The Crow God's Girl (6 page)

The city of Salt was the leading gem in the string
of
merchant cities that were strung along the great Aeritan river like pearls on a necklace. Its harbor was dotted with the masted, shallow-keeled ships that plied their wares to Brythern and the ocean to the south and as far north as the ships could sail before the river narrowed between high cliffs and became impassable for the masted, oared vessels. At the top of the high street loomed Lord Salt’s ancestral home, a pile of stone and wood bristling with parapets, and, incongruously, laundry flapping in the setting sun from one of the balconies.

In the rooms of the great House assigned to Lord Terrick and his retinue, Colar straightened his linen shirt and shrugged into his vest with Terrick colors. The clothes were his finest, with silver buttons and delicate stitching. He felt a bit self-conscious. He hadn’t dressed up since coming home from North Salem. His Aeritan finery made him uneasy, the same way the black suit and uncomfortable shoes he wore in America for one of Mrs. Mossland’s work functions had.

“Ready, Master Terrick?” Raymon said, tapping his fingertips against his belt. He nodded toward the door. “Your father is anxious.”

His father detested being late and was taking it out on everyone. Colar hurriedly strapped on the sword belt, wiping the leather until it was clean of smudged fingerprints and shone as well as his boots and buttons. He followed Raymon out, joining the crowd on the wide palazzo fronting the great meeting room of Salt.

“Has my father already gone in?”

Raymon nodded. “He came straight from meeting with Lord Salt. He said he wants you up front.”

The families of the Council, along with influential merchants and others who were on the docket, made up the audience. His father wanted Colar front and center so he got a good eyeful of what it meant to be part of Council. Mostly, Colar knew, it was loads of posturing and stultifying rhetoric.

The real dealmaking happened in the private rooms and in dispatches that couriers carried across the countryside, riding fast and secretively. His father had once said that the Council meetings were where the betrayals happened. If he had been meeting with Lord Salt, as Raymon had said, Colar wondered what betrayals his father expected.

A crisp wind from the river blew across the plaza, lifting his hair away from his face. The wind had an autumn bite, despite the late summer sun that gleamed on the crowd milling in front of the massive doors, barred with well-wrought iron and studded with spikes. It was more a statement than defense–Salt’s engines that hulked in silhouette along the top of the city walls were a more potent barrier.

Around him, all the colors of Aeritan’s Houses swirled, not just on servants’ patches but on the younger sons and daughters of the lords. There were Saraval and Wessen, and he caught a glimpse of the great Lady Wessen. She was speaking with her daughter, Lady Sarita, and her husband, Lord Tharp. Lady Sarita still went about with her head bare, but she wore Aeritan clothes once again. He wondered if her New York clothes had just worn out or if she was returning to her old life after all.

He wished Kate would give up her old clothes. He knew she was lonely and homesick because he had been through the same thing, but she was just making it worse for herself by living in the past. The gordath was closed, this time for good. Wearing her jeans and her boots made it harder to accept that. He remembered what she had said about her underwear, about the servants trying to sabotage her place. Maybe they were jealous, but it wasn’t as if they could do anything about it. They were just householders.

The sooner they married the better, for many reasons. And maybe they could be careful, and not have children right away, if that would make Kate less worried.

In the half circle plaza in front of Salt’s great hall, the press thickened as the lords and their families in attendance all drifted toward the great doors.

“Colar of Terrick!”

He turned. It was the tall Captain Crae with his wife, Lady Jessamy. Colar grinned.

He hurried over and they clasped hands. “Sir, it is good to see you,” he said. He bowed to Lady Jessamy, who was Lady Trieve. She had bright eyes and brown hair and her cheeks were red. She smiled, and it transformed her from a great lady with sharp eyes to a kindly, pretty woman. “Greetings to you, my lady.”

“Greetings, young Terrick,” she said. “You’ve grown, young man.”

He tried not to blush. Two or three years ago, she had wanted to betrothe him to her infant daughter. Colar tried to change the subject.

“Your husband gave me great aid last year,” Colar said.

“You
led your small army well,” the c
aptain said. He was tall and grizzled, and seemed at peace with himself. It had been a bad summer for him too, Colar had heard. “How is the girl?”

“She’s well sir, and if she knew that I met you, she would give you greeting.” He couldn’t help it; he added, “We’re to be married.” It still gave him pride to think about.
Soon. Maybe. I hope.

Next to him, Raymon shifted uncomfortably.

“May the high god’s blessing be upon you!” Lady Trieve said with obvious delight, and her captain echoed her.

“Blessings upon you both,” Crae repeated.

The horn blared to signal the start of Council, and they clasped hands all around, making haste.

“Well then, we should go. I’m sure your father is waiting.”

“He is, Lady Trieve, and I will see you in Council.”

They took leave, promising to talk more. The crowd opened up, and Colar fell in step next to Raymon. He glanced over at the lieutenant. The man looked as if he had something to say, but had thought better of it.

“What?” Colar asked.

“Nothing,” Raymon said. “Your father is waiting.” He made to walk on, but Colar put his hand out to stop him.

“What is it?”

Raymon looked at him and shook his head. “She’s no good for you, Colar. She’s a strangeling, a fosterling. She should be your sister, not your betrothed. That’s how we do things.”

“It’s not your place, lieutenant,” Colar said, his soft voice emphasizing his anger.

At the use of his rank, Raymon stiffened. “Listen, boy,” he said, his face red. “You aren’t lord yet, so don’t think you can act high-handed with me. She’s not good for you. She’s not good for Terrick. There are those of us that see it, even if you are too blinded by lust right now. She rides about wearing those lewd clothes, showing no respect–your father knows it, and your mother knows it. You should know it too. Hard to see a Terrick acting like a fool, especially a young fool.”

“You’ve had your say,” Colar said. “And if anything happens to her, anything at all, that keeps us from marrying, I know who to come to first.”

“Fair enough,” Raymon said. “Your father is waiting, young sir.” He made a gesture toward the door. The crowd had thinned now. His father would be already on the dais with the other lords, scanning impatiently for his son, and Colar would end up sitting in the back, which would pain his father to no end. He gave Raymon a curt nod, and left him on the palazzo with the rest of the servants.

Kate was right. There were factions. And Colar knew that while he could dismiss the householders, Raymon had his father’s ear. Raymon setting himself against Kate was a problem.

“Ow!” Kate pricked herself with the end of the spindle, and tears came to her eyes. She stopped to suck her finger, already tender from being previously abused.

“Child, you’re holding it wrong,” Lady Beatra said. She picked up the spindle and began deftly spinning it. The wool obediently thinned into smooth thread, unlike Kate’s lumpy attempts.

“Good thing I’m not Sleeping Beauty,” Kate muttered. Lady Beatra and the other ladies looked at her askance.

Lady Beatra, Samar, Thani, and a few women from the village, Callia among them, sat in the ladies’ sitting room in the front of the house, with its windows looking out into the herb garden. A light rain fell, and the scents of late summer came in through the open windows, green and fecund. The smell of dirt and compost was thick on the tongue.

“What’s Sleeping Beauty?” Eri asked. The little girl spun with the dexterity of one who had been trained from babyhood.

“It’s a fairytale, a story. Want me to tell it?”

They had been telling stories the whole afternoon. The women had been teaching Kate her housewifely duties, at least the ones that could be spoken of in Eri’s hearing. They had also been making plenty of sly jokes about sex, as far as she could tell–she didn’t always understand the innuendo but the laughter was unmistakable. Thani appeared to have thawed to her. The village women were all intensely interested in her.

“Yes, please!” Eri loved her stories.

“Once upon a time, there was a King and Queen...” Kate began. Since she couldn’t spin and talk at the same time, she picked up her crochet needle and went back to making lumpy squares.

When she got to happily ever after, the women chuckled. Callia grinned, her deft fingers moving quickly even though her face was flushed with drink and broken veins.

“Must have been quite a kiss to wake her from such a sleep,” she said, winking. “It depends on where it’s planted, I would say.”

Kate tried to keep from blushing but failed. Callia noticed. “Ah, see the blushing girl! You understand what I’m talking about, do you not, girl?”
And Lady Beatra sitting right there.
Kate tried to concentrate, willing Callia to stop. The midwife, however, was unstoppable. “You best marry your two off, Lady Beatra, or yon maid will be big for her wedding night.” She lay a finger next to her nose.

Kate knew what Callia was trying to do, to make her betrothal a done deal, but she wished the woman would just keep out of it. She risked a sidelong glance at Lady Beatra. Colar’s mother had a strained expression, although her hands kept moving. All the other women were looking at Lady Beatra as well; interesting, Kate thought, that Thani sneered and so did Samar. But the latter could have been because of the history between her and Callia.

“Mama, will Kett and Colar have lots of babies when they’re married?” Eri asked.

“With the blessing of the grass god’s daughter, they will,” Lady Beatra said, but her voice was carefully neutral. “Don’t you think so, Kett?”

“I think so, ma’am,” Kate said, her voice equally careful. Now was not the time to declare her desire to be childless, or at least have as few as possible.
Like one, maybe.

“You are an only child, are you not?” said Samar in her dry voice. “Did your mother lose many babes before quickening?”

“Samar!” the women cried, shocked.

Unruffled, the housekeeper said, “Callia must know. Often the daughter bears children as her mother did.”

Lady Beatra and her housekeeper exchanged long looks but Lady Beatra said only, “Samar is right. It is good to know.”

“Um,” Kate said, her voice a little rough. “My mother had only me. She and my father married late by–by Aeritan standards. They were both thirty-five. And my mother waited a few more years before getting pregnant.”

And after she did, she got pre-eclampsia, and had to be rushed to the hospital six weeks early, her blood pressure so high, the story went, that as the doctor began the emergency c-section, her mother’s blood shot straight up and spattered the lights in the operating room.

And Kate would deliver her babies by the will of the grass god’s daughter and a drunken midwife.

“Wait,” said Thani, maliciously. “Your mother and father did not lie together for years after they were wed?” Her eyes were bright, as if she were imagining the gossip she would bring to the servants
’
quarters.

Kate felt anger rise in her and when she spoke her voice was deliberate. “My mother and father used birth control, Thani. Where I come from, women don’t have to have baby after baby. We can choose when we want to have children.”

The room plunged into utter silence. Kate looked from one to the other. Some of the women were shocked, but she noted the considering looks on the face of Lady Beatra and a few of the villagers.

“Is this another story?” asked one, hope in her voice. Kate shook her head. She dredged up a bit of information from the sex ed books her mother had left on her desk when she was a kid. “They’re called condoms. I think they used to be made from sheep intestines. Men put them on their, um, penises.”

She could feel her face burning. Callia cackled. “That’s a Brythern trick! No shy maid here, Lady Beatra. She’ll keep your son happy, no mistake.”

She as good as told Colar’s mother that I’m not a virgin. Lovely.
With a sinking heart, Kate turned toward Lady Beatra, who was looking extraordinarily uncomfortable. “I haven’t–I mean, I’m not–” She gave up. “Where I come from, women don’t have to have babies until they want to.”

“Children come through the grass god’s daughter, whether a mother will or no,” Lady Beatra said. “You cannot say no to such a gift, child, not and have the favor of the woman’s god.”

“It’s not that I don’t want children,” Kate said, desperate to explain. “I just want to be able to choose when I have them.”