Eyes of Crow (31 page)

“On what?”

“On whether you would say yes.”

“And what was his opinion?”

“Tell me your answer,” he said, “and I’ll tell you his.”

“Ask me the question, and I’ll tell you my answer.”

Marek laughed. “Is there any game you can’t win?”

“If that’s the question, the answer is definitely ‘no.’” She got up as if to leave.

He grabbed her waist and pulled her down into the soft hay beside him. “Hold still so I can ask you to marry me.”

“Hurry up, then.”

He took her hands. “Rhia, I want to spend every day of my life with you. I want your face to be the last thing I see before I sleep and the first thing I see when I wake. If you can stand to do the same with me, then we should marry.”

She simply looked at him.

“Each other,” he added.

“I’m still waiting for the question.”

He molded her left hand into a fist and pantomimed it shoving a dagger into his heart. Then he sobered, his eyes still glittering. “Will you marry me?”

She gazed at his face and thought that if she lived to be seventy and traveled as far as the Southern Sea, she’d never behold anything as beautiful as Marek in the moonlight.

“Yes.”

He sighed, seemingly with relief as much as happiness, then kissed her—softly at first, then with growing passion, which she returned. He eased her down to lie on the hay, taking care not to jostle her sore shoulder.

She placed her palm on his cheek, and he turned his head to kiss it.

“I love you,” she said.

His eyes opened to meet hers with alarm. “I haven’t said it, have I?”

“Not with words.”

“I’m sorry.” He spread his body against Rhia’s so that every part of him touched a part of her. “I love you.”

“I know you do.”

“And I’m not just saying that because I want you so much I’m going to burst into flames.”

She laughed, then suddenly drew in a breath.

“What is it?” he said.

Her heart pounded at the thought of broaching the topic. “When I left Kalindos, I was in a hurry.”

“And?”

“And I forgot my wild carrot seed. I haven’t been taking it.”

“Oh.”

The silence stretched between them. “What should we do?” she asked him.

He lifted her chin and kissed her softly. “How do you feel about having a baby?”

She gave him the only honest answer. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like a child myself, but after all I’ve been through, sometimes I feel eighty instead of eighteen.”

“I’m glad you’re not eighty.”

“What about you?”

He hesitated, but when he spoke, his voice didn’t tremble. “I know that I want to have a child with you, to watch it grow up as we grow old.” He sighed and propped his head on his arm. “The question is when. When becoming a parent isn’t scary anymore? When the war is over? When life is perfect?”

She was relieved that he shared her ambivalence. “How does anyone know when they’re ready?”

“What about your Aspect? Can you safely move to the next phase?”

“Can I? Yes. I’ve had these powers for ten years. They’ve just grown stronger since my Bestowing. But do I want to? That’s another question.” She hesitated. “If I become a second-phase Crow, I’ll need more training. I’ll have to go back to Kalindos.”

His brow creased in a deep frown. “And you don’t want to?”

“Not yet.” She gestured to the barn around them. “My family is here. They need me. And I need them.”

“More than you need me?”

“Why do you say that?” Her face heated. “Marek, if we get married, wouldn’t we live here?”

He rolled onto his back and ran a hand through his hair. “I’d be the only one of my kind in the whole village.”

“So would I.”

“But you have to get used to that. Crows are rare. Wolves need a pack.”

“I’ll never get used to being Crow,” she said, more sharply than intended. “And you can be part of a new pack—with me and my family. You can hunt with my brothers.”
If they survive the battle.

“It’s not the same.”

They lay silent for a long moment, staring at the beams of the barn’s roof. Finally Rhia spoke, “You knew all along that we would come to this, that someday I’d return to Asermos with everything Coranna taught me. That was the reason I came to Kalindos in the first place.”

“I know.” His voice hardened with petulance.

“This is my home, Marek. I love your village, I love the forest, but this is where I belong.”

He drew a deep, shaky breath, then let it out slowly. “Then it’s where I belong.”

She turned to him. “You mean it?”

He put his arm around her waist and drew her close. “I do.” His eyes were sad. “Just don’t expect me never to be homesick.”

Before either of them could mention the fact that in a few days, Asermos might cease to exist, she kissed him. Their mouths meshed, warm and soft, and he pulled at the hem of her blouse until she let him tug it over her head.

Her dread of the future dissipated with the spread of his hands over her skin, a sensation as familiar and precious as breath itself. She threaded her fingers through his soft hair and savored the way it filled her hands, thick and long, grown nearly to his shoulders now. She guided his mouth lower until his lips met the curve of her breast. In the distance a chorus of wolves howled, accentuating the silent stillness in the barn. Rhia shivered, but no longer in fear.

Marek’s mouth hovered just over her nipple, tendering a warm promise of pleasure. She bit back a plea, which would only make him tease her longer. Every nerve waited, taut as a bowstring.

Finally his tongue flicked, once, and her back arched. He grasped her waist, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

“Patience,” he whispered. “Even if we can’t make love, I want to make it last.”

Marek drew off the rest of her clothes, sweeping his fingertips and tongue across each new space of bare skin, pausing at her feet to treat each toe as if it were a rare treasure. He made his way back up, and Rhia’s muscles melted as his breath warmed the skin between her thighs. An eternity passed while she waited, hands clenched with anticipation.

Then he began.

Slow as honey his mouth flowed against her. It knew where to find what it sought, but it teased and dawdled, until she released her frustration in a laugh that was almost a sob.

As if in reply, his tongue’s tip found the center of her bliss and caressed it again and again with a light, firm stroke that carried her up one of the highest peaks she’d ever approached—then left her there, balanced on the edge.

“You wouldn’t dare stop,” she hissed.

“Not if I want to live.”

He slipped one finger inside her, then another, curving them into the heart of her swollen fullness. Her moans pitched higher as his mouth returned to the place where she needed it, the pleasure more intense for its brief interruption. She wished they were alone in the cold forest again, out of the range of others’ ears.

Rhia shuddered again and again in a haze of bright, burning ecstasy that flowed into every corner of her body. She almost begged him to stop, but knew it would be futile. At last he drew away to kiss and caress her legs and hips until she returned to earth.

“Come here,” she said.

He obeyed. She sat up and reached to untie his shirt. He restrained her hand for a moment, then relented. She drew the shirt over his head and gasped.

His chest and torso were bruised and bandaged. Even in the dim light she saw more than a hint of Marek’s days-old injuries. Skaris couldn’t have done such damage during their brief encounter at his home. The truth stared at her: Marek had hunted the Bear, fought him hand to hand, and won.

Her finger traced the largest bandage, over his right side.

“I did it for you,” he said.

She struggled to keep the tears from her voice. “I never asked you to kill for me.”

“Then I did it for me, so I could sleep knowing that the man who wanted you dead could never hurt you again.”

She thought of the Descendant who had come much closer to murdering her than Skaris had. “You can’t protect me from every danger.”

“And you can’t stop me from trying.”

Marek should have died; Skaris was stronger, faster and in every other respect a better fighter. She should have lost him.

“If you don’t stop staring at my wounds,” he said, “I’ll make myself invisible.”

“No.” It was the last thing she could bear. She tugged at his trousers, unfastening them. “Let me see you. I want to see all of you.”

He lay back on the hay, never taking his eyes off her, as she finished undressing him. Though she had seen him naked in the daylight many times, she relished the sight of him stretched out, ready for her, in the near-darkness.

When she took him in her mouth, Marek’s groan was so sharp it was nearly a snarl. The sound of it quickened her own desire. He swelled and hardened between her lips. His hands grasped her hair—hands that had found their prey and taken its life in a fury born of love and loyalty. Spirits forgive her, but the thought of it made her want him more.

Rhia let go, then crawled over him to stare down at his flustered face.

“You’re not stopping,” he said.

“Not if I want to live.” She lowered her hips and drove him deep inside her.

His eyes flared with surprise, which vanished in the next instant. He clutched her body and turned them over in one motion. He pinned her left arm over her head but left the right one free, even now remembering her injury while reason abandoned him.

Marek gave himself to her with hard, fierce thrusts, plunging her deeper into the cushion of hay. She gloried in his feral power, that it was hers alone and always would be. He muffled a roar against her neck, and when his release came, he sank his teeth into the tender skin above her collarbone. She gasped, and met his orgasm with a sudden, sharp one of her own.

He collapsed upon her but did not withdraw, instead hugging her hips to his as he rolled to the side with an incoherent oath. They lay with limbs entangled, muscles trembling.

“Are we still alive?” she asked finally.

“You would know.” His breath came in rough pants as he kissed her hungrily. “Rhia, I love you so much. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

She didn’t need to see his eyes to know the truth of his words, but in their blue-gray depths she found the certainty she sought. Marek would anchor her to this world. For him, she would gladly spurn the Other Side and its inhuman peace.

They kissed endlessly as the short summer night drifted on. Eventually he stirred within her, and they made love again, slowly, letting the Spirits work Their will upon them.

Later that morning, Rhia, Alanka and Marek headed to the wheat field to train for the upcoming battle. Rhia and Coranna met with Elora, Pirrik, Silina and the other healers to set up a makeshift hospital. The wounded would be brought to the tent for care and, if necessary, to have their souls called home. A few of the healers would work in the field to help the fallen soldiers, but Crows were deemed too rare to put in harm’s way. Rhia fumed at the restriction but couldn’t argue with the logic.

When she was finished, she joined Alanka, who enlisted her assistance in arrow-making. She showed Rhia how to cut the feathers and adhere them to the shaft with birch tar. Alanka had to redo most of Rhia’s early efforts, but as the day wore on, Rhia’s fingers grew accustomed to the exacting work.

“Adrek came from Kalindos to fight,” Alanka mentioned.

“I’m surprised.” Rhia had never mended the rift between her and Skaris’s Cougar friend. “I thought he didn’t like me.”

“I’m sure he only came for the adventure. He probably thought there’d be a victory party.” She lowered her head. “Pirrik came, too, but he won’t talk to me.”

Rhia could offer only a sound of sympathy. Alanka’s father had killed her mate Pirrik’s father, Etar. It was hard to imagine how they would overcome such a barrier.

“Don’t look,” Alanka said, “but a certain Spider is crawling this way.”

Arcas strode toward them, wearing a thick leather battle vest and a matching set of gauntlets on his forearms. A sword swung in a scabbard at his left side. Watching him from a distance, Rhia noticed how much his physique had changed since she left Asermos. Gone was most of the bulk that came so natural to a Bear, replaced with a Spider’s grace and wiriness.

Alanka gave a soft whistle at the sight. “If I weren’t in mourning…”

Rhia jabbed her in the back with the blunt end of an arrow.

“I’m joking,” Alanka whispered. “I have no appetite for your leftovers.”

“Good morning, Alanka.” Arcas nodded to Rhia. “Rhia.” His voice was clipped, and the corner of his left eye twitched. “Alanka, are you ready to begin?”

She thrust a stack of arrows into a quiver, which she strapped across her body. “Ready.”

He had set up a target in the wheat field about a hundred paces away.

“Can you hit that scarecrow?” he asked her.

Alanka squinted at the figure. “Where?”

He pointed. “Right there, with the red shirt.”

“No, where on its
body
do you want me to hit?”

“Oh.” He seemed surprised. “The heart’s a good place to aim for a kill shot. We don’t know yet what kind of armor they’ll—”

Alanka had already let loose an arrow, which was sticking out of the scarecrow’s “heart.”

Arcas cleared his throat. “That’s, er, good. Let’s see if you can hit the head.”

“The eye?”

His laugh sounded skeptical. “Sure. Try for the eye.”

“Which eye?”

“Pick one.”

“Left.” With a motion that blurred in Rhia’s sight, she nocked an arrow and shot it into what would have been the scarecrow’s left eye. Arcas just stood.

“Amazing.” He rubbed his chin and looked at Alanka. “From how far away can you do that?”

“As far as the bow can shoot.”

“Can the other Kalindons shoot like you?”

“Sure,” she said, though Rhia knew she was being modest. “Marek taught me. He’s not quite as fast as I am, though.”

Arcas looked across the narrow end of the field at the gathering of Kalindons. Some marveled over the longbows, others surveyed the lay of the land and still others quaffed mugs of ale.

“Which one’s Marek?” he said.

Rhia closed her eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

“Oh.” Alanka hesitated. “You haven’t met Marek yet?”

“Call him over,” Arcas said. “Let’s see what he can do.”

Alanka mouthed a “sorry” toward Rhia as she set off for the group of Kalindons.

An excruciating silence fell between Rhia and Arcas. He untied and retied his left gauntlet, then the right one. She organized the newly fletched arrows into stacks of twenty, then double-and triple-checked the count. They continued to say nothing.

Alanka crossed the field, followed by Marek.

“Welcome.” Arcas bowed to the Wolf. “I can’t begin to express my gratitude to you and your people.”

Marek returned the greeting. “It’s our honor to serve under your command. Just tell me how I can help.”

Arcas gestured to Marek’s bow, then at the scarecrow. “Alanka’s set a tough example to follow, but if you can just hit the target, I’ll be impressed.”

Marek gave Alanka a competitive glare, then readied himself to shoot. He eyed the target carefully as he set the nock of the arrow against the string.

“See?” Alanka said. “I told you he’s not as fast as I am.”

A crack sounded at the target. One of Alanka’s arrows fell to the ground in pieces, split by Marek’s shot.

“Sorry,” he said to her. “I’ll make you a new one.”

“Outstanding.” Arcas beamed at the target. “We could actually win this battle.” He thumped Marek on the back. “Have you found somewhere to stay? Our house has extra space.”

“Thank you.” Marek glanced at Rhia. “I’ve found a place.”

Arcas registered the look. “You know each other?”

She stepped to Marek’s side. “We met in Kalindos.”

Alanka shifted her feet on the grass in obvious embarassment.

Arcas looked at the other three in turn. “Wait—is this—Rhia, this is him?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

He examined Marek with an impassive gaze. “So you decided to come after all. Good.” He turned away, and Rhia’s throat unclenched.

Before she could blink, Arcas drew his sword with one hand and shoved Marek to the ground with the other. He held the sharp tip to Marek’s throat, so close that blood would have flowed if the Wolf had so much as swallowed.

“Arcas!” Rhia started to reach for him, but Alanka held her back—wisely, since any motion might have fatal consequences. Marek’s life balanced on the edge of the blade.

“You stole my mate,” Arcas hissed.

Marek spoke through gritted teeth. “You want me to be ashamed?”

“I want you to be dead.”

“Why? So she can hate you instead of just not love you?”

They had attracted the attention of the nearby Kalindons, who watched with casual interest. Out of hearing distance, they probably assumed the fight was a practice maneuver.

Alanka moved for the bow near her feet.

“Don’t,” both men ordered in unison.

“Arcas, please…” Rhia whispered. “We need him. I need him.”

He started to tremble, but his sword arm remained as rigid as stone.

Then Marek did something unexpected. His right hand reached out and wrapped around the blade.

Arcas gasped and almost jerked back in a reflex.

“Don’t move,” Marek said in a low voice, “or you’ll slice my palm to the bone and I won’t be able to draw a bow. What will your commander say when he finds out how I got hurt?”

Arcas stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing if you’d really kill me. Evidently you wouldn’t, if the thought of merely maiming me sends you into a panic.”

“Let go.”

“No.”

Their gazes were locked. “What do you want?” Arcas said.

“Peace. Let this be the first and last time we fight. Rhia has chosen. If you love her, let her live with that choice.”

Arcas’s eyes narrowed suddenly, and Rhia feared he would thrust the sword forward, but then he nodded.

“Thank you,” Marek said. “Now relax your elbow so I can remove this thing from my throat.”

After taking a moment to collect his pride, Arcas obeyed, and Marek slowly moved the sword aside, far enough to let him rise. With care his fingers released the blade, and he got to his feet.

Arcas sheathed his sword, avoiding the eyes of the others. “I’m sorry,” he said to Marek. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Please forgive my loss of control.”

“Think nothing of it. If I were in your place I’d have done the same thing.” As Arcas turned to leave, Marek added, “Except I’d have killed you.”

Arcas paused briefly in his departure. “I need to check on the other troops,” he said without looking back.

Alanka bounced on her toes. “You were amazing.” She pinched Marek’s arm. “No one intimidates Kalindons.”

Rhia asked Marek, “Did you mean what you said? Would you really kill him if the situation were reversed?”

“Not if you told me not to.” He put his arms around her and kissed her nose. “I’ll obey you as well as your hounds.”

“My hounds aren’t the least bit obedient.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

Shouts came from the other end of the field, where Arcas’s sunrise trees stood. A rider on a dark bay pony burst from the woods, sagging in her saddle.

Rhia turned to the others. “It’s one of the scouts!”

They ran with the rest of the soldiers to meet the scout, a Bat woman named Koli. Torin, the Bear commander, was listening to her report, pacing as he pondered her words, which clearly troubled him.

“What are they saying?” Rhia asked her Wolf companions, who shook their heads.

“Too many other people talking,” Marek said.

“Someone needs to attend that horse.” Rhia pushed her way through the crowd, Marek on her heels. She took the reins from the grateful Koli and began to hot-walk the pony in a wide circle. The huff of his breath and clop of his hooves drowned out much of the conversation, but at least Marek had gotten close enough to hear. From what Rhia gathered, the enemy had moved within striking distance and could invade as soon as tomorrow.

When her path brought her near Torin and Koli again, she overheard an alarming fact.

“There’s armor for the horses,” Koli said. “They mean to use them in battle.”

Rhia pulled the pony to a stop.

Torin clenched his fists. “That will put us at a disadvantage—not only because of their greater height but because they think we won’t harm their mounts.”

“We will if we have to,” Lycas said. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

The pony nuzzled Rhia’s hand, no doubt searching for a treat. “We can’t,” she said. Everyone looked at her, and she drew the bay gelding forward with her. “The horses didn’t ask to fight. They don’t deserve the pain and death of war.”

“What would you have us do?” Lycas’s voice filled with scorn. “Ask the Descendants very nicely to dismount so we can kill them?”

“He has a point,” Arcas said. “On foot we’re no match for a cavalry.”

“You both speak as if it’s easy to kill a horse whether you want to or not.” Torin gestured to the woods. “They’ll come out of those trees and cut us down so fast, our archers will have time for only one shot, if that. The only solution is to keep them off the battlefield in the first place.”

“What about a row of pikes?” Arcas said. “We could conceal it under leaves at the edge of the woods and lift it just as the horses step out of the trees.”

A gasp of revulsion permeated the crowd.

“Good idea,” Lycas said to Arcas, then raised his voice to Torin and the other people gathered around. “Our lives—our entire village—might depend on it. We don’t have the luxury of coddling enemy weapons, even if they have pretty fur and big brown eyes.” He glared at Rhia.

Her anger boiled, but she wouldn’t let her brother see it. “Torin’s right, but killing the horses isn’t the answer. Mother used to make a potion to calm our ponies during a bad thunderstorm. What if we used it to sedate the enemy’s mounts, enough that they can’t be ridden into battle?”

Elora stepped forward. “Do you have any of this potion left?”

“I’m sure we do. Father said it’s been a mild season for storms.”

“With a small sample, I could make more,” the healer said. “But how do we administer it in time?”

Torin frowned. “Someone would need to sneak into the enemy camp tonight and slip the potion into the water troughs.”

The crowd hushed as everyone examined their toes. It was a suicide mission.

“I’ll do it.”

Rhia stared at Marek, who held up his hand.

Torin approached him. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Marek, of Kalindos.” He returned the general’s bow. “As a second-phase Wolf, I can become invisible at night and move with complete stealth. I’m the only one here who can do that. It makes sense to send me.” He held up his bow. “I’ll fight when I return.”

“
If
you return.” Arcas took a step toward Marek. “Why would you risk your life for us?”

Marek simply looked at Rhia. She shook her head and begged him with her eyes not to go.