On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [110]
And then she understood. Jashemi had not died from anything he had done, from taking her virginity. He had died when she had fully surrendered to her feelings, allowed herself to be caught up in the passion they shared. Her release, her moment of supreme pleasure, of lack of control over these unsought powers was what had claimed him.
Suddenly, she was on her knees, vomiting up the half-masticated bread and crying. It was too much to be borne. Surely, the Dragon would come and take her right now. But no, the night sky did not suddenly fill with the sound of beating wings; no shadow blotted out the moon to descend upon her. The Great Dragon was not going to make it easy.
Gulping salty tears, she sat up straighter. Slowly, deliberately, she took another bite of bread and forced it down. She wiped her eyes. She would eat, and drink, and sleep, and meet the Dragon in his own lair.
And then he would end this torment.
Kevla woke in the predawn to find that the sa’abah, far from attempting to leave in the night, had snuggled up to her. Its fur was so soft. She stroked it absently, wondering why it had felt the need to be so close to her. Surely it could not be cold—
Frowning, Kevla touched the fur again, paying attention to it this time. It felt cold to the touch. Another “gift,” she thought bitterly; she no longer felt the cold, even when a furred creature did. Her head and her heart ached, but she forced herself to eat some dried fruit and drink water. She wondered dully if Tahmu had gone riding out after her, or if he had merely sent out falcons warning other clans against the “kulis.” That thought sluggishly led to another; that Tahmu’s life was still in danger. How could she have forgotten this?
If Yeshi and Halid wanted to take over the clan, they would rejoice that Jashemi was—
Dead, dead….
—discredited and could not lay claim to leading the Clan of Four Waters. There would be no one else to challenge Halid; Jashemi’s cousins, who would have been next in line, had been killed long ago in a raid. Tradition would side with a seemingly loyal Second who knew how to lead the Clan, rather than a distant, perhaps common, relative. But Tahmu was still very much alive.
The first emotion other than raw, ragged grief crept into Kevla’s heart. Despite what he had done, she still knew Tahmu to be a good man. He was only obeying the laws of his people, doing his best to protect them. He did not deserve to be murdered by a faithless wife and her deceitful lover.
She hesitated before she did what she knew had to be done. She hated her fire abilities now. They had cost her the single most precious thing in her life, and she was loath to make use of them. But she was already doing so without being able to control it; she was warm and comfortable in an environment that made a sa’abah shiver. She might as well deliberately use her abilities to help save a man’s life.
Kevla scouted for a scrap of dried grass, found a few sorry blades, and placed them down in front of her. She took a deep breath, then said quietly, “Burn.”
As it had always done since she began to bleed, the fire obeyed her command. A small flame crackled to life.
“Show me Tahmu.”
It revealed nothing. Kevla tried not to be too worried. The fire-scrying only worked if the person she was trying to locate was near a fire himself. It was morning. She should have tried last night; the odds that Tahmu would be close to a fire would have increased. She would try again tonight.
After getting some food and water in her stomach, Kevla stretched, trying to ease the soreness of riding all day, then mounted. She set her eyes on the sacred mountain, and rode.
She stopped only briefly to eat and stretch. She talked to the sa’abah