The Crow God's Girl

by Patrice Sarath

  In the end, she wrote out a simple letter, outlining what she required and requesting terms of payment. She was just finishing when she heard the door open.

  “Wait one second,” she said, writing her signature Katherine, Lady Temia, with a flourish. She looked up, expecting Ossen. The girl had gotten back into the habit of sleeping with her, her presence such a comfort on cold nights.

  It was Grigar.

  Her mouth opened. He shook his head and laughed at her expression.

  “You should see yourself.”

  Her cheeks heated. “You’re here! When did you get back?”

  “Just now. They said you were up here making plans to save Temia.”

  “Trying to.” Carefully she set down the pen in the inkwell and stood up. She wasn’t sure what to do. She had thought about this moment many times and now she was overcome with shyness. “Did you go back to look for me?”

  He nodded. “You must have taken a crow’s road I didn’t know about, because I could find no sign of you. I finally heard from Captain Varenn that you had crossed into Temia already and so I came home.”

  “Thank you.” It was lame and she cringed at her words. It didn’t sound as if she was thanking him at all. “I’m not doing this very well,” she managed.

  “Neither am I,” he said, rueful. This time she laughed, and went into his arms.

  Being held by him was enough at first. His arms folded around her and he rested his scratchy chin on her head. She closed her eyes, breathing him in. He was dirty and sweaty, but it smelled good. When she rose on her tiptoes and lifted her face to give him a kiss on the cheek, he met her with his own kiss.

  Ohhhh. Her knees went weak. The kiss deepened and she forgot everything except for his arms around her and his mouth on hers.

  They drew apart at last, and she touched her mouth, her lips throbbing. He took a deep breath.

  “So your offer still stands,” he said His tone was dry, but his voice caught as if the dryness were an act. It was hard to tell sometimes, with Grigar.

  Her heart sped up. She was well aware that her bed was right behind them, Callia’s little gift close by. All she had to do was take him by the hand and lead him to it. Still, she hesitated.

  “I would. In a heartbeat,” she said, carefully mirroring his words. “But I’m not like I was before.” Vulnerable. “So, I think not. Yet.” She had a sneaking sense of the power she could have over him, and decided to give it back to him right away so she wouldn’t be tempted to use it. “You were right, you know. In my world, I am too young for you. I don’t want to make you wait for nothing.”

  He took a breath and cupped her chin. “I can wait.”

  At his touch, she shivered. “Good,” she said out loud. “Because we have lots to keep us busy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Colar’s chamber in Kenery was more crowded now that Janye moved in. What had once been sparse with only a bed and his gear now held a tall wardrobe, two clothing chests, and a desk. The balding bear rug was removed, and a rich woolen rug was laid in its place. Even in summer the stone walls held a chill, so the rug was welcome, but Colar missed the old predator. It had symbolized a day when Kenery had been a more noble House. Or at least, when the hunting had been better.

  He watched the river from the window. River boats plied the currents, the far side for those heading downstream, and the northward bank for boats moving upstream, their spidery oars dipping into the water.

  This river needs a bridge, he thought again. He glanced down at the drawing on the desk. It was crude, from memory, of the suspension bridges he had crossed over in New York. No one in Aeritan could build such a bridge.

  All he had to do was stay alive to bring the project to fruition. Knowing that he was expected by the Council to meet with an unfortunate accident had gone a long way to reconciling him to his need for survival, if only to rub their noses in it. And if anything, it had solidified in him the desire to steal Kenery out from under the nose of his blustering father-in-law.

  The door opened behind him and it was Janye, followed by the householder, Wren, carrying an armful of linens and clothes.

  “My lord,” Janye said coolly. Colar nodded, glancing at Wren. The woman met his gaze then looked away. She was round under her dress, her pregnancy clear. A muscle jumped in his cheek. He needed to come to her aid, but he didn’t know exactly what she needed. He supposed he could send her to Terrick, away from Janye’s wrath, but he didn’t think his mother would appreciate a servant with her son’s byblow. “Are you finished? Good,” Janye said, when Wren put the clothes away in Janye’s chest. “You may go now.”

  Never would a Terrick speak to a householder so. Wren slipped out as quietly as she had come in, closing the door behind her. Janye looked at Colar with the mocking expression he had come to dislike.

  “I expect you know who the father is,” she said archly.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Well, it is, rather. And now the question is, what to do with her? I will not have your bastard under my roof.”

  He almost blamed her for the mess, but kept that back behind his teeth. Instead he said, “Does she wish to marry?”

  “It doesn’t matter if she does,” Janye said with studied indifference. “Why should a householder get a choice?”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Colar said. “We’ll come to a solution.”

  Janye laughed, bitterly. “If you were Kenery, I’d almost feel sorry for her. As it is, knowing you, you’ll give her all your money and acknowledge the brat as your own.”

  “I’m not that soft–or stupid.” Anymore. He sighed. “Let me handle it, okay?”

  She gave him a startled look at the unfamiliar expression, but grudgingly nodded yes. She glanced over at the drawing on the desk. “What is that?”

  He held it up. “An idea.”

  She took the drawing and scanned it, absorbed for once in something other than her malcontent. When she gave a swift glance out the window at the river, he knew she got it.

  “Can you build this?”

  “I think so.” Controlling the flow of traffic across the river would make Kenery a wealthy House, far beyond Salt or Red Gold Bridge. The boats from Brythern and countries south would all put in at the port here, their goods would flow across Aeritan all the easier, and Kenery would become the center of commerce throughout Aeritan.

  “Don’t tell your father,” he said.

  She gave a scornful laugh. “Of course not. What do you take me for?”

  A double-crossing bitch? He kept his mouth shut on that one too. She set down the drawing and turned toward him. She placed her hands on his forearms, but she had to steel herself to do it.

  “So, Colar of Terrick, you have big plans. Please manage to stay alive long enough to see them through.”

  “Your fortunes rise and fall along with mine, Janye of Kenery,” he said. He drew her close, his hated wife. “With you at my back, what do I have to fear?”

  Their kiss was cold, without fervor, and he had to push down the revulsion he felt. It shouldn’t have been this way, but survival required it. Ambition demanded it. He had a House to overthrow and a bridge to build.

  The day dawned gray and cool, a wet mist drenching the land. The rain brought out the colors of the stone walls of the broken House so that Kate could see the veins of rich blue-gray and deep red-brown of the rock. The crows gathered around, just a simple people now in their plain clothes getting wet in the mist. The crow king was like a rakish peacock in comparison, with his outlandish outfit, the horsehair headdress limp and bedraggled.

  They were all there to see off her emissary, because everyone knew what was at stake. She turned to Grigar. He stood next to the horse, reins loose, a simple pack hooked to the saddle. She hated to send him away so soon, but he was the best bet to travel to Brythern on her behalf, to engage the army that would be their salvation. “I have another commission for you,” she said. She held out another oilskin pac
kage for him. He took it with a flicker of surprise. “When you go through Red Gold Bridge, ask for Arrim the guardian,” she said. “Give this to him. He’ll know what to do with it.”

  It was her journal. After writing the letters that would save Temia, she took out the last of the paper, closed her eyes, and laboriously finished her letter to her parents. It took her almost all night, drawing each character with great effort. It had been so long since she had written to them, she had lost most of her ability to write in her mother tongue. Whenever she opened her eyes to check her progress, she couldn’t read anything, so she had to hope that her words would be legible to them.

  She told them everything–being jilted, her journey with the crows, her reinvention as Lady Temia. Her imprisonment and her escape.

  I know that I just made you more worried than ever. But this is just the beginning, and I want you to know that whatever happens next, I’m going to meet it with courage and faith. You always taught me that I could do anything I put my mind to and that I had a great future ahead of me. You taught me that I could change the world. Well, here I am, changing the world.

  I love you, Mom and Dad. I’ll never forget you. Love, hugs and kisses,

  Kate, Lady Temia.

  A person couldn’t go through the gordath. But maybe Arrim could make an exception for a small package of letters. Maybe the gordath wouldn’t even notice them if they were left out in the woods to be swallowed up by accident. It wouldn’t hurt to try. Grigar took the package and stuck it in the pack with the other letter. He hugged Ossen, tousling his sister’s hair, and shook his brothers’ hands. He then turned and gave Kate a hug too and a kiss on the cheek, nothing to let anyone know of their conversation.

  “Fare well,” she managed when he let her go and mounted up.

  “Stay safe,” he said, with a crooked little grin. He clucked to the horse and cantered off.

  Kate felt the eyes of Ossen and her brothers on her. She turned to look at them.

  “What?” she demanded.

  They were grinning.

  “I knew it,” Ossen said, matter-of-factly. “I knew you and Grigar had been mooning over each other.”

  “What did I tell you, girl,” Balafray rasped. “All you needed was a man and you would forget the boy.”

  So much for subterfuge. She rolled her eyes and went back to watching the mist-shrouded land. Crow god go with you, she thought. It felt natural to say it this way, as if she had always been one of the crows, even if she didn’t like to camp, and didn’t like to travel by herself. It didn’t matter. These were her people, her family, and Temia was her land.

  This was where she was meant to be.

  End

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading The Crow God's Girl. To read more about the Gordath Wood series, please visit my web page and blog at http://www.patricesarath.com for excerpts and news. And if you enjoyed The Crow God's Girl, let me know. I love hearing from readers.

  Ride on!

  Patrice Sarath