Kalie asked.
“I’m fine,” said Cassia, a little too quickly. She covered her belly with both hands. “I’m going to make it. He is going to make it, this time.”
“Have you felt any more movement?”
“Not since yesterday but…” Cassia stopped walking. Her fingers tightened over her womb, and her face lit up with wonder. “There!” She grabbed Kalie’s hand and put it over her belly. “Can you feel it? Like a butterfly!”
Kalie smiled. She had missed the big moment, but didn’t doubt that it had happened.
“I’ve never carried one this far,” Cassia whispered. “Never to where I could feel him move.”
“You’ve still a long way to go—with little enough chance of bearing a living child!” snapped Irisa, walking by with her four-year-old son riding on her back, her four month old baby wrapped in a shawl beneath her breasts. She looked exhausted. Yet what choice did she have but to carry on—and make life unpleasant for everyone else?
“Perhaps if you spoke of hope, rather than curses,” said Kalie, “others might help you with your own brood, Irisa.”
“I need no help with my sons.” Irisa grinned as she emphasized the last word. “Not from a barren slave, nor a barren wife.” Cassia’s face lit up with rage this time. Kalie grabbed her hand to distract her, and shook her head. Sparring with Irisa now was the worst thing she could do for her baby—as Irisa well knew. “But perhaps, if you do manage to carry that baby a little farther, your breasts might begin to flow with milk. Then you can be wet nurse to Maalke’s youngest son after yours dies—and finally be of some use to us!”
Cassia gasped, and Kalie caught her other hand to prevent her from physically attacking Irisa. It was an unbelievably bold thing for a concubine to say to a wife. Even Altia’s eyes went wide with shock. But she said nothing. Her son was growing towards manhood, and she would likely have no others. Better for her if the two women who still might steal her husband’s affections fought each other.
“Think of your son,” Kalie whispered urgently to Cassia. “Irisa doesn’t matter—and never will!”
“Goat dung!” Cassia spat as she passed Irisa with her head high, affecting not to notice her.
That evening, while Kalie and Varena took on extra chores so that Cassia could rest, Riyik strode into Maalke’s camp and spoke with him. She did not hear what transpired, but a few moments later, Maalke approached her with a satisfied grin. “Kalie, you are this warrior’s for the night. He must truly enjoy your stories.” The whole household roared with laughter at his jest, but Riyik looked away, almost as if he were…embarrassed?
“Come, let us walk,” he said, leading her through the cool grass, to a low hill well beyond the camp. Riyik crested the hill, then sat down on the gentle slope on the far side which faced away from the camp. He motioned for Kalie to do the same. Privacy, Kalie thought as she stared into the empty shadows falling across the still green steppes beyond. Not something most of the men cared about when it came to taking women.
“I just wanted to talk to you,” Riyik said. Then he actually moved away from her, and turned so he could face her.
“Why?” she asked in stunned disbelief.
“I have been…bothered about what you said when I…rescued you… during the raid.” Kalie said nothing, only stared hard into Riyik’s eyes. He looked away.
After a long silence, he said, “Not all men here take women against their will. I do not.”
Kalie laughed. “I think perhaps my kinswomen from Riverford might disagree.”
Riyik looked as though she had slapped him. “I took no one on that journey! Although, I can see how you might not remember. We thought Haraak had killed you that first night.”
“It would have been better if he had,” Kalie said, although, as she struggled to remember, it seemed Riyik had acted as a guard the whole time, not indulging