Voice of Crow (31 page)

By the time they were clean, the water had cooled. Alanka stood and wrung out her hair, watching Filip watch her. A new light was in his eyes; she hoped it stayed there forever.

She wrapped a towel around her body and stepped out of the tub. Before she could offer Filip help, he had followed her, grabbing his own towel. It surprised her how nimble he was on one leg.

“I’m starving.” She padded over to the small table. Filip stretched out on the bed. She sat beside him, placing the plate of fruit between them. “I don’t even recognize most of these.”

He picked up a chunk of deep pink fruit. “This is watermelon. They don’t grow up north.” He offered it to her.

“What do I do with the seeds?”

“Spit them out, or swallow them.” He pushed it against her lips. “Don’t be scared.”

She laughed and gingerly bit into the fruit. Juice spurted down her chin and onto her neck, making her laugh louder.

He leaned forward to lick the juice from her collarbone before it dripped under the towel. “Do you like it?”

“The watermelon or what you just did?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, I like it.”

Filip smiled and reclined on the side, head propped on his hand. He took a bite of the fruit, chewed carefully, then picked a seed out of his mouth and laid it on the edge of the plate.

“You don’t eat them?” she said.

“When I was a boy, my brother convinced me that if I ate a watermelon seed, a watermelon plant would grow in my stomach and eventually devour me from the inside out. As revenge.”

“You don’t still believe that.”

“Of course not.”

“Then why not eat them now?”

He shrugged. “Habit.”

“I dare you to eat one.” She picked up a fat black seed and held it out between her fingertips.

He looked up at her, down at the seed, then gave her a heavy-lidded gaze as he slowly stuck out his tongue. She felt her body turn to liquid. Despite his lack of experience, an instinctive power of seduction lurked within him, a power she planned to enjoy.

She placed the seed on his tongue and watched it disappear into the wet darkness of his mouth. “How is it?” she whispered.

He swallowed, never taking his eyes from hers. “I’m cured.”

She leaned forward and gave him a long, deep kiss, a promise for the rest of the night.

As she poured their wine, she noticed that he hadn’t covered his legs, either with the towel or the blanket. That he trusted her enough to expose himself made her glow inside, even before sipping the wine.

He savored the drink, eyes closed. Then he looked at her, his face serious again. “You have your powers back.”

“They’re not as strong as they used to be, I guess because we’re in the city. I can feel Wolf’s presence, like Adrek said about Cougar. It’s faint, but it’s there now. I don’t know what I did to deserve it.”

“Remember what I said before? How you couldn’t make peace with yourself until you made peace with your enemy? By accepting my wound, you’ve done that.” He stroked her arm. “In your eyes, I’m a hero, and in mine, you’re a warrior. We only had to learn to use each other’s eyes to see.” He touched her chin. “Do you still think you’re a murderer?”

She stared at a blank space on the wall and remembered the battle. The faces of those she killed dredged up a skewering sorrow, but not guilt, not anymore. “No. I had to do it.” She heard a new strength in her voice. “And I’d do it again.”

“You may, indeed, if Rhia’s plan gets us into the senator’s mansion.”

Alanka thought of Marek sitting in that room, drained of all fierceness. She’d get him out if she had to shoot everyone in the house.

Calm down, she told herself, drawing a deep breath to dissipate the rage. Turned inward for so long, it begged for a target outside her.

“You never had to do anything to deserve Wolf’s favor,” Filip said. “You just had to forgive yourself.”

She watched his hand glide over her waist and wondered if she could ever be as gentle with herself as he was with her. Perhaps he could teach her.

“Yes,” she said, “I’ll marry you.”

Filip stared at her, and for a moment she thought he might take the offer back. Maybe his respect for her had vanished the moment they made love. His people’s strange ways could be seeping back into him now that he was home.

“Let’s do it now,” he said.

“Get married? At this hour?”

“Right here. We can’t do it legally in Ilios anyway so we might as well take our vows now.”

“What vows?”

He squinted at the ceiling. “I think they’re mostly about property. We can eliminate that part, since we have none.”

“What else do your marriages mean?”

He laced his fingers with hers and pressed their palms together. “Loyalty. Above family and place of birth. We become a nation of two.” He quirked an eyebrow. “And eventually three, four, five…”

“Two is fine for now,” she said.

“Two is perfect.” He kissed her. “What about Kalindon weddings?”

“They’re short and rare. We pledge in the name of our Spirits to love each other forever. It’s a hard thing to promise.”

“I promise to love you forever,” he said quickly, then added, “in the name of Horse.” He thought for a moment. “That wasn’t hard at all.”

She laughed, then couldn’t stop laughing. She’d dreamed of her wedding day since she was twelve, and now it had come in the depths of her enemies’ city, lying naked next to a plate of strange fruit.

Filip waited patiently. “It’s good to hear you laugh, Alanka. But you could have chosen a better time to recover your sense of humor.”

She rubbed her face and became solemn again. “Filip, in the name of Wolf, I promise to love you forever.” She kissed him softly.

He gazed at her, as if sealing the moment in his memory.

“What do Kalindons do then?” he asked.

“Everyone eats and drinks until they pass out, then they wake up and eat and drink some more. Then comes the orgy.”

His eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

She giggled. “Not a formal one—it’s just how things usually end up. It’s good luck to conceive a child on a wedding night—your own or someone else’s.” Filip looked at her belly, and she added, “We won’t tonight. I’ve been taking wild carrot seed for months.”

“Why?”

“I was in no shape to have a baby. Even now, I want to wait until we have a home where we can raise it in peace.” She frowned. “I don’t know if that day will ever come.”

“Let’s not worry about that day.” He reached across her for the bread-and-fruit plate. “Let’s finish our wedding.”

They drank enough wine and fed each other enough food to stuff their stomachs and weight their eyelids with drowsiness. Then they made love again, with a slow heat that gave them hours to find every inch of bliss on each other’s bodies.

Alanka fell asleep in their entangled embrace, feeling pure contentment for the first time she could remember. Her Spirit and her beloved were with her at last. Tomorrow she would return to her mission, with more power and strength than ever.

But tonight she would rest.

He felt the midday sun sear the back of his neck, the lower part of which was bare. Basha wanted his hair to grow long again. He wished for a knife to cut it short, though he was no longer sure if he’d use it to slice only his hair.

Nilik gurgled and cooed in the carriage pushed by Petrop. Basha laughed with delight. “Demedor, you love a crowd, just like your mother.”

Marek’s stomach felt another pang. He’d eaten and slept little in the past several days. His body seemed to rebel against itself, perhaps in retribution for the things it had done with Basha.

He saw her embroidered boots near his feet. She took his hand and pressed a coin into it.

“Marek, fetch me one of those fried breads with the fruit on it.” She scrutinized his face and clicked her tongue. “Get one for yourself, too. You look positively skeletal. People will talk.” She looked at his guards. “Go with him.”

The fried-bread line was endless. The treat was one he’d always looked forward to at the midsummer Fiddlers Festival in Velekos, but now his gut heaved at the thought of the sweet, oil-soaked flour.

While he waited, he explored his new powers. Fox had taken him under Her care, enhancing his hearing and night vision, though his sense of smell was diminished from that of a Wolf. He wondered if he had the second-phase Fox power of camouflage—blending into his background by remaining motionless—or if he would start over in the first phase. None of his people had ever changed Spirits midlife.

He couldn’t test his camouflage, since he was never alone, not even to bathe or piss. Basha said he was so valuable, someone might try to steal or harm him. He wondered if she sensed that Marek posed the greatest threat to his own life.

If it weren’t for Fox, he would have found a way to die by now. Even his son wasn’t enough to live for anymore. As soon as Nilik reached the age when he could understand who his real father was, Marek would be sent away or killed. Basha couldn’t take the chance that he would tell his son of his identity. It would ruin her experiment.

A Wolf would have chosen the noble route, to perish rather than betray his beloved Rhia, to put honor before life. Fox had saved him, but for what?

A stone rolled near his feet. He glanced at it, then froze.

It was tied to a crow feather.

He lifted his head and looked behind him.

A young man stood in a vendor’s stall across the street, perhaps twenty paces away. His dark brown gaze bore into Marek, cutting through the air like a hurled dagger.

Arcas.

Marek turned back to the fried-bread stand to keep his guards from getting suspicious. His mind reeled. Why was Arcas here, his old rival, the man who’d once held a blade to Marek’s throat for “stealing” Rhia?

Marek pushed back his shoulders in a long stretch, feigning stiffness in his lower back. As he did, he let his glance trip over the crowd, back to the stall.

Arcas was surrounded by wooden carvings. A sign read Custom Designs, from what Marek could tell. The Spider looked at the other side of the street. Marek followed his gaze.

Basha.

His mind made the connection with a sudden spark.

“Your order!”

One of his guards jabbed him in the back. He turned to the fried-bread stall, where the vendor was glaring at him. “Hurry up,” she snarled. “There’s people waiting.”

He stepped forward and ordered as Basha had instructed, one for her and one for himself. His stomach twisted again, but from excitement now instead of dread.

He and the guards found Basha, who was contemplating the purchase of a new decorative plant.

“There you are,” she said. “I thought I’d have to call the police.”

“My apologies, Your Honor.” Marek handed her the fried bread. “There was a long line.”

“Yes, it’s dreadful how they let anyone come to these festivals. You’d think they’d have a special day for the worthwhile families to attend without having to mingle with the rabble. Maybe we should pass a law to that effect.” She turned away from the plant, apparently forgetting it in the excitement of a new policy initiative.

“Your Honor.” Marek tried not to sound too eager. “There’s an artist whose wares you might like to see.”

“Hmm?” She gave him a distracted glance. “What kind of artist?”

“From Asermos. He makes carvings like the ones you have in your living room.” Marek took a calculated risk. “But these are better.”

“What?” Her voice went shrill. “Impossible. Show me.”

They went to Arcas’s stall. The Spider was the only person within the shade of the small tent. He displayed an ingratiating smile at their approach.

“Good afternoon, my lady.” He glanced at the patch of red and gold on the shoulder of her white dress. “Forgive me—I mean, Your Honor.”

Entranced by the array of carvings, she waved off his apology. “Are you the artist or just the vendor?”

“Both. I’m independent.”

“I can tell.” She shoved her plate at Marek for him to hold, then picked up the wolf and examined its many teeth. “These are unlike anything I’ve seen. You have your own style.” She pointed to the carved wooden spider around his neck. “I see from your fetish you’re an artist by Spirit. Your magic is obvious.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” He bowed. “I am humbled by your appreciation.”

“Yes.” She set the wolf down. “Are these for sale or merely samples?”

Arcas swept his hand over a table of wood carvings. “For sale, Your Honor. These are all the animals I have here in Leukos.” He looked at Marek, down at the table, then back at Marek, who caught his meaning and stepped closer.

On the table sat a group of exquisitely carved animals: a wolverine, a bat, two horses, a wolf, a cougar, a spider, and—
great Spirits, yes
—a crow.

Besides Rhia and Arcas, it must be Lycas, Alanka, Koli and perhaps Adrek—but who were the two Horses? It took a moment to remember the name of Arcas’s friend Bolan. He was probably represented by the placid grazing horse.

The other Horse could be Filip. Had a Descendant come to help him? It would give them an advantage none of the other rescuers had possessed.

Marek indicated the rearing steed carved from a light-colored wood. “This one looks new.”

“It is.” Arcas pointed to the west. “Its material comes from this region, in fact.”

So it was Filip. If he had Arcas’s signal right, they were staying somewhere in the western part of the city.

“How lovely,” Basha exclaimed. “An amalgamation of the two cultures. Symbolic of things to come, I hope.” She ran her finger along the blue cloth that covered the table. “Hmm. No foxes.”

As if the word had awakened that wily part of him, Marek conceived an idea. “May I suggest that you commission this artist to make you one?”

Her face lit up. “Yes! But bigger than that little thing I have now. Life-sized.” She held her arms far apart.

Marek held back a derisive laugh. “Your Honor, with respect, real foxes aren’t that big. They weigh as much as a large housecat.”

She furrowed her brow. “But I want a big one.”

“He could make you a larger one, perhaps even human-sized.” He looked at Arcas. “Right?”

Comprehension dawned on the Spider’s face. “Certainly. There’s enough driftwood scattered about the beach to make a human-sized fox.”

Basha’s eyes narrowed. “When could you have it ready?”

Arcas made a show of consideration. Marek hoped it would be soon, but not so soon as to rouse Basha’s suspicions.

“Seven days.”

She scowled. “I’m hosting dinner on the festival’s final night. That’s in four days. To have this to show my rivals—it would make them remember what they’re dealing with.”

“Four days?” Arcas feigned dismay. “Perhaps, if an extra fee were involved.”

“It shall be.” She waved her hand and started to turn away. “Petrop, negotiate a price and give him a third as a down payment.”

“Half, Your Honor,” Arcas said. When she turned back to him, wide-eyed, he added, “If you don’t like the final product, I’ll give you a full refund. No other artist would guarantee his work that way.”

Her lips pinched together. “Half, then. But I want it on the morning of the fourth day, first thing.”

Arcas bowed. “I shall work day and night. Tomorrow morning, plus three days.”

“See you then.” As she walked away with Marek, she said, “Thank you for alerting me.” Her voice went sultry. “You shall receive a special token of my appreciation tonight.”

Marek glanced back at Arcas to see if he had heard. The Spider’s narrowed eyes and furrowed brow told him he had. Would he tell Rhia?

No.
If Marek ever saw her again, he would confess and beg her to forgive him. Then he’d spend the rest of his life earning that forgiveness.