Child of Flame (Crown of Stars 4)

She looked up. Her smile made her beautiful, the light in her face, the ragged lilt of her voice, the graceful confidence of her movements as she came to embrace him by the fence, the shadow of sadness in her expression that he struggled every moment to wipe away, so that she would know nothing but joy.

“What’s this?” asked Alain when he could finally bear to let go of her. He lifted her right hand and studied the lapis lazuli ring adorning her middle finger. “This looks very like a ring I once gave to a woman who needed my help.”

“So you did. I met her in a vision trance, and she gave it to me. She thought you needed it.”

He shuddered, but maybe that was only the cold breeze on his neck. “What magic can make a ring travel through visions? Where did you see her? You were in a trance when I saw you last. Ai, God, I have so many questions. I know now you came safely to Queen Shuashaana’s palace, and that she returned you here. Did Laoina return to her tribe? I feared I had lost you, beloved.”

“Nay,” she said, almost in tears as she buried her face against his chest and just held him. Sorrow and Rage settled down nearby, willing to wait her out. After a while, she was able to go on: she had woken out of her vision trance in the care of Shu-Sha and, after a few days waiting for Alain and recovering, Shu-Sha had sent her home alone through the stone looms. “I only got back yesterday. I thought I’d lost you.”

“But you did not. I told you I would never leave you. How many times do I have to tell you?” He smiled and kissed her. “Tell me about the ring.”

She described the trance, but her words did not really make sense to him. Was it truly Liath she had seen? Was Liath dead? Or was Adica simply unable to describe the place he had once known, the halls where nobles walked and feasted and where the church reigned in splendor? Had Adica’s vision shown her the future, or the past?

“I thought I heard the prince speak of Liathano,” he said, remembering his conversation with the two brothers, “but he was talking of the Holy One, who is called in her own tongue Li’at’-dano.”

Adica clapped hands over her ears. “I must not hear the holy name, lest it burn me!”

“Nay, beloved, do not be frightened. It was given to me freely. Why can’t I share it with you?” He sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe I am afraid to say it myself. She told me there was one who would be given her name in the time yet to come. But if that’s so—” He shook his head. The only explanation that occurred to him seemed so outrageous, so disorienting, so impossible, that he fled to the refuge of the answer the centaur shaman had given him in the end. “I am alive now. Nothing else matters. I will not question the good fortune that brought me to your side, Adica.”

She tugged on the ring, to pull it off.

“Nay, you must wear it. The stone will protect you from evil.”

“Alain,” she began, hesitant, almost choked, “there’s something I must tell you.” She stopped, looking past him with a sudden expression of relief. “Mother Weiwara!”

“I thought you might like help, Hallowed One. I can gather up the herbs and petals you spilled. I know you would like to finish the purification, so you can be alone with your husband sooner.” With a smile for Alain, Weiwara crossed the fence and the two women walked away, Adica leaning toward her friend, whispering urgently.

Surely it was not his fault that the wind lifted their murmuring voices and brought them to his ears.

“What must I do? He doesn’t know.”

“Haven’t you told him?”

“I can’t bear to. What if it frightens him away from me?”

“Nay, Hallowed One, do not say so. You know that isn’t true. The Holy One sent him. He won’t desert you.”

Adica’s answer was lost as the two women ducked inside the birthing house. A moment later Weiwara emerged and, with a dismissive wave at Alain, started picking up the pouches and petals scattered on the ground.

Alain knew a command when he saw one. He retreated to the less complicated companionship of the men, who were engaged at this time of year in various projects preparing the village for winter. Urtan set him to work with Kel and Tosti binding thatch for the roof of the men’s house, which had developed several leaks during the heavy spring rains. From the roof he could look out over the village and up to the tumulus. Most of the older children had been set to making torches, stuffing and binding wood chips with tow flax or hemp and soaking these flambeaux in beeswax or resin. Women sat in the doors of their houses, weaving baskets. Crab apples had been piled up in heaps to sweat. Now and again he saw men walking along the embankment or hauling water or firewood up through the cleft where two ramparts met and overlapped.

But the best part of being up on the roof, besides listening to his companions as they discussed the girls they wanted to marry or just to kiss, was that he could keep an eye on the distant birthing house and then, later, on Adica as her tasks took her around the village. Everyone could tell his mind wasn’t on his work. His friends had a good time joking with Alain about just what exactly it was he might do in the evening: guard duty in the tower, wash the geese, scrape skins, sleep.

Their good-natured conversation and cheerful company made the time pass swiftly, because in truth he was waiting for the afternoon’s feast. Because in truth, even the feast, feting the centaurs, welcoming him and Adica home, passed with agonizing slowness. Night came quickly at this time of year, and Mother Weiwara made sure to chase them off to bed at dusk even if she could not restrain his friends from singing lewd songs as he tried to slip away, leading Adica by the hand.

Laughing, they ran through the dark village to their house. They needed no lamp to light their way. They needed nothing more than each other as they fumbled with clothing and fell backward onto the bed, the feather mattress giving way beneath them as they pressed together under furs.

What things he said then to her he could not remember nor was even really aware of. Just to touch her was like a delirium, a drowning. Maybe they had drowned twice or even three times before they exhausted themselves enough simply to lie side by side in the darkness, her shoulder fitted under the curve of his arm and her head resting on his shoulder. She had thrown a leg over his hips, and they rested this way for a time as she nuzzled his neck, planting butterfly kisses along his throat and occasionally on his lips. Outside, he heard one of the dogs get up and pad restlessly all the way around the house before settling back in at the threshold. He found the ring on her finger and twisted it around, teasing it off over her knuckle and sliding it back on.

escribed the trance, but her words did not really make sense to him. Was it truly Liath she had seen? Was Liath dead? Or was Adica simply unable to describe the place he had once known, the halls where nobles walked and feasted and where the church reigned in splendor? Had Adica’s vision shown her the future, or the past?

“I thought I heard the prince speak of Liathano,” he said, remembering his conversation with the two brothers, “but he was talking of the Holy One, who is called in her own tongue Li’at’-dano.”

Adica clapped hands over her ears. “I must not hear the holy name, lest it burn me!”

“Nay, beloved, do not be frightened. It was given to me freely. Why can’t I share it with you?” He sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe I am afraid to say it myself. She told me there was one who would be given her name in the time yet to come. But if that’s so—” He shook his head. The only explanation that occurred to him seemed so outrageous, so disorienting, so impossible, that he fled to the refuge of the answer the centaur shaman had given him in the end. “I am alive now. Nothing else matters. I will not question the good fortune that brought me to your side, Adica.”

She tugged on the ring, to pull it off.