The Crow God's Girl

by Patrice Sarath

  “That’s supposed to happen. It’s not like back in your world, where people wait to have babies.”

  “And who would attend the birth?”

  He laughed. “You’re joking. You just sat and drank vesh with her.”

  “Yeah. And if I’m like my mother?”

  He grew cautious. “What does that mean?”

  “She had a terrible time giving birth to me. Like, she would have died if she weren’t in a hospital.” Her mother told the story with relish, especially after a glass of wine with her girlfriends.

  “You’re not your mother.”

  “What if I’m like your mother? Three stillbirths, Colar. Callia told me, and she almost died.”

  He muttered something that sounded like damn Callia. “She didn’t though. And you have to be brave, Kate. No matter when we lie together, you’ll have babies, and the grass god’s daughter will take care of you.”

  The only god that had ever taken care of Kate was the soldier’s god, and she didn’t think they were still on speaking terms. The spray from the falls had gotten very cold and her teeth began to chatter. Colar pulled her close again and they stood skin to skin. She warmed again, but her inner core stayed cold.

  “Someone in Terrick house stole my panties.”

  He was so astonished he laughed out loud.

  “It’s true, Colar. Samar came to me with them and she said she found them in your bedroom.”

  He drew back now, no longer laughing, looking down at her with shock in his brown eyes.

  “Some of the householders don’t like me, and they would do anything to keep us from marrying.”

  “They don’t have anything to say about it, you know that. That is my parents’ decision and they already gave us their blessing.”

  “A blessing we could lose if the householders prove I’m not good enough for you.” Her voice cut sharp against the sound of the falls. “Colar, everyone loves you here. You’re the lost son who has been returned with the grace of the high god.”

  “Don’t say that–”

  “And I’m the strangeling. Not the girl who brought you back. The one who is going to steal you forever.”

  He was silent for a long time. He never let her go, and she leaned against him, his chest wide and strong. He rested his chin on top of her head, and she tried to take comfort in his embrace.

  “I won’t let that happen,” he said at last. She nodded, but her misgivings ran deep. He couldn’t see the treachery, because it wasn’t aimed at him.

  In the war camp, the general had put her under his protection. Even so, it only took Kate so far. She had cemented his protection with her own alliances and forged her own place. Terrick was a far cry from the camp with its desperate men and evil crows, but it was bidding fair to be almost as dangerous.

  “We should go,” he said, and let her go. His face had become remote, and she knew he was back to being the stranger he had become last night. They swam over to where the horses grazed, and dried off as best they could with a saddle blanket. Kate’s underwear was still damp and her braided hair was wet, but it would dry on the ride home, and she could tuck it under her kerchief and no one would be the wiser.

  The shadows had lengthened by the time they made it through the woods to the road, though it was still warm. The sun felt good after the chill swim and she turned her face to it thankfully, closing her eyes and sensing the golden light against her eyelids. They didn’t speak much on the way home. Kate only asked one question. She nodded her chin at the tiny white flowers on the long grasses alongside the road, still giving off their clean, grassy scent.

  “What are those called?”

  Colar followed her gaze. “Ladies’ bower.”

  She nodded. Ladies bower. Dear Mom and Dad, she composed in her head. Aeritan has these pretty little flowers like white stars. I’ve never seen anything like them.

  Kate kept the letter in her mind when they got home and brought the horses to the stable. A stableboy, a stocky lad of about ten years old, came running to take the reins.

  “Young sir, Lady Beatra wants you to come straight away for the evening meal.” He gave Kate a curious glance and she responded with a smile. To her relief the boy smiled back. He looked like Drabian and she figured that he was his son. Well, the stable staff likes me anyway.

  “Thank you, Stelpin.”

  She followed Colar into the house. The stone shadows fell over them, and a chill descended again, reminding her that she was clammy and wet. The great hall was empty except for the two of them. For once, Kate thought.

  “I’m going to change,” she told him in a low voice.

  “Good idea,” he said as quietly. She turned to go but he took hold of her arm and pulled her back. He was gentle about it, as he cupped her cheek with his hand, but that was it. They were back in his world now, he as good as told her, and the only affection she could get from him was this. Maybe it was enough, Kate thought. Maybe, knowing everything he put behind it, made the simple touch as powerful as an embrace for all the world to see. So she tilted her head to capture the feel of it and then they stepped back, and she went straight up to her room.

  On the way up the stairs, she stopped abruptly. A householder, one of Torvan’s servants, stood there with an armful of linens and looked at her. She was a young maid, and she watched Kate without a word. The girl’s eyes flicked from Kate’s damp kerchief down to her hiking boots. Her mouth curved in a scornful smile. She didn’t move out of Kate’s way. Kate looked up at her.

  “You know,” Kate said, exasperated, “I can play too.” The girl snorted. Her name was Thani, she remembered. Kate shrugged elaborately, and took a step forward. The girl startled, and yielded, stumbling backward up the stairs. Kate kept walking and the girl was hard pressed to turn sideways so she could get out of the way.

  Well, Kate thought, when she made it to her room and closed the door, her face burning and heart pounding hard. That was kind of fun.

  She changed quickly, rubbing at her hair and rebraiding it before tucking it back up under the kerchief. She drew on the woolen hose, the scratchy warmth feeling good against her still chilled flesh, and managed the stays and the skirt, with a dry tunic over all. She laid her damp clothes out on top of her chest. If no one touched them, no one would know that they were wet, and it looked far more innocent than hanging them before the fire. Kate remembered her panties and looked for them under the mattress. They were still there where she had crumpled them, and she pushed them back farther for safety, almost beyond where her fingers could reach. The bra was still wet, so she couldn’t hide it until it dried, but once it did, it was going right under the mattress with the panties.

  Secure from her enemies for the moment, she sighed and relaxed. No mirror, but she felt that she looked a proper Aeritan girl, and not like an American girl who had just gone practically skinny dipping with her boyfriend. She had a few minutes. She could write a letter to her parents.

  Kate sat at the desk by the window and uncapped the vial of ink. She drew the previous page over and dipped the pen.

  Dear Mom–

  She stopped, stared. Her vision blurred and the letters crawled over the page, making her nauseous. The pen slipped and spattered an illegible symbol on the page.

  “No,” Kate said to the empty room, and she imagined the stone walls pressed in to hear her distress. Even though she was expecting it, it was still a blow.

  Her brain had reset. She couldn’t write in English anymore.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A week later, a courier galloped up on a lathered horse, his colors proclaiming him on Council business. That night at dinner, after the blessing and they all sat, Lord Terrick looked around at his family.

  “The Council has been called. We’re to meet at Salt in a half-month.” He looked at his eldest son. “Colar, you will come with me.”

  Kate didn’t think her tiny protest escaped her lips. Still, the family looked at her. Dammit, Kate.

  “Forgive me
, lord father,” she managed. He nodded at her, his face unreadable in the candlelight. He turned to his wife.

  “I know that we leave you at a full and busy time, but I am confident in you, my lady.”

  Lady Beatra’s expression was both calm and long-suffering. “You should be, you know,” she said. “I’ve managed without you often enough.”

  “Aevin, you will continue to train with old Maksin, for I will take Raymon and his men with me. I expect you to take your place as second son at the next Council. Yare, you are to continue with your lessons with your foster sister, as are you, Eri. I look forward to seeing what you have learned when I return.”

  “Yes, lord father,” the children said obediently.

  “Foster daughter,” Lord Terrick said, and Kate stiffened, hoping that went unnoticed in the dim light.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Teach them well that they may be a credit to you and Terrick.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Kate and Colar had no chance to talk before he rode out with his father. She and the rest of the family, along with the household, watched them go in the gray of the early morning, a light fog floating over the road and the field, a golden light above it. The fog would burn off and it would be another fine, late summer day.

  Watching the men prepare for their journey reminded her of the camp. The horses snorted, eager to be off in the cool morning, and the men and their gear had an aroma of leather, oil, sweat, and metal. They ate and drank in the saddle, checked their weapons, for this was Aeritan and Aeritan was always on the verge of war, and waited for their lord. Lord Terrick mounted, his face betraying his stiffness only the smallest bit. Lady Beatra came over and lifted up the stirrup cup to him and he sipped, a token gesture. Then he said something to his wife, too low for anyone to hear, and she responded the same way.

  Lord Terrick smiled, transforming him from a fearsome man into a handsome one. Lady Beatra smiled back. It was the most public private moment Kate had ever witnessed. She glanced over to see if Colar was watching, but he was talking with Raymon, forearms resting on the saddlebow, the lieutenant nodding.

  Then Lady Beatra brought the cup to all the men in turn, Kate shuddering at the thought of the germs, and finished with her son. She spoke privately to him as well, and he looked straight at Kate. She flushed, and lifted her fingers, waving the tiniest bit. Colar gave her the same kind of salute with his gloved hand, and then they were off, clattering out of the courtyard.

  Six weeks, she thought. It would be autumn by the time he came back. She drew a breath to fortify herself. Well. She had a lot to do before then–teach Eri and Yare, learn the housewifery tasks that Lady Beatra and Samar had put her to, and even, now and again, visit Callia. If she was going to be a doctor, as she had told her parents, learning midwifery was a good place to start.

  The city of Salt was the leading gem in the string of merchant cities that were strung along the great Aeritan river like pearls on a necklace. Its harbor was dotted with the masted, shallow-keeled ships that plied their wares to Brythern and the ocean to the south and as far north as the ships could sail before the river narrowed between high cliffs and became impassable for the masted, oared vessels. At the top of the high street loomed Lord Salt’s ancestral home, a pile of stone and wood bristling with parapets, and, incongruously, laundry flapping in the setting sun from one of the balconies.

  In the rooms of the great House assigned to Lord Terrick and his retinue, Colar straightened his linen shirt and shrugged into his vest with Terrick colors. The clothes were his finest, with silver buttons and delicate stitching. He felt a bit self-conscious. He hadn’t dressed up since coming home from North Salem. His Aeritan finery made him uneasy, the same way the black suit and uncomfortable shoes he wore in America for one of Mrs. Mossland’s work functions had.

  “Ready, Master Terrick?” Raymon said, tapping his fingertips against his belt. He nodded toward the door. “Your father is anxious.”

  His father detested being late and was taking it out on everyone. Colar hurriedly strapped on the sword belt, wiping the leather until it was clean of smudged fingerprints and shone as well as his boots and buttons. He followed Raymon out, joining the crowd on the wide palazzo fronting the great meeting room of Salt.

  “Has my father already gone in?”

  Raymon nodded. “He came straight from meeting with Lord Salt. He said he wants you up front.”

  The families of the Council, along with influential merchants and others who were on the docket, made up the audience. His father wanted Colar front and center so he got a good eyeful of what it meant to be part of Council. Mostly, Colar knew, it was loads of posturing and stultifying rhetoric.

  The real dealmaking happened in the private rooms and in dispatches that couriers carried across the countryside, riding fast and secretively. His father had once said that the Council meetings were where the betrayals happened. If he had been meeting with Lord Salt, as Raymon had said, Colar wondered what betrayals his father expected.

  A crisp wind from the river blew across the plaza, lifting his hair away from his face. The wind had an autumn bite, despite the late summer sun that gleamed on the crowd milling in front of the massive doors, barred with well-wrought iron and studded with spikes. It was more a statement than defense–Salt’s engines that hulked in silhouette along the top of the city walls were a more potent barrier.

  Around him, all the colors of Aeritan’s Houses swirled, not just on servants’ patches but on the younger sons and daughters of the lords. There were Saraval and Wessen, and he caught a glimpse of the great Lady Wessen. She was speaking with her daughter, Lady Sarita, and her husband, Lord Tharp. Lady Sarita still went about with her head bare, but she wore Aeritan clothes once again. He wondered if her New York clothes had just worn out or if she was returning to her old life after all.

  He wished Kate would give up her old clothes. He knew she was lonely and homesick because he had been through the same thing, but she was just making it worse for herself by living in the past. The gordath was closed, this time for good. Wearing her jeans and her boots made it harder to accept that. He remembered what she had said about her underwear, about the servants trying to sabotage her place. Maybe they were jealous, but it wasn’t as if they could do anything about it. They were just householders.

  The sooner they married the better, for many reasons. And maybe they could be careful, and not have children right away, if that would make Kate less worried.

  In the half circle plaza in front of Salt’s great hall, the press thickened as the lords and their families in attendance all drifted toward the great doors.

  “Colar of Terrick!”

  He turned. It was the tall Captain Crae with his wife, Lady Jessamy. Colar grinned.

  He hurried over and they clasped hands. “Sir, it is good to see you,” he said. He bowed to Lady Jessamy, who was Lady Trieve. She had bright eyes and brown hair and her cheeks were red. She smiled, and it transformed her from a great lady with sharp eyes to a kindly, pretty woman. “Greetings to you, my lady.”

  “Greetings, young Terrick,” she said. “You’ve grown, young man.”

  He tried not to blush. Two or three years ago, she had wanted to betrothe him to her infant daughter. Colar tried to change the subject.

  “Your husband gave me great aid last year,” Colar said.

  “You led your small army well,” the captain said. He was tall and grizzled, and seemed at peace with himself. It had been a bad summer for him too, Colar had heard. “How is the girl?”

  “She’s well sir, and if she knew that I met you, she would give you greeting.” He couldn’t help it; he added, “We’re to be married.” It still gave him pride to think about. Soon. Maybe. I hope.

  Next to him, Raymon shifted uncomfortably.

  “May the high god’s blessing be upon you!” Lady Trieve said with obvious delight, and her captain echoed her.

  “Blessings upon you both,” Crae repeated.

&n
bsp; The horn blared to signal the start of Council, and they clasped hands all around, making haste.

  “Well then, we should go. I’m sure your father is waiting.”

  “He is, Lady Trieve, and I will see you in Council.”

  They took leave, promising to talk more. The crowd opened up, and Colar fell in step next to Raymon. He glanced over at the lieutenant. The man looked as if he had something to say, but had thought better of it.

  “What?” Colar asked.

  “Nothing,” Raymon said. “Your father is waiting.” He made to walk on, but Colar put his hand out to stop him.

  “What is it?”

  Raymon looked at him and shook his head. “She’s no good for you, Colar. She’s a strangeling, a fosterling. She should be your sister, not your betrothed. That’s how we do things.”

  “It’s not your place, lieutenant,” Colar said, his soft voice emphasizing his anger.

  At the use of his rank, Raymon stiffened. “Listen, boy,” he said, his face red. “You aren’t lord yet, so don’t think you can act high-handed with me. She’s not good for you. She’s not good for Terrick. There are those of us that see it, even if you are too blinded by lust right now. She rides about wearing those lewd clothes, showing no respect–your father knows it, and your mother knows it. You should know it too. Hard to see a Terrick acting like a fool, especially a young fool.”

  “You’ve had your say,” Colar said. “And if anything happens to her, anything at all, that keeps us from marrying, I know who to come to first.”

  “Fair enough,” Raymon said. “Your father is waiting, young sir.” He made a gesture toward the door. The crowd had thinned now. His father would be already on the dais with the other lords, scanning impatiently for his son, and Colar would end up sitting in the back, which would pain his father to no end. He gave Raymon a curt nod, and left him on the palazzo with the rest of the servants.

  Kate was right. There were factions. And Colar knew that while he could dismiss the householders, Raymon had his father’s ear. Raymon setting himself against Kate was a problem.