“Silver from Gold (Part III)”

Luko possessed none of the flirtatious charm that Tero wielded with such ease. His laugh was rare and his smile, though more frequent, was often touched by the darkness that plagued him. He won his way by force, whether with a look or a word depended on the circumstance. Analise had loved him from her earliest memory, and at the dawn of his eighteenth year, he admitted that he felt the same for her.

Analise would have taken him without the blood bond. Luko was the one to insist otherwise. He loved her. He would wed her. He would father her children. He would protect her. He would rule with her. He spoke so boldly, so surely, in their quiet moments that she believed him without question. Wedding before swearing the blood vow would be wiser, but his strategy was to make his choice impossible for Noni to dispute. There was the trouble, that Noni had neither been consulted nor consented. Ana took what care she could against conceiving, but in the weeks following the blood vow, concealing their bond became increasingly more difficult.

The final feast of that summer’s festival was moved indoors when an unseasonable cloudburst erupted over the green that afternoon. Events held in the citadel’s main hall were normally more formal; instead of picnicking with friends on the grass, folk were seated in family groups at long tables. Irfe’s Noni always presided from the high table, with her grandchildren flanking her. Luko had planned to eat with Ana and her family, and would have done so had the weather not conspired against him; recently thwarted in their attempts to find time together, he was as impatient to be with her as she was to be with him. From her seat on the main floor, she watched him behave as protocol demanded, but he was restless and barely able to hold his temper when it seemed Noni meant to prolong the festivities.

His grip on Fire was often tenuous; the element hissed and sparked when he was roused as it never did with his grandmother. Shamir senses were heightened by wild weather, however, and Noni herself appeared disturbed. She ignored Rikka and goaded Luko, whose mind was made clear to Analise when his eyes deliberately sought hers in the crowd. There was the look she dared not disobey, the simmering, savage look that pierced her vitals and drew her to her feet by no will of her own.

She took the back stairs to the second floor, darting along the gallery to his rooms. He was waiting in the sanctuary. Surprised, she blurted a stupid question. “How did you get here before me?”

“I took the main stairs,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. If his kiss was meant to reassure her, it foiled them both by devouring her, instead. She responded with equal fervour though her thoughts scrambled to reconcile his blatant disregard for their agreement.

“Noni saw me leave the hall,” she gasped.

He growled into her mouth. “Good.”

“Luko—”

“Analise, it’s time.”

His statement encompassed many things, the most obvious of which sent her fingers to his laces. He stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

Swallowing fear, she nodded.

“Don’t be afraid, mi’scha.”

“I’m not.”

He smiled, pride momentarily overcoming purpose. “You cannot lie to me.”

“I can try,” she countered.

He brought her hand to his lips. “The crone can’t harm you, not while I am breathing. You are my blood-bound consort. We belong to each other. No one can break us apart. I’m tired of hiding. Aren’t you?”

She was ashamed to say not. In truth, the constant threat of discovery made each encounter more frantic and delicious—but she accepted Luko’s decision because discovery was inevitable. Better to reveal themselves than be revealed, especially since Ana’s parents were also ignorant of what their daughter had done. Tero and cousin Marko knew, but Poppi’s disapproval of anything more than kinship between Analise and Luko had made subterfuge imperative.

Reading her face, Luko kissed her fingers once more. “I will speak with Poppi Jarkko. I’ll beg his forgiveness, then swear on my life that his little she-wolf will not suffer for choosing me. When Noni is dead, you will be my queen. While she lives—while I live—you are my god.” He sank to his knees as he spoke, running his hands over her hips and down her legs. Ana stared at his crown, at the lustrous golden hair tumbling over his shoulders, and wanted to rip his shirt from his back.

He refused. He took his time, indulging himself with scent and taste and touch, but firmly deflecting her reciprocal attempts. He readied himself by readying her. At some point, Analise surrendered. She submitted to a desire she had not yet met in him; a slow, deliberate, sensuous and sacrosanct ascent that culminated in a glorious burst of sun and stars on the furs before the hearth. She shuddered once, twice. The third brought her up into his arms, mouthing a wordless cry for his ear alone. Only then did he spill, and when he did, Analise felt the heat in her throat.

Nine months later, she remembered.

That was the moment. 

* * *

 She lay on the sleeping furs once more, straining to bear the babe conceived on that stormy summer afternoon. The snow had ceased. Twilight cast a pale and luminous light through the sanctuary window, but the room was too hot. Sweat ran from her temples. Dara dabbed her brow with a cooling cloth while Mami checked the child’s progress.

“Soon,” she said.

Analise sagged back in Dara’s arms. Luko had taken her by the hand and led her down the main stairs to the feast hall that day, announcing by action his decision to everyone present. Analise was his, and judging by the tousled state of hair and clothing, he had laid claim once more during their notable absence. He had carried himself like a king, defying his subjects to find fault with his choice of queen. Few had, from what Ana could recall. His message had not been for the masses, or even for her family. His message had been for Noni—and Noni’s face was what Ana remembered most clearly.

Folk often remarked on the paradox in Irfe’s Daughter exuding such glacial reserve, but above the icy bones and snow-white skin, Analise had seen Fire smoking in Noni’s eyes.

Stupid boy, what have you done!

Within weeks afterward, everything Luko had sworn, all he had promised, and Luko himself, was gone. 

* * *

 Night fell. The intermittent pains became a single gripping, grinding pain that gave no respite except in the briefest pauses. Analise sucked in a quick sharp breath during these pauses, and inevitably released it in a wild rush when the pain resumed at greater strength. Mami bade her to control, without much success. She got Ana to her feet and made her circle the sanctuary perimeter, bracing her on one side while Dara supported the other. Mami was disinclined to idle talk at the best of times; anything more than a brusque command was beyond her now. Analise was similarly preoccupied, but managed a rueful laugh when Dara offered an encouraging remark.

“Just think, Ana. In a very short while, you’ll have a Son of Irfe.”

I once had a Son of Irfe—and he had me.

Mami abruptly left her in Dara’s care. She had not noticed, but voices were audible in the outer room. She looked a question at Dara, who shrugged and made her keep walking.

“Tero is out there, but I’ve no idea who might be with him.”

More than a few, from the muddled discourse she heard though the wood. Mami returned in time to help her daughter down before the hearth. Analise rested on her knees, panting, while the fire was fed and the kettle hung to heat above it. A sudden, clenching agony drove her to all fours. Her mind was just as suddenly calmed.

“Mami, I think—”

She was right. Between them, Mami and Dara eased her into position. She pulled in a deep breath and pushed, baring her teeth but making no sound. Blood roared in her ears and sparks flew before her closed eyes. Mami said something she could not hear. It did not matter. She felt the babe dislodge from her womb. The pain altered from grinding to tearing as the passage stretched to make way. Analise drew a final, quavering breath and heaved with all her might. The effort nearly brought her to her feet, but once the babe’s head was clear, she collapsed against Dara as the last vestiges of strength drained with him from her body. 

* * *

Bruised and misshapen, he was the most beautiful thing his mother had ever seen. Mami proudly pronounced him the image of his sire at birth, as lean as Luko had been, with the same manly promise of height and breadth in his chest and shoulders. But he was not golden. His fine baby hair gleamed silver in the firelight, wafting gently in the pulsing heat. And his eyes, like all newborn babes’, were a rich, midnight blue.

“His father’s were the same,” Mami assured her with a smile. She kissed Ana’s forehead with firm, cool lips. “Well done, my girl. Oh, well done.”

Analise smiled amid a rush of tears. The smile soon succumbed to sobs, and she held her babe as her mother held her, weeping for a future at once lost and regained.

 

* * *

 She slept. A night as starry as her infant son’s eyes spread wide overhead. Mixed smells of spruce and new grass tickled her senses. Cool wind breathed at her back and a warm breeze danced ahead, running thin with no mountains to contain it. The dulcet beauty was no comfort to one raised in rugged terrain; heartsick with longing, she stared into the unfamiliar sky and watched the stars splinter into shards.

Luko.

He blinked and the stars reassembled. Did he dare? To what end, for what good? To let her know he was living, if not alive? Why torment himself? Why torment her?

I love you.

Nothing more. 

* * *

 She toyed with names but nothing fit, and helpful suggestions from her few visitors were no help at all. Mami thought to name him for Poppi. Tero brashly suggested naming him for his uncle. Dara thought his sire’s name both more appropriate and a blow to the dissidents who agreed with Noni that her grandson could not have fathered Ana’s babe. After her dream on the night of his birth, Ana rejected that notion with unexpected vehemence.

Rikka surprised them all by stopping in despite Noni’s order that the rooms be avoided. Trembling near tears, she ventured over the threshold and abruptly balked. She would have fled had her intended husband not appeared at her back and encouraged her to stay; a quirky fellow with bushy brows and an owlish demeanour, Jere’s Osmo was the last man anyone would have picked to wed Luko’s imposing twin sister, but Rikka heeded him without habitual argument. She followed him into the sanctuary, remaining distant while he paid proper homage to the new arrival. He was so congenial that Analise offered to let him hold the babe.

He politely declined, claiming himself too clumsy with so fragile a treasure. “Have you a name for him?” he asked.

“Not ‘Luko’,” Rikka blurted from her corner.

Her adamant dismissal nearly changed Ana’s mind. A patient count to ten curbed the impulse. Glaring at Rikka, she agreed. “Not ‘Luko’.”

“It wouldn’t be right,” Rikka added, though further explanation was plainly unnecessary.

Osmo wagged his funny brows. “The tribute is reserved for our own son,” he confided to Analise. “Cousins bearing the same name would cause too much confusion.”

“Cousins!” Rikka exclaimed, overhearing.

“Of course, my dear. This little fellow is your nephew, after all.”

If Osmo believed it, Rikka could hardly disagree, yet Noni’s stance made acceptance impossible for anyone close to her. Analise was moved to pity; caught between opposing opinions, Rikka was immobilized. After a moment’s frenzied contemplation, she found a viable excuse for her behaviour.

“Osmo, to speak of a son is unseemly before the wedding.”

Analise disregarded the insult because Rikka was too wrought to have meant it. Instead, she attempted to put her son’s aunt at ease. “Come and say ho,” she suggested. “Is that not why you came?”

Rikka gulped, wringing her hands. She stayed in place by the door.

“You may tell Analise, my dear,” Osmo coaxed. “She, of all people, will understand.”

A single tear trickled over a brazen cheekbone. Rikka ignored it. She stepped forward, her eye drawn inexorably to the bundle in Ana’s arms. Her voice was so low that Ana had to lean in to hear it.

“I came … because I miss him.”

Osmo was right. Analise did understand. She smiled and put out a hand to Luko’s twin. Rikka hesitated, then gratefully accepted the gesture. 

To be continued …