Page 53 of Boundless
He considered, his face heating. “It w-would mean that I thought well of the p-person, and wanted to t-teach them. But—”
“No, none of that! No buts. That’s the truth of it, dearest. You’re not barging in, you’re not imposing, you’re not burdening. Can you really not see that?”
He was quiet, thinking. Was it truly that simple? “Maybe. But it’s…it’s h-hard.”
She rumbled a sympathetic sound, holding her arm open. “Come here, sweet.” He did, curling into her side. “You’re a wonderful person, Len. You’re smart, kind, and generous. You keep a level head and an open mind about everyone but yourself.” She kissed the top of his head, then rested her cheek there. “Can you try to show yourself that grace? For me? And for the bairn?”
His brow furrowed. “For the baby?”
“Aye. Children are like sponges. And if they see their father thinking so little of himself, what does that tell them? What does that do to them? I can’t guess, but it doesn’t seem like it would be anything good, aye?”
He loosed a breath, his heart clenching. Holy gods…she was right. Their childwouldbe affected by that sort of behavior from him. “Alright. I…I’ll try. For you.” He lay his hand on her rounding stomach, feeding a tendril of aether into her body so he could listen to the baby’s heartbeat alongside Daega’s. He found himself compelled to check it often, his greatest worry that he would pass on his condition to his child and doom them.
“Youshoulddo it for yourself, but I’ll take it. We’ll get you there, lovey.” She was out of her sling now, though that arm wasn’t yet back to one hundred percent, and her healing arm joined his on her belly. “Just pretend that when you’re talking to yourself, that you’re talking to this wee thing, instead. Show yourself that same care and kindness, aye?”
He smiled, huffing a laugh. “You’re f-full of wisdom today.”
She scoffed. “I always am! You just have to listen for it between all the nonsense.” They laughed, Len tipping his head up for a kiss.
Once Daega was settled and tucked into bed for a nap, Len began his search for the horde’s other healers. He could have asked Daega, or Yollyn, or any other members of his family where to find them, but his conversation with Gayeh about getting to know his people kept replaying in his mind. So, even though the idea of that much socializing made him breathless and weak in the knees, he resolved to simply ask the people he passed where he might find first other-Sercha, then Gero. It would be a wonderful opportunity to practice his Draka, too, he told himself.
Most of the huge Istarii Drakan he passed were wary of him, giving him uneasy, searching looks as he passed them, but as he neared the northern edge of camp, he squared his shoulders and fixed a smile to his face and began stopping people to ask.
“Excuse me,”he called out to an older male, a scar cutting a deep cleft into one cheek. “I am finding Sercha?”
The larger man cocked his head, brows drawing low, before he seemed to realize what Len had been asking and nodded. “Over there. H’racha cheluo maas?”
Len flushed, smiling an apology. “I am sorry. I do not understand the last.”
To his credit, the Istariin smiled kindly. “Still learning the mother tongue, eh?” he asked in Common. Len nodded, feeling small and silly to have even tried, but the larger man clapped him on the shoulder, giving him another smile. “Your accent isn’t half bad; I commend you, elf. Are you the prince who married our Daega?”
Len nodded, his face slipping into a soft, warm smile at the thought of his wife. “Aye. Er—yes, yes I am. Lenlethael, s-sir. Or Len, if you’re not p-particular.”
The Istarii Drakan man laughed, his posture relaxing towards Len still further. “And I’m Urich. Pleasure to meet you, Len.” They shook hands, some of Len’s anxiety dissipating at the warmth of the gesture. “I won’t keep you any longer; Sercha’s tent is about fifty feet in that direction.” Urich pointed once more.
Len thanked him profusely, doing his best to do so in Draka, then made his way to where Urich had indicated.
He knew he’d found the correct place when he heard pained howling, a young Instarii Drakan person of ambiguous gender fidgeting outside of a tent a little larger than its neighbors and draped all over with herbs and flowers drying in the late summer sun.
“Is Sercha with a patient?” Len asked the youth in Common.
“Aye, my sister. Fell and tore her knee open bad. Who are you?”
Despite being nearly as tall as Len, the Istariin youth struck him as being very young, perhaps ten at the most. “My name’s L-Len,” he offered, smiling. “What m-might I call you?”
“Aerel,” they responded, too young to think to try shaking his hand. “Are you a nice elf or a mean one?” they asked, squinting at him.
“Well, I l-like to think I’m nice. But sometimes w-we don’t see ourselves plainly, so I’ll leave it t-to you to decide, alright?”
Aerel considered, then shrugged. “I guess. Hey, do you know the prince? I heard from Brello’s older brother Casten that he’s actually a changer. Or a lady elf they’re dressing up as a lad because the elves are odd about womenfolk.”
Len choked, utterly shocked. Was he really that…feminine-looking? “Actually,” he said, managing a smile for the oblivious youth, “I’mthe p-prince.”
“Oh. So then do you have a cunnie?” Aerel asked, looking over Len curiously.
The elf prince was spared from having to answer by the tent flap opening and a stern middle-aged Istarii Drakan woman emerging. “Alright, Aerel,” the woman said, waving the youth over. “Come on in. I’d like to have a talk with you both.” Noticing Len, the woman—presumably Sercha the healer—nodded in his direction. “You next?”
“If you d-don’t mind,” he said, feeling sheepish. He fished out his note from Yollyn and handed her the paper that had a name that looked most like it began with an “s” scrawled on it. “Yollyn gave me this to give to you.”
