From Across the Clouded Range

“What’s that, miss?”

  Teth cleared her throat and steadied her voice. “Have you served Lord Ronigan long?” she asked the big man who walked before her. She had been introduced to him when Ipid asked him to carry Milne back to their cabin, but she had been too distracted to remember his name. In his shadow, Teth felt absolutely tiny, and that unnerved her more than she cared to admit.

  “I think he’d be sad if he heard you call him ‘Lord’, if you don’t mind me saying.” The Morg’s voice was cast low as to not disturb the woman sleeping in his big arms. Milne looked like a kitten resting in his grasp, so tiny and fragile against the giant’s broad chest. “He thinks of you as his daughter. Only now has it become official, but he’s thought it for as long as I’ve known him. Which, to your question, has been from the beginning. Well, since the beginning of Ronigan & Galbridge. He hired me to travel with him as he negotiated the first lumber contracts, just a few months after the accident. It was just me, him, and Paul, his secretary. I’ve been with him ever since.”

  Teth could not help but notice the Morg’s wistful affection. It seemed out-of-place for such as him. “So you’ve known Dasen for all this time?” she asked cautiously.

  “I have,” the Morg confirmed but offered nothing more.

  Teth chewed her lip for a moment and watched the trees pass on either side of them. Even at their laborious pace, they were not far from the cabin. This may be her only chance to get another view on her husband before they departed.

  The joining ceremony had told her little. Dasen had seemed distracted to the point of oblivion. If not for her reminder, he may have missed his oath altogether. She had tried to remain strong as she said her own, but the words had cut her like a knife: obey, honor, follow, support, children, home. By the end her voice was catching and a foolish tear was tracking down her cheek. The veil that was supposed to hide her face – a custom dating back to the Empire when couples often had no idea who they were joining until the ceremony was complete – had failed to hide her weakness. Dasen had smiled so kindly then, mouthed something, and looked at her with such compassion. Normally, she would have sneered at such offers, but, in that moment, it had warmed her, made her rethink all her derision from the day before.

  After the counselor sealed their union and Dasen presented her with the pendant that would symbolize their link, he had pulled back her veil and smiled, almost as if he were pleasantly surprised by what he saw. No man had ever smiled at her that way, and, despite herself, she had felt a fondness for him that she could not shake. Throughout the next few hours as they had greeted the villagers and partaken of the feast Ipid had ordered for the occasion, they had been too distracted to speak much, but Dasen had been nothing but kind. He had held her hand, touched her shoulder, caressed her back each time gently, tentatively. He was patient to a fault with the villagers, imploring that the Order saw him no differently from them. Then he introduced them to her as if she were from somewhere far away, as if she had not known these people her entire life. And as he did, the faces of the villagers changed, almost as if she really were new to them, as if they hadn’t already passed judgment and deemed her a pariah.

  When each villager was met, he led her to her seat at the head table, filled a plate for her, and served her as no one ever had. Meanwhile, Ipid held court with the villagers, each seeking the favor of their master, pleading a case, or begging for some dispensation. And Dasen’s witness, the thinnest, most exuberant young man Teth had ever met, regaled her with stories about the university that made even her laugh through her trepidation. When he returned, Dasen implored the band of minstrels that had arrived only that morning to perform while they ate. The whole time, he watched her. They shared only the barest of words, only the slightest touch, met eyes rarely, but there was a familiarity that Teth could not dismiss and affection that she could not dispel. By the time, Milne had fallen asleep in her chair and Ipid was suggesting they be on their way, Teth was almost enjoying herself.

  “What . . . what I mean . . . well,” Teth struggled to form a question that would encompass her jumbled thoughts and emotions, that would allow the Morg to confirm or deny what she was feeling, if she could only decide what she was feeling.

  The Morg saved her. He turned, Milne supported effortlessly, held her with his piercing, crystal-blue eyes, and said, “You’ll have to find out about Dasen on your own. But know this. Ipid loves you. He’s made his Order-blessed share of mistakes, but this isn’t one of them.” Teth’s breath stopped. She took a step back, overwhelmed by the intensity of the Morg’s stare. “Come on now,” he continued, “let’s get your aunt in a proper bed. And I imagine you’d like to be out of that dress.”

  Teth only nodded.