Chapter 106 Her Name on His Tongue

Chapter 106 Her Name on His Tongue
Elias

The northern track became easier as the afternoon wore on, although the storm had done its best to make even easy ground unpleasant.

Water ran in narrow channels between the trees. Mud clung to my boots, and every few hundred paces the mare slowed to pick her way over exposed roots or around sections of earth loosened by the rain.

Lyanna rode behind me.

She had walked for the first hour before telling me her back was sore and asking for the mare. I had helped her mount, and we had continued.

At the next fork, I took the narrower trail north.

Lyanna looked down at me.

Why?

“The eastern path joins the valley road before sunset. It’s too exposed.”

She glanced toward the other track.

“This one should meet the old mill road farther north.”

She nodded.

An hour later, she called my name.

I stopped and looked back.

“My back.”

“Rest?”

“Yes.”

Her voice barely carried beneath the dripping branches.

I led the mare beneath a cedar and helped her down. She kept both hands on my shoulders while she stretched, grimacing when she straightened fully.

I handed her the water flask.

She drank, walked a short circle to loosen her hips, then sat on a fallen trunk.

“Better?”

“A little.”

We stayed another quarter hour. When she stood again, she mounted without complaint, and I took the reins.

By late afternoon, smoke appeared through the trees.

I slowed, and Lyanna straightened in the saddle.

The smoke rose too steadily to belong to travellers. Another hundred paces brought us to the edge of the slope, where the trees opened over a narrow valley.

A mill sat beside the swollen stream below. Its wheel turned slowly against the heavy current. Behind it stood a small house beneath two chestnut trees, with a barn tucked against the far side of the yard.

No military horses stood outside, and nothing in the yard suggested soldiers had passed recently.

An elderly man was dragging sacks beneath the eaves before the next rain began.

I looked at Lyanna.

“We need grain.”

She signed, And?

“A roof.”

Her brows lifted.

“For tonight.”

She nodded.

We descended.

The old man spotted us before we reached the yard. He lowered the sack and watched us approach, his attention settling briefly on my sword.

“Evening.”

“Evening.”

His gaze moved to Lyanna, then to her stomach.

“Bad road.”

“Yes.”

A woman appeared in the doorway behind him carrying a wooden spoon. She was small, silver-haired and considerably less cautious than her husband.

“Where are you headed?”

“North tonight. South eventually.”

The old man wiped his hands against his trousers.

“Names?”

“Lias Rell.”

His eyes shifted to Lyanna.

I paused.

“Lyanna.”

I could feel her eyes on me.

The man’s brows furrowed. “Your wife?”

I kept my attention on him.

“My wife.”

The horse shifted behind me.

The woman lowered her spoon.

“She’s soaked.”

I turned toward Lyanna and signed that the woman was concerned about her wet clothes.

Lyanna looked down at herself, then back at the woman and nodded.

“Yes,” I said.

“I can see that.”

The woman stepped away from the door and beckoned sharply.

“Bring her inside.”

I signed the invitation before helping Lyanna dismount.

The woman introduced herself as Marta before informing us that the man outside was Oren.

Marta guided Lyanna toward the hearth with a hand at her elbow, then pointed at her boots.

“Those off.”

Lyanna looked at the gesture and then at me.

Marta pointed at me next.

“Help your wife before she drips mud across the whole room.”

I crouched.

Lyanna lifted one foot without the slightest shame.

Enjoying this? I signed as I loosened the lace.

Very much.

I pulled the boot free and set it beside the hearth.

Marta returned with a folded cloth and pointed toward Lyanna’s stockings.

“Wet?”

I checked them.

“Barely.”

“Take them off anyway.”

Lyanna’s mouth started curving.

I looked up at her.

Careful.

Her smile widened.

Marta frowned between us.

“She can’t hear?”

I shook my head.

“And doesn’t speak?”

“No.”

Marta’s expression softened.

“Well, you’ve got hands.”

I dutifully turned toward Lyanna and signed something suitably explanatory for Marta’s benefit.

Lyanna stared at me. I kept my face perfectly straight.

Her fingers moved.

Astute woman.

Marta looked expectantly at me.

“My wife says thank you.”

Lyanna’s eyebrows rose. That was not remotely what she had said.

Marta smiled. “Good. Keep her warm.”

I signed the instruction for appearances.

Lyanna waited until Marta turned away before nudging my knee with her bare foot.

Dinner arrived not long afterward: barley stew, cheese and warm bread.

Marta placed another piece of bread on Lyanna’s plate, then pointed toward her stomach.

“For the baby.”

I signed the explanation.

Lyanna inclined her head in thanks.

Marta put another piece on mine.

“For you. You’re too thin.”

Lyanna remained politely occupied with her bowl, but I caught the slightest movement at the corner of her mouth.

Oren spoke little until I asked about the roads.

“The lower crossing’s been busy,” he said.

“With what?”

“Soldiers.”

I kept eating. Lyanna did the same.

“When?”

“Three days ago. Four, maybe.”

“What were they doing?”

“Asking questions.”

Marta snorted. “Soldiers do love that.”

Oren ignored her.

“Looking for a woman. Pregnant.”

I tore another piece of bread. “That’s unusual.”

“So I thought.” Oren tipped his spoon toward Lyanna. “Couldn’t imagine who would bring a pregnant woman through these mountains until you two appeared.”

Marta shook her head. “Poor thing must be desperate if she’s travelling this late in pregnancy.”

“There’s a war behind us,” I said. “Desperation isn’t difficult to find.”

Oren grunted. “She’s not alone, apparently.”

“Who’s with her?”

“Depends who you ask. One fellow said deserter. Another said husband. Someone farther east heard there were three of them.”

“Which roads?”

“Mostly east. Bellcross too.”

“North?”

Oren shook his head. “Not much up here except mud and bad weather.”

I waited until he reached for his cup before turning to Lyanna.

My hands moved deliberately as I gave her the version of the conversation that Marta and Oren believed she needed. She watched with exactly the concentration they expected from her.

Then she signed:

Good.

I nodded.

Marta looked between us.

“What did you tell her?”

“That soldiers have been searching the eastern roads.”

Marta frowned. “Don’t frighten her over supper.”

Lyanna lowered her gaze dutifully.

A moment later, she reached the bread basket before I did.

Two pieces remained. She took the softer one, tore off a miserable corner and placed it on my plate.

I looked at her.

Generous, I signed.

She smiled sweetly and ate the rest.

Marta glanced over. “What did she say?”

“That she hopes you will teach her how to make the bread.”

Lyanna’s eyes narrowed.

Marta brightened. “Of course.”

I felt Lyanna’s foot connect lightly with my ankle beneath the table.

I ate my stolen crumb.

The room upstairs was small enough that the bed occupied most of it.

Marta apologized while turning down the blanket.

“At least you two won’t mind the squeeze.”

Lyanna glanced at me.

I kept my face carefully blank.

Marta pointed at the bed, then at Lyanna, and made an unmistakable sleeping gesture before turning to me.

“And don’t steal all the blanket from your wife.”

I signed dutifully.

She says don’t steal blankets.

Lyanna stared at me.

Her hands moved once Marta turned toward the door.

Liar.

“You understood the important part.”

There was no important part.

“Then my translation was excellent.”

Her mouth twitched.

Marta looked back. “You said something?”

“I told her you were leaving.”

Marta nodded, entirely satisfied. “Good night, then.”

The door closed behind her.

Lyanna waited until her footsteps had faded down the stairs before her hands moved again.

You are enjoying this far too much.

“I have been falsely accused of blanket theft.”

By you.

“That does complicate my defence.”

She shook her head and eased herself onto the mattress.

I checked the window latch, extinguished the lamp and lay down beside her.

The river moved steadily beyond the glass.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

Then I said, “Lyanna.”

She turned her head toward me, and one hand appeared between us.

What?

“When Oren asked your name.”

She waited.

“If it’s safe enough, do you mind me using it?”

She was still for a moment.

“I’d rather…” Her voice caught. She swallowed before finishing more quietly. “I’d rather hear Lyanna from you than Mira.”

I went quiet.

Her hand lowered slowly to the blanket.

“Then Lyanna.”

She turned onto her side.

I moved behind her, and she settled back against me. My arm rested across her waist.

The baby shifted once beneath it.

Lyanna’s hand covered mine.

Within minutes, her breathing deepened.

I stayed awake longer, listening to the river until thirst eventually drove me downstairs.

Oren was fastening the back door when I entered.

“You leaving early?”

“Yes.”

“Stay off the east road.”

“We will.”

He slid the wooden bar into place, then paused.

“You know, you’re not the first one lately asking where soldiers have been.”

I stopped beside the table.

Oren scratched at his jaw.

“Had a woman through here before the rain.”

“What woman?”

“Omega. Healer, I think. Carried enough herbs to treat half the valley.”

“How long ago?”

“Four days. Maybe five.”

“Where was she going?”

“South.”

He reached for the kettle.

“Mostly wanted to know whether soldiers were moving through the lower valleys.”

“Did she give you a name?”

“No.”

Oren poured water into a cup and handed it to me.

I drank.

“If she comes through again,” I said, “don’t mention us.”

He studied me for a moment before nodding.

“Wasn’t planning to.”