Phoenix Unbound
Page 58

The light had waned by the time he returned to the qara where his mother, sister, and Gilene awaited him.
Tamura didn’t waste time with questions. “You should practice after we eat. We can ride out from the encampment to a less crowded place. You can fight me. If you ask, I’m sure our uncle would sneak away to join us as well. It’s been a long time since you’ve fought a Savatar, and you aren’t as good on horseback as Karsas anymore.”
Saruke hushed her and passed a wooden plate filled with food to Azarion. “I think his time fighting as a gladiator has prepared him well enough for this battle, on horseback or not.”
“She’s right, Ani,” he said and accepted the plate with a nod of thanks. “I’ve ridden as much as possible since I came back, but ten years out of a saddle before that puts me at a disadvantage.” He winked at Tamura. “The trick will be to get Karsas off his horse.”
“Then we’ll practice that,” she declared. “I’ll enjoy knocking you to the ground a few times. Revenge for when you pulled my braids when we were children.”
They all laughed, even Gilene, and Azarion was grateful to Tamura, dour as she was, for keeping the conversation lighthearted. He’d have to be blind not to see the worry in her eyes or the fear in Saruke’s. They had grieved his death once; they didn’t want to do it again.
After supper, Saruke studied him and Gilene for a moment before ordering Tamura to accompany her to a friend’s qara for a visit.
Tamura gaped at her. “Now, Ani?”
Saruke wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and strode to the qara’s threshold, an impatient scowl creasing her face. “Are you doing anything other than warming your feet by the fire?”
The younger woman grumbled but did as her mother bade. Azarion heard the two of them bickering as they walked away. He turned to Gilene, who dried the last of their dishware and set it aside.
“You brought me the luck I sought,” he said. “I knew you would.”
She refilled his cup with hot tea from the small pot simmering on the cooking brazier. “Is it luck? Tomorrow you fight to the death. It would have been better if Karsas had chosen first blood, don’t you think? Your mother and sister fear for you.”
“First blood for something as important as a chieftainship is a coward’s choice. Karsas knew that. What respect he still has from the clan would be lost. To the death was the only real choice. Besides, first blood is too risky. I can give up a fair amount of blood and still win.”
A grim smile curved her lips. “Only a Pit gladiator would say such a thing.”
He scooted a little closer to where she sat. She reclined against a wedge of pillows, hands easy on the cup she held. She was beautiful. So grave, so composed. “Then you haven’t lived with us long enough. The Savatar are fierce fighters.”
One dark eyebrow lifted. “And unafraid of death?”
“Afraid enough to make them vicious in a fight.” Karsas would be exceptionally hard to kill.
“Is Karsas a good fighter?”
Azarion shrugged. “I’ll assume he’s the best and hope otherwise.”
Her brow knitted. “And he will be motivated.”
“As will I.”
He glided a finger down her tunic sleeve. She tracked its path with her eyes. Azarion wanted to kiss her again, but something about her demeanor—a hint of despair—made him hesitate. “I’ll pray later tonight and make a sacrifice to Agna that she be my sword arm and the speed of my feet. Will her agacin keep me company while I do?”
“Don’t you want your mother and sister there instead?”
“It will strengthen my challenge even more if the people see my agacin praying with me. That is how they see you.”
“As yours or as an agacin?”
His finger slid over the knuckles of one of her hands. “Can it not be both?”
Her fingers fanned out, then briefly closed around his. Her dark eyes were bleak. “No, it can’t.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
All of Clan Kestrel had gathered for the fight between Azarion and Karsas over the role of clan leader. People on foot and on horseback created a vast ring on an area of the steppe not far from the clan’s encampment. Several members of the visiting clans had stayed as well to witness the combat, partly from curiosity or entertainment and partly to report back to their own clans as to who emerged victorious to rule Clan Kestrel.
Gilene stood at the very front of the makeshift arena next to Tamura. Saruke flanked her daughter’s other side. Both women looked as grim as Gilene felt. Azarion had gotten what he wanted, the chance to challenge. That he might die in the effort to regain his birthright didn’t seem to bother him. It scared her, and if the tight expressions on his mother’s and sister’s faces were any indication, it terrified them.
Across the stretch of grass, she spotted Karsas’s wife and children surrounded by a retinue of his supporters. Arita wore a different expression from those who surrounded her, different from Tamura and Saruke. Hers was a bland facade, as if the confrontation about to take place held no more interest for her than watching sheep graze. Her children, a boy and a girl, neither of whom looked older than five or six, hugged her legs. Unlike their mother, they watched the gathering with wide, frightened eyes.
Gilene gestured to Arita with a lift of her chin. “What will become of Arita if Karsas loses?”
Tamura’s arms crossed, her fingers digging into her upper arms. Time in the sun had burnished her skin to a golden brown, but now the color leached away, and her green eyes, so like her brother’s, burned.
She glanced at Gilene from the corner of one eye. “It depends on many things. Arita and her children may return to her clan. She was Clan Eagle. They’d welcome her back simply for her value as a bride to another ataman.” Such bitterness laced her words that Gilene’s eyebrows rose. “Or she may choose to stay here if Azarion, as ataman, allows it.” This time Tamura faced Gilene fully, that green gaze as piercing as a lance. “He may also wish to take her for his wife and name her children as his. It’s been done before.”
Something lurched inside Gilene, an unexpected and unwelcome pain. The memory of Azarion’s kiss lingered in her mind and on her mouth. The brutal Pit fighter possessed many facets, including gentleness and passion. The thought of him sharing those with another made her nauseated and then annoyed.
Whom he chose or didn’t choose as his wife was no concern of hers. His reason for bringing her to the Stara Dragana and her role in his rise in status were fulfilled. He was nothing more to her than the means by which she’d return to Beroe, just as she was no more than the means by which he’d regain his rightful place among his clansmen. None of that eased the ache in her chest. Her mind spoke reason; her heart refused to listen.
“It must be hard for her to witness this fight.” She congratulated herself on the evenness of her tone.
Tamura shrugged and stared at Arita. A wistful look settled over her features. “I don’t know. Theirs was a match arranged by their families. Arita has always followed their commands above her own desires.”
There was far more to the woman’s comments than the surface meaning of her words, and the words themselves settled like stones in Gilene’s belly. She followed Tamura’s gaze. If Karsas had been the desire of Arita’s family, who was Arita’s desire? Had it been Tamura? She shook off her own jealousy over the idea of Azarion taking a wife, only to have melancholy take its place. If she interpreted Tamura’s unspoken emotions correctly, how sad it must be to watch the one you love bind themselves to another and start a life with them, a life played out before you every day, with nothing to do but watch.