by Anna Bowman
“Don’t make—owe! Me laugh.”
He doubled over, clutching at his throbbing side. Rayn’s face was pale as shadowy shapes of clouds past overhead. A smile flitted across her lips. His heart gave an agonizing wrench, making his shoulder pain feel like nothing.
Rayn, why couldn’t you just have stayed on the docks?
She was looking at the photograph in his lap now. Holding his breath, he handed it to her and watched as she smoothed the picture. Her hair brushed the burnt edges.
“Is this your father?” She pointed to Ben.
Solomand’s chest tightened.
“No,” he said. “But he treated me like he was. All of us, really.”
He eyed the bottle of gin, wishing it would numb deeper wounds. But Ivan had tried that with something much stronger. No, better to suffer through it. It was no less than he deserved.
Rayn was waiting for him to say more. He took a shaky breath.
“His name was Benjamin Ivers. He was our leader, General of the Resistance and one of the greatest men I’ve ever known.”
“What happened to him?”
Flashes of shouting and streams of blood on cobbles flooded Sol’s mind. He bent over, pressing a hand to his forehead as if it would make the memories go away. He didn’t want to think about it, much less talk about it, especially to Rayn.
“LeFrost.” He forced himself to speak. “He said he wanted to negotiate a truce. Ben took me with him.” His fist tightened on his knee. “They let me go so I could tell the others.” His voice hitched, and he looked away from her so she couldn’t see the demons he tried so desperately to keep hidden away. “LeFrost had him beaten to death.”
His eyes pinched shut, trying to block the image. When he opened them, he saw Rayn brushing her hand over the face of Benjamin Ivers, looking sympathetic.
He thought then that he might actually be sick and lurched forward, grabbed the bottle of gin, and swallowed another gulp before shoving the bottle out of his reach. He sank back, trying to focus on nothing but the burning sensation spreading through his stomach.
Rayn handed him the picture.
“Is that why you’re going to Corcyra…revenge?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Among other things.” He tried not to look at her. There was just enough conscious unaffected by the tingling warmth to remind him he couldn’t tell her everything. Not yet. “You really shouldn’t go.” His voice was beginning to slur. “It’s nothing to do with you.”
These last words came with difficulty.
Rayn leaned back on the sofa. He could smell the scent of gunpowder and lavender.
“If you’re telling me this to scare me from going, it won’t work.” Her jaw set stubbornly.
I wouldn’t expect it to.
“I’m not.”
His hand fell to his side, the numbness weighing heavy on his mind now. Every plan he ever made without Tristan’s help ended the same way: disaster. Why should his clever ruse to send her away be any different?
“Just thought you should know.”
Rayn eyed him for a moment before reaching across the table for the bottle of paint-peeling gin. She took a drink, grimacing, then leaned her head back, watching the clouds as they gave way to a star-filled sky. Sol’s eyes felt heavy and he laid back, moving his hand. His fingers brushed Rayn’s hand—warm against his skin. Without thinking, he clasped her hand. She did not stop him.
Chapter 41
Rayn
Branches tapped on the observatory dome as a gentle morning breeze swept across the valley. Birds dove past, shadows against the warm sunlight. Rayn and Sol leaned against each other, still sleeping. Sol’s hand was draped across her hip, his fingers curled around her thigh. Rayn’s head rested on his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his heart beating with hers.
The door slid open with a loud clamber and Rayn’s eyes jolted open.
“Sol.” Jank’s bare feet thumped on the floor as he dashed into the room. His eyes widened when he saw them together, and his face turned beet red.
What the hell’s wrong with him?
Rayn’s head pounded, and it took her a moment to shake the grogginess.
“Er…sorry,” Jank stammered, looking everywhere but at her.
Heat flushed Rayn’s cheeks as she saw Sol’s arm draped over her.
“What is it, Jank?” Sol muttered.
A tingling sensation ran up her spine as his hand dragged across her legs. He sat up and stared at her, one eye open, his smoky-black hair going in every direction. Both eyes were open now.
“Jank—what do you want?” He pressed against his forehead with his free hand, his face contorted in pain.
“Oh…I…well…” Jank rubbed his arm and recovered his bearings. “I came to tell you…” He glanced uncomfortably at Rayn as she combed fingers through tangled hair.
Nothing happened!
She wanted to say that, but that would have made the situation even more awkward. She leaned forward, her head feeling like a hammer was beating on it from the inside.
God that gin was unforgiving!
“The Crow Clan is back,” Jank said.
“Alright.” Sol dragged a hand over his face. “Get me a list of what we need and anything that’s worth trading.”
This seemed a good opportunity to slink away. Rayn started to leave.
“Rayn, wait.” Sol wasn’t going to make it easy. The awkwardness of the situation was apparently lost on him. She turned her head, waiting to see what he wanted. “Want to come with me?” His eyes were brighter this morning. “To meet the Kree.”
“Alright.” She tucked her hair behind her ears again. “Just give me time to wash up.”
Her eyes turned to Jank, and the heat spread further across her face. She hurried away.
When Jank thought she was out of earshot she heard him remark, “Someone had a good night!” This was followed by the sound of breaking glass. “Hey! Ya could have hit me with that…what the hell, Sol! You didn’t actually drink that shit, did you?!”
✽ ✽ ✽
Bleached canvas tents dotted the rolling plains where the river widened, dark squares against the waving golden-tinged grass. Horses whinnied, thundering along the water’s edge, enjoying freedom from bridle and cart.
“They like the old ways,” Sol said as he and Rayn strode towards the camp in the warm afternoon sun. The old ways are simpler.”
Solomand seemed almost a different person than the one she’d seen last night. The overgrown stubble was gone, and his hair was more neatly disheveled than earlier. How did he always manage to make her forget how annoying he could be? Getting himself shot was a very drastic ploy.
Taking a long step, Sol’s foot found an uneven patch of ground, and he lurched forward. Rayn caught his arm with her shoulder and their eyes locked as he regained his footing.
“Thanks.”
There was a quivering in his fingertips as he touched her hand.
“Don’t mention it.”
There was that troublesome warm feeling that spread through her body, and her heart was definitely beating abnormally.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Seed pods from the grass bristled against her fingertips as they waded through the field and back to the encampment.
Kree children darted about: boys shirtless with leather breeches and girls with colorful beaded dresses. Most of them were barefoot. Their skin was a deep brown, darker than Solomand’s, but she recognized some of his features in their faces: the deep-set eyes, dark and beautiful, and black hair with shades of smoky grey.
Some of the girls rushed to greet Zee who trailed behind them with Jank, beads clicking in their hair. Other ran up to Sol, chattering in an unfamiliar language that taunted Rayn.
Where have I heard it before? She recalled Solomand’s heated discussion with the man he called Zishay. That must be it.
Sol laughed, speaking back to the children in the Kree tongue, ruffling their hair an
d gesturing to his arm. She imagined he was telling them it was nothing and rolled her eyes. He would.
A tall, gruff-looking man with long silver braids stepped out of the main tent and strode up to them. His tan clothes were woven with beads, though he didn’t make a noise as he walked.
“Aminaksew! Anye ashi.” He spoke in a low, lyrical voice.
The children lowered their heads and scampered away on seeing the Kree Chieftain.
Sol’s shoulders squared, and his forehead wrinkled as he bowed his head.
“Iminho. Anyi manjien.”
His arms crossed, and the old Kree surveyed Sol gruffly before he laughed and caught him in a fierce hug.
“Still fighting to stay away. You are ever my sister’s son.”
Sol grimaced, turning slightly paler under the massive force of Iminho’s grip. Eyes darker than Sol’s fell on Rayn.
“A friend of yours?”
Rayn felt herself blushing the way the old Chieftain looked at Sol.
“Yes. This is Rayn,” Sol introduced her. “Rayn, this is my uncle, Iminho.”
“Rayn.” Iminho tilted his head toward the sky. “Your name is like music in our language. Rain brings life to the earth.”
He took her head in weathered hands and touched his forehead to hers. Rayn’s uncomfortable feeling left when she breathed in the scent of dried grass; it was the same smell on Solomand’s coat. It soothed her spirit as it wrapped itself around her, familiar, though she did not know why.
“It is my honor to meet you.” Iminho stood back and smiled at them both, amused. “Aminaksew, together you make a fierce storm. Come.” He turned back to his tent.
Rayn leaned towards Sol as they followed him.
“What’s he talking about?” she whispered.
Sol leaned back. “My Kree name, Aminaksew, it means Angry Wind.”
“Angry Wind. Solomand Black, just how many names do you have?”
She was glad to see his mischievous grin returned.
“As many as I need.”
They ducked inside Iminho’s tent. Bunches of herbs and dried plants hung from a rope stretched from one end of the tent to the other, filling it with an aromatic, pleasant scent. The chieftain sat cross-legged on a grass mat and motioned them both to join him.
“How is your friend? The one with eyes like the sky?”
Sol’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer. Rayn suspected he couldn’t at this point. Iminho frowned.
“You will want the healer again.” His long braids jostled back and forth on his shoulders as he shook his head. “It can only do so much, Aminaksew.”
“I know.” Sol’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “But it will be enough.”
Iminho’s face turned stern. “You go back to the city where misfortune found your family. It will find you again.”
Rayn sat close enough to Sol that she could feel him tense.
“Misfortune does not confine itself to any city.”
“Ah, you speak the words of Daishee.” Iminho’s eyes closed. His hands rested on his knees, palms facing up. “A Kree who leaves his people will never be at rest.”
“You forget, Uncle. I’m only half Kree.” Solomand’s tone turned cold.
There was sadness in both their eyes as they looked at each other then, and the old chief shook his head.
“You are not half our brother, Aminaksew.” He pressed a wrinkled hand to his heart.
“That is not what my grandfather thought.” Solomand’s words were biting. His hand clenched on his knee.
His uncle looked pained at these words.
“You belong with your people. It is the only way your heart can be at rest. You will end up like Daishee, who calls nowhere home.” Iminho’s eyes flashed as he spoke the name. He sounded angry.
Solomand’s gaze lowered. “Have you spoken to him?”
Iminho crossed his arms. “Only the way you do. He only sends a message by his bird.” His jaw tightened on seeing Sol’s disappointment. “He no longer cares for his people or his past. Careful you do not make the same mistake, my nephew.”
Sol opened his mouth, but a young boy ducked inside the tent, bowing low. He held out a leather satchel to Sol.
“Medicine.”
“Naga maji.” Sol took it from the boy and rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes were narrowed as he watched Iminho.
The Chieftain’s wrinkled face relaxed.
“Please think on what I say, Aminaksew. We will not stay long here.” He sighed.
“I will think on it, Uncle,” Sol said.
“No.” Iminho grew stern once more. “Time to think is over. The land is restless. A storm is brewing. The Crow Clan will soon leave here to travel to the home of our ancestors across the oceans and will no longer return to this valley.”
Solomand looked taken aback. “You already know what I must do, Uncle”
Iminho gave a satisfied nod of the head. “Return to your friend, Aminaksew. But come back when the stars and moon meet this night.” His eyes moved to Rayn, and he looked much less severe. “Both of you.”
Rayn stood with Sol as he rose to leave.
“We will.” He held up the satchel of medicine. “Naga maji.”
He bit his lip, the light-hearted glint gone from his eye as they started back up the hill.
“Jank!” He waved his hand, pointing toward the path to indicate they were leaving. Jank was busy scrawling on a scrap of paper as he talked with a shrewd-looking Kree elder. He waved back at Sol.
Rayn noticed the way he watched Zee playing in the grass, laughing and darting about with the other children. He became pensive and quiet, and it bothered her not knowing why.
“Sol!” Jank caught up to them, waving the piece of paper. “Bad news.” He clutched his side, taking long steps to keep up.
“Yeah?” Sol couldn’t have sounded less interested.
“They don’t have any salt to trade.”
Sol ran a hand along his bandaged forehead. “They have tobacco?”
“Yeah, but--.”
“Then any other shortage we can handle.” Sol gave Jank a dismissive look and kept on up the hill.
“Sol?” Rayn ventured to ask him a question even though his mood was dark.
“Yeah?”
“Who is this Daishee? A friend of yours?”
Solomand gave a sarcastic laugh.
“I don’t really think he’s anyone’s friend, unless it suits his current advantage.”
There was a bitterness in his words again. He gave her a sideways glance.
“You’ll meet him soon enough.”
Chapter 42
Solomand
Solomand handed the satchel of powdered, brown root to Rayn and asked her to take it to Tristan. He wouldn’t go himself, not since their heated argument. He thought a long time about what Tristan had said, how Ivan had saved him, and what they would all be risking by returning to the so-called City of Prosper.
He stayed outside, hoping the air would clear his head before he had to face Iminho one last time. God, why couldn’t anything ever work out? The Kree leaving further complicated the situation with Zee. He had hoped he could leave her in the safety of the Crow Clan. Zee had no idea what dark piece of her past lay beyond those walls. No good could come of her going to Corcyra. Iminho would be more than willing to take the girl in, but she would never go with them, not when she realized they were leaving for good.
Staring broodingly at the ground as he stalked toward the dock, he muttered a heartfelt, “Shit,” at his crumbling plans.
When he looked up, he saw Ivan perched on the railing. His thick brown hair was grown out enough for the wind to blow through it now and his cheeks were filled in. He was almost his deadly, unstoppable self again. He looked quite able to take on Sol at this point, and Sol suspected he still desired to kill him with a spoon, even if he had saved his life. It would be just like him.
He took a resigned step onto the dock and leaned over the railing next to Ivan.<
br />
“Looks like you’re well on your way to throwing me off a cliff now,” he remarked, digging in his left pocket for his cigarette case.
Ivan snorted, glancing pointedly at Sol’s subdued arm.
“Not fair fight.”
“Yeah, well, never was, was it?” Sol’s fingers fought to open the silver case, and he dropped it in the process. “Damnit,” he grumbled, stooping down to pick up the scattered bits of tobacco. When he finally pocketed the case, Ivan held out his own lighter and flicked the flint.
Hesitating, Sol at last held his cigarette to the tiny flicker of flame, then handed one to Ivan.
“Thanks.”
Ivan shrugged.
Sol’s chest tightened as he took a long drag and held the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could before letting it out. He watched it drift away, into the wind-blown trees.
“Look…Ivan.” He flicked ashes over the railing. “Thanks for…you know…”
Ivan replied gruffly, “You do same for me once.”
Solomand remembered, but it was different then. Ivan looked at him sharply from the corner of his eye.
“So now we are even. Makes easier to kill you.”
Sol couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. That invisible rope around his chest drew tighter.
Just say it, you idiot!
Grappling with the fear, Sol finally won.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
He knew he didn’t need to explain what his apology was for. Ivan would know. He was an expert of reminding him without even talking.
The Slav’s stony expression revealed nothing as he inhaled deeply and let the smoke curl over his lips.
I was having a hell of a rough month!
But Ivan already knew that, and making excuses was not what he wanted to do. Images resurfaced and Solomand could not keep them at bay. Even after so long, it came back as clear as if it were yesterday.
The black smoke had swirled overhead, blocking out the sun and choking the insurgents with its acrid odor. Solomand could see nothing as he stumbled over chunks of rock and splintered wood. The taste of blood and metal seared his tongue, and his lungs ached.
It’s over. We’re finished.
The realization was just as gut-wrenching now as when he wandered blindly through the rubble, screaming for his men. Whatever faith Benjamin had placed in him was a mistake.