling so-so foggy yesterday but I was last night after he woke me. I thought,” She stopped and a humiliated flush crept up her cheeks, “I thought I was just tired.”

“I got along better with him after sharing a drink in your tent as well.” Volas frowned and inclined his head. “I thought it strange that you would fall asleep speaking to me.”

She looked horrified, “I don’t remember speaking to you in my tent last night.”

Gaeleath pulled her into an embrace and murmured to her in Cemiriss. Their languages were similar, and when written the kinship was clear, but when speaking it was difficult to understand one another. Nonetheless, Volas thought he understood the sentiment.