Page 63 of Romancing Rem'eb

“Noj’me the Attendant,” calls out a far-too-cheerful voice. “May I enter?”

Tia’s eyes go wide and she slides the blankets over her bare legs, gesturing at me. I wrap the fur around my hips in a loose kilt and then grab my discarded belt and tie it on. Tia’s hut is a mess of discarded clothes and tousled furs. We have not been paying attention to keeping things tidy these last few days, and I pick up a few scattered items even as I head for the entrance.

I open the door, squinting at the brightness outside, and a cold gust of wind strikes my face.

“Gesswe gunnahaf cumpnee hafterall,” Tia mutters behind me.

Noj’me gives us a bright smile as she steps inside. “Greetings to you both! I hope it is all right that I pay you a visit. Set’nef the Wanderer said I should leave you be, but I figure one does not find the answer to a question if one does not ask, eh?” She pushes past me and rubs her sleeves. “It is quite cold outside. Your fire is so low—do you need help with it?”

“We were warm enough,” I say, and it is an effort to remain polite as Noj’me settles herself by the fire pit. The hut has been cozy enough, but now that Noj’me has entered, so has the chill. I let the flap fall once more, then pull another fur over myself as I move to sit next to Tia, and tuck another fur around her.

She smiles up at me, but her smile is forced.

I understand how she feels. I am struggling not to feel resentful of Noj’me’s presence here. When it was simply myself and Tia in this hut, I could forget about duty. I could forget about my father, waiting below for my return, or the rebels who might even now be plotting against him. Noj’me is a reminder of my people, from the beaded necklaces she wears atop her fur tunic to the horns that she has decorated with little fur puffs on the ends. I know she is only being friendly and inquisitive—and it is the Attendant’s duty to learn as much as possible—but I still want her to leave.

I want to push her back out onto the cold beach and close the flap of the door, and forget we ever saw her. Pull Tia in my arms again and not think about the rest of the world.

Noj’me looks around the hut as I settle furs around my mate. Her gaze moves to the loom and she turns to look at me. “Did you break that?”

“No. We cannot figure it out and I did not have time to ask.”

She chuckles and jumps to her feet, her tail swishing. She moves to the loom, eyes it, and then moves the comb-like bar and props another up. Immediately, the threads straighten and Tia gasps, forgetting all about me. My mate crawls across the hard floor to the loom and starts touching everything. “Dis?” she asks Noj’me.

“That is the heddle. You had it in the wrong place. It fits into one of these sets of notches, to raise half of the strings. Look. You create a gap between the warp threads here—that is the shed—the shed rod makes the space bigger—and you feed the weft thread through the space. There are two shed rods on this loom, and perhaps that is why you have struggled. They are used in combination with your heddle to create more intricate patterns. Here, let me show you.”

Tia’s eyes are wide as Noj’me gives a demonstration, and when she pulls the comb down, it settles the new thread against the rest of the half-woven project. When my mate makes an incredulous sound, I know she is happy.

Some of my grudging sourness at Noj’me’s presence fades. “We thank you for your help. We have been looking at it for many eves now, trying to figure it out.”

“Not trying very hard,” Noj’me teases. “In fairness, you have been distracted.”

Tia says nothing. She is too busy feeding a piece of the loom—the weft—through the alternating threads, her fingers trembling with excitement. I am forgotten for the moment, and I feel a surge of jealousy over the loom, as well. Must I share my mate with both it and Noj’me? “How did you know how to work the loom?”

“As attendant, it is my job to know things.”

“Is this why you are here, then?” I ask. “To show off your knowledge?”

My mate turns, surprised at my tone. I flush with embarrassment at my rudeness. It is not that I dislike Noj’me. It is that she represents everything I am trying to forget.

If the cheerful Attendant is hurt by my words, she does not show it. Her smile remains bright as she turns to me. “I did not come to speak of looms at all. I came to see when we will go to the great ship. It has been many days now, and I am eager to see the Oracle’s ancestor. And now that I am here, I can hear for myself that your resonance song is different. Does this mean we will go soon? Yes?”

Her eagerness is palpable. I hate to disappoint her, and open my mouth to say just that…when I pause.

Is our resonance song different? I have grown so accustomed to its hum, its ceaseless energy that I haven’t noticed the change. But Noj’me is right. The once-insistent khui song has slowed to a more contented, almost sleepy sound.

Resonance has been fulfilled.

Tia is carrying my child now.

I look over at my mate, shocked. She clutches a hand to her chest, over her heart, and her expression is just as stunned as my own. Neither of us had realized this. It took an outsider coming into our cozy nest and pointing out the obvious.

Tia blinks, and I wait for her to say something to me. To say she is happy. Relieved. Glad to move forward. If she is joyous, then I think I can live with this. But she only turns to Noj’me, her hand still over her breast, and says a few soft words I do not make out.

Noj’me turns to me, beaming. “She is right. There is no reason to delay further. Shall we leave tomorrow, then?”

Tomorrow?

It feels so sudden.

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