Phoenix Unbound
Page 53
His absolute confidence in things never failed to surprise her. She admired his certainty, that focused will and careful strategizing, even when he had wielded it against her. There was much to be said for that kind of self-possession. “And if they do, will you then challenge Karsas for the role of chief?”
“Yes. It’s long past time. Summer will end, and we’ll be settled far into the east for the winter. I’ll need to return you home before then.” An odd intensity settled over his face, making an equally strange flutter tickle Gilene’s insides. “That is if you still wish to go.”
They stared at each other, Saruke forgotten. Had Azarion asked this question a month earlier, Gilene would have thought him thickheaded. Everything she had done so far was an exercise in negotiation and tactics that would increase her chances of seeing Beroe again. Now, however, she hesitated to answer. Once, wish and need had been synonymous with each other. They were beginning to diverge. She frowned, unsettled by the notion. “I have to go. My family needs me. I have a duty to them and to Beroe.”
A rare scowl darkened his features. “What is Beroe’s duty to you, Gilene? You give the villagers everything, and they give you what? Their silence? Their secrecy? Their promise not to punish your family as long as you return to Kraelag each year? The clans would welcome you if you chose to stay. No Rites of Spring to suffer, no forced march to the capital or a night spent being used by a gladiator. You live easily among us now and, as an agacin, would be welcomed by any clan, not just Kestrel.”
Saruke suddenly rose, her expression bemused. “Keep an eye on the fire while you talk. I need to borrow something from Odat. I’ll return soon.”
Her obvious bid at giving them privacy wasn’t lost on either Gilene or Azarion. He watched his mother leave before turning back to Gilene. “She wants you to stay. You’ve been a good companion for her.”
Gilene liked Saruke, with her nuggets of wisdom parsed out to any who listened, and she found the dour Tamura fascinating if not a little intimidating. They had made her sojourn among the Savatar not just bearable but enjoyable. The life of the Savatar was a hard one on the steppes, harder than life in Beroe if she discounted her annual trek to the arena, but she embraced it. Still, her duty lay to the west, though she now wished it otherwise. “I’m not Savatar.”
Something in his expression made her breath catch. Despite her reluctant but growing affection—and attraction—for him, as well as his straightforward admiration for her, they were still captor and captive. Her resolve to return home hadn’t changed.
She held still when he lifted her braid from her shoulder and ran his hand down its length in a slow caress. “You have a Savatar’s strong heart. And you’re Agna’s handmaiden.”
“Not yet. The council still has to decide that one, and I still have to pass their tests.”
He snorted. “By now, the camp is buzzing like a hornet’s nest with the news of you scaring away the Saiga. With as many people who saw you summon fire and have spread the word, I doubt there’s a priestess among the council who will deny you the status.”
She didn’t possess his confidence, but so far he had been right in his assumptions. “What do you think Karsas is saying right now?”
A tight-lipped smile dipped in malice curved his lips. “I’m surprised my ears aren’t on fire yet with all the cursing of my name I’m sure he’s doing right now. He was certain you’d never regain your powers.”
“You’ll challenge him to combat?” Her stomach clenched as she said the words.
His fingers traveled along her braid as if it were a strand of prayer beads. “As soon as the ata-agacin declares your status.”
She studied him while he stroked her hair, mesmerized by the action and by the heat of his gaze. “Your mother worries for your safety. I’m sure your sister does too.” Did her voice just sound breathy?
His gaze intensified. “Are you troubled as well?”
She wanted to tell him no, but that would be a lie. Once, her worry would have sprung from the fear of not making it home to Beroe. No longer. Her concern for him was just as strong, but it had little to do with her chances of returning to her village, and Gilene inwardly flailed at the realization.
“Gilene?” He spoke her name as if in prayer.
“Yes,” she said and gently pried her braid from his grasp.
He let her go, expression measuring, as if he peeled back layers of clothing, flesh, and muscle to look upon her spirit. “Even if I lose, I’ll make sure you’re returned home.”
Gilene didn’t pray. Gods were deaf, and life was short. She had better things to do than speak to those who didn’t or wouldn’t hear, yet she found herself silently beseeching the mercy of a goddess she refused to recognize for his continued welfare. Surely, Azarion’s devout belief in Agna had earned him some small bit of divine providence.
She asked him a question, one that had nagged her over the days and weeks as he effortlessly settled back into the life of a Savatar warrior. “You’ve lived your life a slave for ten years and have found freedom once again. You’ve endured much to return to your people. I remember what you told me that day by the barrow. I understand your wish to reclaim all you’ve lost, but is this chieftainship worth the risk of losing your life to Karsas?”
That piercing gaze turned inward and away from her. “If Karsas ruled with merit, I wouldn’t challenge him, but a lot has changed for my clan since I was sold, and none of it good. I truly believe I’ll be a better ataman than him.”
This was a man who would see his clan rise above all others in his lifetime. Gilene knew it in her gut. “I believe you’ll not only be better than Karsas, but best of all the clan atamans.”
His eyebrows rose, and a smile played across his mouth at her fervor. “I intend to be.” Once more she came under the piercing stare. “If you stayed, you would be given a high place among Clan Kestrel, a seat on the Fire Council, a bed in the ataman’s qara for as long as you wish.”
Something more lay beneath those words, an unspoken entreaty wrapped up in generosity. The odd flutter from earlier returned to dance beneath her ribs and tickle her heart.
Her family’s fate rested in her hands, and while she couldn’t recall any time where one of them offered her some escape from her own grim destiny, she knew herself incapable of abandoning them. She was Beroe’s fire witch and the means by which they protected themselves from the Empire. It had always been so. That acceptance rankled even more in the face of Azarion’s offer, but the guilt of abandoning others when she could save them would destroy her.
“I can’t,” she said, unable to hide the regret in her answer.
“Gilene . . .”
Tamura’s entrance into the qara interrupted whatever he planned to say. The woman’s eyes narrowed for a moment as she took in the scene of the two of them standing close together. Gilene stepped back, happy to put some physical distance between her and Azarion if for nothing more than to reclaim her ability to think and not just feel.
“Word has gone out,” Tamura announced. “The entire camp knows about the agacin’s deed. Riders have been dispatched to the other clan camps to tell the members of the Fire Council.” A wide grin eased her hard expression. “We will celebrate tonight.”
“Yes. It’s long past time. Summer will end, and we’ll be settled far into the east for the winter. I’ll need to return you home before then.” An odd intensity settled over his face, making an equally strange flutter tickle Gilene’s insides. “That is if you still wish to go.”
They stared at each other, Saruke forgotten. Had Azarion asked this question a month earlier, Gilene would have thought him thickheaded. Everything she had done so far was an exercise in negotiation and tactics that would increase her chances of seeing Beroe again. Now, however, she hesitated to answer. Once, wish and need had been synonymous with each other. They were beginning to diverge. She frowned, unsettled by the notion. “I have to go. My family needs me. I have a duty to them and to Beroe.”
A rare scowl darkened his features. “What is Beroe’s duty to you, Gilene? You give the villagers everything, and they give you what? Their silence? Their secrecy? Their promise not to punish your family as long as you return to Kraelag each year? The clans would welcome you if you chose to stay. No Rites of Spring to suffer, no forced march to the capital or a night spent being used by a gladiator. You live easily among us now and, as an agacin, would be welcomed by any clan, not just Kestrel.”
Saruke suddenly rose, her expression bemused. “Keep an eye on the fire while you talk. I need to borrow something from Odat. I’ll return soon.”
Her obvious bid at giving them privacy wasn’t lost on either Gilene or Azarion. He watched his mother leave before turning back to Gilene. “She wants you to stay. You’ve been a good companion for her.”
Gilene liked Saruke, with her nuggets of wisdom parsed out to any who listened, and she found the dour Tamura fascinating if not a little intimidating. They had made her sojourn among the Savatar not just bearable but enjoyable. The life of the Savatar was a hard one on the steppes, harder than life in Beroe if she discounted her annual trek to the arena, but she embraced it. Still, her duty lay to the west, though she now wished it otherwise. “I’m not Savatar.”
Something in his expression made her breath catch. Despite her reluctant but growing affection—and attraction—for him, as well as his straightforward admiration for her, they were still captor and captive. Her resolve to return home hadn’t changed.
She held still when he lifted her braid from her shoulder and ran his hand down its length in a slow caress. “You have a Savatar’s strong heart. And you’re Agna’s handmaiden.”
“Not yet. The council still has to decide that one, and I still have to pass their tests.”
He snorted. “By now, the camp is buzzing like a hornet’s nest with the news of you scaring away the Saiga. With as many people who saw you summon fire and have spread the word, I doubt there’s a priestess among the council who will deny you the status.”
She didn’t possess his confidence, but so far he had been right in his assumptions. “What do you think Karsas is saying right now?”
A tight-lipped smile dipped in malice curved his lips. “I’m surprised my ears aren’t on fire yet with all the cursing of my name I’m sure he’s doing right now. He was certain you’d never regain your powers.”
“You’ll challenge him to combat?” Her stomach clenched as she said the words.
His fingers traveled along her braid as if it were a strand of prayer beads. “As soon as the ata-agacin declares your status.”
She studied him while he stroked her hair, mesmerized by the action and by the heat of his gaze. “Your mother worries for your safety. I’m sure your sister does too.” Did her voice just sound breathy?
His gaze intensified. “Are you troubled as well?”
She wanted to tell him no, but that would be a lie. Once, her worry would have sprung from the fear of not making it home to Beroe. No longer. Her concern for him was just as strong, but it had little to do with her chances of returning to her village, and Gilene inwardly flailed at the realization.
“Gilene?” He spoke her name as if in prayer.
“Yes,” she said and gently pried her braid from his grasp.
He let her go, expression measuring, as if he peeled back layers of clothing, flesh, and muscle to look upon her spirit. “Even if I lose, I’ll make sure you’re returned home.”
Gilene didn’t pray. Gods were deaf, and life was short. She had better things to do than speak to those who didn’t or wouldn’t hear, yet she found herself silently beseeching the mercy of a goddess she refused to recognize for his continued welfare. Surely, Azarion’s devout belief in Agna had earned him some small bit of divine providence.
She asked him a question, one that had nagged her over the days and weeks as he effortlessly settled back into the life of a Savatar warrior. “You’ve lived your life a slave for ten years and have found freedom once again. You’ve endured much to return to your people. I remember what you told me that day by the barrow. I understand your wish to reclaim all you’ve lost, but is this chieftainship worth the risk of losing your life to Karsas?”
That piercing gaze turned inward and away from her. “If Karsas ruled with merit, I wouldn’t challenge him, but a lot has changed for my clan since I was sold, and none of it good. I truly believe I’ll be a better ataman than him.”
This was a man who would see his clan rise above all others in his lifetime. Gilene knew it in her gut. “I believe you’ll not only be better than Karsas, but best of all the clan atamans.”
His eyebrows rose, and a smile played across his mouth at her fervor. “I intend to be.” Once more she came under the piercing stare. “If you stayed, you would be given a high place among Clan Kestrel, a seat on the Fire Council, a bed in the ataman’s qara for as long as you wish.”
Something more lay beneath those words, an unspoken entreaty wrapped up in generosity. The odd flutter from earlier returned to dance beneath her ribs and tickle her heart.
Her family’s fate rested in her hands, and while she couldn’t recall any time where one of them offered her some escape from her own grim destiny, she knew herself incapable of abandoning them. She was Beroe’s fire witch and the means by which they protected themselves from the Empire. It had always been so. That acceptance rankled even more in the face of Azarion’s offer, but the guilt of abandoning others when she could save them would destroy her.
“I can’t,” she said, unable to hide the regret in her answer.
“Gilene . . .”
Tamura’s entrance into the qara interrupted whatever he planned to say. The woman’s eyes narrowed for a moment as she took in the scene of the two of them standing close together. Gilene stepped back, happy to put some physical distance between her and Azarion if for nothing more than to reclaim her ability to think and not just feel.
“Word has gone out,” Tamura announced. “The entire camp knows about the agacin’s deed. Riders have been dispatched to the other clan camps to tell the members of the Fire Council.” A wide grin eased her hard expression. “We will celebrate tonight.”
