Voice of Crow

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  When the sun had reached its zenith, another higher-pitched bell sounded, and within moments the enormous front doors of the Senate building swung outward. Senators, staffers and other officials streamed out, each trying to be the first across the street so he or she wouldn’t have to stand in line at the market stalls.

  To Filip’s left was an area of shade, provided by a large canvas awning. It soon filled with those returning from the market with their meals. A few tables and chairs sat there, but most people mingled on their feet, cradling their food and drink as they moved from one high-powered acquaintance to the next. Filip’s father had told him that more government work was accomplished in this one hour than in the entire remainder of the day.

  Several of the senators and their staff made the rounds of beggars, tossing coins into each one’s bowl as if throwing bread crumbs to pigeons. They chattered about political and social gossip, but nothing that seemed relevant to Marek or Nilik.

  Suddenly a familiar voice came from his right. His breath seized. It couldn’t be.

  “My testimony wasn’t terribly pedantic, was it?” the man asked his companion.

  “Certainly not. Everyone enjoys a detailed account of the sewage system.”

  They passed in front of him, discussing the merits of a public-works bill, and Filip was certain. The skin on his nape seemed to crinkle and crawl.

  His own father was within arm’s reach.

  “One moment.” Filip’s father turned and walked back toward him, his footsteps slowing. He stopped a few paces away, then dropped several large coins in Filip’s bowl, murmuring a prayer to Rovas, the war god. In a moment the other man joined him. Together they cast a shadow over Filip, whose neck cramped with the effort to keep his head down, his gaze on the ground where it belonged.

  “Feeling generous today, Kaloyero?”

  Without moving away, Filip’s father spoke solemnly. “My two sons died almost a year ago in Asermos.”

  “Ah.” The other man tossed in a coin of his own. “I am very sorry.”

  “My family—my wife, my daughters and I—we miss them horribly. We feel like we’d do anything to see them once more.”

  Filip’s fingers tightened on the fabric of his trousers. His throat ached. If he looked up, his father would know his eyes, would see through the beard and the mud to his son beneath. He would take him home, hold a celebration feast in his honor, maybe give him money to buy Marek’s and Nilik’s freedom. The relief and joy would overcome his shame at his son’s condition.

  Filip began to raise his eyes.

  “But now I remember,” his father said, “it could be worse. My boys could have ended up like him.”

  Filip’s gaze stopped, having risen as far as the monument. He dropped his chin, eyes burning.

  “True,” the senator said. “To have both sons’ names engraved on the memorial—such a loss brings pain but also great honor. There are fates worse than death.”

  They spoke as if he had the ears of a potted plant. Did they think he couldn’t hear them?

  His father scoffed. “Honor, yes. If only honor could banish the silence of an empty home.”

  Filip turned his face away, wrenching his mind from the images of his family. Derina would be sixteen now, ready to choose a man brave enough to spend his life listening to bad jokes. Little Kiniska, only twelve—Filip wondered if she’d outgrown her bug collection yet. And his mother…he couldn’t think of her at all.

  A woman with a low, strong voice passed by, speaking to her companion. “It’s a waste of money and lives,” she said, “all to satisfy men’s sense of revenge.”

  “Arvano, who is that?” Filip’s father asked.

  “Senator Basha Mylosa. Myloso’s widow.”

  “I hadn’t known she was so young and…”

  “Pretty? Don’t be fooled. She’s as shrewd and cutthroat as any of us. Has a predilection for the Asermons, though. She wants to conquer them without force.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “She puts forward innovative arguments. I, for one, will be sorry when her term ends. We need fresh ideas in this staid old building, not to mention a voice of moderation against the rise of the military.” Arvano’s shadow moved, and he lowered his voice. “Some say her baby is actually an Asermon boy, not the son of her late husband.”

  Filip dragged his mind out of its pool of misery to listen.

  “They say she miscarried Myloso’s child and found this one to replace it.”

  Filip’s father laughed. “Who are ‘they’ who say such things, Arvano? Is it the voices in your head?”

  “You know how it is. Slaves talk to other slaves. Information is the one commodity they have to sell. I admire her audacity, if it’s true.”

  “It can’t be true.”

  “She never went in public during her time of mourning, which was proper. There was time to make the substitution. It sounds far-fetched, but if you could hear the way she speaks of Asermos on the Senate floor, you’d change your mind.”

  Filip heard his father clap his companion on the back. “This has been an edifying and, er, entertaining respite, but I must be back to work. I trust my testimony will prove useful.”

  “Certainly. You’ll find a token of our appreciation in your next payroll.”

  “I’ll look for it. Thank you.”

  They moved away, but Filip’s father stopped and turned back after a few paces. “Be well, young man,” he said to Filip in a low voice. “I shall pray for you, today and always.”

  His footsteps receded. Filip sat for a long moment, then scratched a shallow hole in the sandy soil beneath the shrub. He took the red-and-yellow ribbon from his pocket, pressed it into the hole, then covered it with soil until it vanished.

  At sunset, Rhia joined Alanka and Bolan to meet Filip at the rendezvous point in an alleyway several blocks from the Senate courtyard.

  “Did you hear anything?” Rhia asked him, her stomach roiling.

  “Perhaps.”

  Alanka and Bolan eased him to sit on an empty crate. He glanced toward the street, then spoke in a hushed voice.

  “A senator named Basha Mylosa has a child. Rumor says he’s an Asermon baby she’s passing off as her own son.”

  “Her own son?” The news was what Rhia had most hoped and feared. “And what about Marek?”

  “Adrek and Koli are following her to see where she lives. Maybe they’ll find signs of Marek. Lycas and Arcas are following them for protection.” He wiped the sweat from his ruddy face and glared at his crutches. “I did all I could.”

  “You did plenty.” Alanka handed him a water skin and smoothed the damp hair from his brow. “You might have saved Marek and Nilik.”

  He took a long gulp, then shook his head. “We still have to get them out of there. Senator Mylosa will have a well-guarded house. We’ll know how well guarded after the others return.”

  Alanka opened the long bag she’d been carrying. “I thought you might want this.” She handed Filip his prosthetic leg. “So you wouldn’t have to crutch all the way back to the inn.”

  “Thank you.” He took the leg. “Very much.”

  Rhia walked with Alanka and Bolan to the end of the alley, giving Filip privacy and blocking the view from the street.

  “Don’t worry,” Alanka said. “We’ve slipped Marek out from under armed guards before. We can do it again.”

  Rhia thought about how she and Lycas and Alanka had crept into the Descendant camp to extract Marek. It had been a trap, though, set by the Descendant colonel to obtain a more valuable prisoner—namely, Rhia. Marek’s powers of invisibility had saved them, along with the speed and grace of Colonel Baleb’s horse, Keleos.

  The key, though, had been Baleb’s arrogance in allowing them to enter the camp. Perhaps Basha had a similar weakness.

  Filip joined them, and they headed back toward the inn. Rhia heard him speak quietly to Alanka as they walked side-by-side behind her and Bolan.

  “With the mone
y I made today,” he said, “I can purchase a room for the two of us for a night. If you want.”

  Rhia could hear Alanka’s smile in her voice. “I’d like that.”

  When they returned to the inn, Filip washed the grime from his face and hair, then went in search of the proprietor to rent a room.

  Alanka watched him stride down the hallway, then closed the door and turned to Rhia. She seemed to be trying to restrain the joy in her eyes.

  “I’m glad to see you happy again,” Rhia said. “You finally have someone worthy of you.”

  Alanka’s face relaxed into a grin. “And an Ilion, no less.”

  “After all he’s done for us, it’s hard to think of him as one of them.”

  “True.” Alanka drew in a sudden breath. “Should I shave my legs? The women here do that, I’ve noticed.”

  The door swung open, startling Rhia.

  Lycas swaggered in, followed by Arcas, Adrek, Koli and Bolan. “Sorry about not knocking,” her brother said. “We found them both.”

  Rhia gasped and felt as if she could jump to the ceiling.

  Adrek sat on the bed beside Alanka with a self-satisfied sigh. “Once it was dark, Koli and I were able to sneak right up to a window.”

  “It’s strange,” Koli said. “The room we saw was filled with Asermon art—carvings, sculptures, tapestries. Not like this inn, or the other buildings we’ve seen in Leukos.”

  “But what about Marek and Nilik?” Rhia’s heart pounded. “How did they look?”

  “We couldn’t see Nilik inside the cradle,” Adrek said. “Marek seems well-fed, with no injuries. But—” He stopped and looked at Koli.

  “He wasn’t doing anything,” she told Rhia. “He just rocked Nilik in his cradle, not singing, not speaking to him, nothing. He looked…dead.”

  “Until someone passed by,” Adrek said. “When Marek heard them coming, he jumped up and backed away like he thought he was in danger.”

  “But nothing happened.” Koli fidgeted with the end of her braid. “Eventually he sat down at the cradle again. No one came in, so he must have heard someone in the hallway. Skittish as a yearling.”

  “That’s not like him at all.” Rhia sat in the chair, trying to calm the storm in her mind. She had to think clearly. “We need to get him out of there.”

  “And soon,” Lycas said. “Before we lose our powers. My hearing’s already not what it was yesterday, and the run across the city actually winded me.” His face contorted in disgust.

  Rhia turned to Arcas. “What about you?”

  “My Spider powers feel normal so far,” he said.

  “Good.” Rhia stood. “You’ll be needed next.”

  34

  Filip unlocked the door for Alanka and let her precede him inside. She cried out when she saw the full tub of steaming water.

  “This is ours?” She dashed to the side of the metal tub. “We don’t have the wrong room?”

  “I ordered it for us.” He looked around the room. It was small but clean. The proprietor had left a lamp burning on the bedside table. A plate of fruit and bread sat beside it, as well as a pitcher of wine. A bar of soap and a shaving kit lay on a small shelf attached to the tub.

  She dipped her hand in the water and yanked it out again. “Too hot.” Alanka angled her head to look at him from under her dark eyelashes. “But it’s big enough for two.”

  He gave her a smile he hoped hid his nervousness. “It might be.” He scratched his chin. “First I need to shave.”

  “I’ll do it for you.” She drew a chair next to the tub. “Sit.”

  He obeyed. Using a pair of scissors, she trimmed his beard close to his skin. Then she wet a small cloth with the hot water and held it against his face. The steam released the tension in his jaw and temples, and he sagged against the back of the chair.

  Alanka dipped the small basin into the tub to fill it with water, then handed it to him to hold. “Aren’t you worried people will recognize you without the beard?”

  “I’m more worried they’ll recognize me with the beard, as one of the beggars in the Senate courtyard. I was around a lot of people today—not that many of them actually looked at me.”

  She took the cloth away and rubbed lotion on his face. “It must have been hard.”

  He mused on this word, hard. Where Asermon swords and arrows had failed, his own countrymen, his own father, had succeeded. They’d turned him into nothing.

  But after a day of feeling like a clod of dirt, he had come back to Alanka, who had treated him like a hero. Not a fallen hero, like the version of him etched upon the monument, but a man who could still fight for something larger than himself. In her eyes, he knew, he would never be nothing.

  “Yes, it was hard,” he said finally.

  She picked up the razor and began to shave him, tilting his head to the side to reach under his jaw. Each touch of her fingers on his face and scalp left an imprint of sensation. He gripped the chair’s arm as an impatient passion woke within him.

  She noticed the gesture and misinterpreted it. “Don’t worry, I won’t cut you.” She swirled the razor in the basin. “I used to do this for my father every day.”

  He remained silent. The less he spoke, the faster she’d shave, and the sooner he’d feel her skin against his. His pulse throbbed in his throat.

  “Will you grow your hair?” she asked when she was nearly finished.

  “It depends if we stay in Ilios. Long hair is a status symbol here, only for military officers and noblemen.”

  “You’re plenty noble for me.” She wet the towel in the tub and wiped his face. “There. A month’s work undone.”

  He stroked his chin, which felt like his own again. His cheeks tingled and smelled of mint. He hoped she liked the scent.

  “Thank you.” He stood and set the basin aside. When he turned back to her, she looked at his face and tittered. “What’s so funny?” He swiped at his nose and ears. “Do I have lotion on my—”

  “No, that’s not it. I’m not amused.” She stepped within the reach of his embrace. “I’m just happy.”

  He bent his head to hers. “So am I.”

  Her kiss felt cautious, as if she feared she’d scare him away. He pulled her tight against his body so she could feel how much he craved her. She moaned and snaked her arms around his neck, drawing him into a deeper, harder kiss.

  He untied her shirt, and she lifted it over her head. A tight sleeveless garment lay underneath, covering her breasts and the top of her belly, displaying taut nipples. He bent to suckle one through the thin material, caressing the other with his thumb. She shuddered.

  In a moment the undergarment was gone, and he tasted her perfect round breast, salty with sweat. Alanka moaned again, making his blood pound so hard, it seemed to fight the confines of his veins.

  “Filip?”

  He pulled away. “What’s wrong?”

  “Tub.”

  “Right.” He stripped off his shirt, while Alanka stood before him and undid her trousers.

  Her dark eyes glittered at him. “Help me?”

  “Yes.” He slid the trousers over her hips, along with the soft undergarment, and knelt to remove them. He reached to touch her naked body, but she stepped back.

  “I’m taking a bath. Will you join me, then?” She put a foot in the tub and almost yanked it out. “Still hot.” She stepped into the tub, wincing and gasping. He would have laughed at her bulging eyes had her body’s beauty not stolen his breath.

  Alanka sat down and exhaled heavily. “I think they want to cook us for dinner.” She reached back to pull out the tie from her braid.

  “Let me do that.” He moved to stand behind her.

  “No. No more touching me with your clothes on.” She looked up at him. “I can shut my eyes if you want.”

  He almost agreed, then realized it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her to see him, finally.

  Filip unfastened his trousers and undid the straps of his prosthesis. He sat on the bed and
removed his shoes and socks, then the false leg, setting everything beneath the bedside table. He slid his trousers over his hips, then his knees, where he held them for a long moment.

  Alanka’s eyes met his, and the desire to touch her burned away the last fragments of fear and shame. He let the trousers fall to the floor.

  She looked down where his left leg ended, then back at his face. A smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. She regarded the dark gray drawers that covered his hips.

  “Almost done now,” she said.

  Filip let out a deep breath, wondering why he had ever worried. He leaned back on his elbows and lifted his hips to remove his drawers. He sat up and dropped them to the side.

  Alanka drew her knees up to give him room. “You’re too beautiful to hide.”

  His face heated, and not from the billowing steam. Using the table for support, he moved to the tub, sat on the edge and swung his legs over in a smooth motion. He thanked every god and Spirit that he didn’t lose his balance and fall in. The water came to the top of his waist and soothed his aching limbs.

  Alanka turned around in the cramped tub and shifted herself between his legs. “Now you may undo my hair.”

  The feel of her skin, slick and hot against his, sent the blood racing through his body, hardening him against her back. His hands trembled as they unwound the soft, dark strands. When her hair was free, she slid down to submerge herself, her head nearly reaching his lap. He groaned and reached for the soap, needing a distraction to maintain what little control remained.

  She murmured with delight as he worked the soap through her hair, massaging her scalp.

  “Does everyone in Leukos have a bathtub?” she asked him.

  “Most use the public baths, but many have movable tubs like these. The wealthiest have permanent tubs in their homes, made of tile.”

  “Did your family have a tile tub?”

  “No. We had one like this.”

  She grew quiet.

  “What is it?” he asked her.

  “Sitting here, I finally understand why people want to be rich. Makes me wonder what I’d do to have a hot bath every day.”