Authors: Amalia Dillin
Fate Forgotten (52 page)
Couldn’t he see how she had been conceding to him when she didn’t need to? And he reciprocated by making demands. He had no right. “Have you forgotten your place? You can’t tell me what to do or not do.” Malia’s voice quivered with anger.
“You insult me with this,” he said, hefting the bowl. “I am the husband of the future clan mother. If people see things like this, they’ll think you don’t take your responsibilities seriously. Then nobody will take
me
seriously.”
Malia’s vision grew hazy, as if smoke filled the room. She blinked, and when her vision cleared, she saw Dalibor as if for the first time. He was more concerned with his place within the village than with their partnership. The realization sent a sharp pain through her.
She took a deep breath, then held out her hands. “Give me the bowl. Then you will go to your brother’s wife’s home tonight and sleep there. I don’t care what excuse you tell them for your being there, but you will not sleep here tonight.” When Dalibor didn’t move, she stepped forward, reaching for the bowl.
He took a step back, his face twisted in a snarl. He was going to destroy the bowl she’d made with her own blood. She rose on her toes, straining for it, but Dalibor grabbed her shoulder and held her in place. She struggled uselessly against his grip.
“Dalibor, don’t do it,” she said. “Don’t—”
He hurled the bowl at the hearth. It tumbled through the air, and Malia’s heart tumbled with it. Then it shattered against the wall, pieces and dust raining down.
She sank to her knees. All of that work, all of that beauty, gone in an instant. A trembling hand picked up a piece of the bowl. Her hand formed a fist around it until the jagged edges pressed into her palm and caused pinpricks of pain. She whirled and let the piece fly at Dalibor. It flew past his head to hit the wall behind him. Then she stood, opening her mouth to speak when Dalibor shoved her against the wall and caged her in between his arms. His eyes narrowed, and his warm breath washed over her. The muscles around his shoulders tensed as if he held himself from hitting her. Malia swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted to look away, but she didn’t dare.
“You will not embarrass me,” Dalibor said. His calm tone belied the expression on his face.
Malia borrowed her mother’s authoritative tone, hoping it covered any quiver in her voice, and said, “You have truly forgotten your place now. I am your wife, and you will do as I say. And more importantly, I will be your clan mother one day. For threatening me, you could be exiled.”
One hand began to curl up, and for a moment she was sure he would strike her. And if he began, she did not think he would be able to stop. She would end up crushed like the bowl.
But then he lowered his arms and stepped back. “You’re right. I have forgotten my place. Forgive me, Malia.” But the tension in his jaw said otherwise, as did the undercurrent of anger in his voice. Dalibor spoke the words he thought Malia wanted to hear. It made her ill. She couldn’t erase from her mind the rage on his face only moments before or the certainty that he would hurt her.
Quietly, she gathered his clothes and hunting gear and wrapped them in his sleeping pallet. She brought the bundle to the door and hesitated. Setting his things outside would be the first step to ending their partnership. This was not what she’d imagined as she built this home. Hot tears rimmed her eyes. She also hadn’t imagined Dalibor treating her this way.
“Malia, what are you doing?”
She strained for any sign of warmth or regret in his voice but caught none. She let a few moments pass, waiting for him to tell her something more, something that might change her mind. Night had settled, and clouds scudding across the sky made the darkness sharper. An owl cried mournfully from the woods.
“What are you doing?” he asked again.
She took a fortifying breath and set his things outside on the ledge, glad the darkness hid the tears. “You are my husband no more.” Her own words pierced her like arrows.
“But Malia—”
“Out.”
Dalibor straightened. “I will appeal this with your mother.”
“Do what you must.” Her mother would side with her. She had to.
Dalibor ducked out the door. The familiar creak of the wooden ladder let her know he was climbing down.
She took the broom and began sweeping up the pieces of the bowl. Then sobs overcame her and she leaned on the wooden handle. “What have I done?” she asked the empty room.
Silence answered.
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Table of Contents
Look for the next installments in the Fate of the Gods Trilogy by Amalia Dillin