“Ah,” she said, “you want to undress me yourself.”
“What?” he said, and looked up. And then he understood. “Oh, fuck.” He quickly looked away again. “I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m sorry ...”
“You don’t want me?” She made it sound like an accusation.
“No!” He shook his head.
“I’m not beautiful enough for you? I could get someone younger.”
“No!”
“Do you want a man?”
“A man? No, I don’t want a man. I don’t want a woman. And before you ask, I don’t want a horse. What I want is for you to get dressed.”
He waited until he heard her put clothes on before looking at her again. She had slipped on a poncho. She looked almost as confused as he felt.
“Look, I’m sorry, Morfast. I wanted to see you tonight to ask you about this chief thing. I’ve never been a chief before. Are you sure you want me?”
“For chief or—”
“Yes, for chief!” he said hurriedly.
“If not you, then the Ocean clan must submit to the will of the two circles. They may choose a chief for us from another clan, or make us join with another clan.”
“Who would they choose?”
“Someone who could kill you in single combat, since you killed Katan.”
“I see. And if you join with another clan?”
“Then everything we are will be lost. Our young ones may adjust, but those of us who remember our own traditions and customs will be like children without a mother or father.”
“But I don’t know your customs and traditions,” he pleaded.
“We will teach you,” she said simply.
“God,” he said, and put his head between his hands.
“Do we shame you?”
“No. Never that. But I am with the prince. I cannot desert him.”
“You would not desert him.”
“But he must go east. He must go to Kendra or perish in the attempt. And so must I.”
“Then we will go to Kendra with you, and perish if we must. The gods decide our fate.”
He sat down heavily on her sleeping blanket. She sat down next to him, and he edged away.
“You do not find me beautiful,” she said sadly.
He caught her gaze and shook his head. “That is not true. You are very beautiful. But I cannot take you simply because I am your chief.”
“Then you accept that you are our chief?”
Ager nodded resignedly. “It seems I have no choice. I won’t throw you to the two circles.” He remembered how close Korigan had come to being dethroned. “I have seen for myself how fickle they can be.”
She smiled at him. “All in the clan will be happy. We have a chief again, and our ways will not disappear.”
He stood up. “How many of you are there?”
“Of us,” she corrected him, “there are nearly four thousand, and two thousand of them are warriors. We have over a thousand head of cattle. We are not the biggest clan, nor the richest, but we are one of the oldest, and have much respect in the Oceans of Grass.”
“And who are you, exactly?”
“I was the niece of Katan’s wife, her only living relative. That is why they chose me to come to you today.”
“And who were the others who came with you?”
“Those most respected in the clan for their courage and their wit. I can call them if you wish to see them now.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“What do you wish us to do?”
“To do?”
“You are our chief. You must guide us.”
“Whatever it is you do while camped at the High Sooq. Afterward ...” He paused, still trying to get used to the idea of being chief of a Chett clan. “... afterward, we’ll see.”
He reached for the tent flap, but Morfast’s hand rested on his. “You do not have to go. I am glad you would not force me to sleep with you, but I see now that was not your intention. I would be pleased to share my blanket with you.”
Ager smiled at her. He could see her shape under the poncho and felt the first faint pricking of desire, something he had been without for more years than he could remember. But he could not take her now, and not like this. He gently removed her hand from his and left.
Chapter 14
There were two children, a girl about five with a high fever but resting peacefully, the other a boy about three with a cough.
“And you’re sure neither is in any danger?” Olio asked.
The priest shook his head. “No, your Highness. The girl’s fever has come down in the last hour, and the boy’s cough is improving. They will both be well by week’s end.”
Olio nodded, but his hand still held on to the heart-shaped Healing Key, as if it might be needed at a second’s notice. It felt warm to his touch, even on this cold night. It wants to be used, he thought. But I gave my word. And tonight, at least, there is no temptation to use it.
“And there are no others?”
Again, the priest shook his head.
“Isn’t that rare for winter?”
The priest met his gaze. “Not really. We are coming out of the coldest months of the year. The two times when the greatest sickness comes to the poor are when there is ice on the streets and when the nights are so hot the poor leave their doors and window shutters open to cool their homes. We get a lot of the shaking sickness in summer. Winter is for the chest sickness, mainly.”
“I see.” He turned to the magicker who had accompanied him from the palace. He could not remember his name. “Where is Prelate Fanhow tonight?”
“He had an important meeting with the theurgia, your Highness. Something to do with the army we are sending north in the spring.”
Olio remembered then that Edaytor had said something to him about the meeting. For a moment his thoughts went to the planning of the campaign; he had been involved peripherally so far, but from now he would have to attend war councils; after all, he was going to be the army’s general. The idea used to amuse him, but as the time came nearer for the army to march, the prospect of leading experienced men into battle was weighing him down. He thought of himself as a healer, not as a warrior. He believed his role in life was to bring people back from the brink of death and not lead them to it. But his sister—the queen—had given him the commission and he could not surrender it.
“We have some refreshment ready for you, your Highness,” the priest said, and led him to the kitchen. There were bowls of fish stew already laid out on the rough wooden table, with thick seed bread and dough cakes on plates. And a flagon of red wine sat in the middle.
“Excellent,” Olio said carefully, then pointed to the flagon. “But take that away. Some new cider would better clear my throat.”
“Of course.” The priest disappeared with the flagon. Olio waited for the twinge of regret, but it did not come.
Some things get better, he told himself.
The priest reappeared with a small cider cask, and the prince sat down with him and the magicker. At first his two companions talked too deferentially, but as the night wore on they became more comfortable, and Olio, to his surprise, actually found himself enjoying the meal.
* * *
Areava placed her hands over her belly. Yes, she thought. A girl. She was filled with a sense of wonder, and laughed with joy. Sendarus, asleep next to her, mumbled something and turned, flopping an arm across her chest. She laughed even harder.
How long had she been pregnant? God only knew. She and Sendarus had slept together so often since falling in love, at night, in the morning, once in the straw in the royal stables, once in his chambers while his father was waiting to see them.
She felt the baby would come in early to midsummer. Maybe her daughter would share her own birth day. The kingdom would have another Ushama. And what sisters and brothers would Usharna have? Another Areava, perhaps, and a Berayma, even an Olio. And why not a Marin? Or even an Orkid? That would put a smile on the chancellor’s face, and—just as pleasing—a grimace on the faces of every noble in the Twenty Houses. ‘