Voice of Crow (25 page)

But not alone. He looked down to see that it wasn’t his own feet running, but the hooves of the white horse. Her muscles strained and bulged under his legs as he rode without saddle, bridle or blanket.

They shot into an open field, too large to be part of the park. Its rolling hills of waving grasses undulated to the horizon. The rising sun shone behind them, so that Filip and the horse raced their own shadow. He held his arms out straight to the side, and the shadow grew wings. A long laugh burst from his lungs.

The horse stopped. Filip pitched over her head and landed on his back on the grass. The dream ground was soft and spongy, so he bounced and rolled without pain, but not without humiliation.

When he came to a halt, he lifted himself onto his elbows. “Why?”

The horse snorted and shook her snowy mane. “I told you, this magic isn’t yours yet. You don’t want it enough.”

“I do.” He got to his knees. “More than anything.”

She stepped closer, her hooves soundless, and huffed a warm breath upon his forehead. “Prove it.”

He woke to the patter of rain on the tent above his head, with Bolan’s snores providing the storm’s thunder. Filip reached over and nudged his shoulder.

Bolan jerked awake, then wiped an arm over his face. “I was doing it again, wasn’t I?”

“Never mind that. I need your help.”

Rhia’s head felt as heavy as a rock. Hearing voices by the campfire and noises of breakfast, she tried to push the blanket off her body, but it tangled in her legs. She sank back to the ground, pulse pounding in her temple.

Koli appeared in the tent door. “I thought I heard rustling. Hungry?” She entered with a plate of food.

“It’s late,” Rhia said. “We need to keep moving.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Koli held out a slice of toasted bread, burned on one side. “That soul retrieval took all your strength, and then some. I wish we’d brought an Otter. When I woke up, I thought you were dead.”

“I’ve been dead, and this isn’t dead.” Rhia tried to sit up. Every muscle felt like a tug-of-war rope. She hissed in a breath. “Although it’s close.”

“You have time to get your strength back. We’re not leaving for a few days.”

“Why? Is something wrong with one of the horses?” She wanted to throttle the Velekon stable master. “I knew that gray gelding wouldn’t last cross-country.”

“It’s not one of the horses.” Koli uttered a dry chuckle. “Actually, it is. I’ll get Filip, let him explain.” She shoved the plate into Rhia’s hands and left the tent.

Rhia picked at the bread and meat, hunger overcoming curiosity. A sharp, sudden memory of Marek’s succulent poached quail eggs tightened her stomach and made her want to cry.

“Rhia,” said Filip from outside the tent. “I wanted to tell you myself.”

“You can come in. I’m dressed.”

He flipped open the tent door but didn’t enter or even look at her. Her father had told her Filip’s sense of propriety was extreme even by Asermon standards.

“I thought about what you said last autumn.” He glanced at her, then returned his gaze to the ground. “How Crow wouldn’t leave you alone until you admitted your Aspect.”

“Horse is following you?”

He put on a grim smile. “When I dreamed of Her in Asermos, I thought your father had planted it in my mind to convince me to help you.”

“He’s too honest for that.”

“She came to me again.” He looked straight at Rhia. “There’s no honor in doing anything halfway. Either I become one of you, with my whole self, or I go my own way alone.”

She lurched to the tent door, her head swimming. When she got there, she saw his pack sitting on the ground beside him.

“Filip, no. We need you.”

“I’m leaving shortly,” he said, “for my Bestowing.”

She drew in a deep breath and grasped his arm. He seemed surprised by her touch.

“You won’t regret it,” she said.

He gave a quick nod. “Lycas insists that he and Bolan watch over me to make sure I’m not meeting a spy.”

“The Bestowing should be a sacred time between a person and his Spirit.”

“I can’t blame his suspicion. He says they’ll stay out of my sight to give me the illusion of privacy.”

“Filip, you ready?” Bolan called from the edge of the campsite. Filip waved to him, then turned back to Rhia.

“We’ll go to a cove up the coast a mile or two. It has shelter in case of rain.” He stood carefully. “Thank you for helping Alanka. It reminded me who I need to do this for.”

“For her?”

“No.” He turned and walked away, shoulders squared like a soldier’s. Exhausted from the brief conversation, Rhia sank back onto her blanket. Though Filip’s Bestowing would cost them a few days’ time, having him as a trusted ally—with complete control of his powers—would help them more in the end.

Rhia rolled over and withdrew a flat wooden box from her pack. She wanted to open it, hold its contents to her face and feel her husband close to her again. But the box had to remain sealed until they reached Leukos, so she clutched it to her chest instead.

“Hold on, Marek,” she whispered. “We’re coming.”

He grimaced as he ruined another letter with a haphazard slash at the end of its last stroke. Five days of this, and no progress he could see. His hands retained none of the steadiness with which they had gripped a bow and arrow. If Basha was ever going to let him outside the house, he would have to prove he could read and write at a basic level.

Marek glared at the wolf carving sitting on the green marble table across from him, a table that seemed to have no purpose except to display one of the living room’s many worthless objects. The wolf stared back at him, fierce eyes judging him and his circumstances.

You should be ashamed of yourself.

He shifted his chair so he couldn’t see the carving, even from the corner of his vision, but could still keep an eye on Nilik’s crib. The guard at the door watched him laconically.

Marek resisted the urge to stare at his son every moment. His fear of losing Nilik had diminished slightly, since Basha indicated that her mercy would hold if Marek didn’t displease her. She even allowed him to speak before being spoken to, though he had to choose his words carefully to avoid her wrath. As long as she let him stay at his son’s side, he would indulge her any way she wanted.

Almost
any way. His Wolf senses hadn’t completely died; he could feel her body temperature rise when she came near him. He walked a narrow path—making her appreciate him enough to keep him around but not enough to exact other ownership privileges. At least twice a week, some young man in Marek’s slave quarters would be beckoned to her chamber late at night. The thought sickened him.

From his new vantage point at the desk he could see a collection of smaller animal carvings gathered around the base of an iron lamp. The fox sat on its haunches, facing away from the others, as if surveying the room. Its eyes gleamed with tiny pieces of silver stone.

He’d never trusted Fox people. Though they shared powers of stealth with Wolves, as well as enhanced senses of smell and hearing, Foxes always looked out for themselves first. Their magic supported the survival of the individual, not the pack. They’d tell as many lies as they could get away with, as long as it suited their needs.

His mentor, Kerza, had told him to learn from other Spirits, not just Wolf. But he was proud of his Animal and wanted to embody every quality: loyalty, honesty, bravery, protection of others. No compromises, not even for survival.

But in a place like Leukos, Fox’s lessons might serve him better.

He stared at the fox carving until his eyes unfocused.
Grant me your wisdom. Tell me what to do to get out of here.

Whatever it takes,
came a voice that sounded like his own, and yet not.

“What a day!”

Basha swept into the room, uncoiling a pink silk scarf from around her neck. Petrop followed her and picked the scarf off the floor the moment it fell from her hand.

“How’s my little one?” she said.

“He’s asleep,” Marek whispered. “At least he was.”

She leaned into the crib and tickled Nilik. “Mother’s home now. You don’t want to waste time napping, do you?”

Marek braced himself for the inevitable screech, which followed a moment later. Petrop winced, as well, and shared a look with Marek that bordered on commiseration.

Undaunted, she lifted the baby into her arms. Marek had to grip his chair to keep from yanking his son away from her.

To her credit, she imitated the rocking motion Marek used and hummed an approximate version of one of Nilik’s favorite songs. The boy’s cries softened but continued.

“Your mother made a name for herself on the Senate floor today.” She popped her eyes wide at Nilik the way he liked. “That’s right! Politics are never boring when you have the proper flair. But those bad men won’t let Mother run for reelection.”

“Why not?” Marek asked. The Senate, from what he could tell, was a larger version of his own village’s Council. A basic grasp of Ilion political factions could come in handy if he ever escaped.

“All because she’s a woman,” Basha said to Nilik, as if the baby had asked the question. “Women can finish the terms of their dead husbands or fathers but can’t be elected on their own. We weak females aren’t made for such taxing duties.” She released a high titter, though Marek didn’t understand the joke. Nilik let out a full-throated wail. “My reaction precisely!” she exclaimed, then turned a brilliant smile on Marek. “At least he knows I exist.”

She waved her hand at Petrop, and he departed silently. Carrying Nilik, she shifted over to the wolf carving. “Do you like this one, Marek? You’re a Wolf, right?”

He nodded, though now it seemed only a half truth.

“Which animal would I be?” she said. “If I had one of those Spirit Guards.”

“Guardian Spirits.”

“Don’t correct me. Which would I be?”

He thought of a cockroach and stifled a bitter laugh. “If you’re good at politics, you might be a Fox.”

“I’m very good at politics. Recognizing who wants what and what they’ll do to get it. People underestimate me because I’m young and female and pretty.” She stroked the wooden fox’s head with her littlest fingernail. “It’s a useful weapon.”

“May I ask another question?”

She thought for a moment, then tilted her head indulgently. “Speak.”

He gestured to the artwork displayed around the room. “You seem to have a fascination for my people. Even though we’re the enemy.”

“Even though you killed my husband? I can’t blame you for that. We invaded your lands—what were you supposed to do, welcome us with open arms and let us take everything you’d worked so hard for?” She tucked Nilik’s blanket under his chin. “That whole campaign was ill-advised and undermanned. It was destined to fail. All the oracles said so.”

“You consult oracles? I thought Ilions didn’t have magic.”

“The gods have magic, of course, and they lend a bit of it to their priests and priestesses. It’s one way they keep Ilions in power, where we belong.” She scoffed. “Some individuals are overly superstitious, though, and can’t buy a loaf of bread without consulting the oracles. I like to use my own mind.” Nilik’s cries faded into coos at last. “My turn to ask questions. Did you fight in the battle at Asermos?”

“Not exactly. I was a—a scout.” He decided not to mention how he’d decimated the Descendant cavalry by sedating their horses the night before the battle. No doubt his actions had made him infamous. “They captured me.” He replaced the feather in the ink bottle to avoid snapping it in his fist. “They tortured me.”

“Tortured you? How?”

He glanced at the guard standing by the door. “They beat me, left me in the sun.”

“How long?”

“Hours. All morning.”

“My healer said you had no scars. What did they beat you with?”

“Their feet and hands.”

A high titter escaped her throat. “That’s not torture. They just roughed you up and let you bake a bit. Torture is having your skin peeled off in strips or having your fingernails ripped out.”

He gaped at her.

“There’s much worse, I’m told,” she said, “but not fit for a woman to hear, whatever that means. You’re lucky they didn’t deploy a torture detail in the Asermon campaign.”

He ran his thumb over his fingernails and had to agree.

“How’s your magic these days?” she asked him.

He didn’t want to reveal any weakness, and since it was daytime, she couldn’t ask him to turn invisible. “It’s fine, though I don’t have much use for it here.”

“Interesting. What’s my cook making for supper?”

A test. Marek sniffed the air but could only perceive a vague odor. “Meat.”

“What kind?”

“Poultry,” he said, keeping the uncertainty from his voice.

“Good. What kind of poultry?”

He guessed her favorite. “Duck.”

“Sorry, it’s pork. Your powers are fading, like some of the others. I wonder why?”

He shut his mouth tight against his own theory. “What do you mean, like some of the others?”

She shot him a sharp look, then stroked Nilik’s hair as she regarded the boy. “I wonder if this one will grow up to have a Spirit Guard.”

Marek almost corrected her words again, but stopped himself.

“Which one do you think he’ll have?” she asked him.

“It’s hard to say, in one so young.” He wondered if news of the Raven prophecy had come to Leukos, if they knew what Nilik might be. “His mother’s a Rabbit.”

“No, she’s not.”

Marek’s heart tripped. Basha had caught him in a lie.

“His mother’s not a Rabbit.” She smiled sweetly at Nilik, then nuzzled his forehead. “His mother’s a senator.”