Joden dismounted beside him, taking the decision out of his hands. Damn all Singers to the snows, he’d little choice now. Yet there would be no harm in listening, and any knowledge gained would aid them.
Besides, he was just as curious as Joden to hear what the man would say.
Simus signaled Eloix and Yers to join them. He’d listen.
Whether he’d trust was another tale entirely.
So this wasSimus of the Hawk.
Snowfall wasn’t impressed.
She’d been at Wind Winds’s side all through the eventful night, ready to both serve and protect her mentor. She’d stay close, although he would claim she was hovering.
So she was slightly behind Wild Winds when the riders approached and hailed the camp.
Simus was tall and imposing, she’d grant him that. One of the largest, blackest warriors she’d ever seen, with skin that shone like obsidian rock. He sat his horse with confidence, dressed in fine chain, his sword on his back. His dark eyes flashed as they swept over them and the gold earrings in his ears caught the morning light.
Handsome, of that there was no doubt, but he knew that all too well, Snowfall thought. She’d heard tales of his wit and charm. But he was certainly rude, greeting Wild Winds without his honors. She wasn’t fooled by his—
Their eyes met, and something sang through her, like the power of the Plains itself.
His eyes were dark in color but bright with suspicion, yet under that there was strength, and joy of life itself, as if every breath was a gift to be savored, enjoyed, relished.
The tattoos on her shoulders began to tingle. Snowfall didn’t react, didn’t gasp. She slowly slid her gaze from his and stood, trying to quiet her inner tremble as he and Wild Winds talked.
Her training kept her face a void, where no warrior could read her thoughts. ‘A warrior-priest keeps their own counsel at all times,’ was the command, and she’d learned her lessons well. But her tattoos—
They knew no restrictions, and she felt the twisting vines wanting to move, to writhe over her skin. They could not, of course. Her tattoos had been placed on her skin magically by her master, Wild Winds. As long as she was in training, they were under his control.
But they wanted to dance.
Snowfall watched as Wild Winds extended Simus and his people the hospitalities of his tent and offered to tell the tale of the night and the Sacrifice. Simus of the Hawk radiated distrust, but the one named Joden, the potential Singer, dismounted immediately to share in kavage and news.
Snowfall drew a deep, slow breath. So much had changed in a single night, a single moment, a single act by two city-dwellers strange to the Plains and hunted and abused by the warrior-priests. No one had known what would happen when Hail Storm had lured them to their deaths on the Heart.
But the pillar of light had sprung into the sky. Wild Winds had been healed, and those of the warrior-priests who had followed Hail Storm were dead or dying. And the magic, the power that the Sacrifice had returned to the Plains—that still made her skin tingle. She glanced at the coming dawn and wondered what else the elements had in store for them.
“You think that warrior-priests cannot change?” Wild Winds was asking Simus, drawing her attention back to their discussion. “Come and hear the tale, or not. As you choose.”
“Keir is going to gut me,” Simus grumbled, but he dismounted.
Well. Clearly, a warrior in servitude to a Warlord with dreams of ruling the Plains. Snowfall didn’t let her disdain show. She moved off, back toward the main tent as Wild Winds gathered those that would talk and explain, including the young warriors who had served as Guardians to the Sacrifice.
What did her master see in this Simus? Why had her tattoos reacted?
Snowfall didn’t heave a sigh, or even take a deep breath. She kept her outer face calm, even as her mind raced with questions.
She’d see to the brewing of kavage, see to the warmth of the tent, offer welcome to these warriors, as her mentor desired. But she’d also wait and watch.
And keep her blades sharp.
Chapter Six
Simus may have accepted the invitation into Wild Winds’s tent, but he took nothing at its face. Especially a face of an adversary, covered with the ritual tattoos.
And there was also that woman, but Simus would not allow that to divert him from his purpose. After all, as fascinating as she seemed, she too wore tattoos.
He gathered his warriors around him, and ordered them to make camp close by and wait for him. He lowered his voice when he arranged the watches. His warriors had all given him understanding nods. They’d watch both without and within, and keep their blades ready.
