Phoenix Unbound
Page 56
“And Gilene?”
Gilene refused to look away, hoping he read the message in her eyes. You promised.
“Gilene will return to the Empire.”
His declaration literally made her wilt. Relief that she would return to Beroe in time. Disappointment over what she’d leave behind—days spent among the beauty of the Stara Dragana, acceptance among a people who saw her as something more than a useful sacrifice, and a driven man who enchanted her a little more each day.
Any more discussion halted when one of the agacins appeared at the entrance. “Come,” she said. “The decision is made.”
Gilene gave both brother and sister a quick nod before following the agacin inside the qara. Butterflies beat swift wings under her rib cage. She couldn’t account for her dread of the priestess’s decision. However they decided, she would still go home. She had fulfilled her part of the bargain with Azarion, yet she found herself knotting and unknotting her fingers, silently willing the council seated before her to accept her as one of their own.
The ata-agacin rose. The others followed suit. “Gilene of Krael,” she said. “You aren’t Savatar, yet you wield fire. You cast the magic of deception and don’t worship any god known to your people or ours. Yet Agna has blessed you, resides within you. You aren’t like us, yet you are as we are. The Fire Council recognizes you as a true agacin. Welcome to the Hearth, sister of the Flame.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Saruke stepped back and swept Azarion with a critical look softened at the edges by pride. “You look like an ataman. They will note this when you stand before them.”
For all that some atamans and subchiefs might admire his appearance, Azarion doubted any would be influenced by it in their decision regarding his challenge. “I don’t think they’ll care, Ani.”
His mother sniffed. “They’ll care. Don’t think they haven’t noticed how Clan Kestrel has dwindled. Clan Wolf is glad of it. They have risen because we’re diminished, and they won’t welcome your bid to reclaim the chieftainship. The others, though . . . they know better. All the clans need to be strong now. The Empire will find a way around the Veil in the west by encroaching from the east and overcoming the Goban. It’s just a matter of time, and we’ll be overrun by Kraelians and Nunari before we know it. All the Savatar are in danger. We can’t afford to have someone as weak as Karsas leading us now.”
She wasn’t telling Azarion anything he didn’t already know. His clan stuttered under the leadership of an inept ataman. Karsas had always craved power and prestige, and he was ambitious enough to plan his own cousin’s enslavement to clear the way for his rise to clan leader. But he didn’t know how to wield power once he possessed it, and the clan had suffered for it. It was long past time that Azarion take back what was rightfully his and save his clan.
Gilene stood just behind his mother. She wore the yellow sash of an agacin wrapped around her slender waist. It was a bright splash of color against the heavily embroidered tunic he’d given her to wear during her second test before the Fire Council. She still didn’t know the identity of the generous benefactor. He no longer feared she’d give it back if she knew he’d been the one to gift it to her, but he wanted her to enjoy the outfit without wondering how she’d repay him for it or assume it had been given to soothe hostilities between them.
“Do you need me to stand with you?” she said.
“No. You’ll be there as part of the Fire Council anyway. The atamans will approve or reject my challenge; the agacins will witness it and make sure the outcome is just.”
A week earlier, the Fire Council had finally proclaimed Gilene an agacin. Tamura had whooped her glee at the announcement and made quick work of spreading the news throughout the Kestrel encampment.
They expected him to rejoice as well and put forth his challenge immediately. Instead, Azarion quietly escorted a shocked Gilene back to his mother’s qara and served her multiple cups of tea until she stopped shaking. He then knelt before her and bowed over her hands. “Well done, Agacin,” he said. Triumphant elation warred with a melancholy that constricted his breathing. He no longer had a reason to keep her in the Sky Below.
There had been much celebration that evening among the clan. Clan Kestrel could now claim an agacin in their midst, the concubine of the old chief’s returned son. The people danced, sang songs, and toasted Gilene and the Fire Council.
Atamans and subchiefs from all the clans had arrived in an agreed-upon meeting spot unclaimed by any one clan and considered ground sacred to Agna. Here, the clans maintained a peace with each other long enough for the councils to meet and make decisions that affected the Savatar confederation as a whole. Today, he would stand before the leaders of all the clans, lay down his challenge, and pray they accepted.
Saruke gave his arm a last squeeze. “I’ll get your sister. May Agna, and all the gods, bless you today, my son.” She nodded to Gilene and exited the qara, leaving them alone within the glow of the brazier.
Azarion gazed at his newly recognized fire witch. She wasn’t truly his and never would be. She belonged heart and soul to Beroe, but for this moment, he could indulge in the daydream. “You’re agacin now, Gilene,” he said softly. “One step closer to your return to Beroe.”
Her head tilted to one side, her eyes reflecting only the shimmering light from the brazier. “And if they reject your challenge?”
“They won’t. They can’t. If they try, the decision will go to the Fire Council. The agacins defer to each other, and you support my bid. It is Agna’s blessing. To reject my challenge is to reject the blessing.” He reveled in the sudden bright glitter of admiration that entered her gaze.
“Sacrilege,” she said.
He nodded. “Sacrilege.”
She sighed. “Very clever, though never have I seen someone so eager to enter into combat.”
“Combat is all I’ve known for a decade. I’m not afraid.”
It wasn’t an empty boast. He didn’t fear a fight to the death with Karsas. In fact, he looked forward to it. That thirst for revenge had kept him alive, seen him through more battles than he could count as well as the vicious affections of an empress whose cruelty knew no bounds.
Gilene didn’t possess that kind of cruelty, only a misplaced and unreciprocated loyalty to people who didn’t deserve it. The ghost of a smile drifted across her mouth. “I can’t imagine you afraid of anything, Azarion.” The smile faded at his expression. “What?”
There was nothing of the Empire he wished to keep in either his home or his memory. Nothing save this resolved, enduring woman. “You don’t address me by name often. I like the sound of it on your tongue.”
He drew close, pleased beyond words when she didn’t step back from his nearness. “Agacin who does not pray, I won’t ask for your prayers before I face the atamans. Instead I’ll ask for a kiss. One of luck.” His fingertip brushed the underside of her chin. “Will you grant me that?”
There was a softness to her eyes and mouth that seduced him. “I’m an unlucky woman.”
He traced the line of her jaw. “Not to me.”
He slowly lowered his head, his heart thumping even harder when Gilene raised her face to his. Her cheek under his lips was smooth, giving, the skin over the bony ridge of her nose thin and fragile. Her eyelashes tickled his mouth when he brushed her closed eyelids, and a slow pulse beat at her temple. She was sublime, unweathered by the ceaseless wind that whipped across the steppe.
Gilene refused to look away, hoping he read the message in her eyes. You promised.
“Gilene will return to the Empire.”
His declaration literally made her wilt. Relief that she would return to Beroe in time. Disappointment over what she’d leave behind—days spent among the beauty of the Stara Dragana, acceptance among a people who saw her as something more than a useful sacrifice, and a driven man who enchanted her a little more each day.
Any more discussion halted when one of the agacins appeared at the entrance. “Come,” she said. “The decision is made.”
Gilene gave both brother and sister a quick nod before following the agacin inside the qara. Butterflies beat swift wings under her rib cage. She couldn’t account for her dread of the priestess’s decision. However they decided, she would still go home. She had fulfilled her part of the bargain with Azarion, yet she found herself knotting and unknotting her fingers, silently willing the council seated before her to accept her as one of their own.
The ata-agacin rose. The others followed suit. “Gilene of Krael,” she said. “You aren’t Savatar, yet you wield fire. You cast the magic of deception and don’t worship any god known to your people or ours. Yet Agna has blessed you, resides within you. You aren’t like us, yet you are as we are. The Fire Council recognizes you as a true agacin. Welcome to the Hearth, sister of the Flame.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Saruke stepped back and swept Azarion with a critical look softened at the edges by pride. “You look like an ataman. They will note this when you stand before them.”
For all that some atamans and subchiefs might admire his appearance, Azarion doubted any would be influenced by it in their decision regarding his challenge. “I don’t think they’ll care, Ani.”
His mother sniffed. “They’ll care. Don’t think they haven’t noticed how Clan Kestrel has dwindled. Clan Wolf is glad of it. They have risen because we’re diminished, and they won’t welcome your bid to reclaim the chieftainship. The others, though . . . they know better. All the clans need to be strong now. The Empire will find a way around the Veil in the west by encroaching from the east and overcoming the Goban. It’s just a matter of time, and we’ll be overrun by Kraelians and Nunari before we know it. All the Savatar are in danger. We can’t afford to have someone as weak as Karsas leading us now.”
She wasn’t telling Azarion anything he didn’t already know. His clan stuttered under the leadership of an inept ataman. Karsas had always craved power and prestige, and he was ambitious enough to plan his own cousin’s enslavement to clear the way for his rise to clan leader. But he didn’t know how to wield power once he possessed it, and the clan had suffered for it. It was long past time that Azarion take back what was rightfully his and save his clan.
Gilene stood just behind his mother. She wore the yellow sash of an agacin wrapped around her slender waist. It was a bright splash of color against the heavily embroidered tunic he’d given her to wear during her second test before the Fire Council. She still didn’t know the identity of the generous benefactor. He no longer feared she’d give it back if she knew he’d been the one to gift it to her, but he wanted her to enjoy the outfit without wondering how she’d repay him for it or assume it had been given to soothe hostilities between them.
“Do you need me to stand with you?” she said.
“No. You’ll be there as part of the Fire Council anyway. The atamans will approve or reject my challenge; the agacins will witness it and make sure the outcome is just.”
A week earlier, the Fire Council had finally proclaimed Gilene an agacin. Tamura had whooped her glee at the announcement and made quick work of spreading the news throughout the Kestrel encampment.
They expected him to rejoice as well and put forth his challenge immediately. Instead, Azarion quietly escorted a shocked Gilene back to his mother’s qara and served her multiple cups of tea until she stopped shaking. He then knelt before her and bowed over her hands. “Well done, Agacin,” he said. Triumphant elation warred with a melancholy that constricted his breathing. He no longer had a reason to keep her in the Sky Below.
There had been much celebration that evening among the clan. Clan Kestrel could now claim an agacin in their midst, the concubine of the old chief’s returned son. The people danced, sang songs, and toasted Gilene and the Fire Council.
Atamans and subchiefs from all the clans had arrived in an agreed-upon meeting spot unclaimed by any one clan and considered ground sacred to Agna. Here, the clans maintained a peace with each other long enough for the councils to meet and make decisions that affected the Savatar confederation as a whole. Today, he would stand before the leaders of all the clans, lay down his challenge, and pray they accepted.
Saruke gave his arm a last squeeze. “I’ll get your sister. May Agna, and all the gods, bless you today, my son.” She nodded to Gilene and exited the qara, leaving them alone within the glow of the brazier.
Azarion gazed at his newly recognized fire witch. She wasn’t truly his and never would be. She belonged heart and soul to Beroe, but for this moment, he could indulge in the daydream. “You’re agacin now, Gilene,” he said softly. “One step closer to your return to Beroe.”
Her head tilted to one side, her eyes reflecting only the shimmering light from the brazier. “And if they reject your challenge?”
“They won’t. They can’t. If they try, the decision will go to the Fire Council. The agacins defer to each other, and you support my bid. It is Agna’s blessing. To reject my challenge is to reject the blessing.” He reveled in the sudden bright glitter of admiration that entered her gaze.
“Sacrilege,” she said.
He nodded. “Sacrilege.”
She sighed. “Very clever, though never have I seen someone so eager to enter into combat.”
“Combat is all I’ve known for a decade. I’m not afraid.”
It wasn’t an empty boast. He didn’t fear a fight to the death with Karsas. In fact, he looked forward to it. That thirst for revenge had kept him alive, seen him through more battles than he could count as well as the vicious affections of an empress whose cruelty knew no bounds.
Gilene didn’t possess that kind of cruelty, only a misplaced and unreciprocated loyalty to people who didn’t deserve it. The ghost of a smile drifted across her mouth. “I can’t imagine you afraid of anything, Azarion.” The smile faded at his expression. “What?”
There was nothing of the Empire he wished to keep in either his home or his memory. Nothing save this resolved, enduring woman. “You don’t address me by name often. I like the sound of it on your tongue.”
He drew close, pleased beyond words when she didn’t step back from his nearness. “Agacin who does not pray, I won’t ask for your prayers before I face the atamans. Instead I’ll ask for a kiss. One of luck.” His fingertip brushed the underside of her chin. “Will you grant me that?”
There was a softness to her eyes and mouth that seduced him. “I’m an unlucky woman.”
He traced the line of her jaw. “Not to me.”
He slowly lowered his head, his heart thumping even harder when Gilene raised her face to his. Her cheek under his lips was smooth, giving, the skin over the bony ridge of her nose thin and fragile. Her eyelashes tickled his mouth when he brushed her closed eyelids, and a slow pulse beat at her temple. She was sublime, unweathered by the ceaseless wind that whipped across the steppe.
