His voice never wavered. “Down to my soul,Agacin. I’ve been a slave of the Empire. Never again will I be so, nor will my people, not if I have any say in the matter.”
That evening, the people celebrated around a communal fire. There were wrestling matches, drinking games, dancing, singing, and trysts made in the swaying shadows of the concealing plume grass. Gilene and Azarion joined in the revelry, determined to enjoy this last night among the free-spirited Savatar who had taken her into their midst, and though they didn’t see her as one of their own despite her magic, they welcomed her and treated her well. She was bothagacinand Azarion Ataman’s concubine—a potent combination of power and influence. Given time, the Savatar would accept her fully. This she knew. There was, however, no more time.
Her coupling with Azarion later that night bore the hallmarks of desperation and silent farewell that left him dour and her grief-stricken. At dawn, his entourage thanked Erakes for his hospitalityand departed for the Clan Kestrel encampment with promises to host theatamanof Clan Eagle there soon.
They were a day and evening into their return when she, Azarion, and Masad left their party to turn back toward Clan Eagle’s camp and the narrow passage that took travelers through the Veil and over the sliver of Nunari territory into the boundaries belonging to Krael proper.
“Don’t linger,” Azarion instructed Masad. “The Savatar respect the rule thatagacinsare free to choose the clan and camp of their preference, but some may interpret that rule differently for Gilene and keep her trapped here.”
Masad nodded. “We’ll ride hard, travel at night, and rest during the day.”
His words conjured up an unpleasant memory for Gilene. “No sleeping in barrows,” she said. “Ever again.” Thetirbodhgave her a puzzled look and then a shrug.
Azarion nudged his horse to stand alongside hers. His face was set, his lips thin and drawn tight against his teeth. “Should you have second thoughts, don’t hesitate. Masad will lead you back to the Sky Below without question.”
They stared at each other as thetirbodhguided his own horse away to allow them privacy. Gilene reached out with a shaking hand, stricken when Azarion drew back from her touch.
“Don’t,” he said, and his voice was harsh. “If I touch you, I won’t let go.”
She breathed back the tears gathered in her nose and throat, making her eyes ache. “Goodbye, gladiator. Our bargain is met. Good luck.” If she said his name, she’d fall apart.
He didn’t suffer such weakness, and her name was a prayer on his lips. “Farewell, Gilene of Beroe.”
He turned his horse and galloped back to where their campslept under the moon’s waning light. Gilene followed his shadow until it blended with all other shadows, and the sound of hoofbeats faded, leaving only the wind’s dirge in their wake.
She guided her own horse to where Masad waited, and offered him a watery smile. “Beroe waits, Masad. I’ve been long away.”
•••
The villagers’ ecstatic relief at seeing her ride into the village alongside Azarion’s uncle was short-lived. The miller’s wife saw her first and raced down the street toward the house of the most senior village elder. Soon the street was filling with people, all calling her name as if she were a conquering hero returned to them in splendor. They stared at Masad, wide-eyed and wary of the fierce-looking warrior riding beside her as their horses ambled slowly down the main avenue toward the house Gilene shared with her mother and sister.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Masad. We can feed you and put you up in a bed. The hearth keeps all the rooms warm enough.”
He declined her offer. “I’m needed elsewhere,Agacin,” he said. His gaze swept the crowd gathered nearby, unabashedly watching them. He lowered his voice. “Are you certain you won’t come back to the Sky Below?”
No, she wasn’t at all certain, and maybe one day, she would go back. But, like him, she was needed elsewhere. “Maybe one day,” she said. “Not today.”
He bowed, wished her well, and rode out of Beroe as quickly as he had appeared, the look in his eye a worried one.
That worry wasn’t without basis. Once the initial celebrations over Gilene’s return had ended, the villagers’ relief at having her back had soon turned to resentful suspicion. She looked none theworse for wear for her sojourn in the Stara Dragana, and in no time the questions of what happened to her became poisoned with the taint of accusation. Even her family eyed her askance at times, though none of them dared to ask the questions she saw in their faces. Had she truly been abducted? Or had she fled only to change her mind and return to Beroe out of guilt or because she had no other place to go?
As witnesses to Azarion tossing her across a horse’s back and racing through the capital’s streets, her brothers had at least zealously assured any who asked that she’d been an unwilling captive. Her mother and Ilada, though... Gilene had caught the dubious expressions on their faces more than once during the long wax and wane of the winter season.
She returned to the tasks that had always been hers when she lived in Beroe—helping her mother and sister with the household chores, working in the dye houses. It didn’t take long for her hands to stain green once more. The rhythm and pace of the village was as familiar to her as her own reflection. Sleepy and slow in winter, always with an undercurrent of dread as everyone anticipated the coming of spring and the arrival of Kraelian slavers.
Gilene shared nothing of her knowledge regarding Azarion and his plans, and offered little about her time among the Savatar, even when her mother and Ilada pressed her for details.
“You’ve become so secretive, Gilene,” her mother fussed, giving her dish towel an annoyed snap as they worked together washing and drying the supper dishes one evening.
Gilene shrugged away the complaint. Her mother’s irritation didn’t bother her, nor did the speculative stares of her siblings or those of the villagers when she moved among them.
Her role as Beroe’s annual savior had made her an outsider years earlier—among the villagers and within her own family—and she felt the isolation even more now, only this time, it was she who held herself apart.
She missed the Sky Below with its open spaces, its horse herds, and blackqaras. She missed Saruke with her odd bits of philosophical advice. She even missed the dour Tamura, whose devotion to her mother and brother and to Arita was a thing of beauty to behold.
Most of all, she missed the man she once thought she’d sworn to hate and ended up loving. Every night, when she closed her eyes, Gilene pictured his fierce, elegant face, and the emptiness inside her yawned wide and deep.
Beroe had been her birthplace and where she’d grown up, but she no longer belonged here. Coming back had been a necessity. The distance between her and her family stretched even wider now, but they were still her family, still at the mercy of the village elders, who wouldn’t hesitate to use them in forcing Gilene’s cooperation to act as a tithe.
