A fire had been lit, and the bedroom was already warm. Milalle folded her clothes loosely, placed them beside Hohsalle’s neatly arranged ones, and faced the bed.
Hohsalle lay face up, staring at the ceiling, but when Milalle raised the covers and slid in beside him, he gently slipped an arm through hers and pulled her close. Feeling the warmth of his body against hers, she sighed.
She liked the smell of his skin. Wrapped in his embrace with her nose pressed into the crook of his neck, she felt a sense of security that took her back to childhood.
A muffled whisper sounded in her ear. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
After a short pause, Hohsalle said, “I underestimated Tohlim. I knew he was shrewd and calculating, but I never dreamed he would be so cold-blooded as to get you involved.”
Milalle pressed her lips against Hohsalle’s neck. His skin was slightly moist with sweat. She stayed like that for a moment until the vague feelings in her heart took shape. “I’m actually quite glad.”
Hohsalle pulled back to peer into her face. He was frowning. Milalle smiled teasingly. “Didn’t you hear what Tohlim said? He wants me to investigate something. In other words, I was brought here for my knowledge, not as a weight to keep you in check. It’s a great opportunity to search for ways to treat mittsual. Besides…”
She paused and pressed her forehead against his. “It means I can be with you… I’m sure you never gave a thought to how hard it is being the one left behind waiting.”
Hohsalle said nothing. It was always like this with him. Whenever Milalle tried to test his feelings, he went silent. That’s just who he was. Plus, the gulf between their social ranks was too great. They’d never be allowed to have children together. How many years had it been since Milalle entered this relationship, fully aware of the challenges?
She sighed. It can’t be helped. This was the man she’d fallen in love with. There was no point in complaining about it.
She placed her lips against his, and after a brief pause, he returned her kiss.
There was a soft, moist pattering on the roof. It had started to rain.
The rain that began in the middle of the night stopped come morning, and by the time the Zolian soldiers marched off, the clouds had broken and bright sunlight enveloped the capital.
Tohlim led Hohsalle, Milalle, and Makokan out through the city’s rear gate. As they headed down the mountain path, he looked back at Milalle. “Please watch your footing. The road is slippery after last night’s rain and will worsen farther on.”
Glancing up at Makokan, Hohsalle gestured with his jaw. “Stay beside Milalle and catch her if she slips.”
Makokan frowned. “Perhaps it would be best if you did that, sir,” he said.
Hohsalle snorted. “You think I could catch her? She’s quite heavy, you know.”
Milalle glared at him. “I heard that.”
“I intended you to,” Hohsalle retorted.
While listening to this exchange, Makokan reflected on how his young master always behaved like a child around Milalle. In contrast, despite her petite build and childlike face, Milalle was never like that. Rather, she often showed a startling maturity for her age.
Although she kept her feelings well hidden beneath a cheerful demeanor, Makokan could tell by the look in her eyes whenever they rested on Hohsalle that she dearly loved this ornery, eccentric man who was far too high above her in station.
I suppose that’s why it hurts to look at her sometimes, he thought.
Tohlim set a brisk pace as he led them down the mountain trail.
He’s taking us to Yusula, the marshland, Makokan thought.
As a child, he’d taken this road only rarely. The marshes scattered along the edges of the Yukata Mountains were dangerous and belonged to the Yusula Oma, the People of the Marsh. They were members of the lowest social class, treated like servants by the Ahfal Oma.
Did they remain after the toxic grain incident? Makokan supposed that they had. They’d never really attracted much attention, so they’d probably continued living quietly in the swamps.
A flock of birds crossed the sky, squawking. The noise brought back a memory of hunting in the bogs with his father and grandfather. If Makokan remembered correctly, their guide had been a young man from the Yusula Oma. Maybe that’s how they made a little income on the side.
The dank smell of mud and water grew stronger, and soon, a large swamp came into view. On a windy day, the water appeared almost black, but today was fair, and the sun sparkled on the water’s surface.
Tohlim seemed familiar with the place, leading the group unerringly along a narrow trail through the bog and into a village. Barking dogs came dashing for them, and Makokan’s hand went to his sword hilt instinctively, but a man stepped from the nearest house and called out before he could act. Instantly, the dogs halted, and although they growled menacingly, they remained put.
When he saw Tohlim, the man bowed low and made a gesture of welcome. Women and children came out after him and stared quietly. Not even the children uttered a sound.
Tohlim headed for a little hut that stood at the far edge of the village. After opening the crude wooden door, he walked into the dimly lit interior. Makokan followed, and his face froze when he stepped inside. On a thin, dirty mattress lay a woman who was clearly ill. Past her, beneath a straw mat, was something that looked like a corpse.
Hohsalle and Milalle paused in the doorway, consternation clouding their expressions. Rounding on Tohlim, Hohsalle whispered fiercely, “Fool! Why didn’t you warn us that she was sick?”
“I beg your pardon,” Tohlim said, his face grim.