The Crow God's Girl (13 page)

Something’s wrong.

“Ma’am?” Kate said.

“My child,” Lady Beatra said. She held a piece of paper, and she looked as if she didn’t know what to do with it. She shook her head, folded the paper, set it aside, then turned back to Kate. “I am so sorry, Kett.”

“Just tell me!” Kate burst out. If anything happened to Colar, what would she do?

Lady Beatra composed herself. “Colar is to be married. He is betrothed to Janye of Kenery.”

She tried to speak and could not. She heard the words and turned them over in her mind and could not make sense of it. Lady Beatra said nothing, just let her absorb the news.

“Was it his decision?” she managed finally, stupidly. What did it matter? But it did matter. She could bear anything but that. Please not that.

“Oh, Kett–he’s a Terrick. It was not that he would have–we don’t have the right to choose–”

“My. Name. Is. Kate.” The words came out in a low growl. Lady Beatra looked alarmed and she broke off her fumbling explanation. Kate’s anger swelled until it closed out her sight, blackness fading in on her periphery. She dug her fingernails into her palms, trying to come back to herself. The rage threatened to overwhelm.
If I don’t get out of here, I will faint.

She managed to stumble out of the study into the hall, the coldness of the stone hallway reviving her somewhat. She sensed that people watched her, and she brushed by them.

She couldn’t go to her room. Eri would be upstairs soon and would want to know what happened. No. She would know. Probably everyone in Terrick knew already. Bitterly, Kate knew that her fall would bring celebration among the servants, the men at arms, and even across all of Aeritan, as far as she could tell. She fled to the one place where she could find the most comfort, the only place she ever felt at home, even when she was at home.

The cold air took her breath away as she ran across the courtyard, barely aware of householders and smallholders turning to look at her. She pulled the barn door closed behind her and let herself into Hotshot’s loosebox. In the frigid barn she pressed herself against Hotshot’s warm flank, letting the tears come but muffling them against the horse’s warm coat. Hotshot turned his head and blew hot air at her, giving her comfort. Soldier’s god, soldier’s god, she prayed, forgetting the admonition to never seek comfort from that of all the gods.

Soldier’s god, what is going to happen to me?

She stayed out in the freezing barn until dark, when Lady Beatra and Samar came to find her. The two ladies held a lantern and a warm woolen cloak, finer than anything she had ever worn.

“Child,” said Lady Beatra gently, holding the lantern up high. “Come back to the house. You will catch your death.”

Kate was shivering and stiff and she let herself be coaxed up and wrapped in the cloak. They led her back to the house and upstairs to her room. No one was about, and she was grateful, but she wondered if it was because Lady Beatra had given orders for everyone to stay away.

A bath waited for her, steaming in front of the fireplace. She let herself be undressed and helped into the tub, while the two women clucked gently. Even Samar stroked her hair, almost making Kate dissolve into tears again. But there was a hard core inside her, and she was through crying, even though she was hurt and humiliated and terrified.

They washed her and brushed her hair and braided it, and dressed her in a warm nightgown, and let her fall asleep by herself, a warm brick at her feet.

The great chamber at Salt was lit with the glow
of dozens of oil lamps, their sweet, smoky scent pleasant in the chill. The vaulted ceiling with its ribbed beams was obscured with smoke, gathering the nobility of Aeritan under its cloud.

Colar and Janye faced one another in front of the high table where the Council sat in session. He wore a suit of deep blue, the dark red of Terrick woven in a subtle pattern across his vest. The lining of his cloak had the same pattern. The clothing was fine, the finest he had ever worn.

Janye was dressed in Kenery colors, muted gray and green. She was so beautiful that she outshone her drab colors. Her hair gleamed under the light, her face was flawless, and her expression was serene, as if she was where she wanted to be at that moment. He wondered at her calm. He was so agitated he couldn’t hear the words spoken by the elders of the Council, the old bulls like his father, Salt, Kenery, and Saraval calling upon the high god to bless their union. Colar knew he was supposed to feel something as the high god came down and gave his approval, but he couldn’t concentrate.

When it was time he turned to Janye, clasping hands, and they took turns reciting their pledges to one another. Still her face was calm and he wondered if the high god would make anything of her blasphemy. I hope not, he thought. If the high god took to punishing any lord for disbelief, he would have to take out all of them. I’m just as bad about it. He mouthed the words and felt nothing. Her hands were soft and warm, and he could feel the bones beneath the skin.

She made sure to pull them from his grasp as soon as the simple ceremony was over and a murmur rose from the audience.

“Well done, well done,” Kenery beamed, and he slapped Colar on the shoulder and then did the same to Lord Terrick for good measure. Salt smiled benevolently upon them. Colar didn’t look at his father.

The rest of the night passed in a blur.
He accepted congratulations from the lords and ladies, and Janye did as well, and they could have been a thousand miles apart for all they acknowledged one another. Only once did he falter, when Lady Trieve came to him and congratulated him, but he could see the crease between her brows. Colar felt himself redden, but she said only, “Congratulations, young man. May you have a long and happy married life.”

At least her husband the captain stayed back, as one who was not fully ennobled. Colar didn’t want to see him. He didn’t want to see anyone.

Salt chivvied them over to the high table for the wedding feast. The food tasted like dust, and Colar ate little, drank little. Janye kept her face turned away from him, speaking only to her father or the other lords who sat at the table. He saw the other young men carousing at the low tables, laughing and shouting, their faces red from the wine and brandy.

Suddenly Janye was swooped away by a group of ladies, their faces bright with laughter, their fine clothes fluttering like bird wings. Everyone exploded into shouts and applause, the sound almost a physical blow. The young men rushed the table, and Colar braced himself for the onslaught.

They grabbed him much as the ladies grabbed the bride. Someone forced a goblet of wine into his hands, but that was taken away and he was given something stronger, a fiery drink that made Terrick brandy taste like vesh. Colar forced it down, feeling it burn like liquid sunlight down his throat and into his belly.

He was buffeted by them, dragged here and there, the alcohol making him stagger and nonresistant. Colar let them pull off his cloak and throw it into the crowd to roars of approval. Then his jacket was removed, leaving him in fine breeches and his white shirt.

“Take his trousers! Take his boots!” the young men chanted. One went to oblige and Colar elbowed him hard, catching the young Camrin man in the nose. For a second the man looked at him, confused, then tried to laugh it off when he saw Colar’s expression. Colar was filled with fury and drunkenness. Someone else pawed at him and he shook them off as well. Sobered, they backed away a little.

“He’s ready! Take him to her!” He was hauled up the stairs to the wedding chamber.

Janye was already there. The women stood outside and made as if to defend the door against the men. There was laughter, good-natured shouting, and a few kisses and some fondling between the men and the ladies in waiting, but finally he was pushed through the door and it was closed behind him.

After a few bangs on the door the sound from the revelers muted and died away. Colar stood there, disheveled and tattered, his shirt loose and his breeches almost undone. He swayed a little, a bit drunk, but at the same time his head was never more crystal clear than at that moment.

Janye remained seated in a chair by the fire in her nightgown, hands folded in her lap, her dark hair uncovered and unbound. Her nightgown was cut low and a pendant nestled between her breasts. She was beautiful, her face clear and her eyes bright. Colar hesitated by the door. She waited, and now an expectant, mocking look came across her face.

He said, “I hope to suit you, Janye.” He meant to say more, that they would come to like one another, that he would strive to be a good husband, that he hoped–he didn’t know what he hoped. It all flew out of his head when she interrupted him.

“You have no reason to be here. You may go. Send my girl in when you leave.”

He waited a moment more, and then bowed and walked out. At least the men were gone. At least she had not thrown him out in their midst. The girl sat on a stool next to the door and jumped up when she saw him. He jerked his head at the door and she ducked in.

Except for him, the hallway was empty. He could hear the revelry far away as the wedding feast continued down in the Council hall. Colar thanked whatever god watched over him that no one saw his humiliation.

He found a back way out of the rambling old House, slipping past householders and servants. The cold helped clear his head, although it did nothing to settle his anger. A fine mist blew, soaking him through. Colar went down to one of the lower taverns in the winding street at the foot of the palazzo and was enveloped in warmth, light, and the smell of people and beer.

He didn’t recognize anyone, and he was relieved again. They were men at arms from various Houses along with townspeople and traders. It was a volatile mix, with tensions running high as the drink flowed. There would be trouble later on and the city guard would be cracking heads to keep the peace.

Colar fished out a few coins from his pocket and stood at the end of the bar. He was catching attention in his wedding clothes, which had become increasingly bedraggled. No one said anything to him though. The bartender pushed over a foaming cup and he drank deep and looked around. There were plenty of street girls sitting with the men. None were as pretty as his wife, or even as pretty as Kate, who wasn’t truly beautiful, he had to admit, except for the beauty that came from being who she was. Not that it mattered. Kate was true, real, intelligent, and when she smiled or laughed she made him laugh too. She knew him well. She was a part of his life he couldn’t ever forget and didn’t want to forget. They had a history together. What did it matter that he felt grateful to her? He was ashamed that he had thrown her over so easily. Just like that, for a chance to be lord of Favor.

He was getting drunk again. He didn’t care. He signalled the barkeep for another beer. He caught a girl’s eye and crooked his finger at her. She gave him an appraising look, assessed his fine clothes, and made a decision. She pushed away from the man she was with, despite his protests, and hurried over. She wore a low-cut dress, showing off her breasts and tiny waist, and she plunked herself heavily onto his lap. He oofed at the sudden weight, which brought on a fit of laughter.

“Hello, my lord,” she said giggling.

“Hello, my fine lady,” he said, his words just the slightest bit slurred. “Do you know, you suit me better than my wife does right now?”

She giggled again, and they kissed.

And this, Colar thought, as if from far away, is my wedding night.

Lord Terrick returned home with the snows of winter driving at his heels. He dismounted from his gray gelding, Storm, and his men carried his belongings into the house while the rest of the train were sent off to the stable and his entourage to the men’s quarters. The air was thick with snow, graying out the sky.

Kate watched from the window of her room, holding back the thick drapes. Colar was on his wedding journey, first to Kenery to winter there, and then to Terrick when the spring thaw came.

I’ll be gone by then.

Kate smoothed her hair and straightened her clothes, and took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to wait for Lord Terrick to summon her. She went down to meet her foster father.

All the householders were gathering in the hall to greet the lord, and she could hear the voices of the children already, Eri and Yare clamoring for their father’s attention. She stood on the bottom stair, at the back of the crowd.

Lord Terrick greeted the younger kids with gruff kisses and Aevin with a handclasp. He took Lady Beatra’s hands and bent over them, reciting ritual words of homecoming. He spoke to a few of the older householders, Torvan especially, and accepted their greetings. Kate waited on the stairs, knowing he would look up at her eventually.

He did.

The hall grew quiet as everyone turned to her. For a long moment, Kate and Lord Terrick took each other’s measure. Then, she gave a curtsey, much as Eri would bob to her mother.

“Foster father,” she said. “Thanks to the high god on your safe journey.”

“Thanks to the high god to be in your sight once more,” he said automatically.

Lady Beatra grabbed his arm. “Come, you must be hungry, my husband. We will take our meal in our chambers. Samar, please.”