Barbarian Mine (Ice Planet Barbarians #4)(40)

Her hands flutter over Har-loh’s stomach, and then her chest, and her mouth thins in a firm line.

“What?” I growl, noticing her expression change.

Maylak pulls her hands back and clasps them in front of her rounded belly. “Her khui is very tired. It is having to work very hard to keep her healthy.”

It is not doing a good job, then, because my mate is more fragile now than ever. I hold her hand tightly and press it to my chest, as if her khui can take strength in mine. “Because of the kit?”

She shakes her head slowly. “There is something else it is fighting. Both at once are nearly overwhelming it. She will need to stay here, and stay close to me so my khui can bolster hers.” Her hand smooths over Har-loh’s cheek. My mate sleeps on, undisturbed. “Otherwise, you risk both your kit and your mate.”

I knew this, and yet hearing the words spoken aloud fill me with dread.

To save my mate, we must remain here with the bad ones. My entire body tenses and I fight the feeling of anger and helplessness that I feel.

I will do what it takes to keep Har-loh safe. What I need does not matter.

I will not make the choice that my father did and doom my mate by hiding her away from the world. Even if I cannot stay here, Har-loh must.

My heart is heavy as I press my mouth to Har-loh’s small knuckles.

The healer goes back to work on my mate, her eyes closing. Her mind goes inward and she is lost in her healing, gently pressing on different spots on Har-loh’s body and humming in her throat. After a time, I realize it is not Maylak that is humming but her khui itself – a different song than resonance, but just as powerful. A healing song. I watch at my mate’s side, unwilling to leave her, even to get up for food. I can eat later. For now, I will watch over Har-loh.

“You.” The voice is low, male. Unfamiliar.

I turn my head and see a large male standing in the mouth of Maylak’s cave. His horns are enormous and curling, his hair dark and hanging in a long tail. He wears a vest and leggings, and crosses his arms at the sight of me.

“We need to talk.”

I eye him but don’t move. I don’t want to leave my mate’s side. “Who are you?”

“I am the chief of these people.” He nods at Har-loh. “Including her.”

Maylak breaks from her singing and casts a frustrated look in our direction. “I must concentrate to heal her.”

The chief points into the main cavern, waiting for me to join him.

I look back at Har-loh.

“She will not wake for some time,” Maylak says gently. “She is safe with me.”

Oddly enough, I trust this female, even if she does have the poor choice of living with the bad ones. After a few moments, I release my mate’s hand and rise to my feet. I look at the healer, who has been good to my mate. “My name is Rukh,” I give her.

“Welcome home, Rukh.”

I do not correct her. I am not home. I turn and leave the healer’s cave, unhurried as I stalk past the stranger waiting for me. I am not one of his people and he cannot order me about. She pulls the curtain on her cave shut behind her, closing us out.

As I step forward into the main cavern, the sheer…busy-ness threatens to overwhelm me. There are people everywhere. This is nothing like our quiet cave by the salt lake. Humans and sa-khui sit in small groups. Some are eating, some are working on leathers. A few lounge by a sunken pool in the center of the cavern. They look at us as we approach and my skin prickles with tension. It’s noisy and crowded and awful.

“Come,” the chief says. “We will have more privacy in my cave. We will talk there.” He strides forward and scoops up a kit that runs past, then hands him off to a nearby man. He doesn’t stop to see if I am following as he makes his way through the busy cavern and then disappears into a smaller cave.

I can join him…or I can stay out here with all of these people. There is no choice, of course. I can feel the prick of a dozen eyes on me and I clench my fists, hating how open I feel. How exposed. I duck into the cave after the chief and look around.

The entrance is small but the cave itself opens up to a cozy interior. A few candles flicker on ledges, providing light, and a human woman sits on a bone stool, frowning at a bit of leatherwork in her hands.

“Georgie,” the chief says. “I need to speak to Maarukh alone. Can you give us a few moments, my mate?”

She looks up at us and blows an exasperated breath out of her mouth. “Vektal, I’ve sewn this stupid sleeve on three times and I can’t get my seams straight!” She throws aside the tiny garment and then her lower lip wobbles. Her face crumples and she begins to cry, her face buried in her hands.

The chief – Vektal – shoots me a look and then moves forward to kneel at his mate’s feet. He soothes away her tears with murmurs, and caresses her cheek lovingly. I try not to stare at her. She looks similar to my Har-loh: same flat face, same pale skin, but this one has no freckles and her hair is an uninteresting brown to Har-loh’s fiery orange.

As I watch, Vektal picks up the small bit of leather and hands it to his woman again. She swipes at her cheeks and nods, then gets to her feet. Her belly is huge, like Har-loh’s, and she winces and rubs her back as she stands. “I’m sorry,” she says to me, and her voice is accented like Har-loh’s when she says the sa-khui words. “It’s something we humans like to call hawr-moans.”