Phoenix Unbound
Page 66
Gilene dragged a finger over a carafe made of delicate glass the color of milk with wispy tendrils of mist caught in the design. She waved a hand to encompass the interior. “This would appeal to anyone for a short while.” She tilted her head to the side, a question in her eyes. “Do you not think it oppressive, though? It’s all beautiful in its way, but it isn’t the stars at night, and I feel as if I’d drown in silk and velvet by morning.” Her expression turned pleading. “I don’t wish to sound ungrateful of Erakes’s generosity or that of the chief who allowed us the use of his home, but would you mind so much if we slept outside? It’s warm enough, and the ground isn’t muddy. And we can use our own blankets to keep from soiling these.”
Azarion was tempted to pull her into his arms. Instead, he bowed. “As the agacin wishes. We’ll sleep under the stars tonight and welcome the sunrise tomorrow.”
She possessed a beautiful smile, one she showed far too seldom for his liking, and this time that smile was for him alone. They left the qara, fielding questions from those of both Clan Eagle and his own retinue; concerns the qara didn’t meet with their approval and offers to provide them with something else to their liking.
Azarion assured them all he merely indulged the whims of the agacin, who wanted to stargaze and enjoy the warmer weather before the summer season faded to fall. Appeased, they left him and Gilene to journey outside the camp’s periphery, opposite the horse herds, where the grasses were thicker but shorter, and the ground was free of horse dung. They stopped at the fire where his soldiers gathered for the night and took with them saddle pads and blankets for making a bed.
They were still close enough to the camp and its light to deter a visit from nocturnal hunters but far enough away to gain a modicum of privacy. The moon above them hung bright in the celestial black, creating shadows with razor edges on the Sky Below.
Gilene helped Azarion lay out the makeshift bed. Once finished, she dropped down to the bed, toed off her shoes, and lay supine atop the covers, face tilted up to the sky and the stars salting its expanse.
Azarion joined her, stretching out on his belly. He bent his arms to use as a headrest and rested his cheek on his forearms, content to watch the agacin watch the stars.
She spared him a glance from the corner of her eye. “Surely, you can’t see the stars that way.”
It didn’t matter to him. She was prettier than the stars and gleamed more brightly, in his opinion. The sour look that had seemed permanently stamped on her features when they first met was gone now, in its place, the beauty of fortitude. This was how he wanted to remember her after she returned to Beroe, he and the Savatar only a vague memory in her mind. If she bothered to recall them at all.
“I’ve seen stars many times,” he said. “I’m just glad to be outside.”
She smiled. “Me too.”
They lay in companionable silence for several moments until she spoke again. “Do you think the atamans will agree with your plan? More importantly, do you think Erakes will agree to it?”
He considered Gilene’s question before answering. “I really only need Erakes. With his support, the other atamans will follow. He hates the Empire even more than we do. His first wife died a captive in a Kraelian brothel before he could rescue her.”
Even in the darkness, he saw Gilene flinch. “My gods, I don’t blame him. That poor woman.” Her eyes glittered. “I think there must be no depth the Empire won’t descend to in its cruelty.”
“I’m counting on that hatred to sway him to my argument. He’s the canniest of the atamans and doesn’t turn away from a fight.”
Gilene shifted to her side, her expression anxious. “Sacking the capital is a risky endeavor, Azarion, much like that mad tumble you took under Karsas’s horse.” Her lips quirked. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d call you reckless.”
He mimicked her position, feeling the stretch of taut skin over his sore shoulder. “But you do know me better now. What do you call me?”
“I think you’re fishing for compliments,” she teased.
“I’m asking for your honesty, which you’ve always so generously shared with me, even at its harshest.”
She stared at him without speaking, and Azarion wondered what she saw and whether it pleased her.
“I would call you clever. Brave. Relentless in your pursuit of a goal. I don’t know what defines a good ataman, but I think you will be one for your clan. They’ll thrive under your leadership.” She frowned then. “Should you live long enough.”
Azarion reached out to capture a flyaway strand of her hair. “I’ve fought too hard to stay alive this long to suddenly embrace death.”
The steppe wind chittered a faint laugh as if amused by his defiance.
“When we leave this encampment, it’s a three-day ride through the Siraces Valley and another six days across Kraelian lands before you reach Beroe. It’s a four-day return ride to the Kestrel camp. Will you not return with me, Gilene?”
He dreaded letting her go but had sworn to her he would. That oath didn’t stop him from trying to convince her to stay.
Her eyes were so dark, no more than a play of shadows and the secrets she held close. “And what would I return as, Ataman? The concubine agacin?”
“You’ve seen the respect and regard all Savatar hold for the agacins. You’re a handmaiden of Agna.”
“I don’t even believe in your Agna,” she protested.
“And yet she chose you as one of hers. You don’t have to stay with Clan Kestrel. Any clan would gladly welcome you into their midst.”
Her face shuttered into an expressionless mask. “They are still strangers, people who know nothing of me nor I of them despite their honoring my role as Agna’s handmaiden. Home is among those who love you.”
Azarion rolled partially atop her, startling a gasp out of her.
He traced the line of her nose. “My mother has great affection for you. As does Tamura.” She snorted at that assertion. He pressed on. “What if I said I loved you, fire witch?” Her entire body tensed under his, and her lips parted on another gasp. “Can that not be enough to convince you to stay and make the Sky Below your home?”
A lone tear trickled from the corner of her eye and slid into the hair at her temple. “You’ve wanted a great deal from me, Ataman. You want my heart as well? Have me abandon all I’ve known to stay here with you?”
He bent to kiss her right eyelid, then her left, the salt of her tears stinging his lips. “I’m a greedy man. I want all of you, heart, soul, and body. You already have all that I am. It seems only fair.”
Deep down, he knew she’d refuse. Even if their relationship hadn’t been founded on extortion, struggle, and captivity, she was single-minded in her devotion to a duty for which she’d never receive thanks nor recognition from those she saved year after year. If, as she said, home was truly among those who loved you, then Beroe wasn’t her home. He didn’t know whether to hold her in sympathy or shake her from frustration.
He couldn’t regret asking her to stay. Soon they would part for good, and he was desperate to keep her.
“The same family awaiting you in Beroe willingly surrenders you to Kraelian slavers every spring so that you are raped and burned.” His voice sounded harsh to his ears. She might love her mother and siblings, but she hated her fate. Azarion suffered no qualms in reminding her of that fact.
Azarion was tempted to pull her into his arms. Instead, he bowed. “As the agacin wishes. We’ll sleep under the stars tonight and welcome the sunrise tomorrow.”
She possessed a beautiful smile, one she showed far too seldom for his liking, and this time that smile was for him alone. They left the qara, fielding questions from those of both Clan Eagle and his own retinue; concerns the qara didn’t meet with their approval and offers to provide them with something else to their liking.
Azarion assured them all he merely indulged the whims of the agacin, who wanted to stargaze and enjoy the warmer weather before the summer season faded to fall. Appeased, they left him and Gilene to journey outside the camp’s periphery, opposite the horse herds, where the grasses were thicker but shorter, and the ground was free of horse dung. They stopped at the fire where his soldiers gathered for the night and took with them saddle pads and blankets for making a bed.
They were still close enough to the camp and its light to deter a visit from nocturnal hunters but far enough away to gain a modicum of privacy. The moon above them hung bright in the celestial black, creating shadows with razor edges on the Sky Below.
Gilene helped Azarion lay out the makeshift bed. Once finished, she dropped down to the bed, toed off her shoes, and lay supine atop the covers, face tilted up to the sky and the stars salting its expanse.
Azarion joined her, stretching out on his belly. He bent his arms to use as a headrest and rested his cheek on his forearms, content to watch the agacin watch the stars.
She spared him a glance from the corner of her eye. “Surely, you can’t see the stars that way.”
It didn’t matter to him. She was prettier than the stars and gleamed more brightly, in his opinion. The sour look that had seemed permanently stamped on her features when they first met was gone now, in its place, the beauty of fortitude. This was how he wanted to remember her after she returned to Beroe, he and the Savatar only a vague memory in her mind. If she bothered to recall them at all.
“I’ve seen stars many times,” he said. “I’m just glad to be outside.”
She smiled. “Me too.”
They lay in companionable silence for several moments until she spoke again. “Do you think the atamans will agree with your plan? More importantly, do you think Erakes will agree to it?”
He considered Gilene’s question before answering. “I really only need Erakes. With his support, the other atamans will follow. He hates the Empire even more than we do. His first wife died a captive in a Kraelian brothel before he could rescue her.”
Even in the darkness, he saw Gilene flinch. “My gods, I don’t blame him. That poor woman.” Her eyes glittered. “I think there must be no depth the Empire won’t descend to in its cruelty.”
“I’m counting on that hatred to sway him to my argument. He’s the canniest of the atamans and doesn’t turn away from a fight.”
Gilene shifted to her side, her expression anxious. “Sacking the capital is a risky endeavor, Azarion, much like that mad tumble you took under Karsas’s horse.” Her lips quirked. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d call you reckless.”
He mimicked her position, feeling the stretch of taut skin over his sore shoulder. “But you do know me better now. What do you call me?”
“I think you’re fishing for compliments,” she teased.
“I’m asking for your honesty, which you’ve always so generously shared with me, even at its harshest.”
She stared at him without speaking, and Azarion wondered what she saw and whether it pleased her.
“I would call you clever. Brave. Relentless in your pursuit of a goal. I don’t know what defines a good ataman, but I think you will be one for your clan. They’ll thrive under your leadership.” She frowned then. “Should you live long enough.”
Azarion reached out to capture a flyaway strand of her hair. “I’ve fought too hard to stay alive this long to suddenly embrace death.”
The steppe wind chittered a faint laugh as if amused by his defiance.
“When we leave this encampment, it’s a three-day ride through the Siraces Valley and another six days across Kraelian lands before you reach Beroe. It’s a four-day return ride to the Kestrel camp. Will you not return with me, Gilene?”
He dreaded letting her go but had sworn to her he would. That oath didn’t stop him from trying to convince her to stay.
Her eyes were so dark, no more than a play of shadows and the secrets she held close. “And what would I return as, Ataman? The concubine agacin?”
“You’ve seen the respect and regard all Savatar hold for the agacins. You’re a handmaiden of Agna.”
“I don’t even believe in your Agna,” she protested.
“And yet she chose you as one of hers. You don’t have to stay with Clan Kestrel. Any clan would gladly welcome you into their midst.”
Her face shuttered into an expressionless mask. “They are still strangers, people who know nothing of me nor I of them despite their honoring my role as Agna’s handmaiden. Home is among those who love you.”
Azarion rolled partially atop her, startling a gasp out of her.
He traced the line of her nose. “My mother has great affection for you. As does Tamura.” She snorted at that assertion. He pressed on. “What if I said I loved you, fire witch?” Her entire body tensed under his, and her lips parted on another gasp. “Can that not be enough to convince you to stay and make the Sky Below your home?”
A lone tear trickled from the corner of her eye and slid into the hair at her temple. “You’ve wanted a great deal from me, Ataman. You want my heart as well? Have me abandon all I’ve known to stay here with you?”
He bent to kiss her right eyelid, then her left, the salt of her tears stinging his lips. “I’m a greedy man. I want all of you, heart, soul, and body. You already have all that I am. It seems only fair.”
Deep down, he knew she’d refuse. Even if their relationship hadn’t been founded on extortion, struggle, and captivity, she was single-minded in her devotion to a duty for which she’d never receive thanks nor recognition from those she saved year after year. If, as she said, home was truly among those who loved you, then Beroe wasn’t her home. He didn’t know whether to hold her in sympathy or shake her from frustration.
He couldn’t regret asking her to stay. Soon they would part for good, and he was desperate to keep her.
“The same family awaiting you in Beroe willingly surrenders you to Kraelian slavers every spring so that you are raped and burned.” His voice sounded harsh to his ears. She might love her mother and siblings, but she hated her fate. Azarion suffered no qualms in reminding her of that fact.
