“But they say that in dire times, when our people face great peril, perhaps even extinction, Raven will bestow Her Aspect on one young person who will be able to move through space and time and save us all.” He looked at the crowd. “The dreams tell us that this Raven boy or girl will be the offspring of a Crow.”
Marek looked at Rhia. Her green eyes glowed in the torchlight as she stared at her father. Her hand crept to cover her belly, but she otherwise looked strong, her jaw set, not half as frightened as he felt.
No one said anything for a long moment. Finally Rhia cleared her throat.
“Well, Father, at least you didn’t embarrass me.”
Laughter bellowed forth, as much from the relief of tension as from the joke itself.
Ladek the Bear stood and raised his mug. “To Raven!”
“To Raven!” the crowd echoed.
“To Rhia and Marek!” someone else shouted. More cries leaped forth and mugs clashed, spilling meloxa in widening puddles on every table.
Rhia looked at Marek, then they stood as one. Tereus sat, and the crowd quieted again.
Rhia spoke first. “Whatever the future brings, we have to face it together. All four villages must put aside their differences. We must be one people if we’re ever to overcome the Descendants. We don’t have to agree on everything, but it should be easy to agree on one thing—survival.” She raised her mug of honey water. “To one people.”
They cheered and drank.
Marek raised his own mug. “To the Reawakened.”
They cheered harder.
He leaned over to kiss his wife amid the noise. “Congratulations, mother of the world’s savior.”
“The Reawakened?”
“You said we had to put aside differences. Including religious ones, right?”
She gave him a warning smirk. “I’ll get you for that.”
The Kalindons seemed to have decided the talking part of the feast was over, and launched into celebration with more intensity than ever.
After a long reel during which he and Rhia had to dance with everyone in attendance, Marek excused himself. Rhia waved to him, with more energy in her hand than he felt in his entire body, as another Bobcat swept her into his arms.
He saw his new father-and brother-in-law at one of the tables, and brought them fresh mugs of meloxa. He’d added extra honey, since the fermented crabapple drink was an acquired taste, he’d been told. He sank his wedding-weary frame onto the bench beside Tereus.
“This drink—” Lycas pointed in the general direction of his mug “—is amazing. I have to bring some back to Asermos.”
“Absolutely not,” Marek said. “We barely have enough here as it is.”
“I’ll pay any price.” The Wolverine gazed into the liquid depths. “I’d trade a hundred barrels of ale for one flask of this.”
“You have a deal.” They clinked their mugs together, almost missing.
Tereus laughed. “So how are you holding up, Marek, with the baby coming in the middle of all this?”
Marek felt his lopsided smile disappear. “I keep dreaming the baby goes away.” He covered his eyes with his fingertips. “What does that mean, Tereus? In all my dreams, the baby either disappears or we accidentally throw it out.” He related the first nightmare, with the baby in the waste bucket.
“Is this before or after it’s born?” Tereus asked.
“Before. It’s always tiny and looks more like a doll or a little bird than a person.”
“I see.” Tereus grew somber, though he seemed to be trying to keep a calm face. “Excuse me for a moment.”
Marek watched his father-in-law approach Elora, and this time it wasn’t to dance with the healer. Though he couldn’t hear their conversation through the crowd’s babble, their drawn brows and tight mouths gave him a chill.
“I have the same dream,” Lycas said, bringing Marek’s attention back to the table. “Except I have our baby—mine and Mali’s baby—on a leash, like a dog. The moment it pulls on the leash, even a little bit, I let go.”
“That’s not the same dream at all.”
“My point is, we all have nightmares about being a parent. We dream the baby will have two heads, or no skin, or that we’ll forget to feed it.” Lycas took a long sip of meloxa. “My child will be born to two warriors. What kind of life is that? Even if it doesn’t lose us in battle, it’ll have to hear us scream at each other. At least your baby will have a quiet life. At least you and Rhia—” He gripped his mug and rapped its bottom edge against the table.
“At least we what?”
“You’ll never let each other go.”
Marek looked across the tables, past the half-conscious Kalindons picking at the meal’s remains. Elora and Tereus now sat next to Rhia, speaking to her with urgency.
Coranna sat down on the other side of Rhia and joined the discussion. He noticed that his wife’s shoulder angled away from her mentor, betraying the chill that had overtaken their relationship in the past few months.
They often argued when they thought he was out of earshot, about those who lingered on the Other Side and what to tell their surviving loved ones. As Rhia matured into her powers, the two Crow women had increasingly irreconcilable ideas about how to serve their Guardian Spirit. Marek often felt caught in the middle.
Tereus and Coranna began to speak across Rhia, descending into argument. Her eyes flicked from side to side, following the conversation, growing wary and suspicious. She caught Marek’s gaze. Awe and passion welled within him so hard it made his ribs hurt.
A slow smile spread across her face, and she stood, keeping the connection their eyes had forged.
“You’re right,” Marek said to Lycas.
“About what?”
Marek didn’t answer. He stood and moved to meet Rhia at the end of her table.
When he reached her, she slid her arms around his waist. “They want me to go back to Asermos to be under Silina’s care.”
“The Turtle woman?” He held back an I-told-you-so. “Why?”
“Between your dreams, the Raven prophecy and the fact that I haven’t gained much weight, Elora and my father think I should be cautious.” She leaned her head against his neck. “Coranna thinks I should stay and continue my training, since the voices have faded but not stopped. No one’s bothered to ask me what I want.”
Marek knew what he wanted—to take her and the baby wherever they would be safe, regardless of Rhia’s wishes. But it had to be her decision. He tipped her chin up to look into her eyes. “What do you want?”
“I want to stay.”
A wave of fear washed over him. “But—”
“But I can’t just think about my own desires anymore. So we’ll leave tomorrow with my family.”
He let out a long exhale. “Good.”
She looked at Lycas, slumped over his mug, which Marek noticed was full again. “Maybe the day after tomorrow,” she said, “if my brother keeps drinking meloxa like it’s ale.”
“I warned him.”
She turned back to Marek. “You know what else I want, since you asked?” She tugged his shirt collar. “I want to take my husband to bed.”
“Is it safe?”
“Of course. It was the first thing I asked Elora. After all, it’s our wedding night.”
He pulled her into a deep, long kiss that heated his skin and won catcalls from the wedding guests. The Kalindons stood and shifted to the ends of the tables and benches.
“What are they doing?” Rhia asked him.
“Moving the feast.” He took her hand, and they walked from the clearing in the direction of their tree house. Behind them came the sounds of furniture being hoisted, as well as a few mugs and plates sliding off to meet their demise on the rocky forest floor.
Rhia glanced back. “Why are they following us?”
“Kalindon tradition.”
“Are they coming to our house?”
“Below it. They’ll keep playing and dancing and drinking al
l night.” They reached the ladder to their home. “And all day tomorrow.” He gestured for her to climb before him so he could block the view up her skirt. “And the next night.”
From the porch they waved to the crowd below, who released a final, hearty cheer.
Once inside their house, Rhia reached behind her back to undo the dress. “You’d think there’d be a little less fuss in a village where hardly anyone goes to their marriage bed a virgin.”
“Any excuse for them to be obnoxious.” He batted her hands away from their task. “Let me do that.”
With one slow tug, Marek untied Rhia’s dress. He slid his finger under the white lace and drew the soft green fabric down over one shoulder, planting a trail of slow, biting kisses on the bare skin it left behind. Rhia shivered.
Without removing the dress he slid his hands over the curves of her waist and hips, wanting to touch her everywhere at once. It had been so long since her skin could bear to be caressed. Every night for four months he had held her, inhaled her scent, waiting for the pregnancy to give them her body back.
She turned and sat on the bed. He knelt between her feet. His fingers fumbled with the ties of her boots, but he managed to remove them and her stockings in little time. His hands glided under her skirt. The smooth skin of her thighs sent a rush of heat through his own body.
Lingering was out of the question. He grasped the soft undergarment and pulled.
Nothing happened. He pulled again, and met a firm resistance.
“It’s attached,” she said.
“Attached to what?”
“To the bodice.” She pointed to her waist. “It loops up and around the back and over my shoulders.”
He fingered the straps between the two segments of underclothes. “How do I get it off?”
“I have to take off the dress.”
“But I like you in the dress.” He reached forward and pulled her hips to the edge of the bed, tight against his. “I want you in the dress.”
“I could take it off, then put it back on.”
“That’d be ridiculous.” Hands beneath her skirt, he tugged at the stubborn contraption again. “Whose is this?”
“It’s mine.”
“And you can sew, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He ripped the undergarment in half. A gasp and a wicked laugh escaped Rhia’s throat. With another snap of his wrists, he tore the other side, as well, then pulled the fabric down around her heels and tossed it aside. “That’s better.”
“Much.” She leaned back on her elbows, then drew her toe over his ribs and gave him a heavy-lidded gaze. “Now what?”
“Now—” he leaned forward to kiss the tender flesh of her inner thigh “—I make you happy you married me.”
Soon she sounded happy, and felt happy, and tasted happy. The music and chatter below them created a background hum that he hoped covered the noise of her rising moans. After they peaked, then faded, she let out a deep sigh tinged with laughter.
“What about you?” she said.
“I’m already happy I married you,” he murmured against her leg.
“Then we can go to sleep, right?”
“Very funny.” He got to his feet and untied his shirt, watching her watch him.
“Should I leave the dress on?”
“Oh, yes. It’s not often I get to see you in one.”
She passed a hand over her belly. “Soon I’ll be wearing nothing but dresses.”
He paused, and in the dim lantern light he saw her face turn horrified.
“Oh, no,” she said. “Did I ruin it by mentioning the baby?”
“Of course not.” Though to be honest, he would have to reconvince himself that they were alone in the room. “I just realized there’ll be a good side to living in Asermos. You in skirts, for one.”
“And more kinds of food, so I can get nice and fat.” She grinned, but then her smile turned pensive. “Thank you for not telling me what to do. I know you’re worried about the baby, more than most men would be.”
He pushed the old images away. “I know better than to insist with you.”
“I do tend to do the opposite of what people tell me.”
“I’ve noticed that.” He pulled his shirt from his trousers. “So I insist you close your eyes while I undress.”
She smiled, openmouthed, so that when she laughed, he saw her tongue. “No.”
He slid his shirt off, slowly, tossed it in the corner, then moved to stand within her reach. “I insist you keep your hands off me.”
“No.” Her palms started at his calves and slid up the backs of his thighs. They met in front where his trousers bulged, her fingers covering the length of his shaft.
He sucked in a sharp breath. “I insist you keep your mouth off me.”
“Sorry.” Rhia unfastened his trousers, then pushed them down along with his drawers. “But, no.” She took him between her warm, wet lips, and his knees nearly gave way.
He had less breath than before, for fewer words. “Look away from my face.” She ignored him, taking him deep and kneading the flesh of his buttocks with her strong fingers. “I insist,” he somehow managed to add.
Her head tilted so that she could gaze up at him without taking him out of her mouth. The sight tightened his loins.
“Stop,” he said. “I insist—I mean—please.” He knelt between her legs. “I want to make love to you now. Not later, after I’ve recovered. Now.”
Her eyes wide and playful, Rhia placed a finger over his mouth. “Don’t insist. Just do it.”
He slid inside her, bringing a sharp gasp from both their throats. She lay back on the bed and wrapped her legs around him, raising her hips to meet his. The skirt fell above her waist so that he could see where they joined. It was beautiful, and it took every scrap of control not to release himself at that moment.
He held her beneath him. “It’ll be over too soon if we’re not careful.”
She smiled. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
In fact, it had been since the night they conceived the child inside her. Less than twenty-four hours later, he became a Descendant prisoner, and they’d almost lost each other forever.
Marek shook his head, releasing the regrets of the past and the fears of the future. He wanted to live inside the now that dwelled within Rhia, to feel every twitch of her tiniest muscle, to fill every breath with her scent.
“Much too long.” He thrust deeper inside her. Their groans grew in pitch and volume, and in their surge of shared ecstasy, he felt, for the first time in months, hope.
Hope that didn’t disappear after he collapsed on the bed beside her. It didn’t disappear when she removed her wedding dress and joined him, naked, beneath the warm blankets. And when she woke him hours later to make love again, the feeling remained. Despite the cruelty of the Descendants and the eternal mysteries of the Spirits, he and Rhia would find a way to be happy, as long as they never let each other go.
10
“Alanka, will you marry me?”
She didn’t reply, just scanned the forest from the deer blind that doubled as a guard station. It was tucked into the low, bare branches of a hemlock tree and allowed a clear shot of the path to the river.
Endrus hummed a short tune behind her, then tried again. “Alanka, how come trees aren’t purple?”
His random questions had created a background hum in her head since before sunrise. Endrus’s weird sense of humor used to leave her cheeks aching with laughter. When they were younger and training to be hunters, they would often try to ruin each other’s shots with a well-timed remark.
“Alanka, what’s the smallest spider you’ve ever eaten?”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. It should worry her, but the same heavy cloak that kept her solemn also kept her safe.
“Alanka, where does bark come from?”
“I could hear intruders much better if you’d stop nattering.”
“Just t
rying to cheer you up.” The tip of his bow poked her shoulder blade. “Or get you mad.” He waited, then poked again, harder. A year ago she would have broken the bow over the Cougar’s head.
He blew out a gust of air. “Any reaction at all would be nice.”
“Why?”
“We miss you. When are you coming home?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m home.”
“Right. Hold still.” He reached out and drew forward a strand of black hair that had fallen from her braid.
She pulled away. “Ow.”
“Told you to hold still.” He held out a small spray of brown pine needles. “Looked like you were wearing a little hat. Rather jaunty, actually.”
A strong breeze was blowing, and the air around them rained with pine droppings. “Lot of them this autumn,” she said.
“Dry summer.” They watched the thin brown needles twirl and fall. Endrus slapped his knee. “So Raven’s coming. Pretty exciting,” he added, as if he were talking about an upcoming feast.
“She’s coming because our people are in terrible danger. That’s not exciting. And if the Raven child is born to Rhia, that means at least fifteen years before it’s bestowed with the Aspect. It might not be this baby, it could be her second, or fifth, or someone else’s. The Descendants could kill a lot of people between now and then.”
“If you want to look on the dark side, yes.”
“It’s the real side.”
Endrus scooted forward to sit next to her on the edge of the platform. “You should move out of that house.”
“Why?”
“Get away from the memories. I’ll help you carry your things.”
She considered it for a long moment, deciding whether she cared enough to change her life. Finally she looked at him. “Maybe.”
His dark eyes sparkled. “In return you have to clean my kitchen.”
She glared at him with mock resentment, then turned back to the path. The breeze blew harder, making her shiver under her light horsehide vest. Soon it would be time to wear fur. She wondered if it would be indecent to find a better coat among the belongings of those who had been captured.
Voice of Crow Page 9
