“Rhia…” Marek’s voice at her ear was heavy, as if from drunkenness, and she knew for certain that he smelled her desire for him. The spell that let them pretend they clung together for mere warmth had broken. In the dark, with Marek’s body the only source of heat, with her new power from the Bestowing ready to burst free, Rhia could not discern a reason to refuse the gnawing passion within.
“Yes,” she whispered, and arched her back against him. He groaned and seized her so hard she lost her breath.
Rhia unfastened her coat to let his hands explore beneath it. They roamed her body as if trying to possess every inch. He raked his teeth over the back of her neck, and she gave a violent shudder.
She didn’t know this man. Or did she? Or did it even matter? It felt crazy. She had never seen his face, but the smell of his skin, the feel of his hands and sound of his breath sharpened her pangs of lust. A brief flash of Arcas came to her mind, of their serene lovemaking in the sunny meadow, a manifestation of the affection they had shared since childhood. For a moment she mourned what was lost. Then she gave herself over to this pure, vicious need that obliterated all memory and identity.
Beneath the blankets they rushed to remove the fewest clothes necessary. His warm, bare hips slid behind hers, and his hardness pressed against her back. Marek’s knee slipped between her thighs to part them.
He entered her with one long, slow thrust. They paused their frenetic grasping to marvel at the sensation. In the stillness, Marek passed his hand lightly over Rhia’s breasts, then down her stomach to the place between her legs where they joined. He inhaled as if to speak, but his fingers whispered sufficiently of his awe.
Rhia moaned when he moved inside her, louder as the moments passed and blurred into one long perfect present. Suddenly she remembered his sensitive hearing. She bit her lip to hold back the sounds, so hard she tasted blood.
Marek’s body seized, and he clutched her tighter. Her own waves escalated, and the effort to remain quiet verged on agony.
“Rhia…” Marek was barely able to speak the syllables. “You can scream now.”
She did.
16
Her cries finally faded, replaced by shaky, uneven gasps. Marek’s forehead pressed against the back of her shoulder as he shuddered with the last spasms of passion. Their lovemaking—could she even call it that?—had been brief but fierce, and she felt spent of stamina yet full of power.
Marek gently turned Rhia onto her back. She started to speak before a single finger on her lips silenced her. The same hand cupped her chin and turned it to the side.
He kissed her then, soft and sweet. Their first kiss, and it was as chaste as if they had spent the last ten minutes picking wildflowers instead of rutting like wild animals on the forest floor.
His fingertip traced her jawline. She tittered.
“What’s so funny?” he said.
“I just remembered, someone once told me that Kalindons had seven-inch fingernails.”
“That’s one I haven’t heard.” His hand left her face and, after a moment of blanket rustling, slid against her waist. “Aren’t you happy it’s not true?”
“Extremely.”
It seemed as if one or both of them should express regret or at least sheepishness for their rash act. It wouldn’t be Rhia, for she wasn’t sorry. She wanted to see Marek’s face, read his feelings, to know if he wished it hadn’t happened. But judging by the lazy patterns his fingers were tracing over her belly, his sentiments ranged far from dismay.
“What else have you heard about Kalindons?” he said with what sounded like a smile.
“That you live in trees?”
“True. Our houses rest among the branches. It keeps us safe from bears and cougars.”
“Can’t cougars climb trees?”
“Yes, but they don’t hunt in them. We place our homes in such a way to make it hard for a cougar to get inside. It’s less trouble for them just to find a rabbit or deer.”
“What about wolves?”
“Cougars don’t hunt wolves.”
“You know what I mean. How do you stay safe from wolves?”
“We don’t.” He gave her another kiss, deeper than the first, then descended beneath the blanket. “How many times will I tell you,” his voice came muted against her stomach. “Wolves. Are. Harmless.”
Rhia smiled as she stroked his hair and lifted her hips to meet his mouth. She doubted he believed his own words. Spirits knew she didn’t believe them.
More important, she didn’t care, at least not at that moment.
Morning light pried open Rhia’s eyes. Her face was buried in a brown wool blanket that covered something warm.
Marek.
Memories of the previous night spun through her head in an instant before she sat up to see, finally, what he looked like.
He lay sprawled half-covered by the blanket, limbs slack and face serene, like a tired, well-fed dog. A lock of his short, dust-colored hair fell across his pale forehead. As she had discovered from touching it last night, his nose was straight but for a slight tilt up at the end. What she couldn’t feel, of course, was the spattering of freckles across its bridge. His cheekbones were high but not prominent enough to give him a gaunt appearance.
Marek parted his long brown lashes and shifted his head to look up at her. His eyes were the same blue-gray as the early morning sky. They held a wary, haunted look.
Then he smiled at her, and something melted inside Rhia, something that had lain frozen for months.
“Like what you see?” he said.
“Before the sun ever rose, I knew you were beautiful.”
“Liar.” He grinned and scratched his head. “You only knew I wasn’t bald with a harelip.”
She hesitated to kiss him. What if last night had disappointed him, or what if he only meant to be with her once? Perhaps Kalindons were more casual about these things.
Marek answered her unspoken question by grabbing her around the waist and pulling her forward. She tumbled over his body and landed on her left side facing him.
“It’s good to see you again,” he said.
“It’s good to see you at all.”
“I apologize for my transparency. They say I’ll learn to control it. It bothers most people, but you seemed unfazed.”
“I’ve seen—or not seen—much stranger things in the last few days.”
“But I’m no Spirit.”
“True. You certainly have more, what is the word—” she slid her hand inside his coat “—substance.”
He tugged the blanket over their bodies and pulled her closer. “Want to see my substance?”
Amid no further discussion, they opened layer after layer of clothes. The rising sun had taken the edge off the night’s freeze, and besides, they would allow the cold air no room to come between them. Marek’s skin against hers felt warm and smooth and alive. Her own body was reviving slowly, like a verdant field after a long winter, a field left fallow too long.
He passed his hand over the top of her stomach, and she jolted. “It tickles.”
“You weren’t ticklish last night,” he said.
“And now I am.”
“I can teach you not to be ticklish ever.”
“How?”
“It’s all in the mind.”
“No, it’s in my stomach. And my feet and sometimes under my arms.”
“Just relax. Now lie back and hold still.” His hand inched across her belly. She forced her arms to stay at her side, rather than shove him away or punch him. “Don’t forget to breathe,” he said.
She breathed through her nose, afraid to open her mouth lest a shriek of giggles burst forth. Marek’s hand stopped.
“Shh.” He kept his gaze on her face, mesmerizing her into a state of calm. Though she lay passive under his touch, it felt less like he was controlling her than he was giving her the power to control herself.
“Try again,” she said.
He moved his hand again, this time d
own over the curve of her stomach, below her navel. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of his palm undo the knots in her muscles and calm the tremors inside her.
“Breathe,” he whispered, his voice a balm on her scalded spirit.
A heavy sigh entered and left her, taking with it the fears and concerns that had layered themselves over her mind.
Suddenly his hand jerked away, and he swore under his breath. She opened her eyes to see him grimace as if in pain.
“I don’t believe this,” he said.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
He sank down beside her on his back and looked at the branches above them with anguished eyes.
“How could I be so stupid?”
“About what?” She shook his arm. “Marek, what are you talking about?”
He glanced toward her stomach. “You could get pregnant. I didn’t do anything—”
“No, I can’t.”
“—to stop it.” He blinked, then turned to her. “Wait. Did you say you can’t?”
“I’ve been taking wild carrot seed for months. We don’t have to worry.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Normally the man takes care of these things. The baby-prevention things.”
Rhia gave him a skeptical look. “Not where I come from. It’s not wise to rely on a man’s ability to remember anything.”
“I resent that.”
“But you’re a perfect case. Last night you forgot.”
Marek’s expression darkened, like the sun under a passing cloud. “You’re right. I can’t be trusted.” He threw back the blanket and rolled to his knees. “We should eat breakfast.” He grabbed his shirt and coat and left their shelter.
Rhia had no idea how to penetrate his sudden, self-imposed silence, so she refastened her blouse and put her coat back on, shivering in the morning air. More than anything, she was hungry.
When she scrambled out from under the trees, Marek was untying the bundle of food from the branch over which it hung, safe from wild animals. It plummeted into his hands, the rope singing through the air.
They sat together on a fallen tree to eat the remnants of the previous night’s meal. Rhia considered probing for the source of his dourness, but decided against it. She knew enough moody people, including herself, to understand their need for silence. If she asked what was wrong, he would undoubtedly answer with a denial or a noncommittal grunt. Besides, conflict and angst ranked among the two worst seasonings for a good meal.
“I thought Crows talked a lot,” Marek said finally.
After a long chew, Rhia swallowed her last piece of fruit. “I know when not to.”
Marek contemplated this for a moment, then nodded. “Let’s be off, then.” He slung his pack over one shoulder, and a hunting bow and quiver of arrows over the other.
She followed him down a narrow trail. The sun yellowed as it climbed the sky, though the tree cover was too dense to allow any direct light to penetrate. When she wasn’t making sure not to trip on roots and rocks, Rhia glanced ahead at Marek’s striding figure.
He was only half a head taller than she was, which made him shorter than the average Asermon man. His sinewy physique and fluid animal grace made up for any lack of stature, however. In fact, the closeness of their heights pleased her—if they kissed standing up, her neck would not grow stiff.
If they ever kissed again, she thought, then pushed the thought out of her mind, dismayed at how much it bothered her. They had no claim on each other. Their encounter the previous night was due to her newfound joy at being alive and powerful in her body, and to his—well, to his being a human male near a young woman in such a state. It need be nothing more.
A smaller path led off the trail. Marek took the detour, which sloped downhill. He slowed his pace to walk beside her, then took her hand with an almost shy motion. If it was only to steady her over the rocks and roots that stepped the slope, he didn’t say so. She smiled and squeezed his hand, looking forward to nothing more than the day ahead of them.
Soon they reached the river, which was frozen several feet out from its bank. The center of it flowed around the remaining ice, devouring it chunk by chunk.
Marek picked up a large fallen branch and stabbed at the ice near the bank until it shifted and broke apart.
“This shouldn’t take long. Cold water makes them slow.”
He cut a thin piece of rope the length of his body and tied one end to an arrow and the other around his wrist. He loaded his bow, aimed at the hole in the water, and waited.
The silence stretched on for minutes. Only his eyes moved; the taut muscles of his arms and back didn’t even tremble from the stress of the bowstring.
A loud snap, whistle and splash combined in one moment. Before Rhia blinked again, Marek reeled in the rope. A speared fish flopped at the end of the arrow. He grabbed it by the tail, yanked it free, then slapped it hard against the rock, where it lay motionless. She felt like applauding, but instead joined him in a hushed prayer of honor to the Fish Spirit. He repeated the process with two more catches.
While the first fish cooked over a small fire, Rhia and Marek sat side by side to soak up the sun on a flat part of the riverbank covered in brown grass. The sensation of lingering warmth was a gift after the winter’s chill.
Finally Marek cleared his throat. “I feel like I should say something.”
And so it ends, Rhia thought, before it even begins.
17
After a long hesitation, Marek said, “I haven’t been with a woman…”
She gaped at him. “You haven’t?”
“…in a very long time.”
“Oh.” She had no other response to this statement, though he seemed to expect one.
“Does that surprise you?” he said.
Rhia almost laughed. He had attacked her with such ferocity, such a naked need, she hardly thought it a routine occurrence for him. She composed a more diplomatic response. “I don’t even know you. How could you possibly surprise me?”
He looked at her with astonishment. “Not know me? After last night, of course you know me.”
“I know a little.” Rhia drew her knees close to her chest. “I know you’re a passionate, generous man who’s hiding something. That’s all.”
“That’s enough for now.”
“Is it? Maybe.” She rested her cheek on her knees and examined him. “Remember, I couldn’t even see you.”
“You can see me now.”
“Not really.”
His frown told her he understood her meaning. “You will.”
“I know. When you’re ready.” She let herself smile. “Until then…”
He hooked his little finger inside the bend of her thumb, not meeting her gaze. “Until then?”
She met his mouth with a kiss, not caring what it led to or even if it was their last. He returned it with more than a hint of the desire that had joined them the previous night. Then he broke off abruptly and turned away.
“I don’t blame you.” He got up and went to the fire. “But this is wrong.”
She quenched a spark of shame that flickered inside her. “I’m not in the habit of making love to every man who stumbles across me in the woods. In fact, before you I had only one lover.” She watched him poke at the fire, his back to her. “But I don’t think what we’ve done is wrong. Maybe by Kalindon standards—”
“Kalindon standards?” He barked a caustic laugh. “What few there are have nothing to do with it. It’s me. You can’t begin to understand, so like I said, I don’t blame you.”
“I do understand. You don’t want to make a child and move into the second phase until you’ve mastered your first-phase powers. Neither do I.”
He looked at her coldly for the first time. “You really don’t understand. Invisibility isn’t a first-phase power.”
A slow horror crept up Rhia’s spine. It should have been obvious, a power so strong in one so young. “You’re—you’
re married?” she finally managed to say.
Marek shook his head as he unwrapped the fish.
“But—” She forced the words out. “You have a child.”
“I did,” he said quietly without looking at her. “We can eat this. It’s a little dry but not burned.”
“When?” she whispered.
“Now, before it gets cold.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He put the fish down and stared across the river. “Two years ago. He went to the Other Side just before he was born.”
“Marek, I’m so sorry. You must have—”
“He took his mother with him.”
Words abandoned Rhia’s throat, and she could only utter a pitiful mew of sympathy. A claw of guilt tugged at her, for her relief that he was no longer married.
She studied him, his body bent over the remains of the fire, and realized what gnawed at her.
“Did you lose someone else recently? A brother or sister?”
“No,” he said.
And his parents had died when he was ten. That meant he had been cutting his hair over and over for two years, rather than only once. Such a practice was unknown in Asermos; perhaps Kalindons were different. Regardless, it would mean that he mourned his wife and son as if they had just died.
Someday she would have the wisdom to help a person in Marek’s place, help them understand that death was only another step in one’s existence. Until then, she could only provide normal human comfort.
She moved to sit beside him, wrapping the blanket around both their shoulders. He pulled apart the fish and gave her the larger piece. She traded it with him for the smaller and pushed his hand toward his mouth.
“No,” he said. “Coranna told me to feed you well.”
“And you are. Now eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care.”
“I killed her.” Marek stared at the fish, as if he agonized over that death, too. “If we’d been more careful, she wouldn’t have had the baby, and she’d still be alive.”
Eyes of Crow Page 13
