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1.
This is a mistake, Tanda thinks, but Balsa has that look on her face, something crossed between determination and pity, and she quietly begins to undress. She's naked now; firelight glints off her skin and the half-opened bottle of rice wine in the corner. She stands in front of him expectantly, an unspoken challenge.
"Are we doing this?" Balsa says.
Tanda fidgets a little, then bridges the space between them. He can feel her breasts crushed up against the stiff fabric of his shirt.
"Take your clothes off," Balsa says, and Tanda has no choice but to comply.
****
As in all things, Balsa is the aggressor.
Pushing him hard against the pallet, Tanda can barely move when Balsa straddles him, roughly impaling herself on his length without so much as a preamble. "Balsa," Tanda says, and he strains upright to kiss her; Balsa grunts and pushes him back down again, rocking hard against his length. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and her hands grip his shoulders for balance. There is nothing beautiful about the way she rides him, her long hair sticking against the skin of their sweat-soaked bodies. She grips him the way she would grip a spear, the way she would use any of her tools.
This isn't the first time they've done this. It's become routine, a pattern they've fallen into over the years: patch the wound, feed the stomach. Love the woman for just the night, then watch her leave when she is through. Even when they were with Chagum, Tanda would sometimes wake to the feel of Balsa's insistent hands pushing up his shirt, straddling his hips and gasping in a silent moan.
Now, Tanda's hands settle on Balsa's hips as she violently rides him, leaning forward so that her hair falls over his chest. He shifts and her mouth pops open. He knows she's about to come.
"Tanda." She's panting, slightly. Her voice is strained. "Roll over."
"What?"
"On top," Balsa says.
Tanda scrambles. Artlessly, he rolls Balsa over, limbs tangling awkwardly as he tries to reposition himself. He feels her hands tugging at the clips holding up his hair.
"Balsa. What--"
He feels her pull the clips out, and his hair falls over his face.
"Better," Balsa says, and she presses her hips against him. He rewards her with one harsh thrust, making Balsa gasp. Her fingers dig roughly into his skin.
He knows the map of her body, can trace all the scars and bruises that cover her skin. This was where he stitched her, twelve years-old and receiving the flesh wound to her back. This is where he pressed his palms against her broken ribs, twenty years-old and just barely escaping defeat. He presses his lips against her skin, tracing the path of an old but angry scar.
"Harder," Balsa says. She breathes into him, breath coming out in tight spurts. "Harder. Harder."
Tanda squeezes his eyes, and he thrusts harder, dangerously close. Her skin is damp and her hair sticks to her face, and when she comes he's touched with a sudden urgency that he can't control. Gripping her shoulders, he buries her face into her neck and comes, pulsing hard and panting into her hair.
He could never be a man to her, holding her and protecting her. But he could do this. And maybe for them that was enough.
The roar of his heartbeat lessens to a whisper, and Tanda feels as if he's moving underwater. His movements are impossibly slow as he untangles himself from Balsa's limbs. She's watching him, and there's a softness in her eyes that makes Tanda's heart skip a beat.
"Balsa," Tanda says, and he reaches out to touch her cheek.
"Tanda," Balsa says, and she gently moves his hand. "We need to talk."
*****
Balsa wraps the bedsheet around her shoulders and sits up. Moonlight seeps through the slats in the wooden blinds, and Tanda can see the soft outline of her shoulders as she sits at the edge of the bed.
"I'm leaving tomorrow," Balsa says. She doesn't look at him. "There is talk of needing a bodyguard in the kingdom to the East. I may be gone for a while. Maybe a few years."
Years. The realization knifes him in the chest, and his face wrenches. It's all he can do to keep from breaking down.
"Tanda? What's wrong?"
Tanda shakes his head. "I can't do this anymore," Tanda says.
"What?" Balsa says.
"This," Tanda says. "It was okay when it was just me treating you, being there for you to patch up your wounds. But to do this. And then say that you're leaving? What am I supposed to think? Just what am I to you, Balsa?"
"You're my friend," Balsa says. Tanda turns away from her, staring at his hands. There is an awful moment when neither of them speak. Tanda doesn't look at her, keeping his eyes trained on the shadows on the floor.
"I'm in love with you, Balsa," Tanda says. "I've always been in love with you. But I feel that you're using that to your advantage. You know how I feel, but you keep coming back, using me and throwing me away. And I can't keep doing this. I have to protect myself.
I will always be there for you, if you need me," Tanda says. "But if you care for me, even a little...you won't come back."
He lapses into silence. Shadows cross Balsa's face, and it's as if she's looking at something far away.
"Fine," Balsa says. And then, softly, "I won't bother you anymore."
****
It is raining when he sees her again, four months later in the middle of a monsoon. Strands of wet hair stick to her eyes; she hefts her spear, then sets her jaw.
"I missed you," Balsa says, and Tanda doesn't stop her when she slowly takes him into her arms.
*****
2.
They lie sated on Tanda's pallet, the afternoon light slanting through the windows.
Her explanation is startling simple: "If you marry someone else, I can't come and go as I please. So it would be better for me if we make our arrangement official. Provided, of course, that you still agree."
"I--" Tanda blinks. "Of course."
Balsa nods, then tugs the covers around them. "I will not make a good wife," Balsa says. "I do not intend to change my ways."
"No," Tanda says.
"But I do love you," Balsa says. The words are matter-of-fact, so much so that Tanda almost misses the meaning. "And if marrying you will make you happy, then I will gladly sacrifice that much. You've already sacrificed so much for me..."
Tanda's eyes dim. "It shouldn't be a sacrifice," Tanda says, and Balsa makes an irritated sound, pressing against his side.
"You are such a woman," Balsa says. She brushes back the hair from his eyes, pressing a light kiss on his cheek.
*****
The wedding is a simple one, a small Yakue ceremony where Balsa and Tanda drink from the same cup.
"You are now married," Torogai says, and despite himself Tanda starts to cry.
"Forgive me, Balsa," Tanda says. Balsa smiles and rubs soothing circles against Tanda's back, then gently presses against his arm.
*****
It isn't his idea when Balsa insists he come with her, dragging him through the mountains and tramping through snowdrifts toward her homeland.
"You're the one who didn't want to be left behind," Balsa says. She hefts her pack and moves forward, Tanda stumbling after.
Later, Tanda is glad he came: a sword to the gut do nothing for Balsa's health, and it's only Tanda's proximity that keeps her from crossing to the other side.
"My husband worries too much," Balsa says, and she smiles a little when she closes her eyes.
*****
They're running through the back woods, Balsa's newest job throwing the both of them in peril. "Tanda." Balsa's face is pale. "Tanda, I--"
She doubles over, then vomits behind the trees.
It's Tanda who helps her home, letting her lean on him and looking decidedly green.
"Maybe it's a stomach virus," Tanda says, and he crushes some herbs and raises a cup to Balsa's lips.
She throws it up, and then some, retching pathetically in the corner.
"My apprentice is truly an idiot," Torogai says, when Tanda returns and begs for her help. "The woman is pregnant. Even a blind goat can see that."
"What?" Tanda blinks. "Pregnant?"
"Yes, yes, pregnant," Torogai says. "That's what happens when a man takes a woman. Or are you too stupid to realize even that?"
"What do I tell Balsa?" Tanda says. Torogai grins.
"Tell her the truth. And watch yourself, because you may get injured in the process," Torogai says.
*****
As it turns out, pregnancy does not exactly soothe Balsa's violent tendencies.
"This is your fault!" Balsa says. She's pregnant and angry, and Tanda is standing in the corner, hands up and trying to calm her down. "How am I supposed to find work when I'm like this?" She gestures to her belly, six month's swollen and looking about to burst. Tanda flushes, despite himself.
"Balsa, it's okay," Tanda says. He just barely manages to dodge the spear being hurled at his head. "We can get by. I can sell my herbs--"
"It won't be enough!" Balsa says. Tanda bites back his tongue, knowing the heady milieu of hormones and fatigue are affecting Balsa's sense of judgment. "How can we care for a child when we cannot even pay our rent?"
There is no reasoning with her, this wild woman carrying his child. So Tanda braves the storm and wraps his arms around her, holding her until she relaxes in his arms.
*****
Balsa is asleep, and in the dark Tanda can just make out the slope of her shoulder, the soft tendrils of hair framing her face. Her face is smooth and her skin feels surprisingly soft; Tanda smiles, trailing his fingertips against her scars.
He presses his lips against her skin, kissing the scar gently, his hands cupping the crest of her hip and waist. Balsa stirs, then turns, burrowing against him.
He has come to understand that Balsa doesn't need protection. She needs someone to heal her, and he knows that's what makes her feel safe. "You shouldn't feel so inadequate," Balsa said once, but at that time Tanda didn't believe her. I was so insecure, Tanda thinks. He hitches Balsa close, pressing his face into her hair.
Chagum will be happy, Tanda thinks. He presses his palm against Balsa's belly, then nuzzles the space behind Balsa's ear.
*****
The last time he had seen Balsa cry, it was at Jiguro's deathbed, clutching his hand and closing her eyes.
Now, Balsa cries silently as she holds their child for the first time. The sight of it makes Tanda smile.