She held still when he lifted her braid from her shoulder and ran his hand down its length in a slow caress. “You have a Savatar’s strong heart. And you’re Agna’s handmaiden.”
“Not yet. The council still has to decide that one, and I still have to pass their tests.”
He snorted. “By now, the camp is buzzing like a hornet’s nest with the news of you scaring away the Saiga. With as many people who saw you summon fire and have spread the word, I doubt there’s a priestess among the council who will deny you the status.”
She didn’t possess his confidence, but so far he had been right in his assumptions. “What do you think Karsas is saying right now?”
A tight-lipped smile dipped in malice curved his lips. “I’m surprised my ears aren’t on fire yet with all the cursing of my name I’m sure he’s doing right now. He was certain you’d never regain your powers.”
“You’ll challenge him to combat?” Her stomach clenched as she said the words.
His fingers traveled along her braid as if it were a strand of prayer beads. “As soon as theata-agacindeclares your status.”
She studied him while he stroked her hair, mesmerized by the action and by the heat of his gaze. “Your mother worries for your safety. I’m sure your sister does too.” Did her voice just sound breathy?
His gaze intensified. “Are you troubled as well?”
She wanted to tell him no, but that would be a lie. Once, her worry would have sprung from the fear of not making it home to Beroe. No longer. Her concern for him was just as strong, but ithad little to do with her chances of returning to her village, and Gilene inwardly flailed at the realization.
“Gilene?” He spoke her name as if in prayer.
“Yes,” she said and gently pried her braid from his grasp.
He let her go, expression measuring, as if he peeled back layers of clothing, flesh, and muscle to look upon her spirit. “Even if I lose, I’ll make sure you’re returned home.”
Gilene didn’t pray. Gods were deaf, and life was short. She had better things to do than speak to those who didn’t or wouldn’t hear, yet she found herself silently beseeching the mercy of a goddess she refused to recognize for his continued welfare. Surely, Azarion’s devout belief in Agna had earned him some small bit of divine providence.
She asked him a question, one that had nagged her over the days and weeks as he effortlessly settled back into the life of a Savatar warrior. “You’ve lived your life a slave for ten years and have found freedom once again. You’ve endured much to return to your people. I remember what you told me that day by the barrow. I understand your wish to reclaim all you’ve lost, but is this chieftainship worth the risk of losing your life to Karsas?”
That piercing gaze turned inward and away from her. “If Karsas ruled with merit, I wouldn’t challenge him, but a lot has changed for my clan since I was sold, and none of it good. I truly believe I’ll be a betteratamanthan him.”
This was a man who would see his clan rise above all others in his lifetime. Gilene knew it in her gut. “I believe you’ll not only be better than Karsas, but best of all the clanatamans.”
His eyebrows rose, and a smile played across his mouth at her fervor. “I intend to be.” Once more she came under the piercing stare. “If you stayed, you would be given a high place among ClanKestrel, a seat on the Fire Council, a bed in theataman’sqarafor as long as you wish.”
Something more lay beneath those words, an unspoken entreaty wrapped up in generosity. The odd flutter from earlier returned to dance beneath her ribs and tickle her heart.
Her family’s fate rested in her hands, and while she couldn’t recall any time where one of them offered her some escape from her own grim destiny, she knew herself incapable of abandoning them. She was Beroe’s fire witch and the means by which they protected themselves from the Empire. It had always been so. That acceptance rankled even more in the face of Azarion’s offer, but the guilt of abandoning others when she could save them would destroy her.
“I can’t,” she said, unable to hide the regret in her answer.
“Gilene...”
Tamura’s entrance into theqarainterrupted whatever he planned to say. The woman’s eyes narrowed for a moment as she took in the scene of the two of them standing close together. Gilene stepped back, happy to put some physical distance between her and Azarion if for nothing more than to reclaim her ability to think and not just feel.
“Word has gone out,” Tamura announced. “The entire camp knows about theagacin’s deed. Riders have been dispatched to the other clan camps to tell the members of the Fire Council.” A wide grin eased her hard expression. “We will celebrate tonight.”
“Whatever for this time?” Even after weeks with the Savatar, Gilene was still flummoxed by the amount of celebrating they did, for everything from a girl’s first bleed to a child’s birth, to the recognition of some holy day.
Tamura eyed her as if she were daft. “Have you been outsidethisqarasince you returned?” At Gilene’s “No,” she snorted. “A mountain of gifts from grateful families will soon block the entrance.”
Gilene gasped. “No! Send them back!” She grasped Azarion’s forearm. “Please,” she pleaded in softer tones. “No gifts. I did nothing to warrant them.”
The magic she summoned had been nothing more than small grass fires enhanced with trickery to fool the unknowing Saiga raiders. But even had it been more, she couldn’t accept the offerings. They were gifts in name only. Beneath their bounty and goodwill lay the expectation that she would do something similar in the future if the need arose. And she couldn’t drain her magic for them. She wouldn’t.
Fire magic wasn’t limitless and the price to wield it steep. The light burn currently under her arm was the result of her building those small fires. Gilene conserved what she possessed not only to avoid the painful backlash of its use but also to ensure she had enough to make it through the Rites of Spring alive each year. If she helped the Savatar any more, she’d be unable to help Beroe when she returned, and that was where her first loyalty lay.
“No gifts,” she repeated.
