“Happy birthday,” she said, smirking.
He gazed at her, dumbstruck.
“So, how was it?” she asked. “Second time as good as the first?”
“Um,” he replied, feeling at a loss for words.
Kaya giggled. “What, did I steal your tongue?”
“Well, no,” he said hoarsely. “It’s just…it was all…well…you know?”
“Fun?”
He chuckled. “Well…yes, I guess that’s as good a word as any.”
She slid atop him, placing a single kiss on his lips as she squeezed his sides with her thighs.
“I still find it amazing that you haven’t done this before,” she said, her hazel eyes glinting in the moonlight. “I mean, by Ashhur, I lost my flower when I was fourteen, and you’re no younger than I am.”
Roland shivered, wiggled out from beneath her.
“Wait, you’re done this before?” He’d believed he was her first, just as she was his.
“Of course,” said Kaya. She cocked her head to the side and stared at him through squinting lids.
“Where are your children?”
A solemn look overcame the pretty girl’s round features.
“I have none. Ashhur has yet to bless me with child.” She looked so sad then, defeated. “Not for lack of trying.”
She looked away, and in the moonlight he saw the shimmering start of tears. Roland’s empathy overwhelmed his disbelief, and he pulled her close, suddenly feeling guilty even though he wasn’t sure he’d done anything wrong.
“Why are you sad?” he asked.
Kaya sniffled. “I am one of eleven, Roland,” she said. “All nine of my older sisters have been blessed with children. Me? I’ve been with five men since that first time, and none has been able to plant his seed. It is a mark of dishonor. Healers have touched my belly, but it hasn’t helped. My mother jests that I’m cursed. No man will take me if I cannot provide him with children.”
“You’re not cursed,” he said, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her to him. The blankets slid off them, piling up around his waist and revealing her fully. He drew back and was once again overtaken by how beautiful she was, with her wide hips and firm breasts. He had always thought his future was with Mary Ulmer, Master Steward Clegman’s daughter. But Mary was gone now, having joined Ashhur’s march toward Mordeina. And besides, as he stared at the woman before him, he couldn’t imagine himself being with anyone else. Visions entered his mind of giving Kaya the children she so desired, of building a small hut in the hilly lands on the outskirts of Ker and living there until old age claimed them both. He had only known her for a few short months, but already that felt like forever.
“How do you know?” she asked, almost shyly.
“Because someone so wonderful could never be cursed.”
She smiled, soft and sweet. “That’s very nice of you to say.”
“I’m not just saying it. I mean it. I would live the rest of my life with you, whether you bore my children or not.”
“You would?”
“Of course.”
A shooting star flashed overhead, making the night even brighter, and for a moment Kaya put him in mind of Brienna. When the mirage faded, he tilted his head forward, memories of the beautiful, lost elf washing over him.
“Though I must say, I don’t know why you would need a child to make you feel worth. You are perfect as you are, Kaya. That is what should define you.”
“But women are created to make children. It is our reason for being, our grand purpose, as my mother always says.”
At one time Roland might have agreed with her. After all, until Haven, life in Paradise had always been about farming and breeding and praying. But he had seen too much, experienced too much, for him to feel that wonderful naïveté any longer. He was a different man, and though the world itself might not be better for it, he believed he was.
“That’s not true,” he told her. “Everyone has a purpose, a journey all their own. It’s up to us to decide which path to take, which adventure to embark on. The only shame in life is if you do not find happiness with being yourself.”
Those had been Patrick DuTaureau’s words to him in the aftermath of the battle between the brother gods-sage advice from such a twisted and ugly being, obviously springing from personal experience.
Kaya leaned into him once more, a smile on her face. “You make me feel good, Roland. You really do.” She pressed her cheek against his breast. “In more ways than one.”
They reclined on the roof and gazed up at the midnight sky, Roland pointing out the stars, naming those Azariah had told him about, and together they mused on what the other worlds out there might be like. Roland’s dark thoughts floated away as they laughed and kissed. He knew it was a feeling to cherish, even if it only lasted a night. Tomorrow they would be back at work, slaving away beside the Wardens as they prepared the town of Lerder-the only true town in all of Paradise-for the inevitable coming of Karak and his followers.
Stop thinking of it, he told himself. Go with the moment.
“What’s wrong?” asked Kaya.
“Nothing,” replied Roland. He quickly changed the subject. “So, Highrose, huh? Interesting surname. How did you come about it?”
Kaya shrugged. “The first of my family lived on the hills north of the Stonewood Forest. My grandmother said the Wardens had planted a plot of roses on the highest hill any could see, and it was the most beautiful thing for miles. So when the first couple chose a name, they picked Highrose.” She looked at him queerly. “I don’t know why you would think it interesting, though. It’s not so odd as Norsman.”
“That’s true,” Roland replied, laughing. “But my forbearers were odd, I think. They took our name from one of Warden Loen’s poems, ‘The Barbarians of the Beltway.’”
“I don’t know that one.”
“Not surprised you don’t. Your family is from the other side of the Corinth; mine’s from Safeway. Loen lives here, though. You should ask him to recite it to you when you get a chance.”
“Which one’s Loen?”
“You know: tall, gray eyes, straight golden hair?”
She scrunched up her face. “That describes half the Wardens in town. Like I said, which one is Loen?”
Roland laughed, a hearty snort that caused his whole body to quake. Kaya joined in his laughter, falling into his chest and writhing, planting tender kisses all over him. He thought he might be up for another tumble, but then came the cries of Morgan Eastwick, the proprietor of the inn atop which they lay, screaming that there best not be anyone on her roof. Laughing helplessly, they gathered up their discarded clothing and hurried to the to the slender rope ladder that had been hung at the side of the three-story building. When they climbed down and reached the ground, Kaya placed a kiss on his lips and ran off into the night, returning to the home she shared with her family, while Roland laced up his breeches and wandered toward the front of the inn, where he hoped to enter his room without waking Azariah.
For Roland, morning came much too quickly. He felt sluggish as he moved along the outer edge of Lerder with a six-foot log propped on his shoulder. There was a pounding behind his eyes, and he felt out of breath. He tried to force his way through the discomfort, keeping his thoughts on his encounter with Kaya, but if there was one thing he hated more than the cold, it was being wet. And that morning, just like most mornings lately, was depressingly soggy.
The clear skies of the night before had given way to swollen gray and black clouds as spring rain pummeled the Rigon River’s middle banks. He cursed the weather, even though both Kaya and Morgan had assured him the rains were a blessing for the harvest to come. He couldn’t agree with them, not when his foot plunged into a cold puddle with every other step, and his clothes clung to his body.