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“I think you know.”
He saw her shake her head out of the corner of his eye. “You couldn’t have stayed for me.”
“But I did.” He turned his head just enough to meet her confused stare. “I was the only person you would let close enough to help. You’re my friend, Nyana. Family can wait a while.”
Friend. He nearly snorted. I am such a liar.
She gazed into her bowl as she absently stirred its contents. “You never intended to stay in Heulwen permanently, I assume. What now? Will we go to Ebriel and live with your family?”
The fire crackled in the hearth, accompanied by Maisy’s excited chatter in the other room. He leaned forward on his knees and stared into the dancing orange and yellow flames. “I would like to, yes. I make my living in our orchard. I can see you don’t want to stay in Heulwen either. But I think we can both agree that our biggest concern is Calle.”
Slowly, Nyana let out a sigh before she nodded. “I feel guilty about the idea of separating Maisy from her father. It’s not fair to him. Or to her.”
Nervous anxiety churned within Joel’s gut. And immense guilt. He’d taken Calle’s family away from him. Within good reason, but how would his friend receive the news? Because from how it sounded, Nyana had made up her mind to tell him the truth about Maisy.
What a mess. This entire marriage was a mess. But perhaps he could smooth out a few of the wrinkles.
Nyana coughed before pulling out a white handkerchief and holding it against her mouth. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the chair.
A frown pulled on his lips as he took in the paleness of her skin. Her quick, shallow breaths. The prominent bruises on her face, which only seemed to grow darker in the shadows dancing about from the firelight.
His wife continued, “Skaja deserves to know as well.” She bit her lip as if with indecision before she sighed. “I have to tell them both before their wedding. It will be an unfortunate blow should we leave for Ebriel soon after.”
Another cough, this one lasting longer than the last. He handed her his glass of water, and she took a sip. But when the coughing persisted, she excused herself onto the front porch. Even through the closed door, the relentless cough reached his ears.
Maisy peeked her head around the corner, her blue eyes two spheres of concern. “Mama is still sick?”
Dread tightened his gut. “Still? How long has she been sick?”
“Since my other papa died.”
Five months?
The next thing he knew, he found himself on his feet, striding toward the door. He swung it open, only to freeze as a thundering crack shivered through the air. The tree situated in the corner of the property groaned and swayed as if the faintest breeze might topple it to the ground. Red and orange leaves fell from its branches by the dozens, landing in a heap at the structure’s base. Deafening groans and cracks accompanied Nyana’s cough as the tree split apart, branch by branch, followed by one final crack straight down the middle of the trunk.
Each side of the tree hung lifeless and bare, its wood dry and brittle, visible even in the darkness of night.
Silence.
Shock roared through his ears as he tried to comprehend what had happened. The tree continued to groan, the entire structure threatening to collapse the remainder of the way.
His gaze traveled from the gnarled, blackened roots to the dead leaves piled on the ground. But then his eyebrows furrowed as he noticed the yellow trail of dead brown grass leading from the base of the tree toward the porch.
Toward Nyana.
He turned.
And an invisible force squeezed the breath from his lungs as he found her in an unconscious heap, blood leaking from her mouth and nose.
“Nyana!” he gasped as he fell to his knees beside her and cradled her face in his hands.
No response.
Shallow breaths escaped blue lips, her skin paler than minutes before while a fever ran rampant through her forehead, burning the back of his hand.
With only a slight hesitation at touching her, he stooped to pick her up, cradling her against his chest. She did not wake, which spurred his heart into a frantic beat of panic. As he burst into the house, each heavy footfall reverberated through his soul like a drum. Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
