Chapter Eight
Mercy
After a thorough exam, Kalen declared Mercy and the twins “within acceptable limits” and were allowed to go home.
Home was a never-ending rotation of feeding, changing diapers and naps. Dorothy, proud grandma that she was, helped. Feeding, however, was directly on Mercy. Paax stayed closed by and demanded to be initiated into the mysteries of burping babies.
She had no pain, which was something of a marvel. Mercy assumed she would have pain. After all, the medics sliced open her abdomen. There should be pain. Instead her muscles were stiff and her head felt as if she were in a fog, but that could be exhaustion. She grabbed sleep whenever she could, fifteen or twenty minutes at a time but the twins refused to sync their sleep cycle. It seemed as if one woke the moment the other fell asleep. And they always woke hungry, and crying out. Her breasts ached and leaked at the sound of their cries.
Voices woke Mercy this time. She recognized the deep timber of Paax and the slightly thin, distorted voice of another male. Warlord business, not baby business. She could go back to sleep but her bladder urged her out of bed.
Paax stood in the common room, talking to someone on the view screen. That was not unusual behavior for him and she learned to ignore the details of his position. She crept around the edges of the room to remain off camera and quiet. Normally she didn’t care if another Mahdfel saw her come and go—this was her home, after all—but her hair was a matted mess and she hadn’t showered in two days. Momma had her pride.
“I understand congratulations are in order,” the unknown male said. “You are fortunate to have such a pretty, fertile mate.”
Mercy paused. Did the male see her after all? Was that comment sarcastic? No, the Mahdfel didn’t do sarcasm. Literal and concrete they did, not snark.
“Two sons are a gift from the universe. To have a brother is, as you know, precious.”
“What do you want, Antomas?”
“My brother alive and well but since that’s not in the stars, how about the rest of his body?”
On the screen, a male so pale he was nearly grey held up a severed head by the hair. Eyes vacant, the head stared out of the screen. Mercy’s stomached rolled and she stuffed a fist in her mouth to prevent herself from gagging.
“Antu challenged his warlord. He knew the consequences,” Paax said, unphased.
“I don’t like you,” the male said.
“You don’t have to.”
“Everyone knows you seized the warlord’s position through trickery and deceit.”
“Guile. It’s called guile.”
Paax’s flippant attitude enraged the male, causing him to toss the severed head to the floor and a roar. “It is an outrage that you command the largest Sangrin clan! And it is unfathomable that an honor less scientist defeated a warlord such as Omas Nawk. And it is unbearable that you defeated my brother. I will have my vengeance.”
Paax displayed no reaction to the male’s temper tantrum. “Would it ease your suffering to know that I had no preparation or plan in place for your brother’s ill-advised challenge? Does that make it bearable?”
The connection broke down into unintelligible shouts. Chest heaving, staring directly into the screen, the male said, “I will take all you cherish, Paax Nawk. I will have your clan. I will have the Judgment and she will flourish under a strong warlord.”
“If you think that is what I cherish, you are as short-sighted as your brother.”
“I will have your mate and raise your sons as my own.”
This struck a nerve. Paax strode towards the screen. Even with one horn missing, he must have looked fierce because the male visibly flinched. “I met Antu in a fair contest because it is every warrior’s right to challenge their warlord. You can either accept this or not, I will not lose sleep on the matter but no one will say that the battle was not just. If you seek vengeance, I will hunt you down. I will destroy your and your little clan. How many warriors do you command? Fifty? And if you so much as think about harming a hair on my mate’s head, I will hunt down your blood relatives—cousins, uncles, their sons and even your mother’s people—and eradicate your weak blood from the universe. Do we understand each other?”
Antomas breathed heavily, nostrils flaring. Finally, he nodded. “This is not over.”
“It is for you.” Paax disconnected the call.
He stood in silence, tension slowly draining from his shoulders and back. “I know you are there, little star.”
Mercy came out of the shadows and into the light. “You said the cut was from sparring and of no consequence.”
“I believe my exact words were a misstep in the training arena.” And then he smiled.
Unbelievable.
Wore thin from exhaustion, everything came to a head: he was never around, kept information about her health from her, kept the twins secret from her—while they were inside her, even—and now this. “You think this is funny? I asked you what happened because I was concerned about you and you lied to me.”
“I did not lie.”
“Really? Because the conversation I heard tells me you were fighting a challenger while I was in the middle of giving birth to our children and then when I asked you how you were injured, you brushed it off as a misstep, like it was a sparring injury. How is that not a lie?”
“I was in the training arena when it happened. I simply did not expound on all the details.” He reached for her but Mercy took a step back.
“Seriously? Lying through omission is still lying. I don’t know why I should expect anything different from you, though. This is so fucking typical.”
The curse word made him pause. Mercy never cursed. Good. Maybe he would take her seriously.
“You are tired and easily upset.”
“Don’t give me that line of bull. I am tired, Paax. Tired down to my bones and especially tired of you not involving me in decisions that affect our family.” Mercy sank down onto the sofa, moving stiffly. On the low table was a cup of the sour fruit tea Paax preferred.
He lifted his chin and his back went rigid. “I refuse to have a conversation with you when you are like this.”
“Like what? What am I like? Because you’ve never really had a conversation with me, period.” A year married and in this moment her husband looked at her like she was a stranger.
“Emotional. Irrational.”
“Yeah, Terrans, huh? They get their panties all in a bunch wanting to be treated with respect and like a person. So strange.” Bitter sarcasm laced her words. “This is just like you deciding not to tell me about the twins.”
“That was for your own good.”
“My own good, right. Can you just try see my point of view? You took a decision away from me, like I’m a child.” Mercy grabbed a pillow and wrapped her arms around it, seeking comfort from something, anything.
“Everything I have done has been to keep you safe.”
Safe, that wonderful catch-all Paax used to explain away all his bad behaviors. He had to claim her immediately, to keep her safe. He had to challenge the warlord, to keep her safe. He surrounded her with a squad of warriors just to keep her safe. He kept her in the dark about her own pregnancy… to keep her safe.
She didn’t feel like his wife. She felt like… she didn’t know. Nothing as kind as being a wife.
Mercy fiddled with the pillow on her lap.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Her voice wavered at the end of the question. The other brides that arrived on the Judgment were professional, skilled and so talented. They were nurses, engineers, computer programmers, school teachers, a chemist, a botanist and she was… nothing special. Paax was a genius, a no-joke genius. He designed the genetic test that matched women to the Mahdfel, which matched them. And what did she do?
She worked in a vet’s office back on Earth. She didn’t do any of the complex procedures like draw blood. Mostly she cleaned up after the animals. She barely finished school. College was out of the question, not when she had to take care of her mother.
“How can you think that of me?”
“How can I not? You don’t ask for my opinion. You don’t ask for my input. You make decisions without me.”
“A warlord makes decisions! I do not have the time to consult you about every detail in running this clan.”
“I’m not talking about the warlord business.” Mercy moved both to the left, pointing to an invisible box. “I’m talking about us.” She moved her hands to the right, indicated another invisible box. “You make decisions that affect both of us. You kept information from me, like I’m a child or you think I couldn’t possibly understand, like you don’t respect me.”
“I have never said those words.”
“You don’t have to say the words! Actions speak loud enough!” She gestured widely with one hand and knocked over the cup of tea. The plastic material bounced on the floor and a bot rolled out, cleaning up the spill. She wanted to throw something, to bust some dished but all the cups were plastic and bots did all the cleaning. The brutal efficiency took away all the cathartic joy of a proper tantrum.
Paax retrieved the cup and placed it on the table. The scolding look he gave her was worse than anything he could have said. If she didn’t want to be treated like a child, she shouldn’t act like one.
Mercy rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Look, I’m sorry I yelled. That’s not productive.”
“No one is perfect.”
She raised an eyebrow. Now was not the time for Paax to get a sassy attitude. “On Earth we have a few words to mean the person we married: wife, husband, spouse and partner.”
“I am familiar with these titles.”
“I don’t feel like your partner, Paax. We don’t talk. We don’t work together. We don’t make decisions together.”
“We talk. We’re talking now.”
They were fighting now but Mercy didn’t want to lose her train of thought to correct him. “You buy me toys. You give me playthings. You give me scraps of your attention. I’m not your partner, Paax. I’m a pet.”
“You are no such thing. You are my mate.” He took her roughly in his arms and pulled to his chest, holding her here as if to placate her.
Mercy didn’t struggle. There was no point. He was solid muscle and there was no escaping his embrace until he released her. Why couldn’t he admit that what he did was crappy? Why did he always have to be justified? Even if keeping her in the dark was—somehow—justified, he could at least acknowledge her hurt emotions.
A cry pierced the air. Her breasts ached in response. Feeding time.
“I have to go,” she said and Paax released her. “We’re not done discussing this.”
“There is more?”
“Yes, there’s more! You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“I know enough.”
“If we were just starting out, sure, but we’re a year into this and can you name my favorite Beatle?”
His brow furrowed. “Coleoptera? You make no sense.”
“They were human musicians and George Harrison, thanks for asking. Honestly, Paax, this is the part of the argument where you should be asking me questions to show some interest. What’s my favorite color? Song? Food?”
Paax was silent, proving her point. They were strangers.
The wail increased in pitch. Her little man was hungry and impatient. “Let me feed him and we can talk.”
When Mercy came back to the common room, baby nestled against her chest, she found the space empty. Paax was gone. She lowered herself to the sofa, cradling her son as he fed. Light gleamed off something on the low table, catching her attention.
She picked up a crystal starburst pendant, sans chain. Amethyst colored stones formed the tips of the star. It was another lovely and ultimately empty trinket. She’d add it to the pile.
Paax
Fury propelled Paax forward. The training bots took the brunt of his frustration. As he pounded the machine, denting the frame, disabling it and summoning a replacement, the other warriors gave him a wide berth. Exercise was a good outlet but none of them wanted to be the one to absorb their warlord’s blows. Better a few broken training bots than broken limbs.
He growled in annoyance. His warriors should not be so soft to avoid a few broken bones and injuries. Those could be healed easily enough, unlike his mate’s heart.
His mate was unhappy and he did not understand the reason. Everything he had done was done with her comfort and safety in mind. Everything.
A flurry of blows landed on the training bot. It stumbled under the pummeling before regaining its footing and blocked Paax’s sword. Unfortunately it did not block the war hammer aimed for its head. The metal casing crumpled with impact. Another bot disabled.
Unacceptable. He needed better equipment.
Had he not become warlord to spare her from Omas’ cruelty? He challenged his brother for her, his twin… The void in his soul once occupied by his twin never healed. He lived with the sensation of being incomplete for her.
Only her.
His chest heaved with exertion.
The problem she described required more than assigning another warrior to her guard, more than finding a botanist to grow flowers to decorate their apartment, and more than having a chef prepare her meals, more than bringing her Terran family to her.
He had no idea how to fix this.
He knew his wife intimately on a physical level but they remained strangers intellectually.
Sharing his thought process had never been his strength. He often leapt ahead of others and forgot to explain his leaps. As a geneticist he brought results and no one questioned his methodology. He brought Mercy results. He changed so much of his world for her, to carve out a peaceful existence for their family, and she failed to recognize his actions for the acts of devotion that they were. He failed to explain himself.
Had his parents experienced this? Neither were around to ask and Paax only had his foggy memories to guide him.
His mother was always pregnant, usually with twins. He remembered that clearly. He remembered her hugs and her soft, round belly. He remembered times when she was sick in the mornings and then times when she went to medical. Why, he could not say exactly, but he knew that he and Omas were his parents’ only surviving children. He could only speculate that she lost all the others.
It had to wear on his mother and his father. Did the need for solace and comfort bring them together? Or did repeated loss build a wall of silence between them?
All he wanted was to spare his mate the pain his mother endured.
Good intentions meant nothing if he didn’t explain himself.